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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, filthy and disgusting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the risks surpassed the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, but nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered 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 discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told 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, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have actually always thought of 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 persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my partner 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 find 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 never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however 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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