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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, revolting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however 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, however doesn't desire help. The threats surpassed the effects since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and challenging one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a extremely sick female. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, relatively clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular 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, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. 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 give it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became 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 best female kind. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise 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 alerted me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never 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 female. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo 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 make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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