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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 most likely 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 homemaker 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 consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, revolting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the 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 resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Because the sex was that good, the threats exceeded the consequences. I love 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 meeting. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a really sick female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 give it a try. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

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, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. 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. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result 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 marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I just 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 woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big guy, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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