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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of three-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. My hubby, 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 once a month, I felt guilty.
The life of a housewife with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my dullness and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, disgusting and filthy .
In fantasy, I desired everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to advertise that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I resembled the addict that knows where the dependency will lead, however does not want aid. I feared my sexual dependency would practically damage my marriage. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. The risks exceeded the effects due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. I enjoy 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 first meeting. Her other half is a authorities detective, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking children, dads raping young children, females having sex with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, spouses taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, canines 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 to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was simply daydreaming aloud, and I believed she was a very ill woman. What I found particularly disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an getting into infection, pressing my simple, relatively clean daydreams of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and started a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Many of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, offering me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothes a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe manager. I used just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female kind. She persuaded me I was stunning to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version 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 thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the arise from my spouse was impossible. My 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 evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had actually never been born. That was it. I simply 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 hit a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. Max is a huge man, a man of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the thought never ever left my mind. I thought he may force 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 excellent laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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