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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely 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 filthy, filthy and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everybody 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 addict that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire help. The threats outweighed the consequences since the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a really sick woman. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my easy, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular 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 learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 offer it a try. I almost broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a fantastic deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, particularly in 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 started with a scented 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, however hiding the result from my other half was difficult. My 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 keep in mind being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in fear of his partner cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't sleuth or ask questions. You can come and go 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 catch you in the act. That was it. I just 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 strike a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through 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 excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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