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3 months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, revolting and dirty . In dream, I desired everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Since the sex was that good, the threats outweighed the repercussions. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. 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 dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt 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 understood or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely thinking out loud, and I believed she was a really sick woman. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my basic, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise 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 marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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