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3 months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, horrible and unclean .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to market that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but does not desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers outweighed the repercussions due to the fact that the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a challenging and long one for me, but nothing beneficial comes easy as my father would say. Eight months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her other half is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am dealing with my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In combined company, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on troops of horny guys, 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 siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my simple, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular 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 your house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to 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 scented 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, but concealing the result 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 warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never been born involved. Max is a big male, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require me to undergo a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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