We danced again last night in our bedroom. The competition is in three days. We ordered my husband some fancy dancy handmade leather tango shoes from Italy for the event. It took them three weeks to make and ship, but they arrived two days ago smelling up the kitchen with their leathery freshness when we opened the box.
“Wow,” he exclaimed when he squeezed his foot in one of them. “They fit my feet like a glove. This is amazing. Thanks, babe.”
The way he brushed his hand against my arm and down my back last night was tender seduction. My hand fell to the curve of his back in a graceful poetic tuck of the wrist. The middle finger grounds me to his body while the rest innocently stick out. Love permeated from our bodies as we embraced for the dance and made the first circular move with our feet.
“Five minutes of dancing,” I said a moment before that.
“Fifteen,” he countered.
It was 10pm, the kids were in bed, and both of us were tired from the day’s many activities.
“Five,” I held firm and pressed play on the music app on my iPhone. The music began and soon thereafter our feet.
We’ve hit that wall, folks. The wall where sex everyday is getting well… labored. Not that we are stale. Not at all.. but that we’re fucking so much it takes even more energy to keep it exciting. Que last night. I just returned from an overnight trip with my son, and my husband told me […]
“I’m so sorry, babe,” my husband says this morning in bed. We both are on our side and looking each other straight in the early morning eye. “I think I drank too much last night.”
“You think?” I teasingly snapped back. “Why didn’t you just come home when I did?”
“I didn’t think I stayed that much longer, but something about a burning a fire and sipping a few drinks made time fly by.”
“I need some pussy,” my husband whispered in my ear last night. I was already asleep not because it was that late, but because I was that tired. I’ve been more tired than usual this week.
“Oh, ok,” I woke up slightly remembering that he and I had yet to make love that day. Glad I’m not the only one to keep this challenge alive. My husband is blessed (or cursed) with the physical need to release sperm from his body every 24 hours at least. Like clockwork, he doesn’t just want sex, he needs it like I need sleep.
I’ve spent all evening in bed.. pecking away at my laptop, sipping some pinot, skipping yoga, and thinking up fun ways to spread my legs tonight.
I’m horny. I’m not even going to deny, and pretty soon my husband will be coming home with the kids. I’ll let him feed and clean up. Maybe I’ll don a new little lingerie piece? I can’t wait to feel him inside.
How should we do it tonight? Should I tell him about last night’s model? I do need to warn him that my upcoming monthly visit from Aunt Flow might certainly change our recent repertoire. Guess that means I’ll be doing a lot of blow.
He jacked his dick off in my mouth yesterday morning. Check (for him), 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 my goddess palace for today to visit 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.
I spritzed on perfume in our luxurious bathroom. He sprayed his cologne in our walk in closet. We met in the middle of my goddess palace.
“Let’s practice our dance, Stella,” My husband said as he reached out his hand to mine. “You handle the music, and I’ll handle you.”
I blushed and reached for my phone. I was naked still, wearing only my sparkly nude tango heals. The only light in the room came from the two bed side lamps and a flicker of my favorite candle on the coffee table.
Well that didn’t last long… the twice-a-day sex my husband proposed yesterday. Filled with such desire after secretly reading my online stories, he planned both an evening and morning routine for us for the rest of the year. But this morning he didn’t touch me.
“You’re cut off,” he said as he dressed.
“So the girl down the street has a tighter pussy, huh?!?”
I’ve been caught. I blush. My husband has been reading my posts.
“No. Please. Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” I’m embarrassed to think of how much he knows about my nasty fantasy life now. I put my hands over my ears, but he goes on.
“The three guys knew about the four guys from earlier. You little fucking whore.” My husband was laying in bed with his phone in his hand. My website was on the screen. His dick was raging hard like a thick stick.
