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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My husband, 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. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, disgusting and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but 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. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that great, the risks exceeded the effects. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick woman. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw 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 your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, 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 stunning to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however 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 aromatic douche and involved 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 arise from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may require 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 laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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