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3 months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we stagnated across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than once a month, I felt guilty.
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 freely confess I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, filthy and revolting .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market 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 dependency will lead, however does not desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I could not assist that. The risks outweighed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that good. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first conference. Her spouse is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In mixed company, I chuckled uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my easy, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 give it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the best female kind. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included 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 hiding the arise from my spouse 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 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 actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may require 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, unusually enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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