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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never 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 addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, unclean and disgusting . In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote 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 dependency will lead, but does not want help. The risks surpassed the consequences because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her spouse is a authorities 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 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 disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I chuckled uncomfortably 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 horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my 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 your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a basic 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 cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually always thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 began 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 hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My very 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. I remember being incensed at the mere idea. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the type of man that resides in fear of his better half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I won't snoop or ask questions. You can reoccur as you please. 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 wish you had actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may 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, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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