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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- two 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 across the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is tiring 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 about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, disgusting and filthy .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know 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 junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire assistance. The dangers outweighed the effects since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. Eight months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her partner is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters disturbing and her language atrocious. In combined business, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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 someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a really sick woman. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, reasonably tidy daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept 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 give it a whirl. 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. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices 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 pair of pants I owned. I used just short dresses at Staci's persistence. 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 best female kind. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs large 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the arise from my partner was impossible. My 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 favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just picture what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I believed he might force 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 great make fun of 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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