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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 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 throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring 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 unclean, horrible and unclean .
In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the 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, however doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not help that. Since the sex was that great, the dangers outweighed the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, but absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered 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 working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language godawful. In combined company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, but 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, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed 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 aloud, and I thought she was a really sick female. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my easy, fairly clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a fantastic deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my other half 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 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 strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, 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, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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