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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 boring 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 think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, revolting and dirty . In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise 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 dependency will lead, however does not want help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. Since the sex was that excellent, the threats surpassed the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and difficult one for me, but nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy guys, 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 brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day 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.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing 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 fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my spouse was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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