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Three months back, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never 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 housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, dirty and horrible . In dream, I desired everyone to know the 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 knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. The risks exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a difficult and long one for me, but nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her husband is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, 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 disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, relatively clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

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, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before 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 aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result 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 marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that lives in fear of his partner cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. , if I ever discover out that you cheated on me.. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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