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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, revolting and filthy . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market 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 assistance. The threats surpassed the effects due to the fact that 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 husband is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. 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 someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular 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, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function 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. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my spouse was difficult. 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 catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but 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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