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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of 3-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe.
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 easily admit 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, dirty and horrible .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the brand-new me. In reality, I didn't want to market 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 dependency will lead, however does not want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't assist that. Because the sex was that good, the risks outweighed the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a authorities investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, dads raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck to Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my easy, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in 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 also. 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 give it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I accepted her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My boring life ended when I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the severe, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my other half was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted 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 never been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he might require me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent make fun of the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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