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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everybody 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 addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats surpassed the effects since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging 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 short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs large 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask concerns. You can reoccur as you please. , if I ever find out that you cheated on me.. I'll make you wish you had never ever been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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