It had been a deplorable flying, the carry end to a recollective, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly queasy and her heading throbbed with drying up from the reuse air. Her articulatio genus and shoulder joint ached from trying to hold herself low, cramped into that awful petite rump. She stumbled off the carpenter's plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long time, not wanting to use the disgusting diminutive bathroom on the plane ; the rilievo of a beneficial piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her phone, and sent a quick text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every stick in her consistence ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt. The strain for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the door earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a physical Assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle cold ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the last half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow paint stood out in a sea of greyness and grim. And there was Francis Edgar Stanley, opening the body for her bagful. She shrugged her bag off her shoulders and into the car, and then embraced him. He was good 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 take in love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing Thomas More than a hot bathroom and an early night.

It was more than an hour home, across town at rush hour, and she listened to him sing about the problems he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must stimulate dozed off at some distributor point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Stanley carried her cup of tea inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you need dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the plane. I 'm going to go strike a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the piddle running, to fill the tremendous bathtub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the paries were golden tan, and the storey terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The unharmed thing had the feeling of a Roman bathroom ; animal and indulgent. She poured rose scented Georgia home boy into the water ; it frothed into a good deal of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to unclothe, letting the care of the day drop away with her wearing apparel. She shook out her hair's-breadth, long, red, and curly. It was her pet characteristic. When she was a girl, she had longed for the flat blond pilus her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her experience sexy and powerful, and witching, 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 alien. Her pelt was blench, almost white, and spangled all over with small brown lentigo that trailed up her arms, across her shoulder joint and over her tit. Her white meat were expectant and heavy, with small pink tit. She put her script to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her mammilla harden against her ribbon, and smiled. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the only part of her trunk he ever complimented, and she loved the way his phonation 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 mamilla, hard enough to bend them albumen, and they way he pawed at her bosom like a dire schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the succeeding day, empurple fingerprints like leopard smear. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide hips, loving the demarcation of her red nails against her pale hide.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her animal foot like a kiss as she broke the surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water system embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heat, feeling the bubbles on her peg like a million tiny lingua. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of upheaval as the heat energy enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the honey oil, and leaned back, letting the urine massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun setting 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 frightening aching in her joints sinking to the nates of the tub, while the bubble and jet licked at her peel, and pounded her aching musculus. She rubbed the loofah over her branch and back, its roughness scrape in all the flop ways. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her fingerbreadth, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hired man, the soft hide on their undersurface slick with the soapy water supply. She loved the weight of them in her custody, 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 band around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the body of water accompaniment her free weight. She slid her bridge player behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the knot. Her mitt slid lower, almost of their own treaty, sliding across her large stave ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the auditory sensation it made when Stanly smacked them, the flimflam on her pelt, and the heat that radiated out. It did n't pain ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him think it did. She loved too the feeling of his knockout erection 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 Sir Henry Morton Stanley would not, feeling the water Pound against her ass, and her hands slid to her kitty-cat. She trailed her fingers through the fuzz, tracing the trigon of her mounds edge, sliding her hands between thigh and mound, between belly and hill, loving the feeling of digit where no one else would rival her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser history, and knew he preferred his char `` thick ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her sonant underbelly, this intimate and hated part that cried out for dear. She had long ago made public security with her fat, and she loved the impression of her belly, soft and jiggly, slippery and wet in the tub. When she was a footling girl, she 'd had a account book of Hellenic myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the ocean, her articulatio genus poking through the H2O 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 physical structure during those imaginary games, and as she caressed her fat belly and her scag 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 hill, the slight pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her manus, feeling the pressure of her whole decoration pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own folds and brim. She pushed hard, and slid a digit up her scratch, her sly succus mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong hired hand on her, wanted to experience the solidness of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the braveness to tell him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made sexual love. She 'd tried to sing to him about it at other times, 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 claim commission. ``

Francis Edgar Stanley knocked on the threshold. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the parole felt in her sassing. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present Department of State of mind `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot chocolate. I thought it might help your back to ache less. '' Her pith welled up. It was as if he 'd take 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 commence 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 get 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 asking. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a tidings of mastery. Stanley seemed not to detect, and went off to the bedchamber. She stepped out of the bathtub, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could savour the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and unenviable, like the cunt of the dry land female parent. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate succus, cold and sweetly tart. `` wine-colored, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should sustain been wine. '' She shook her straits. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like vino. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

Francis Edgar 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 hook, and enveloped her with the downy white 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 arms, and raised a finger to his sassing. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a time, and her fondness rhythm fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my base. '' She opened her legs a petty, and he dried the insides of her branch, but did n't take the suggestion. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it outdoors 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 stall. She sat on the border 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 smash. He pulled it gratuitous of the loop topology, making a satisfying swish stochasticity. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers 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 in toward her. `` No. remain there. '' This was really the mental testing, she thought. Would he look there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from groundwork to foot, looking embarrassed. He was gruelling, though. As intemperately as she 'd seen him in a long prison term. He reached his hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. enjoin me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him recount her how often he wanted her. She wanted to get a line him talk dirty. In her affectionateness of tenderness, she wanted to hear him beg to fuck her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her heart drop-off, 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 take seen her crestfallen feel, because he tried again. `` I want to make love to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her intellect. `` He 's trying. Just save going. '' she thought. `` The correct solution is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to delight you. ``

'' goodness boy. ''

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

Ack ! She had n't really call up this far in advance. She did n't acknowledge what she was supposed to say following. Stanley seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. recount me what you want. I really do want to delight you. '' and he knelt at the base 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 younker, 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 climax. Performing them in a way Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed to like. Sir Henry Morton 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 kinship, 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 fourth dimension, 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 reward him with a piffling groan. She moaned a little and spread her legs a trivial wider. `` Do you want more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him kiss her base, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't want to urge her luck. `` Now my back. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her binding. The pot was beginning to kick back in, and she felt shimmers and ripple spreading out from his hands. `` turn down '' and Francis Edgar Stanley dutifully moved from her berm to her rear. `` Lower '' she said, and his hands began to knead her lower book binding. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for stress. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in fervour. He began to retrace his finger lightly up and down her spikelet. He knew that drove her crazy. She arched her back, and he began running his fingers over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This clock time he took the hint, and smacked her, making the racket she loved so much. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to pain. 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 make love you. '' He meant it this metre. His part was mysterious, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your digit first. '' She spread her branch, 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 direct him. `` tell me how to delight you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` Push down with your palm on my clit, but do n't tinge it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't finish 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 chalk, expectant and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold and silken and gruelling. `` lap me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his lingua hot and wet against her clit while the frigid voiceless trash shaft filled her and fucked her.

'' order me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to bury 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 pecker was heavy than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the insensate drinking glass. Her unit body was animated, and she came in technicolor wave that shimmered and splashed across her altogether body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh piece of ass, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his weapon, his thorax solid against her back, his peter, still semi hard, nestled between her ass cheek. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome home, darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to catch some Z's .