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Three months ago, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My other half, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I freely 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 dirty, revolting and filthy .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, but does not want aid. The threats surpassed the consequences because the sex was that excellent. I enjoy 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 first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, women making love with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or became aware of, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was merely thinking out loud, and I thought she was a very sick woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my basic, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a excellent deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I wore only short gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She persuaded me I was beautiful to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before 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 started with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. 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 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 want you had actually never been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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