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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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 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 filthy, disgusting and filthy . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but 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 desire aid. The dangers surpassed the repercussions because the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her professional 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 paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. 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 laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a very sick lady. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my easy, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big male, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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