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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however 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, but doesn't want aid. The threats exceeded the consequences 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 very first conference. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined business, I laughed uneasily 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 disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, fathers raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload 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 had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a very sick female. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. She told 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 give it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothing a lot, 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 dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband 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 favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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