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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The risks exceeded the consequences since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, 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 likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I thought she was a really ill lady. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly 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, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head as well. 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing 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 wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation 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 extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my other half was difficult. My first cunnicure triggered 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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