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Three months earlier, I was your everyday housewife and mother of 3-- two kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. My other half, 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 stagnated 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 homemaker with all kids in school is boring to the extreme. Staci ended my monotony and made me what I am today. I freely admit I am a sex addict, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I want my sex down and filthy, horrible and filthy .
In fantasy, I desired everybody to know the new me. In reality, I didn't want to promote that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that knows where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The dangers outweighed the effects since the sex was that great. I love Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci adored me from our very first meeting. Her other half is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never ever heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, dads raping young daughters, ladies making love with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of horny males, blacks on whites, old with young, pet dogs on little ladies. 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 needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or became aware of, never about anything she had any direct understanding of. I seemed like she was merely fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a very sick woman. What I discovered particularly troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my easy, fairly clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the included entertainer. I stopped my month-to-month 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, throughout your house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head as well. 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 attempt, however a easy self-fuck with cucumbers or my daughter's hair brush manage was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, offering me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We purchased clothing a lot, with Staci making the selections as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, throwing out every set of trousers I owned. I wore just brief gowns at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my dull life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have constantly considered myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Moreover, I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack beside a shit hole. She convinced me I was stunning to the extreme, particularly between my legs. This took some convincing, however she soon had me comfy even when suffering before her with my legs large apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a scented douche and involved a close shave, a clitty suck to orgasm, a thorough hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of perfume. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my spouse was difficult. My very first cunnicure prompted 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 find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence favorable or catch you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born required. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the thought never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Maybe, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He might fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that introduced Staci's crusade to begin me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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