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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 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.
Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off.
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The dangers surpassed the consequences because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a difficult and long one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. 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 disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. 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 somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She persuaded 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 broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my other half was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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