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Three months back, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, dirty and revolting . In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire help. The risks surpassed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull 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 ideal female type. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially 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 vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved 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 partner was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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