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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, revolting and filthy . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that excellent, the threats outweighed the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my easy, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. She told me a story about a female gymnast with a hunger for her own pussy. Being an ex-gymnast and volunteer cheerleading coach, I figured I 'd offer it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a terrific offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his partner unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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