It had been a low flight of stairs, the expected end to a long, difficult trip. zippo quite made Sophie hate her body so practically as flying. She felt fat and old and rank. She was slightly loathsome and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her genu and shoulder ached from trying to hold herself small, cramped into that awesome tiny arse. She stumbled off the carpenter's plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long prison term, not wanting to use the disgusting lilliputian bathroom on the plane ; the easing of a good piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her earpiece, and sent a spry text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup arm, every marijuana cigarette in her body ached ; her spinal column screamed charge at her as she lifted her weighty bag off the conveyor belt. The line for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a strong-arm assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle cold ; the airport was stodgy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the hold out half 60 minutes. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow paint stood out in a sea of grey and Shirley Temple. And there was Francis Edgar Stanley, opening the trunk for her bags. She shrugged her bag off her shoulder joint and into the car, and then embraced him. He was good man, and she had missed him, even if his telephone set sex game had left something to be desired. He was sweet-smelling, and she decided she ought to make love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bathing tub and an early night.

It was more than an hr rest home, across town at rush hour, and she listened to him babble out about the problems he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some item, because the following thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Stanley carried her bags inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few second ; a proper `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the aerodrome. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel consummate from the sheet. I 'm going to go ask a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water running, to fill the enormous bathing tub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this firm ; the walls were golden tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The wholly thing had the feeling of a Roman Bath ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose odorous easy lay into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of house of cards. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the cares of the day drop away with her clothes. She shook out her pilus, long, red, and curly. It was her pet feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the consecutive blond haircloth her supporter had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her palpate sexy and powerful, and magic, like an siren or a mermaid. She laughed a little at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What frill ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to watch herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her skin was wan, almost White person, and spangled all over with small brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her breasts were large and heavy, with small pinko teat. She put her deal to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her thenar, and smiled. Stanley loved her boob. They were the lone part of her body he ever complimented, and she loved the way his vocalization sounded, husky and strained, when he talked like that, so she let him use them the way he liked. She winced, thinking about the way he pinched her nipples, hard enough to sour them E. B. White, and they way he pawed at her tit like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, purple fingerprints like leopard maculation. She slid her hands down over her subdued belly, and across her wide coxa, loving the contrast of her red nails against her pale hide.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her groundwork like a kiss as she broke the surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heating system, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million tiny tongue. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitation as the heat enveloped her ass and her kitty-cat. She turned on the reverse lightning, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the aerodrome, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun mount over the carribean, with the musical phrase `` Stress ca n't swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the terrible ache in her joints sinking to the bum of the tub, while the house of cards and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching muscleman. She rubbed the loofah over her weapon and back, its choppiness scratching in all the right ways. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her finger's breadth, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the soft hide on their bottom slick with the soapy piss. She loved the exercising weight of them in her script, loved the way it felt to be touched there, gently but firmly. She let them go, and ran her slippery hands over her belly, tracing circles around her bellybutton.

She arched her back, letting the water support her weight. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fist into the small of it, massaging away the naut mi. Her work force slid dispirited, almost of their own treaty, sliding across her large round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the flimflam on her hide, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't hurt ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him guess it did. She loved too the tactile sensation of his strong erection against her ass crack, loved to iron out herself back against him. She wished often that he would put it in, but he never did. She slid back, letting the jacuzzi jet do what Francis Edgar Stanley would not, feeling the pee Ezra Loomis Pound against her ass, and her hands slide to her pussy. She trailed her fingers through the hair, tracing the trigon of her cumulation sharpness, sliding her hands between thigh and heap, between belly and agglomerate, loving the feeling of finger where no one else would touch her.

She did n't cogitate Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his women `` chummy ''. But neither did he appear excited by it. He never touched her here, on her diffused underbelly, this confidant and hated persona that cried out for love. She had long ago made repose with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, soft and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a little girl, she 'd had a book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knees poking through the water to clear the islands. She had loved that range, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her body during those imaginary games, and as she caressed her fat belly and her hell dust second joint, she felt, once again, the major power of the goddess roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her heap, the slight force per unit area exciting her. She began to shake against her handwriting, feeling the press of her solid palm pressing down on her clitoris, muffled by her own folds and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her slit, her slick juices mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his solid hands on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to tell him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at former times, but he did n't like to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the steps. `` This prison term '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to claim charge. ``

Henry M. Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her mouth. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A instruction, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present state of mind `` I know you said you did n't desire to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot drinking chocolate. I thought it might serve your spine to ache to a lesser extent. '' Her kernel welled up. It was as if he 'd interpret her mind. She opened her sass to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take charge, she could n't get down by fawning all over him. `` Be cool, '' she thought, `` just be cool. Be a goddess. Goddesses expect to be treated this way. ``

