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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, filthy and horrible . In dream, I desired everyone to know the brand-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 knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. The risks exceeded the consequences since the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her specialist manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just thinking aloud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pushing my basic, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being 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 best female type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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 hiding 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 marital relationship, Max warned 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 want you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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