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3 months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, disgusting and filthy . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote 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, however doesn't want aid. The dangers exceeded the consequences since the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, 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 knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my easy, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. 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, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a excellent offer, with Staci making the choices 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 ideal female form. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing 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 concealing the arise from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the mere recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his wife cheating on him. I will not have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I will not snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur 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 capture you in the act. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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