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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 easily confess 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 filthy, filthy and revolting . In dream, I desired everybody to understand the 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 was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that great, the risks exceeded the effects. I like 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 meeting. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began 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 discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only short gowns 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 dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to 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 started with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my partner was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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