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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife 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 addict, a slut, 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 dream, I wanted everyone 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 resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the risks exceeded the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a tough and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our 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 revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 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 provide it a try. I practically 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 constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have always considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my partner was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought 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, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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