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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. 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 freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, unclean and horrible . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire aid. The threats outweighed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love 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 other half is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also 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 troubling and her language godawful. In blended business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however 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, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday 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 concept in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented 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 result from my hubby was difficult. 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 find 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 just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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