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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never 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 homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I easily confess 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, revolting and dirty .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. The threats surpassed the repercussions since the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet 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 with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a extremely ill female. What I found especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pressing my basic, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a terrific offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I used only short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. I have constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy 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 fragrant douche and involved 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 other half was impossible. 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wanting I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big guy, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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