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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, disgusting and unclean . In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but 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 does not want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not help that. The threats exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her husband is a cops detective, 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 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 mixed business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. 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 seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely thinking out loud, and I thought she was a very sick female. What I found especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my basic, relatively tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular 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 your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.

We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my spouse was difficult. My 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 capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo 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 great make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.

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