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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 freely admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, horrible and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The risks outweighed the effects because the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her expert manipulations 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 father would say. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her other half is a authorities detective, 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 likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or became aware of, 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 very ill female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting 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. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned 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 been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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