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3 months back, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, horrible and filthy .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want help. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks outweighed the consequences because the sex was that great. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her specialist controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, but absolutely nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered 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 working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In blended company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, daddies raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, 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 discovered especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my simple, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly 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, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head too. 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 almost broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.
Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothes a fantastic deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I used only short dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my hubby was difficult. My 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. I keep in mind being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he stated, Theresa, I'm not the kind of man that resides in fear of his other half cheating on him. I won't have you followed. I won't question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever learn that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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