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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily admit I am a sex addict, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and dirty, disgusting and dirty .
In dream, I desired everybody to know the 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 was like the addict that knows where the addiction will lead, however doesn't desire assistance. I feared my sexual dependency would virtually destroy my marital relationship. I 'd lose my kids and possibly end up in prison. I could not assist that. Since the sex was that excellent, the threats surpassed the consequences. 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 conference. Her husband is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in typical.
I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking sons, daddies raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, moms viewing dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, wives taking on troops of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pets 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 to Staci. I felt like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or found out about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was merely thinking aloud, and I believed she was a really ill lady. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her disgusting fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, relatively clean visions of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I found out how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We shopped for clothing a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and wore what she picked out. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every pair of trousers I owned. I wore just short dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my boring life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was gorgeous to the severe, specifically between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when suffering before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a aromatic douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however 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 marriage, Max warned 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 ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, but I didn't rather comprehend. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do precisely. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a female. He had never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wanting I 'd never been born required. Max is a big male, a man of John Wayne stature who might snap my back with one hand. I seriously doubted he would physically hurt me, however the idea never left my mind. I believed 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 launched Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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