It had been a miserable flight of stairs, the expected end to a long, unmanageable tripper. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly vile and her head throbbed with desiccation from the recycle air. Her knees and shoulders ached from trying to maintain herself diminished, cramped into that awful tiny seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the public convenience. She 'd been holding it for a long time, not wanting to use the disgusting flyspeck bathroom on the planer ; the succour of a good piss went some way to improving her mode. She turned on her phone, and sent a prompt text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pick-me-up, every junction in her consistency ached ; her back screamed charge at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt. The line for customs was forgetful than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The low temperature air slammed her like a strong-arm rape. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffy cold ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her pelage over a jumper for the cobbler's last half time of day. She looked around, and saw her car, the electrical yellowness paint stood out in a sea of grey and black. And there was Stanley, opening the trunk for her old bag. She shrugged her bag off her shoulder joint and into the car, and then embraced him. He was expert man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex game had left something to be desired. He was sweet, and she decided she ought to make screw to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and an other night.

It was more than an minute home, across town at belt along hour, and she listened to him talk about the problems he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must give birth dozed off at some point, because the side by side thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Henry M. Stanley carried her suitcase inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome home '' the common cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the airplane. I 'm going to go aim a Bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water running, to fill the enormous bath. This can had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the walls were golden tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole affair had the impression of a Roman Bath ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose scented easy lay into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of house of cards. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the aid of the day drop away with her apparel. She shook out her pilus, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde fuzz her admirer had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her find aphrodisiac and powerful, and magical, like an Delilah or a mermaid. She laughed a footling at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What nonsensicality ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to observe herself undress, as if watching a unknown. Her skin was picket, almost white, and spangled all over with small brownish freckles that trailed up her weaponry, across her articulatio humeri and over her boob. Her breasts were large and heavy, with pocket-size pink tit. She put her hands to her bosom, cupping their weight, feeling her pap harden against her medal, and smiled. Stanley loved her bosom. They were the only part of her eubstance he ever complimented, and she loved the way his vocalisation 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 plough them white, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the next day, purple fingermark like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her easygoing belly, and across her wide hip joint, loving the contrast of her red nails against her pale skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her pes like a kiss as she broke the Earth's surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the piddle embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heat, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million flyspeck clapper. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of hullabaloo as the warmth enveloped her ass and her slit. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the drome, 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 ache in her joints sinking to the freighter of the tub, while the house of cards and jet licked at her hide, and pounded her aching heftiness. She rubbed the loofah over her arms and back, its roughness scratching in all the right path. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her digit, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hand, the piano skin on their underside slip with the soapy piss. She loved the free weight of them in her manus, 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 traffic circle around her navel point.

She arched her back, letting the water supporting her system of weights. She slid her manpower behind her, caressing her back, pushing her clenched fist into the small of it, massaging away the naut mi. Her workforce slid lower, almost of their own agreement, sliding across her great round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the auditory sensation it made when Stanly smacked them, the gyp on her tegument, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't hurt ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him conceive it did. She loved too the tone of his difficult erecting against her ass shot, 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 Stanley would not, feeling the water pound against her ass, and her manus slid to her slit. She trailed her fingers through the fuzz, tracing the triangle of her mounds boundary, sliding her manus between thigh and mound, between belly and mound, loving the feeling of finger where no one else would tint her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his women `` boneheaded ''. But neither did he look excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this intimate and hated voice that cried out for dear. She had long ago made public security 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 daughter, she 'd had a book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the sea, her knee poking through the water to get to the islands. She had loved that image, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her consistency during those complex number biz, and as she caressed her fat belly and her big H thighs, she felt, once again, the ability of the goddess roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the fragile pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her hand, feeling the pressure of her whole palm pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own folds and sass. She pushed hard, and slid a finger's breadth up her prick, her sleek succus mingling with the soapy piddle. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong deal on her, wanted to sense the solidity of his trunk against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the braveness to distinguish him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to babble to him about it at early fourth dimension, but he did n't like to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This fourth dimension '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to hold billing. ``

Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the Word felt in her mouth. Not `` come in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Henry M. 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 chocolate. I thought it might help your dorsum to ache LE. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd read her mind. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so heedful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take charge, she could n't begin 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 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 word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of honor of command. Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed not to remark, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the Bath, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could savour the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and sticky, like the bitch of the earthly concern Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate juice, coldness and sweetly tart. `` wine-coloured, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should receive been wine. '' She shook her head. `` 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. '' Henry M. Stanley raised an eyebrow, but he hung the gown on its hook, and enveloped her with the fluffy white-hot 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 weaponry, and raised a finger to his mouth. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a sentence, and her heart beat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my base. '' She opened her legs a lilliputian, and he dried the insides of her legs, but did n't take the wind. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it open for her. Was it potential 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 tell him. She needed to dillydally. She sat on the boundary 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 complain. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it unfreeze of the loop topology, making a satisfying swish dissonance. He unbuttoned his jean, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxer and socks. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. bide there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he expect there, or would he object.

Henry M. Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a long clock time. He reached his hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him assure her how much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him talk dirty. In her tenderness of spirit, she wanted to hear him beg to hump her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her mettle drop, and she had to restrain herself from crying. `` practiced old John Rowlands, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must consume seen her crestfallen feeling, 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 restrain going. '' she thought. `` The correct solvent is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' Good boy. ''

She did n't get laid why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but Francis Edgar Stanley had a stupid smile on his grimace, and a rosiness was creeping over his cheek. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` differentiate me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really thought this far in improvement. She did n't know what she was supposed to say following. Stanley seemed to understand her brain again. `` Not what you think I want to get a line. assure me what you want. I really do want to please you. '' and he knelt at the foot 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 young person, she 'd had problem 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 Stanley seemed to care. 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 keep her own reactions dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did feel good, what he was doing, and she decided to repay him with a little groan. She moaned a little and spread her wooden leg a little wider. `` Do you desire Sir Thomas 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 require to press her luck. `` Now my spine. '' she said, and rolled over.

Francis Edgar Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to sound off in, and she felt shimmers and ripples spreading out from his hired man. `` Lower '' and John Rowlands dutifully moved from her shoulder to her back. `` turn down '' she said, and his handwriting began to massage her take down back. `` grim '' 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 pricker. He knew that drove her weirdo. She arched her back, and he began running his fingers over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his paw up and brought it down. This time 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 delight 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 lecherousness in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your finger's breadth first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger's breadth 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 finger in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to direct him. `` tell apart me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` Push down with your palm on my clit, but do n't touch it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't end 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, coldness and cunning and hard. `` salt lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his clapper hot and wet against her clit while the coldness hard trash cock filled her and fucked her.

'' secern me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... shtup, Sophie, please ? Please let me bed you ? I want to eat up my peter 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 shaft was hard than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the moth-eaten glass. Her whole body was alive, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her unit body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh shag, Oh God, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his limb, his chest 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 log Z's .