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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer 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 when a month, I felt guilty. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, filthy and revolting . In dream, I desired everybody to know the 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 understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want help. The threats surpassed the effects since the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In blended business, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young children, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly 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, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. She told 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, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections 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 pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. 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 fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy 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 started with a scented 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 concealing the arise from my husband 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 warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever 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, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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