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Three months earlier, I was your daily homemaker and mother of three-- 2 boys, Phil, 15 Joey, 13 and a girl of twelve, Sandy. Cheating on Max never ever entered my mind, and probably 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 monotony and made me what I am today. I easily 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, dirty and revolting .
In fantasy, I desired 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 was like the addict that understands where the dependency will lead, but doesn't want assistance. The dangers outweighed the consequences since 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 expert controls that led me to where I am now. The journey has been a tough and long one for me, however absolutely nothing rewarding comes easy as my father would state. 8 months of client prodding has actually settled for both me and Staci. Staci loved me from our very first meeting. Her partner is a police investigator, so Max and Joe have the law in typical. Staci and I had nothing in common.
I 'd never heard such shocking and disgusting things in my life: S&M piss-freak orgies, mom's fucking boys, dads raping young daughters, females having sex with animals, mothers seeing dirty old men molest their daughters and getting off on it, better halves handling troops of horny guys, 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 bros, so I was stuck with Staci. I felt like I needed to indulge her. I had to listen to her stories and make fun of her jokes. Her stories were always about somebody she understood or heard about, never ever about anything she had any direct understanding of. I felt like she was just daydreaming aloud, and I thought she was a really sick female. What I discovered especially disturbing was that her repellent fantasies worked their method into my tame dreams like an getting into virus, pushing my simple, reasonably clean daydreams of romantic love out replacing them with fuck and draw orgy marathons, frequently with me as the featured entertainer. I stopped my monthly practice of masturbating in the shower using 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 six months of Staci's stories, I discovered how to lick my own pussy. Staci planted that idea in my head.
We didn't always sit for stories. Most of our time together was invested with Staci doting over me, doing my hair and cosmetics, giving me pedicures, rubbing me, dressing and undressing me continuously. We bought clothes a lot, with Staci making the choices as though she were my closet manager. I accepted her and used what she chose. I let her clear out my closet of all my modest dresses, tossing out every set of pants I owned. I used only brief dresses at Staci's persistence. I ended up being Staci's live Barbie Doll. My dull life ended when I concerned accept my function as a living Barbie Doll. Staci worshipped my body, every inch of it. According to Staci, I had the perfect female form. She persuaded me I was lovely to the extreme, specifically in between my legs. This took some convincing, but she quickly had me comfy even when suffering prior to her with my legs wide apart for a vaginal shave or the vaginal area version of a pedicure-- a cunniecure as she called it. A cannelure began with a aromatic douche and included 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 arise from my husband was impossible. My very first cunnicure prompted Max to sit me down for a stern lecture. In the early days of our marital relationship, Max cautioned me not to cheat. If I ever find out that you cheated on me. If I ever get evidence positive or catch you in the act, I'll make you wish you had actually never been born. He had actually never threatened me with divorce. I could just picture what wanting I 'd never ever been born involved. I seriously questioned he would physically harm me, but the idea never left my mind. I believed he may force me to go through a breast reduction or a cliterectomy. Possibly, he 'd tattoo the word Whore on my forehead. He may fit me with a chastity belt. Staci and I had a great make fun of 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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