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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 boring 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 unclean, horrible and filthy . In dream, I desired everyone 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 was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The risks surpassed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and hard one for me, however absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. 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 mixed business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never 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 woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my simple, relatively tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 provide it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Many 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 constantly. We shopped for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic 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, but concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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