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3 months ago, 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 ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across 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 admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. The risks exceeded the consequences since the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would state. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her husband is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, 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 constantly about somebody she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a very ill woman. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my easy, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 give it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have constantly considered myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my other half was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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