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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, dirty and horrible . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand 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 knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire help. The risks exceeded the consequences since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a tough and long one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had 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 about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing 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 concept in my head too. 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 try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad 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 involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered 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 want you had never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, 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, however 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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