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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the threats exceeded the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude 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, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide 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 involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that lives in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can come and go as you please. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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