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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and disgusting .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand 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 was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire assistance. The threats outweighed the consequences because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her other half is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 to Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a extremely sick woman. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included performer. I stopped my 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 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 offer it a try. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter'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 make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every set of pants I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I concerned accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female type. I have constantly thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing prior to 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 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 spouse was impossible. 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 positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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