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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring 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 want my sex down and dirty, horrible and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that good, the threats outweighed the repercussions. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, 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 particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 provide it a try. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have always considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable 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 began with a fragrant 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, however concealing the arise from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. I remember being incensed at the simple suggestion. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that resides in worry of his spouse unfaithful on him. I will not have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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