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Three months ago, I was your daily housewife and mom of three-- 2 young boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never entered my mind, and probably never ever would have had we not moved throughout the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a housewife 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 junkie, a slut, a slut. Sex is all I consider, and no perversion turns me off. I desire my sex down and unclean, filthy and revolting .
In fantasy, I wanted everyone to know the new me. In reality, I didn't wish to advertise that fact, however I had no desire to reverse the self-destructive course Staci had me on.
I was like the junkie that understands where the addiction will lead, but doesn't desire aid. The risks outweighed the consequences due to the fact that the sex was that excellent. 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 adjustments that led me to where I am now. The journey has actually been a challenging and long one for me, but absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my dad would state. Eight months of patient prodding has paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her husband is a police detective, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such stunning and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking kids, fathers raping young daughters, ladies having sex with animals, mothers enjoying dirty old men molest their children and getting off on it, other halves handling soldiers of randy men, blacks on whites, old with young, canines on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and laugh at her jokes. Her stories were constantly about somebody she knew or heard about, never about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I seemed like she was just daydreaming out loud, and I thought she was a very sick woman. What I discovered especially troubling was that her vile dreams worked their method into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pressing my easy, relatively tidy visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, typically with me as the featured performer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower utilizing a water wand, and began a daily session of self-abuse, sticking anything phallic up my cunt or ass, throughout the house. After six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
Many of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and make-up, giving me pedicures, massaging me, dressing and undressing me constantly. We shopped for clothes a fantastic offer, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I used only brief dresses at Staci's insistence. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the ideal female form. I have actually constantly thought of myself as being too brief, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. Additionally, I thought about the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was beautiful to the extreme, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina variation of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began 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 fragrance. I liked her manicures, however hiding the result from my partner was difficult. My very 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 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 ever been born. He had never threatened me with divorce. I could only imagine what wanting I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously questioned he would physically hurt me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast decrease or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a great laugh at the possibilities, but it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to begin me down the roadway of adulterous affairs.
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