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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never 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 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 slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, revolting and dirty . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want aid. The dangers exceeded the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my basic, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. She informed 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a great offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version 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, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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