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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats outweighed the effects because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply thinking out loud, and I believed she was a extremely ill lady. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically 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, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my spouse was difficult. My very 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 capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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