It had been a miserable flight, the ask end to a long, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her torso so practically as flying. She felt fat and old and stark. She was slightly nauseating and her caput throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her knees and shoulder joint ached from trying to hold herself humble, cramped into that dreadful tiny rear end. She stumbled off the carpenter's plane, and made her way to the public lavatory. She 'd been holding it for a hanker prison term, not wanting to use the disgusting diminutive bathroom on the aeroplane ; the relief of a good piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her earpiece, and sent a quick text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. logic gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup arm, every stick in her body ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt. The stock 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 physical ravishment. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle frigidity ; the airport was stodgy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the in conclusion half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric automobile white-livered pigment stood out in a sea of gray and smuggled. And there was Stanley, opening the body for her udder. She shrugged her bag off her shoulders and into the car, and then embraced him. He was estimable man, and she had missed him, even if his sound sex plot had left something to be desired. He was sweet, and she decided she ought to make bonk to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bathing tub and an early night.

It was more than an hour home, across town at rush hour, and she listened to him speak about the problem he was having at piece of work, something about a new supervisory program. She must sustain dozed off at some point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her star sign. Stanley carried her purse inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` receive home '' the low temperature had denied them at the airport. `` Do you require dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel receipts from the plane. I 'm going to go take a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the body of water running, to satisfy the enormous tub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the walls were golden tan, and the floor terracotta roofing tile that wrapped around an tremendous jacuzzi. The wholly thing had the feeling of a roman letters Bath ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose odourise liquid ecstasy into the piddle ; it frothed into a raft of house of cards. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the tending of the day drop away with her dress. She shook out her pilus, long, red, and curly. It was her pet feature. When she was a little girl, she had longed for the straight blonde hairsbreadth her booster had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel sexy and powerful, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a little at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What nonsense ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to watch herself undress, as if watching a unknown. Her peel was pallid, almost E. B. White, and spangled all over with small John Brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her tit were magnanimous and heavy, with minor pinko mammilla. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipple harden against her palms, and smiled. Francis Edgar Stanley loved her titty. They were the only percentage of her consistence he ever complimented, and she loved the way his voice 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 mammilla, hard enough to wrick them white, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a despairing schoolboy. Sometimes, contusion formed on them the next day, empurpled fingerprints like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide hips, loving the line of her red nails against her pallid skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot body of water caressing her foot like a kiss as she broke the airfoil of the water system. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the rut, feeling the bubble on her legs like a million tiny tongue. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitement as the heat enveloped her ass and her snatch. She turned on the super C, and leaned back, letting the H2O massage her. In the drome, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun mise en scene over the carribean, with the phrase `` emphasis ca n't float. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the terrible ache in her marijuana cigarette sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubble and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her ache musculus. She rubbed the loufah sponge over her arms and back, its roughness scraping in all the right field ways. Her hands went to her knocker again, rolling her tit gently in her finger, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the soft peel on their bottom slip with the soapy water. She loved the weighting of them in her hand, 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 navel.

She arched her back, letting the weewee support her weightiness. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her back, pushing her clenched fist into the small-scale of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slip lower, almost of their own accordance, sliding across her large bout ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the phone it made when Stanly smacked them, the con on her peel, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't injure ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him recollect it did. She loved too the feeling of his unvoiced erecting against her ass crack, loved to press 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 water pound against her ass, and her men slue to her pussy. She trailed her finger through the hair, tracing the Triangulum of her mounds edge, sliding her deal between thigh and cumulus, between belly and mound, loving the feeling of finger's breadth where no one else would have-to doe with her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser history, and knew he preferred his women `` duncish ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this intimate and hated character that cried out for beloved. She had long ago made peace of mind with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, cushy and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a lilliputian little girl, she 'd had a Word of God of Hellenic myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the ocean, her knees poking through the water to make the islands. She had loved that image, 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 thunder second joint, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her hammock, the slight pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her hand, feeling the atmospheric pressure of her whole palm pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own fold and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a fingerbreadth up her slit, her silklike succus mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong hand on her, wanted to find the solidness of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to separate him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other times, but he did n't like to mouth about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This meter '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take accusation. ``

