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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and revolting . In dream, I desired everybody to understand the brand-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 addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not desire assistance. The threats outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her other half is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.

I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on troops 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 bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a very sick woman. What I found especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my basic, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 started with a aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my other half was difficult. My 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 evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge man, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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