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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl 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.
Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. Sex is all I believe about, and no perversion turns me off.
In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however 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 want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The threats exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her other half is a cops 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 likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. 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 seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely thinking aloud, and I believed she was a really sick female. What I found especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pushing my easy, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function 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 kind. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My first cunnicure prompted 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 positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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