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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, revolting and unclean . In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the 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 junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. The dangers outweighed the consequences because 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 loved me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a police 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 tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In blended business, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely thinking aloud, and I thought she was a really ill lady. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day 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 idea in my head. 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 offer it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short dresses 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 best female type. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon 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 began with a fragrant 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 difficult. My very 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he may require 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 laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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