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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a housewife 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 junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, filthy and revolting .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire help. The threats outweighed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities 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, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, 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 someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just thinking aloud, and I thought she was a really sick lady. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my basic, fairly clean visions 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 started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in 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 constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant 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, however concealing the result from my other half was difficult. 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, 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, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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