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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never 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 once a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, unclean and revolting .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her spouse is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. 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 felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a extremely sick female. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pushing my easy, relatively clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my partner 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 cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, 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, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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