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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever 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 as soon as a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, dirty and revolting .
In dream, I wanted everyone 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 understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers surpassed the consequences since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In combined company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told 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 boys, dads raping young children, females making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily 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.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I concerned 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. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented 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 hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing 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 doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought 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 excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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