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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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 homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, revolting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everyone 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 resembled the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the threats outweighed the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a very sick female. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 provide it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. 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 slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing 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 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 actually never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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