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3 months back, I was your everyday homemaker and mom of three-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman 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 junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, dirty and disgusting .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and possibly wind up in prison. I couldn't help that. The dangers outweighed the effects because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police investigator, 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 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 disturbing and her language godawful. In blended business, I laughed uneasily at her crude jokes, however the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking children, dads raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little women. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, 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 found especially troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an getting into virus, pressing my basic, reasonably tidy visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured entertainer. 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, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a fantastic deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. I have actually always thought of myself as being too short, too skinny, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I considered the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation 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 spouse was impossible. My 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. I remember being incensed at the mere suggestion. This time, I listened attentively as he said, Theresa, I'm not the kind of guy that lives in fear of his spouse unfaithful on him. I won't have you followed. I will not question your activities or the method you dress. I will not sleuth or ask concerns. You can go and come as you please. If I ever discover that you cheated on me. I'll make you want you had never ever been born if I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however 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 ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a big male, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he may 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 great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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