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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, 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 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean . In dream, I desired everybody 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 junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want help. The threats exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight 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 absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy men, 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 bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only brief gowns 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 type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable 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 began 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 hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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