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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely 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 think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, horrible and unclean . In dream, I desired everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not want assistance. The threats outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then began her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her other half is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out 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 combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just thinking aloud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my simple, fairly clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my 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, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head as well. 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 provide it a try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my other half was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require 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 laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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