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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, dirty and horrible . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise 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, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that good, the threats exceeded the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her specialist manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended business, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover 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 actually never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through 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 great make fun of 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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