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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 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 throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely 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 dirty, unclean and disgusting .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know the brand-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 resembled the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, however doesn't want help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and possibly end up in prison. I couldn't help that. The dangers exceeded the effects due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. 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 conference. Her partner is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had absolutely nothing in common. I discovered her rather dull and one dimensional. She's likewise rather plain and plump with short-cropped hair and a tubby 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 atrocious. In mixed business, I laughed uncomfortably at her crude 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, mother's fucking children, fathers raping young daughters, women having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling soldiers of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pets on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an attacking virus, pushing my simple, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw 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 everyday session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of pants I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's insistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my function as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female kind. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, but she soon had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs broad 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 involved 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 concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marriage, Max alerted me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply nodded my understanding, however I didn't quite understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever hit a lady. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just envision what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a big male, a guy of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically harm me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, oddly enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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