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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved 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 housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, unclean and disgusting . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that excellent, the risks exceeded the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and challenging one for me, however nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise 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 godawful. In mixed business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. 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 constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my basic, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She informed 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 give it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a terrific deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore only short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced 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 variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in fear of his wife cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never been born if I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might 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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