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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- two 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.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, dirty and disgusting .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Since the sex was that great, the risks surpassed the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her spouse is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In blended company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my simple, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned 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 give it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage 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, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have always thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty fracture beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing 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 began with a aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my other half was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned 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 want you had actually never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, 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, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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