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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. 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.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, unclean and horrible .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not desire help. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't help that. Due to the fact that the sex was that excellent, the risks exceeded the consequences. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just thinking aloud, and I believed she was a really ill lady. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my simple, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. I have always thought about myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and included 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 result from my hubby 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 warned me not to cheat. If I ever find out 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 ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force 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, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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