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3 months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, horrible and dirty .
In dream, I desired everyone to understand 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 understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that excellent, the dangers surpassed the effects. I like 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 hubby is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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 to 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 always about someone she understood or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my simple, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly 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 home. 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 whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have always considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to 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 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 other half was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered 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 favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I merely 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 lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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