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Three months earlier, I was your everyday homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, disgusting and dirty .
In fantasy, I wanted everybody to understand 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 was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, however doesn't desire aid. The threats exceeded the repercussions because the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our first conference. Her spouse is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading virus, pushing my basic, fairly tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and used what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have actually always thought of myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Furthermore, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty fracture next to a shit hole. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the extreme, especially in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a fragrant douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a extensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result 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 cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't quite comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a big guy, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, however the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Perhaps, 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, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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