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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, filthy and revolting . In fantasy, I desired everyone 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 resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the threats outweighed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored 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. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. 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 always about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my 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, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 whirl. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. 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 kind. I have always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my other half 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 evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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