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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. 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 once a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess 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 dirty, disgusting and unclean .
In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The threats surpassed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just thinking out loud, and I thought she was a really sick lady. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began 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 found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
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, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned 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. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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