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3 months ago, I was your everyday housewife and mom of 3-- 2 kids, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a lady of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and most likely never would have had we not moved across the street from Staci and Joe.
The life of a homemaker with all kids in school is tiring to the extreme. Staci ended my boredom and made me what I am today. I freely admit 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 unclean, disgusting and dirty .
In dream, I wanted everybody to know the brand-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 resembled the junkie that understands where the dependency will lead, but does not want help. I feared my sexual dependency would practically ruin my marriage. I 'd lose my children and potentially end up in prison. I couldn't help that. The risks exceeded the effects because the sex was that excellent. I enjoy Staci for what she's done. 8 months of client prodding has actually paid off for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our first meeting. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in common. Staci and I had 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 tubby face. She left of high school, whereas I am working on my masters in English. I found her childish fascination with sexual matters troubling and her language atrocious. In blended business, I laughed uneasily at her unrefined jokes, however the stories she informed me when we were alone left me speechless.
I 'd never heard such shocking and horrible things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mother's fucking sons, fathers raping young children, ladies having sex with animals, mothers viewing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, partners taking on soldiers of randy guys, blacks on whites, old with young, dogs on little girls. She had my head swimming in a overload of perverse sex. Max and Joe got along like brothers, so I was stuck with Staci. I seemed like I needed to indulge her. I needed to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were constantly about someone she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct knowledge of. I felt like she was just fantasizing aloud, and I thought she was a extremely sick female. What I discovered particularly disturbing was that her vile dreams worked their way into my tame dreams like an invading infection, pushing my simple, reasonably clean visions of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and suck 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 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.
We didn't constantly sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, providing me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We looked for clothes a great deal, with Staci making the choices as though she were my wardrobe supervisor. I deferred to her and wore what she selected. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest gowns, throwing out every pair of pants I owned. I used just brief dresses at Staci's insistence. I became Staci's live Barbie Doll. When I came to accept my role as a living Barbie Doll, my uninteresting life ended. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female type. I have constantly thought about myself as being too short, too slim, too hippy, and too top-heavy. I thought of the female genitalia as a nasty crack next to a shit hole. She encouraged me I was stunning to the severe, particularly in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when languishing before her with my legs broad apart for a vaginal shave or the vagina version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure started with a fragrant douche and included 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 very first cunnicure triggered Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max warned me not to cheat. If I ever find 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 actually never ever been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could only picture what wishing I 'd never been born entailed. I seriously doubted he would physically damage me, but the idea never left my mind. I thought he may require me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Staci and I had a excellent laugh at the possibilities, however it was Max's threatening lecture, strangely enough, that released Staci's crusade to start me down the road of adulterous affairs.
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