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3 months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we stagnated 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, revolting and unclean . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but 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 does not want help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The threats surpassed the repercussions because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and tough one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. 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 always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my basic, relatively tidy musings 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 day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle 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, offering 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 wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering 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 began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my husband was difficult. My 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 keep in mind being incensed at the simple recommendation. This time, I listened diligently as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in fear of his partner 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 concerns. You can reoccur as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never been born if I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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