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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never 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 housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, dirty and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted 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 was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. The risks surpassed the effects because the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her other half is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my basic, relatively clean 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 everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. 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 provide it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted 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 merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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