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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the 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 was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The risks exceeded the effects because the sex was that good. 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 husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp 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 had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, fairly clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day 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 idea in my head.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have constantly thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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, however concealing the result from my husband was difficult. 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 positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever 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 start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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