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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, dirty and revolting . 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 was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want help. The dangers outweighed the consequences since the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her expert adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her spouse is a police investigator, 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 working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed business, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy men, 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 bros, so I was stuck to 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 always about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely thinking aloud, and I believed she was a extremely sick female. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my easy, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices 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 gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being 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 constantly considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing 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 marriage, Max warned 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 wish you had never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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