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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and unclean, revolting and dirty .
In dream, I desired everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire aid. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps wind up in prison. I could not assist that. The dangers surpassed the consequences because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. Eight months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a cops investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, I found her rather dull and one dimensional. She's also rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a pudgy face. She left 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 mixed company, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little women. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just thinking aloud, and I thought she was a really sick lady. What I found especially troubling was that her vile fantasies worked their method into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my basic, fairly tidy daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck 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 the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't always 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 looked for clothing a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet supervisor. I accepted her and used what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of trousers I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area 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, however hiding the arise from my hubby was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned 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 never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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