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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-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 resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. The risks exceeded the effects because 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 adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of randy males, 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 always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my simple, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. 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, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 offer it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage 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 make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before 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 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned 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 kind of male that lives in worry of his wife unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I will not sleuth or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through 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, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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