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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 homemaker 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 whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, unclean and revolting .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, however does not desire assistance. The dangers exceeded the effects because the sex was that excellent. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a authorities detective, 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 tubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In blended company, I laughed uncomfortably at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking kids, dads raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pressing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She told 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 provide it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the attempt, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every pair 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 ideal female type. I have constantly considered 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 gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant 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 husband was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever discover 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 ever been born. That was it. I just nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just envision what wishing I 'd never ever been born entailed. Max is a huge male, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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