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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 throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, disgusting and filthy . In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the brand-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 addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. The risks outweighed the consequences since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In blended company, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude 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, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, females making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pressing my simple, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily 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 concept 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 provide it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a terrific offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have always thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs large 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable 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 might only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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