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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. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we stagnated 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 boring 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 consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and disgusting . In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The dangers outweighed the consequences since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my easy, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began 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 told 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 try. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a fantastic deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have constantly considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before 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 started with a aromatic 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 result from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I keep in mind being incensed at the simple idea. This time, I listened diligently as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of male that lives in worry of his spouse cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the way you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had actually never been born if I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but 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 great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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