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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 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 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and disgusting . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however does not want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Since the sex was that excellent, the dangers outweighed the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just thinking out loud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 provide it a try. I almost broke my back in the effort, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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