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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My partner, 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 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 homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and horrible .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know 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 addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks exceeded the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her specialist manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed 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 thinking out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick woman. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my basic, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became 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 best female type. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my partner was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find 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 been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge guy, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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