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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, dirty and revolting . In dream, I desired everyone to know the brand-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 was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want help. The dangers surpassed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In blended company, I chuckled uncomfortably 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 revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, 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 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 especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head too. 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring 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 kind. I have always thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly 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 involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my spouse was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never 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 precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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