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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 boredom 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 desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and revolting . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the 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 was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the threats outweighed the repercussions. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a tough and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would state. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a excellent deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in fear of his wife cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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