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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, horrible and filthy . In dream, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The dangers outweighed the effects because the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp 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 always about someone she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just thinking out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick lady. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. 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 your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head too. 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle 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 cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have constantly thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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, however concealing the arise from my other half 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 favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever 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 exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a big guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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