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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two young boys, 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 across 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 easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, dirty and horrible . In dream, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not help that. The threats exceeded the consequences since the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy men, 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 brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy 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 started with a scented 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, but concealing the arise 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 evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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