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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, unclean and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want 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, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The dangers outweighed the effects since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply thinking out loud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my basic, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck 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 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. She told me a story about a female gymnast with a hunger for her own pussy. Being an ex-gymnast and volunteer cheerleading coach, I figured I 'd provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a terrific deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore only short dresses at Staci's persistence. 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 brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before 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 scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my husband was difficult. My 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 favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting 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 questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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