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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we stagnated 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 housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and filthy .
In dream, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote 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 does not want help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. The risks outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a extremely sick woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my easy, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically 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, throughout your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a excellent deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have constantly thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was beautiful to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my partner was impossible. My 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 proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge 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 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 excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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