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Three months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and horrible .
In dream, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't desire assistance. The threats surpassed the consequences since the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a challenging and long one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my daddy would state. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her other half is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my simple, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. 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, anywhere in 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 informed 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 effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted 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 wish you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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