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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. 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 once 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 admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, dirty and revolting . In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however 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, but doesn't want aid. The threats surpassed the effects since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In blended company, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny guys, 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 with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my easy, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently 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 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, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. 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 wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and included 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 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 cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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