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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty.
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 admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, disgusting and filthy .
In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the brand-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 dependency will lead, but does not want help. The dangers outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered 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 found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined company, I chuckled uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told 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 children, dads raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. 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 always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pressing my easy, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day 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 always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We purchased clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. 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 perfect female form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, 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, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my other half was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through 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 laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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