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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, horrible and unclean . In dream, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The dangers outweighed the consequences because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a hard and long one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby 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 dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, but 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, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. 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 always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic 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 arise from my other half 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require 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, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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