You know sometimes you just need to stay home, watch Netflix, and drink wine and let your usual yoga class slip by unattended. That was my night last night except that I also cooked dinner in my new InstaPot, red beans and rice with grass fed turkey sausage. It took a few glasses of wine before I could figure out how to use the darn thing without hurting myself.
While it heated up, I whipped up some mashed cauliflower with real mozzarella cheese. My husband loves that stuff but I accidentally ate it all between sips of my pinot. Oops. Not sure eating an entire head of cauliflower is healthy however you want to spin it. I believe that everything is good in moderation, which also means that everything is bad if taken to the extreme.
Not sure what I was stressed about, maybe just everything and nothing at the same time. I had a meeting with my attorney yesterday for the upcoming hearing and she told me I speak too fast and too much and need to not when I testify. Perhaps that was the trigger for my cozy stay home alone and drink evening.
Did I mention I also ate chocolate? It helped bury the other sinking feeling I had yesterday, the one that popped up when I learned my son was hiding a stolen phone in his room and using it at night when he’d supposed to be sleeping. All of that on the same day I found out he was chosen to be a duke in the upcoming Mardi Gras parade at his school.
I swear parenting is hard. So is trying to be sexy all of the time… well that’s not really true at all.
“I’m one sexy motha fucker,” I grinned at the reflection in the huge floor length mirror in my goddess palace. No one was home, and I’d just poured myself a third glass of wine. “I need to be on stage somewhere. I need to be seen by a lot of people. I am a star. Just fuckin look at me! I am a queen.”
I stayed in that spot for at least five minutes turning and admiring my breasts, perky and full, my butt, round and youthful, my legs, slender but athletic, and my face, heart shaped and dynamic. The red sweater was both casual and bold and my tight jeans accentuated all of my curves. My lashes were on point, my hair was perfectly blown out with a hint of curl, and my skin was sun-kissed but not orange. My fabulous gold earrings bookend my cheekbones and twinkle in the light as I walk and turn my head.
The visions of large parties in the city and grand galas I could emcee rushed into my mind. Maybe I could be a politician. Nope, too much dirty work. I’m a socialite, a personality, a comedian, a leader. Fuck I can’t stay in this house, holed up like a monk any fucking longer.
“Do that again,” my husband said. He has just gotten home with the boys. I accidentally bounced in front of him excited to show him that I made dinner in the InstaPot and hoped he was going to like it.
I caught this eye and bounced up and down slightly giving my ample breasts the freedom to shine and show their fun side. We were the only two people in the kitchen. My reflection wasn’t just singing to me, apparently sexy was written all over this red sweater and the confident woman underneath. My husband was eating it up. He gave me a long hug and kissed my lips passionately.
“Can’t wait to fuck the hell out of you,” he whispered.
“Me neither.” I pulled away and bent over the countertop.
He slapped my butt and pulled my hair. We heard the kids getting closer, so we loosened up our act.
After dinner, my husband showered and I sat just outside the curtain in my bra and panties so I could tell him about my day in detail. I didn’t bother to tell him about the attorney but choose instead to talk about filming my series.
“I learned that I’m just not a details person. I mean, I can handle the details some what, but it’s not my forte and I’m really not good at it. I’m better in generalities and concepts. I’m best smiling and being funny and charming.”
“That’s because you’re a star, Stella. That’s what you do. And you really are one sexy woman, babe. God I’m in love with you.”
He gave me a few ideas for improving the content of the videos before we switched our attention to lovemaking.
I’m not even going to lie. I can barely even remember what we did. Was it the wine or the repetition? Everyday sex tends to get blurry over time I’ve noticed. I think we started with my laying on my back. He slid my panties off and licked my pussy for awhile. I tried to pay attention but caught my mind wondering to some other place and some other problem. Staying present was difficult.
He then unsnapped my lacy bra and let my breasts fall to the side a little kissing my nipples lightly. His dick wasn’t far behind, I think. It generally isn’t and the rocking began.
I lifted my head to see but in the dimmed light and without my contacts all that was left were fuzzy shapes and my mind’s great imagination. “You like looking, huh, Stella?”
“I can’t see much,” I was honest.
He pushed his body up higher so I could at least see the solid shape of a dark cylinder disappearing inside of me. The feeling it caused was tremendously good and even better when I reached down and rubbed my clit. That horny girl is such a hoe. She likes it so much when I start to think about other guys doing this.
I thought about being that neighborhood whore again, the one who spreads her legs for free. She likes attention and gets plenty of it with her pussy. Guys come to see her all of the time. It’s best when they don’t touch her but with their dicks, no hands, no kissing, no body heat, just her hole sucking the cum from it.
My husband seems to read my mind and starts saying things like, “You can’t cum until I fuck you. You’re just a fuck toy for the other ten guys. You’re just an easy whore, a horny whore.”
I cam quickly then jerking my body around and moaning at the top of my lungs. I do remember hoping the kids didn’t hear me. What do they think of me? Do my step sons find me sexy? Does my son wish I weren’t?
Then it was my husband’s turn to get off and that took forever. If he was two pump chump two days ago, last night he was almost cut off from gluttony. He fucked me one way and fucked me another. I squeezed my pussy tight, tight, tight trying to make it go faster, but it didn’t work. He was on fire or maybe feeling my lack of overall presence.
I ended up on the edge of the bed. I think that’s better for his knees. He turned me over and motioned for my butt to go up and my back to down. It’s my perfect orgasmic C.
He fucked me hard, hard enough to make me whimper. I felt like a punching bag, dough for him to pound. But he wanted it deeper, he wanted me tighter, he needed something more to get him to cum. I stayed still and didn’t complain. My pussy has a job, my mind doesn’t have to be in the game.
A moment later, or maybe an hour, I felt his jerking come to an end. He made a few relaxing sounds and kissed my shoulder and the back of my head. My pussy swallowed it all like a good girl dribbling only a little drop on the bed.