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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty.
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 addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, revolting and unclean .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not help that. The threats outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that good. I enjoy 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 first meeting. Her husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby 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 business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, daddies raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners handling soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just thinking out loud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. 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, throughout 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 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 offer it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
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 constantly. We went shopping for clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I wore just short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing 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 warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover 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 never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big man, a guy 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. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good 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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