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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily 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 filthy, disgusting and unclean . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand 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 was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. The risks surpassed the effects because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and tough one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my basic, reasonably clean daydreams 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 utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a fantastic offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my other half was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted 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 evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea 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 excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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