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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and disgusting . In dream, I wanted everybody to know the 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 desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that great, the risks outweighed the repercussions. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and tough one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient 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 common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, 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 troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw 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 started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I pertained 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 type. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, 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 vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing 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 cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch 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 quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge guy, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo 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 excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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