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Three months back, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, unclean and horrible . In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market 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 dependency will lead, but does not want help. The dangers outweighed 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 adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs 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. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a fantastic offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I wore only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have actually always considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic 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 concealing the arise from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned 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 actually never been born. That was it. I merely 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 woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge male, a guy 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 might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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