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Three months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. 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 easily confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I desired 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 resembled the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The threats outweighed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp 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 about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted 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 only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and involved 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 arise from my hubby 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. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture 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 rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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