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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two boys, 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 throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and disgusting . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise 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, but doesn't desire aid. The dangers surpassed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy 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 atrocious. In mixed business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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 with Staci. I seemed 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 understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a extremely ill lady. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my simple, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started 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 too. She informed 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 offer it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and included 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 concealing the result from my other half was impossible. 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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