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Three months back, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- two 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. The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, dirty and revolting . In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-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 was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. The risks outweighed the effects because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, but nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would state. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.

I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of randy guys, 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 brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a very sick lady. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly 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, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head also. She informed 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 try. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections 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, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She convinced me I was lovely to the severe, specifically 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 vaginal area 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 perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing 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 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 wish you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. Max is a huge guy, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed 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 good laugh at 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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