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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't help that. The dangers outweighed the effects because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a difficult and long one for me, however absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her spouse is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my easy, relatively clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering 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 aromatic 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, but concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover 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. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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