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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 most likely never would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and dirty . In fantasy, I desired everyone 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 addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire aid. The threats outweighed the consequences because the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, dads raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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 always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my basic, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began 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. 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 offer it a try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a easy 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 make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a fantastic offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She encouraged me I was stunning to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and involved 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 result from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted 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 proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big male, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force 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 laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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