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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two 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 across the street from Staci and Joe. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess 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 dirty, dirty and horrible . In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.

I resembled the junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. Because the sex was that good, the threats exceeded the effects. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her specialist adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.

I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, 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 constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a very sick lady. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my basic, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the 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 daughter'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, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe 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 pair of pants I owned. I used just short gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I concerned accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have always considered myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 started 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, however hiding the arise 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. 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 damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, 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, but 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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