He jacked his dick off in my mouth yesterday morning. That’s a check in his sex box for the day, but by the time I got home from a fashion show late last night, my husband was sleeping like an angel. No sexy time for me, unless you count the silliness going on at the show. Then maybe Stella Stories can take a trip outside of the goddess palace for today to meet the people and places that make up my world.
In my world, I’m a star. There’s no bones about it. You might not know me, but I assure you plenty of people do. And most of them like me too, including my friend who runs the fashion show.
“Oh Stella, I’m so glad you could make it. You look terrific tonight in your pink dress. So sexy.” My friend grabs my hand and leads me past the crowd at the door and towards the photographers and bright runway lights. “Let me show you to your seat. Can I grab you a drink? Glass of wine maybe?” I stop to take some red carpet shots with the photographers before taking my seat.
For one evening a year, hundreds of people in the region gather at one of our swanky hotels to ooh and aah over the new trends that grace the runway. Pretty people wearing pretty clothes prance up and down the red carpet and the audience whispers, laughs, nods, even claps in resp0nse. It’s such a fancy treat to spend an evening like this. So Paris.
I’m always a judge of the show. Why? Because I’ve got it like that! Did I mention yet that people know me? Oh, and I’m quite a sight to see. Most eyes look my way when I enter any room. It’s hard not to check out a glamorous lady with an hourglass figure and bright red lips. I look that way in a jogging suit. Just imagine what happens when I actually dress to impress.
The microphone is my best friend too. My voice is solid and deep, confident and seductive. I don’t mind holding the floor with my words, and I certainly don’t mind all of the pictures. Snap, snap, the star has entered the ballroom. I generally smile real big for each picture, but last night I realized I needed to practice a more sassy look for the lens.
Yes, I flatter myself, but honestly there is some truth in everything I wrote. Shouldn’t we all talk ourselves up? Shouldn’t we all be the stars of our life? If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be enjoying all my sexy stories, now would you? But I digress…
There was this model at the show. I don’t know his name, but I can certainly tell you what he looked like. He was huge. And by huge, I don’t mean fat, I mean big and tall. He looked like a regular sized man inflated with an air pump. He was probably 6’10 with long dark hair, dark eyes, and medium dark skin. I called him “Amazon Man.” Some of the other lady judges said he resembled a well-known exotic looking actor on the hit TV show “Lost.”
This model’s chest was easily two feet wide in the front and his hands together could easily wrap my waist like a belt. In between the lady chatter that grew louder every time he hit the runway, I caught myself wondering about his dick size. My eyes would drift from his chest to his crotch. How big is it? What would it feel like to have it inside of me? I giggled and maybe blushed. The judge next to me was getting video of this rare specimen of masculine form when I accidentally said aloud “Come to Momma!” I think I growled like a cat too.
“Damn, Stella,” the redhead judge teased as she stopped recording, “Guess I can’t use that for my Instagram video!” She laughed. The other judges laughed too. No one else in the room did because they were still starring at the monster model as he finished his round and exited the grand room… well, at least all of the ladies were starring. I can’t attest to what the men were doing.
Was he modeling clothing? I guess so, but I cannot for the life of me remember one thing Amazon Man was wearing. All I thought was damn, sexy, oh my God, come this way, fuck he’s hot. Some of those words may have actually fallen out from my pretty red lips. Is this really me?
“Stella, you are hilarious,” the blonde judge laughed. “We should start a show called Hot or Not. You’ve be a great judge of that! You are cracking me up.”
“He could throw me in the air and swirl me around some,” said one of the older ladies in the audience. She came up to us between clothing lines to give us her personal critique rundown on the unique designs and the models in them.
“I’d let him do more than that,” the darker skin judge pursed her lips and gave Amazon Man a very approving grin. She’s married. Hell, I think we all are. But sexy is as sexy does and not one of us can be blamed from admiring beauty for what it was.
Another line is coming down the runway, more pretty people wearing pretty clothes. For the lady models, I feel like a perfectly unbiased critic because I have no problem picking the models apart to rate each of their attributes individually.
“She’s very pretty and has a great bod,” I’d say as this tall dark headed gazelle passed, “but her walk is weak. She doesn’t have enough confidence. Scratch her.”
Another model. “Oh, she’s sassy. I like her, but I’m having a hard time getting passed her acne. I hate to be like that, but this is kind of a total package deal, right? Let’s keep her on the maybe list.”
All of the judges agreed.
We’d rate the ladies according to the rules, but when the men came out, we were like five chunks of jelly rainbow shaking in a bowl. Yes, we were, because I promise it wasn’t just me.
“Oh my God he’s hot,” I said of another man, a younger man with a slight Afro and defined chest.
“Look at this butt,” the redhead judge remarked as another sexy male model streaked by.
We all looked and agreed. Yes, he’s sexy too.
“I really like the guy with the hashtag DadBod,” the dark skin judge said about a tall muscular model in his 40s with a slight beer gut. He was hot, but honestly she too was a sight to see. She has pink hair and plump perfect lips. And she was studying each male model’s body like tomorrow depended on it.
“I think I can understand men more now,” I told the young brunette judge on my left. The blonde judge leaned in to hear, so did the redhead. “Men seem to have a hard time assessing a woman’s skill if she’s attractive. Look at us, we’re gaga over Amazon Man and not one of us knows if he’s even a good model.”
We all giggle. It’s so fun to be so silly. What took me so long to get here?
“Hashtag Dirty Old Women,” the blonde judge jokes.
“Hashtag Cougartown,” the brunette judge laughs.
Honestly none of us are old enough to really be cougars, unless Amazon Man was 16… which I can say without a shadow of a doubt he was not! He’s very much a man. A huge mother fuckin’ man. And every woman in that hotel ballroom regardless of her age would like to take him for a ride.. even if only in her fantasy.
Spoiler alert. We ended up not picking him to be the top male model. Our pussies didn’t win. We gave the award to a boyish blonde man who did a great job modeling his clothing without making us wanna take off ours. Not one of the judges thought he was sexy during the show. Is that how professional women ultimately make decisions? I wonder. I’m still wondering about Amazon Man.
As we packed our bags and were leaving, the blonde judge made her way to my side and whispered something in my ear. “Stella, thanks so much for being so fun tonight and making this show such a riot. I always feel like I have to act like a prude in public, like I always have to be so stinking professional.”
“I here ya girl.” I squeezed her hand. “But we don’t have to.. we can have as much as fun as we want.”
She laughed. “But when you said ‘Come to momma,’ you got us all talking about that huge Hawaiian looking dude. It seemed so normal, so right. Thanks for that. There’s something so free about you. I can’t wait to do this again next year.”
I blushed. It was such a sweet comment and in some ways very new for me too. I wanted to respond, if you think tonight was a riot, go check out my sex stories at StellaStories.com, but I couldn’t. I can’t. As free as I feel to talk about basic sexual desire in public, sharing my real sex stories openly is still not something I feel comfortable doing just yet.