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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom 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 desire my sex down and dirty, revolting and dirty .
In dream, I wanted 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 was like the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not want help. The dangers exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner 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 dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In mixed business, I laughed 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 disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny men, 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 bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a extremely sick female. What I found particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pressing my basic, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. I have actually constantly considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever discover 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 been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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