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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My spouse, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever 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 homemaker with all kids in school is boring 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 consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, horrible and unclean .
In fantasy, I desired everybody to understand the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not help that. The threats outweighed the repercussions since the sex was that good. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then began her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and challenging one for me, however nothing rewarding comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common. In fact, I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise 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 discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language godawful. In combined company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my basic, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included 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 learned 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 try. I nearly broke my back in the effort, but a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore only short gowns at Staci's insistence. 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 perfect female type. She encouraged me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and involved 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 result from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never been born. That was it. I merely 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 hit a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big man, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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