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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- two 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 across 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 confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, dirty and horrible .
In fantasy, 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 junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not desire help. The dangers exceeded the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her expert manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and hard one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would state. 8 months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, ladies making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a extremely ill lady. What I found especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, reasonably tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head. She informed 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 whirl. I almost broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the choices 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 gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I used just brief gowns at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female form. I have always thought of 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 stunning to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering 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, however hiding the result from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I just 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 never threatened me with divorce. I might only imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may 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 great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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