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3 months earlier, I was your daily housewife and mother of three-- two boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My husband, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's workplace. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe. I was so straight if I masturbated more than when a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, 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 everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise 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, but doesn't desire assistance. The dangers outweighed the repercussions because the sex was that good. I like Staci for what she's done. 8 months of patient prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first conference. Her partner is a police detective, 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, daddies raping young children, females making love with animals, mothers watching dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of horny guys, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. 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 always about someone she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. What I found especially disturbing was that her repellent dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading infection, pushing my basic, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured performer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head too. She told 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 almost broke my back in the attempt, however a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We bought clothing a good deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to 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 used only short gowns at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull 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 form. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to 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 started with a scented douche and included a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 actually never ever been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I could only envision what wanting I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically damage me, however the thought never left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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