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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 homemaker with all kids in school is tiring 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 consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Because the sex was that good, the risks surpassed the repercussions. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. 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 likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. 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 seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a really ill lady. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. 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 home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a terrific deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my partner was impossible. My 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 capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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