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Three months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, filthy and horrible . In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want 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, however doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that great, the threats surpassed the effects. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a cops 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, mom's fucking children, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives handling soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. 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 seemed like I had to indulge her. I had 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 felt like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a extremely sick woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pushing my easy, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a terrific deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore only short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my partner was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big male, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may require 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 released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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