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3 months back, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 kids, 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 across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, horrible and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know 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 junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The risks outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her husband is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, females making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my basic, relatively clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. 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, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned 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, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a excellent deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my partner was impossible. My 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 proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed 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 great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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