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Three months earlier, 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 would have had we not moved across 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 easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, filthy and disgusting . In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the 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 resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the dangers exceeded the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, however absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her other half is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply thinking out loud, and I thought she was a really ill lady. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my basic, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter'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 makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a terrific deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely 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 large 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 hiding the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may 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 introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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