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3 months back, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, dirty and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone 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 junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want assistance. The dangers exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found 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 disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined business, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing 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 found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. 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 offer it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We went shopping for clothing a fantastic offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have always thought of myself as being too short, 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 lovely to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon 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 started 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my hubby was difficult. My 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 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 female. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big guy, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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