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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, unclean and horrible . In dream, I desired everyone to understand 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 was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The threats exceeded the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 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 especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 give it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have always considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack 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 soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant 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, but concealing the arise from my spouse was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at 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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