Stella Stories – Page 5 – The Real Sex Life of a Starlet Wife

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My husband was on his back when I joined him in bed last night. We talked like lovers do about our day, what we loved about dinner, and the sex we had the night before.

“Your face was buried in my pussy, sweetheart. It was terrific! I wrote all about it on my blog,” I said rubbing his chest up and down taking into account the length of the generally long hairs that cover his body. They are shorter now. He must have done a quick shave, I thought.

My hand reached all of the way down to his crotch discovering a light, soft pile of manly squishiness and brittle hair. To my surprise, no erection.

Like a Downtown Parade

He ate me out for an hour at least, licking my clit and fingering my pussy. I liked the short strokes pressing on the back side of my clit. My husband calls that the little dick guy. I don’t know exactly which of his fingers he was using, but it felt kinda like a thumb.

He tried to bring me to an orgasm on my back, but the sensations came and went like waves in the ocean. They’d build then they’d disappear. The crash on shore wasn’t strong enough to produce a climax inside of me. So I turned over and put my butt in the air.

Like Two Best Friends

We’ve hit the wall, folks, the wall of overflowing satisfaction. Sex everyday is sucking our souls, in both a good and bad ways.

After a nice dinner and chatting like best friends at the future RV resort property over wine and between sweet validations of our continued appreciation for one another, we descended into bed like friends too. We hugged and kissed and touched each other’s bodies, but something we different. Desire wasn’t oozing from our pores, not his and definitely not mine.

In Her Pearls

Our alarm went off and we assumed the puzzle piece position of our love. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Stella, my queen, my whore, my lover. I’m so in love with you.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day my king. I love you so much too.”

I ordered my own red, pink and white roses, and planned to make tacos for dinner. I hope he doesn’t buy chocolate hearts and dorky cards. He should know at this point I’m picky and only eat a few types of dark chocolate.

That Red Sweater

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.

Happy with Any Change

Nope. Not a housewife. Decided last night abruptly after watching a video that inspired the living daylights out of me.

The sensation has been brewing, first as question then as a possibility, and most recently as a statement. I’ve found myself trying on the title, like it’s a pageant sash, throwing it into conversation and measuring both my reaction and the response from others.

Two Pump Chump

We had sex for two minutes this morning. It was two minutes longer than I desired.

It’s funny how you can be so attracted to someone and want to touch all over them constantly yet not feel an immediate pull to fuck. That’s what it feels like for me right now.

It’s a moving target, my daily horniness rating that is On my days it ranges from absolutely nothing to a twinge of interest followed by an extreme annoyance before landing on a momentary acceptance . Occasionally I’m dying to be smothered under my husband’s masculine body and aching with the impact of each progressively deeper thrust, but it’s not as often as I’d like it to be and no where near as much as he wants.

The Best… Pussy

I tore my clothes off last night and pranced across the room to my side of the bed. My husband lowered his phone and watched with anticipation, his eyes aglow. I think even a whistle fell from his lips.

When I reached the bed, he was already folding the cover down inviting me to join him in the cozy comfort of our well-worn love nest. I jumped in and on him planting kisses like a happy girl. He smelled clean and his arms felt solid as he wrapped them around me and squeezed me tight. Like puzzle pieces, we fit together so well, so perfectly. But my feet, they were cold like ice and he pushed them away.

My Most Important Work

Am I really an America housewife? Well, the truth is, not really. I do make money with a business I started more than a decade ago. It’s a tech business that still pays me through monthly subscriptions. There really isn’t any work required of me since I pay someone else to do the service and pocket the remainder of the money for myself.

But up until about two years ago, I was growing my business, bringing on new clients and spending the work day as a professional in a dress taking calls in my downtown office. But something happened to me, something very real and shocking. I told my husband I was going to focus my energy being a on star and get out of the tech world for good.

Being One with Mr. Right

It was date night last night. We drank and talked in our bedroom before dressing and heading out for dinner. Half naked, I reclined on my vintage white velvet sofa with red wine in my hand, and he relaxed in the matching wing chair sipping coke and whiskey. It had been quite an eventful day.

I laughed and laughed as he told me stories about each of the characters he ran into at the DMV. One of our sons was getting his driver’s license, so they chose Friday afternoon to take the test. It took three hours for their number to be called which left them people watching to kill time.