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3 months back, I was your everyday housewife and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely 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 unclean, disgusting and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the brand-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 junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. The dangers outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 troubling and her language godawful. In combined company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed 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 kids, daddies raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload 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 knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently 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 your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 give it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs wide 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, but hiding the result from my spouse was impossible. My 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 evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big male, 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 believed he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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