'' Thank you. Go and convey my bathrobe. '' She raised her voice slightly at the end, but it was n't a motion. `` Fetch '' was not a word you used in a request. It was a discussion you used with servents. With a pet. It was a Holy Writ of command. Stanley seemed not to acknowledge, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the deep brown. The cocoa was creamy and scrumptious, but she could try the vegetal ganja behind it, dank and sticky, like the pussy of the terra firma Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate succus, cold and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porn she was scripting, this should sustain been wine. '' She shook her point. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

John Rowlands returned with her bathrobe. `` Hang it up, and dry me with that towel. '' Sir Henry Morton Stanley raised an eyebrow, but he hung the robe on its hooking, and enveloped her with the fluffy White River towel. `` You 're in the quite the mood, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his arms, and raised a finger to his lip. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a time, and her inwardness beat fasting. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my metrical foot. '' She opened her legs a petty, and he dried the insides of her peg, but did n't take the lead. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the bond. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it assailable for her. Was it possible he was into this too ?

She took his paw, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't know what to severalise him. She needed to stall. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to take out his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an eyebrow questioningly at her, but he did n't complain. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it free of the loop-the-loop, making a solid swoosh disturbance. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and sock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his Boxer, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. Stay there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from base to substructure, looking embarrassed. He was knockout, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a prospicient time. He reached his hand to his shaft. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to try him state her how a lot he wanted her. She wanted to get a line him talk dirty. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to hear him beg to have a go at it her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her spirit drop, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` Good old Henry M. Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must give seen her chopfallen flavor, because he tried again. `` I want to make have it away to you. '' but it sounded like a interrogation. She scoured her nous. `` He 's trying. Just keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct answer is'I want to delight you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' differentiate me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' skillful boy. ''

She did n't know why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but Stanley had a stupid grin on his face, and a rosiness was creeping over his face. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` Tell me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really suppose this far in advance. She did n't cognise what she was supposed to say next. Stanley seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you want. I really do desire to please you. '' and he knelt at the substructure of the bed, and began to rub her feet. She laid back, and thought. What did she want him to do ? She 'd honestly never really thought about it. She enjoyed sex. She enjoyed it a lot. In her youth, she 'd had bother orgasming, but once she hit about 35, something had come over her, and now she came easily. She did what she thought her pardner wanted, and caught her pleasance along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't fake it, but she did enhance her orgasms. Performing them in a way Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed to wish. John Rowlands almost never complimented her sexually. He did n't appear displease, but she felt he never really gave her anything to go on. Once, early in their relationship, he 'd said that he loved how responsive she was, and so she tried to continue her own chemical reaction dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own opinion, she had n't been doing that. It did palpate respectable, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a picayune moan. She moaned a minuscule and spread her legs a little wider. `` Do you want more than ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him osculate her feet, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't need to campaign her luck. `` Now my back. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her spine. The pot was beginning to quetch in, and she felt shimmer and ripples spreading out from his deal. `` lowly '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her articulatio humeri to her back. `` gloomy '' she said, and his hand began to knead her small dorsum. `` depress '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for emphasis. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in turmoil. He began to decipher his digit lightly up and down her spine. He knew that drove her looney. She arched her back, and he began running his fingers over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his handwriting up and brought it down. This sentence he took the hint, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so much. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to hurt. She caught his hand, and rolled over.

'' Tell me what you want. '' `` I want to please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to fuck you. '' He meant it this time. His part was cryptical, and she could see his lustfulness in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your digit first. '' She spread her branch, and he ran a finger along her wet cunt. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this plot. He probed crooking his finger inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his finger in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to train him. `` order me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` Push down with your laurel wreath on my button, but do n't concern it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't stop fingering me. '' She arched up to him. She wanted more. `` Use the dildo '' she said. She 'd never asked him for this, but she wanted it. `` In the top drawer. '' He fumbled for a while, but then found it. It was glass, tumid and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, stale and slick and severely. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her button while the stale punishing trash cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to have intercourse you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... piece of ass, Sophie, please ? Please let me make out you ? I want to inhume my shaft inside of you. Please ? ``

'' You may. ``

And he did.

She came almost as soon as he was inside of her, gasping and moaning and crying out. His cock was operose than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold-blooded glass. Her whole soundbox was alive, and she came in technicolor undulation that shimmered and splashed across her whole body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh deity, Oh Sophie, piece of ass, piece of tail, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his arms, his chest solid against her back, his cock, still semi hard, nestled between her ass cheeks. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome dwelling house, Darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .