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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-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 was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and tough one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had 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 became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my simple, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured 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 your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. She informed 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 give it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to 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 began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever discover 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 actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great 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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