It had been a woeful flight, the have a bun in the oven end to a long, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her body so a good deal as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly unquiet and her head teacher throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her knees and shoulder joint ached from trying to hold herself little, cramped into that awful tiny tail. She stumbled off the planer, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long time, not wanting to use the disgusting midget bathroom on the airplane ; the moderation of a thoroughly piss went some way to improving her humor. She turned on her earpiece, and sent a quick text. `` Landed. On to baggage and impost. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every joint in her body ached ; her back screamed charge at her as she lifted her lumbering bag off the conveyer rap. The line for customs was poor than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The inhuman air slammed her like a forcible assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffy frigidness ; the airport was airless and hot, and she 'd been wearing her pelage over a sweater for the last one-half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric car jaundiced pigment stood out in a sea of grey and black. And there was Sir Henry Morton Stanley, opening the trunk for her bags. She shrugged her bag off her shoulders and into the car, and then embraced him. He was soundly man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex game had left something to be desired. He was odorous, and she decided she ought to take in make out to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing Thomas More than a hot bathroom and an early night.

It was more than an hr home, across Ithiel Town at flush hour, and she listened to him talk about the trouble he was having at work, something about a new supervisory program. She must let dozed off at some breaker point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front man of her house. Stanley carried her base inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few proceedings ; a right `` welcome place '' the common cold had denied them at the airdrome. `` Do you desire dinner party ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel complete from the plane. I 'm going to go consider a bathing tub. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the piss running, to fill the enormous bathtub. This lav had been what convinced her to buy this sign ; the wall were prosperous tan, and the base terracotta tile that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The unharmed thing had the feeling of a Roman tub ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose scented grievous bodily harm into the piss ; it frothed into a mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the guardianship of the day expend away with her apparel. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blond hair her booster had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel sexy and herculean, and sorcerous, like an temptress 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 see herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her skin was pale, almost Edward White, and spangled all over with small brown freckle that trailed up her arms, across her shoulder joint and over her breast. Her breasts were magnanimous and heavy, with small pinko nipples. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her palms, and smiled. Henry M. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the simply part of her body 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 nipples, hard enough to plough them white, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a do-or-die schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, purple fingermark like leopard stain. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide rose hip, loving the contrast of her red nails against her wan skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot pee caressing her animal foot like a candy kiss as she broke the surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water supply embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heat energy, feeling the bubble on her legs like a million bantam tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitement as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the weewee massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun setting over the carribean, with the idiom `` Stress ca n't swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the terrible ache in her join sinking to the seat of the tub, while the house of cards and jet licked at her hide, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the loofah over her arms and back, its roughness scraping in all the right ways. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the soft pelt on their undersurface slick with the soapy water. She loved the weightiness of them in her helping 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 circuit around her omphalos.

She arched her back, letting the body of water musical accompaniment her weight. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her rear, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the knot. Her custody slid lower, almost of their own accord, sliding across her large round of golf ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the strait it made when Stanly smacked them, the bunco on her pelt, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't wound ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him intend it did. She loved too the look of his grueling erecting against her ass crack, loved to press 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 hands slide to her pussy. She trailed her fingerbreadth through the hair, tracing the triangle of her pitcher edge, sliding her hand between second joint and cumulation, between belly and pitcher, loving the tactual sensation of finger where no one else would touch her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his char `` buddy-buddy ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this intimate and hated constituent that cried out for love. She had long ago made peace with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, sonant and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bathing tub. When she was a little little girl, she 'd had a book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knee joint poking through the body of water to take the islands. She had loved that range of a function, 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 power of the goddess peal through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her hill, the slight pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her hand, feeling the insistency of her whole thenar pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own folds and brim. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her incision, her slick juices mingling with the soapy piss. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong hands on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to recite him what she wanted ; her representative disappeared when they made honey. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other prison term, but he did n't like to blab out about sex. She heard him coming up the steps. `` This clip '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take away charge. ``

Sir Henry Morton Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the discussion felt in her mouth. Not `` seminal fluid in '', but `` Enter ''. A control, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present United States Department of State of psyche `` I know you said you did n't need to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot chocolate. I thought it might aid your rachis to ache less. '' Her affection welled up. It was as if he 'd read her mind. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to choose accusation, she could n't get by fawning all over him. `` Be coolheaded, '' 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 word you used in a request. It was a news you used with servents. With a pet. It was a Scripture of bid. Francis Edgar Stanley seemed not to remark, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bathtub, and ate the chocolate. The cocoa was creamy and toothsome, but she could taste the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and gluey, like the slit of the Earth Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high school yet ! '' She sipped the Punica granatum juice, cold and sweetly tart. `` wine-colored, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been wine. '' She shook her head. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine-colored. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

Stanley 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 hook, and enveloped her with the fluffy whiteness towel. `` You 're in the quite the temper, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his coat of arms, and raised a fingerbreadth to his sassing. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her peg one at a metre, and her heart beat fast. `` This is really happening. Sir Henry Morton Stanley is kneeling at my human foot. '' She opened her legs a footling, and he dried the insides of her peg, but did n't involve the hint. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the shackle. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it open up for her. Was it potential he was into this too ?

She took his hand, and led him to the bedchamber. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't bed what to tell him. She needed to shillyshally. She sat on the bound of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to pull 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 belt ammunition. He pulled it spare of the loops, making a satisfying swoosh dissonance. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his shorts and wind sleeve. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you au naturel. '' He kicked off his wind sleeve, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. stick there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from base to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As laborious as she 'd seen him in a long time. He reached his hand to his peter. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him recount her how very much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him blab out dirty. In her marrow of center, she wanted to hear him beg to bang 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. `` well old Henry M. Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her crestfallen look, because he tried again. `` I want to make sleep together to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her creative thinker. `` He 's trying. Just keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct answer is'I want to delight you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' evidence me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' Good boy. ''

She did n't bang why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but Stanley had a stupid grinning on his aspect, and a blush was creeping over his impudence. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` distinguish me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really imagine this far in advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say side by side. Stanley seemed to read her idea 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 foot of the bed, and began to rub her metrical unit. She laid back, and thought. What did she need 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 partner wanted, and caught her pleasure along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't fake it, but she did enhance her orgasms. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to like. Francis Edgar Stanley 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 proceed her own response dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost come lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did palpate near, what he was doing, and she decided to repay him with a piffling groan. She moaned a trivial and spread her stage a little wider. `` Do you want more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him snog her feet, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't want to beseech her luck. `` Now my back. '' she said, and rolled over.

Francis Edgar Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to complain in, and she felt play and ripple spreading out from his hands. `` low-toned '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` Lower '' she said, and his hands began to knead her downcast vertebral column. `` humbled '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for stress. Francis Edgar 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 looney. She arched her back, and he began running his finger's breadth over her ass, writing arcane book on them. She picked his deal up and brought it down. This time he took the hint, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so much. The sting spreadhead with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to spite. She caught his helping hand, and rolled over.

'' Tell me what you want. '' `` I want to delight you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to know you. '' He meant it this time. His voice was deep, and she could see his lecherousness in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your digit first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger along her wet slit. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this game. He probed crooking his finger inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his digit in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to channelize him. `` tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` pushing down with your palm on my clit, but do n't touch on 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, large and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold-blooded and slick and hard. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her button while the cold hard glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, delight ? Please let me make out 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 tool was harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the dusty chicken feed. Her whole body was animated, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her whole torso. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh shtup, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his arms, his dresser solidness against her back, his cock, still semi hard, nestled between her ass cheek. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome home, darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .