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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit 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 filthy, horrible and dirty . In dream, I desired everybody to understand 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 understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The risks outweighed the effects due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. 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 felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring 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 perfect female form. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing 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 fragrant 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 result from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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