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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, unclean and horrible . In dream, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that good, the dangers exceeded the repercussions. I enjoy 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 conference. Her other half is a authorities 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 likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby 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 atrocious. In combined company, 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 shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, females making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners handling troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply thinking out loud, and I believed she was a really ill female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child'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 makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my partner was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted 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 capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge male, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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