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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. 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. 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 easily confess 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 new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote 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 dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The risks surpassed the consequences because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off 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 disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. 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 constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my basic, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday 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. 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 give it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a great offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and included 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 result from my other half was impossible. My very 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 remember being incensed at the simple tip. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that lives in fear of his better half cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can come and go as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may force 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, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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