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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never 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 dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, horrible and unclean . In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want 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 knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that good, the threats outweighed the repercussions. I like 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 spouse is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. I discovered 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 discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined 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, fathers raping young children, women making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs 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 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 someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a extremely sick lady. What I found especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my simple, fairly clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.

We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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, but concealing the arise from my husband was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. That was it. I just 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 lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big guy, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may force 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 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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