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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across 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 freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, unclean and horrible . In fantasy, I wanted everybody 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 junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, however does not want assistance. The risks outweighed the consequences because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a tough and long one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her spouse is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, 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 working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In mixed company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply thinking aloud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I found especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head too. She told 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 give it a try. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used only brief gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my hubby was impossible. My very first cunnicure triggered 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 favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may 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 launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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