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3 months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. My partner, Maxwell Blake, is a big-shot lawyer with the DA's office. 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 boredom and made me what I am today. I freely confess I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think of, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, dirty and revolting .
In fantasy, I desired everybody to know 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 resembled the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire help. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually damage my marital relationship. I 'd lose my children and perhaps end up in prison. I couldn't assist that. The dangers outweighed the consequences because the sex was that great. I like Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, learnt more about me, inside and out, then started her professional controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a long and hard one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would say. Eight months of patient prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her hubby is a authorities detective, 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 troubling and her language godawful. In blended company, I chuckled uncomfortably at her crude jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such stunning and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, fathers raping young daughters, women making love with animals, moms seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, wives handling troops of horny men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck with Staci. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. What I found particularly troubling was that her disgusting dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an invading virus, pushing my simple, relatively clean musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and suck orgy marathons, often with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my regular monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a day-to-day session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, anywhere in the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I learned how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. She informed 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 offer it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
Most of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We went shopping for clothing a fantastic offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe manager. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. 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 severe, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when suffering prior to her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but concealing the result from my partner was difficult. 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 favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had never been born. He had never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only envision what wanting I 'd never ever been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never ever left my mind. I thought he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, unusually enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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