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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. 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 confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, filthy and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 addiction will lead, however doesn't desire assistance. The risks outweighed the effects since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my dad would state. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a extremely ill woman. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my basic, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have actually always considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing 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 scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my spouse was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned 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 wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a male of John Wayne stature who might 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 might force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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