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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, filthy and revolting . In dream, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but 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, however does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not help that. The dangers outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a extremely ill woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. 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 your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She informed 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage 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 cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before 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 scented douche and included 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 concealing the arise from my partner 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 never been born. That was it. I simply 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 strike a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force 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 excellent make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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