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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, horrible and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-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 resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the dangers surpassed the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In blended company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a very ill female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have constantly thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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