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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife 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 think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, disgusting and dirty . In dream, I desired everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the dangers outweighed the repercussions. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, but nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent 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 lot, 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 dresses, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and involved 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 spouse was difficult. My very 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo 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 launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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