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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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. 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 confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, disgusting and dirty . In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her spouse 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 chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my easy, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly 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, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She convinced me I was gorgeous 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 vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My very 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 mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of guy that resides in worry of his other half unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I won't 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 been born if I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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