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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. In dream, I desired everyone to understand the 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 resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The threats outweighed the effects 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 expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.

I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. 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 somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head as well. 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.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a big guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I thought he may force 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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