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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, 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 throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, filthy and disgusting . In dream, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the threats surpassed the repercussions. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young children, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, 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 with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely fantasizing out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my basic, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began 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. She informed 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe 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 set of trousers I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included 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 hiding 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 alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever 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 actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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