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Three months back, I was your everyday 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 probably 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, disgusting and dirty . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the 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 understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire help. The risks surpassed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then began her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and challenging one for me, however nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner 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 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 company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt 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 ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just thinking aloud, and I believed she was a extremely ill female. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my basic, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head too. 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have constantly thought about myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy 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 aromatic 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 impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned 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 ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however 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 never threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a big guy, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force 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 great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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