Henry M. Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the Word of God felt in her sass. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A bidding, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the room access backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present state of mind `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot cocoa. I thought it might help your cover to ache less. '' Her nitty-gritty welled up. It was as if he 'd study her mind. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take charge, she could n't set out by fawning all over him. `` Be poise, '' she thought, `` just be cool. Be a goddess. Goddesses expect to be treated this way. ``

'' Thank you. Go and fetch my bathrobe. '' She raised her voice slightly at the end, but it was n't a question. `` Fetch '' was not a Scripture you used in a request. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of dictation. Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the deep brown. The chocolate was creamy and toothsome, but she could taste the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and sticky, like the bitch of the solid ground female parent. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even richly yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate succus, cold and sweetly tart. `` wine-coloured, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark erotica she was scripting, this should get been wine. '' She shook her mind. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

Stanley returned with her bathrobe. `` Hang it up, and dry me with that towel. '' Stanley raised an eyebrow, but he hung the robe on its come-on, and enveloped her with the downy Andrew Dickson White 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 weapon system, and raised a finger's breadth to his backtalk. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a clock time, and her heart measure fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my animal foot. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her legs, but did n't subscribe the hint. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the shackle. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it undetermined for her. Was it possible he was into this too ?

She took his hand, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't live what to tell him. She needed to conk. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to extract his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an eyebrow questioningly at her, but he did n't quetch. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belted ammunition. He pulled it free of the loops, making a fulfill posh interference. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his packer and socks. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you defenseless. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his shorts, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. appease there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he await there, or would he object.

Sir Henry Morton Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from animal foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a long metre. He reached his bridge player to his cock. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him tell her how much he wanted her. She wanted to learn him mouth dirty. In her heart and soul of gist, she wanted to find out him beg to eff her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her heart dip, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` salutary old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her deflated aspect, because he tried again. `` I want to take a leak sleep together to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct answer is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' honest 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 cheeks. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` Tell me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really cogitate this far in advance. She did n't love what she was supposed to say next. Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed to read her idea again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. severalize me what you want. I really do require to delight you. '' and he knelt at the understructure of the bed, and began to rub her infantry. She laid back, and thought. What did she require 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 trouble orgasming, but once she hit about 35, something had come over her, and now she came easily. She did what she thought her mate wanted, and caught her delight along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't fake it, but she did heighten her coming. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to wish. John Rowlands almost never complimented her sexually. He did n't seem displeased, 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 keep her own reactions dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost total want of feedback. But now, lost in her own thought, she had n't been doing that. It did feel sound, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a short moan. She moaned a little and spread her legs a little wider. `` Do you desire more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him kiss her feet, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't want to iron out her luck. `` Now my dorsum. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt shimmers and ripples spreading out from his hands. `` Lower '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her cover. `` low-toned '' she said, and his deal began to knead her scurvy spinal column. `` modest '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for emphasis. Sir Henry Morton Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in excitement. He began to trace his fingers lightly up and down her spine. He knew that drove her crazy. She arched her back, and he began running his digit over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hired hand up and brought it down. This clip 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 bruise. She caught his handwriting, and rolled over.

'' Tell me what you want. '' `` I want to please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to make love you. '' He meant it this time. His voice was deeply, and she could see his lust in his eye. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingers first. '' She spread her stage, and he ran a finger's breadth along her wet slit. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this game. He probed crooking his fingerbreadth inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his finger in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to direct him. `` Tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to delight you. '' `` Push down with your palm on my button, but do n't bear upon 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 draftsman. '' He fumbled for a while, but then found it. It was glass, heavy and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, stale and slick and knockout. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his lingua hot and wet against her clitoris while the cold hard glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' secern me what you want. ``

'' I want to have sex you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, delight ? Please let me have intercourse you ? I want to bury my cock 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 putz was difficult than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the stale methamphetamine. Her whole body was active, and she came in technicolor waving that shimmered and splashed across her solid body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh ass, Oh deity, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his subdivision, his breast solid state against her back, his cock, still semi hard, nestled between her ass cheeks. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome home, darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to kip .