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Three months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit 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 unclean, horrible and dirty . In dream, I desired everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Because the sex was that excellent, the risks surpassed the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her spouse 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 horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a very ill female. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only brief 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 uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have actually always thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find 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 never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, 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, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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