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Three months back, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, disgusting and filthy .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish 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 doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks outweighed the effects because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her spouse is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely 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 tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended company, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however 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, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, women having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little women. 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 someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her disgusting fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my basic, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout 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. 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 nearly broke my back in the attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting 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 best female type. I have constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I believed of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however concealing the arise from my hubby was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the thought never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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