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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, unclean and revolting . In dream, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however 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, but does not desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that good, the risks outweighed the repercussions. 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 long and hard one for me, however nothing worthwhile 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 conference. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In combined company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, but 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 boys, fathers raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a extremely ill female. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my easy, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a terrific deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have constantly thought about myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted 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 catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.

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