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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely 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 housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, revolting and filthy .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Since the sex was that great, the threats surpassed the effects. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers 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 bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my easy, relatively clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 give it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have constantly considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing 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 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 hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned 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. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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