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3 months back, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Since the sex was that good, the threats outweighed the repercussions. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her husband is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of horny males, 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 siblings, 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 constantly about someone she knew or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a extremely ill lady. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my basic, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily 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.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have actually always thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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, however concealing the arise from my hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, 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 been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at 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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