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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 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 throughout the street from Staci and Joe. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off. In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand 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 resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the risks exceeded the consequences. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pushing my easy, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck 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 day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have always considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs large 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned 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 ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. 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 roadway of adulterous affairs.

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