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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom 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 want 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 market 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 does not want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers surpassed the effects since the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. 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, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide 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 included 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 other half was difficult. My 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. 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 road of adulterous affairs.

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