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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom 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 want my sex down and dirty, horrible and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market 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 dependency will lead, but doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that great, the dangers exceeded the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a tough and long one for me, but nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely thinking out loud, and I thought she was a extremely sick female. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my other half 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 cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt 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 might fit me with a chastity belt. 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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