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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, disgusting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-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, but doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The risks outweighed the effects since the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her spouse is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In blended business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just thinking aloud, and I thought she was a really ill woman. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing 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 pair of trousers I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being 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 perfect female form. I have constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my spouse 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 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. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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