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Three months back, 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.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, revolting and unclean .
In dream, I wanted everybody 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 junkie that knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want help. The threats outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her hubby is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six 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 provide it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have constantly considered myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. In addition, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area 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 hiding the arise from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a big man, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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