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3 months ago, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 freely confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, unclean and horrible .
In dream, I desired everyone to understand the 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, but doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly wind up in prison. I could not help that. Because the sex was that great, the dangers outweighed the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a cops detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, women having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or found out about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just thinking out loud, and I thought she was a very sick lady. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my basic, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my month-to-month practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea 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 try. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a simple 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, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only short dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant 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, but hiding the result from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture 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 quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a female. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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