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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, filthy and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that great, the threats exceeded the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a hard and long one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her spouse 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 also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out 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 mixed business, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny guys, 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my basic, relatively 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 using a water wand, and started 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 discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function 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 kind. I have always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad 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 included 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 hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 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 just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great 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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