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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- 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. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but 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 doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not help that. The dangers exceeded the repercussions since the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. 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 ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only brief 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 ideal female form. I have actually always considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy 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 fragrant 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, but concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever 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 hit a female. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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