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Three months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 boys, 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and dirty, disgusting and dirty .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not desire aid. The risks exceeded the effects because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, but nothing worthwhile comes easy as my father would say. 8 months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her husband is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
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, ladies making love with animals, moms watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a really ill woman. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pressing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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 home. After 6 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 makeup, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We looked for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I deferred to her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable 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 aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My 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 positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a huge guy, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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