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Three months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never would have had we not moved across 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 easily confess I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, filthy and horrible .
In dream, I wanted everyone to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, but I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not desire aid. The dangers exceeded the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. I love Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, got to know me, inside and out, then started her professional adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a long and tough one for me, however nothing beneficial comes easy as my dad would say. 8 months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a police investigator, 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 dealing with 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 unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and revolting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, fathers raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, spouses handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a very sick lady. What I found particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking virus, pressing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, often with me as the featured performer. I stopped my 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, anywhere in the house. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head also. 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 give it a whirl. I practically broke my back in the effort, but a simple self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush handle was no longer enough.
Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothing a excellent offer, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She convinced me I was gorgeous to the severe, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfortable even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic 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 hiding the result from my husband was impossible. My very 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 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 never ever been born. He had actually never ever threatened me with divorce. I might only picture what wishing I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, however the idea never ever left my mind. I believed he might force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good 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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