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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- two 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 throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness 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, revolting and unclean . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire assistance. The risks outweighed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that great. I enjoy 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 authorities 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, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, reasonably clean visions 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 utilizing 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 discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 give it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I came 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 form. I have constantly considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant 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, but hiding the arise from my hubby was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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