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Three months back, I was your daily homemaker and mother of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a woman of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe.
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 easily admit I am a sex junkie, a whore, a slut. Sex is all I think about, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and filthy, dirty and horrible .
In dream, I desired everybody to understand the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to market 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 addiction will lead, however doesn't want aid. I feared my sexual addiction would essentially destroy my marriage. I 'd lose my kids and perhaps end up in prison. I could not assist that. Because the sex was that great, the threats outweighed the consequences. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. She took her time with me, was familiar with me, inside and out, then started her professional manipulations that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a difficult and long one for me, however nothing worthwhile comes easy as my daddy would say. Eight months of client prodding has settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her husband is a police 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 chubby face. She dropped out of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I discovered her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended business, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, but the stories she told me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never ever heard such stunning and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking boys, daddies raping young children, ladies making love with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, other halves handling troops of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little ladies. She had my head swimming in a swamp of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like siblings, so I was stuck to Staci. I seemed like I had to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about someone she knew or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was merely daydreaming out loud, and I believed she was a really sick female. What I found especially troubling was that her repellent fantasies worked their way into my tame fantasies like an attacking infection, pushing my simple, fairly tidy musings of romantic love out changing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the included 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 home. After 6 months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that concept in my head. 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 offer it a whirl. I almost broke my back in the effort, but a basic self-fuck with cucumbers or my child's hair brush manage was no longer enough.
We didn't always sit for stories. The majority of our time together was spent with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and makeup, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a good deal, with Staci making the selections as though she were my closet manager. I deferred to her and wore what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I wore just brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. My uninteresting life ended when I pertained to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female type. She persuaded me I was lovely to the severe, especially between my legs. This took some convincing, however she quickly had me comfortable even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area 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 comprehensive hot oil massage, and ended with a dab of fragrance. I liked her manicures, but hiding the result from my other half was difficult. My 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 discover out that you cheated on me. If I ever get proof positive or capture you in the act, I'll make you want you had never ever been born. That was it. I merely nodded my understanding, however I didn't rather understand. He didn't elaborate on what he 'd do exactly. Max wasn't the type to ever strike a woman. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I might just imagine what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. Max is a huge guy, a male of John Wayne stature who could snap my back with one hand. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may force me to undergo a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a good laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that launched Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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