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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, filthy and disgusting .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't want assistance. I feared my sexual addiction would practically ruin my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and potentially wind up in prison. I could not assist that. Due to the fact that the sex was that great, the dangers outweighed the consequences. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, however absolutely nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. 8 months of patient prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first conference. Her hubby is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, daddies raping young children, women making love with animals, moms enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs 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 with Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was simply daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a really sick female. What I found particularly troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my easy, reasonably clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 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 provide it a whirl. I nearly broke my back in the effort, however 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 constantly. We shopped for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the selections 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 trousers I owned. I wore just brief gowns 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 ideal female type. She convinced me I was beautiful to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof favorable or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. Max is a huge man, a guy of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never ever 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 might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a good make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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