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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 young boys, 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit 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 filthy, horrible and filthy .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know 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 junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not want help. The dangers outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, but nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, better halves taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included performer. 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 house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out 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 try. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush deal with was no longer enough.
Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used just short dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have always considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was stunning to the severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad 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 included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however concealing the result from my spouse was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever discover 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 actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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