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3 months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot attorney with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than as soon as a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, revolting and dirty .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but 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 does not desire help. The threats outweighed the effects because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her husband is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In blended company, 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 boys, daddies raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet 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 someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found especially disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my easy, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily 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 concept in my head too. 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 offer it a try. I almost broke my back in the attempt, but 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, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before 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 scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the arise from my other half was difficult. My very 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 proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wishing I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he might require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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