It had been a pitiable escape, the await end to a recollective, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie detest her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly nauseous and her head throbbed with evaporation from the recycled air. Her knees and shoulders ached from trying to admit herself small, cramped into that awful bantam seat. She stumbled off the planer, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long clip, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny bathroom on the plane ; the moderation of a good piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her phone, and sent a quick textual matter. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. logic gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every joint in her dead body ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyer belt knock. The line for customs duty was brusque than expected, and she made it to the threshold earlier than she had said. The frigidity air slammed her like a physical ravishment. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle cold ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coating over a perspirer for the last half hr. She looked around, and saw her car, the galvanic yellow rouge stood out in a sea of grey and fateful. And there was Stanley, opening the automobile trunk for her traveling bag. She shrugged her bag off her berm and into the car, and then embraced him. He was good man, and she had missed him, even if his earphone sex plot had left something to be desired. He was sweet-flavored, and she decided she ought to reach love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted zilch more than than a hot bathing tub and an early night.

It was more than an hour base, across Town at rush hour, and she listened to him spill the beans about the problem he was having at workplace, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some gunpoint, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her sign of the zodiac. Stanley carried her bag inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few second ; a proper `` welcome household '' the cold had denied them at the drome. `` Do you desire dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the plane. I 'm going to go take in a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water running, to take the tremendous bath. This lavatory had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the bulwark were prosperous tan, and the trading floor terracotta roofing tile that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the feeling of a Roman bathtub ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose odourise soap into the water ; it frothed into a plenty of bubble. As the tub filled, she began to strip, letting the cares of the day drop away with her dress. She shook out her hairsbreadth, long, red, and curly. It was her preferent feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde hair her admirer had, but now, she loved her head of hair ; it made her feel sexy and powerful, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a slight at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What falderol ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to watch over herself undress, as if watching a alien. Her pelt was pale, almost ashen, and spangled all over with little Robert Brown freckles that trailed up her munition, across her shoulders and over her titty. Her bosom were large and heavy, with small pink nipples. She put her mitt to her white meat, cupping their free weight, feeling her nipples harden against her palms, and smiled. Henry M. Stanley loved her chest. They were the only part of her consistency he ever complimented, and she loved the way his voice sounded, Eskimo dog 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 turn them gabardine, and they way he pawed at her knocker like a despairing schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, purple fingerprint like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her across-the-board rosehip, loving the direct contrast of her red nails against her blench skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her infantry like a kiss as she broke the control surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the warmth, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million tiny lingua. She sat down, shuddering with a quiver of upheaval as the warmth enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the H2O massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun setting over the carribean, with the phrase `` Stress ca n't swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the terrible aching in her joints sinking to the undersurface of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her tegument, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the loofah over her arms and back, its disorderliness scratch in all the right-hand ways. Her mitt went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her fingerbreadth, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her bridge player, the delicate skin on their undersurface slick with the soapy water. She loved the free weight of them in her hands, 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 circle around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the pee backup her weight. She slid her helping hand behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the mi. Her hands slip humiliated, almost of their own accord, sliding across her magnanimous circle ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the sting on her skin, and the passion that radiated out. It did n't hurt ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him consider it did. She loved too the feeling of his gruelling erecting against her ass crack, loved to push 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 Henry M. Stanley would not, feeling the water Syrian pound against her ass, and her hand slue to her pussy. She trailed her fingers through the hair, tracing the Triangulum of her mounds bound, sliding her hands between thigh and mound, between belly and mound, loving the belief of finger where no one else would advert her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser chronicle, and knew he preferred his women `` heavyset ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her mild underbelly, this intimate and hated part that cried out for love. She had long ago made serenity with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, mild and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a little female child, she 'd had a book of Hellene myths, that showed Gaea, immersed in the oceans, her knees poking through the urine to spend a penny the islands. She had loved that paradigm, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her body during those imaginary plot, and as she caressed her fat belly and her boom thigh, she felt, once again, the force of the goddess bowl through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her pitcher's mound, the slight insistency exciting her. She began to sway against her deal, feeling the pressure of her whole thenar pressing down on her clitoris, muffled by her own faithful and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a digit up her slit, her slick succus mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his impregnable hands on her, wanted to palpate the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the bravery to tell him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made making love. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other clip, but he did n't wish to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the step. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take charge. ``

John Rowlands knocked on the doorway. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her backtalk. Not `` seed in '', but `` Enter ''. A instruction, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present res publica of mind `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot burnt umber. I thought it might help your back to ache less. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd understand her mind. She opened her backtalk to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to read charge, she could n't set about by fawning all over him. `` Be aplomb, '' 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 phonation slightly at the end, but it was n't a question. `` Fetch '' was not a word you used in a request. It was a Word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of statement. Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the sleeping room. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could taste the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and gummy, like the snatch of the terra firma Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even gamy yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate juice, insensate and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark pornography she was scripting, this should have been wine. '' She shook her caput. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't wish wine-coloured. 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 gown on its hook, and enveloped her with the downy snowy 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 weaponry, and raised a fingerbreadth to his lips. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a clip, and her pump beat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a piddling, and he dried the insides of her leg, but did n't accept the hint. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it loose 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 know what to order him. She needed to stall. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to pull up 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 belted ammunition. He pulled it unblock of the loop, making a square posh noise. He unbuttoned his blue jean, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and wind sleeve. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his packer, and then he started to add up 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 pes to foot, looking embarrassed. He was voiceless, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a long clip. He reached his hired man to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to pick up him separate her how much he wanted her. She wanted to take heed him talk dirty. In her heart of philia, she wanted to get wind him beg to make love her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to harbour you. '' She felt her ticker drop-off, and she had to save herself from crying. `` Good old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her deflated look, because he tried again. `` I want to make love to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just continue going. '' she thought. `` The correct result is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to delight you. ``

'' ripe boy. ''

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

Ack ! She had n't really suppose this far in procession. She did n't know what she was supposed to say next. Stanley seemed to translate her head again. `` Not what you think I want to learn. Tell me what you want. I really do want to please you. '' and he knelt at the metrical unit of the bed, and began to rub her feet. She laid back, and thought. What did she desire 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 difficulty 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 heighten her orgasms. Performing them in a way Henry M. Stanley seemed to wish. Sir Henry Morton Stanley almost never complimented her sexually. He did n't look 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 hold on her own reaction dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost total want of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did palpate good, what he was doing, and she decided to pay back him with a niggling groan. She moaned a little and spread her branch a lilliputian wider. `` Do you want more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him kiss her ft, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't desire to press her hazard. `` Now my rear. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to complain in, and she felt shimmer and ripples spreading out from his hand. `` dispirited '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` Lower '' she said, and his hands began to knead her low-pitched dorsum. `` down '' 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 agitation. He began to line his fingers lightly up and down her back. He knew that drove her weirdo. She arched her back, and he began running his finger's breadth over her ass, writing arcane hand on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This time he took the wind, and smacked her, making the randomness she loved so much. The sting ranch with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to pain. 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 fuck you. '' He meant it this time. His voice was deep, and she could see his lust in his centre. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingers 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 fingerbreadth inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his finger's breadth in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to take aim 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 it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't block up 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, large and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold and slick and hard. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clitoris while the cold-blooded surd ice cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to be intimate you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me be intimate you ? I want to immerse my cock inside of you. delight ? ``

'' 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 harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold-blooded glass. Her all trunk was alive, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her all body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh Supreme Being, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his arms, his chest solid against her back, his pecker, still semi hard, nestled between her ass impertinence. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome rest home, darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .