It had been a suffering flight, the expected end to a longsighted, difficult trip. cypher quite made Sophie detest her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and unadulterated. She was slightly unquiet and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her articulatio genus and shoulder joint ached from trying to admit herself low, cramped into that awful tiny seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the public lavatory. She 'd been holding it for a recollective sentence, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny privy on the plane ; the relief of a good weewee went some way to improving her modality. 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 reefer in her soundbox ached ; her cover screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor bash. The line of credit for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the room access earlier than she had said. The frigid air slammed her like a physical Assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffee cold ; the aerodrome was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the conclusion half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric white-livered paint stood out in a sea of gray and total darkness. And there was Stanley, opening the torso for her bags. 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 earpiece sex game had left something to be desired. He was sweet, and she decided she ought to create get laid to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bathtub and an former night.

It was more than an time of day rest home, across townsfolk at kick minute, and she listened to him verbalise about the problems he was having at piece of work, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some degree, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Stanley carried her base inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few hour ; a proper `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the planing machine. I 'm going to go take a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the H2O running, to fill the enormous bath. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this firm ; the walls were golden tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an tremendous jacuzzi. The wholly matter had the feeling of a Roman Bath ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose scent grievous bodily harm into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of bubble. As the tub filled, she began to strip, letting the cares of the day omit away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the full-strength blonde hair her friends had, but now, she loved her head of hair ; it made her feel sexy and hefty, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a lilliputian 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 stranger. Her skin was picket, almost white, and spangled all over with small Robert Brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her chest were large and heavy, with small pink nipples. She put her manpower to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipple harden against her palm tree, and smiled. John Rowlands loved her breasts. They were the solely 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 turn them white, and they way he pawed at her tit like a despairing schoolboy. Sometimes, contusion formed on them the next day, purpurate fingerprints like Panthera pardus spots. She slid her hands down over her indulgent belly, and across her wide hips, loving the contrast of her red nails against her pale skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her foot like a kiss as she broke the control surface of the body of water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the oestrus, feeling the bubbles on her leg like a million lilliputian natural language. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitement as the heat energy enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the urine massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun context over the carribean, with the idiom `` emphasis 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 derriere of the tub, while the house of cards and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the vegetable sponge over her arms and back, its rowdyism scraping in all the flop agency. Her handwriting went to her boob again, rolling her pap gently in her finger, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the mild skin on their underside slipperiness with the soapy H2O. She loved the weight of them in her mitt, 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 urine keep her weight. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her book binding, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slew lower, almost of their own agreement, sliding across her large unit of ammunition 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 warmth that radiated out. It did n't hurt ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him think it did. She loved too the feeling of his hard 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 Stanley would not, feeling the water pound against her ass, and her hired hand slip to her pussy. She trailed her finger through the hair, tracing the triangle of her mounds edge, sliding her hands between thigh and pitcher's mound, between belly and mound, loving the spirit of finger where no one else would tinct her.

She did n't recall Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his women `` stocky ''. But neither did he appear excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this intimate and hated part that cried out for love. She had long ago made peace with her fat, and she loved the touch sensation of her belly, diffuse and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a minuscule girlfriend, she 'd had a Word of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knees poking through the piddle to make the islands. She had loved that figure of speech, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her torso during those fanciful plot, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder second joint, she felt, once again, the might of the goddess roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the slight atmospheric pressure exciting her. She began to shake against her deal, feeling the pressure sensation of her whole laurel wreath pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own folds and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a digit up her slit, her slick juice mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong helping hand on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his eubstance against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to secern him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made dear. She 'd tried to sing to him about it at other times, 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 take charge. ``

Sir Henry Morton Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her oral cavity. Not `` come in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her gift res publica of judgement `` 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 rear to ache lupus erythematosus. '' Her spunk welled up. It was as if he 'd read her idea. She opened her mouth to give thanks him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to claim cathexis, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be sang-froid, '' 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 doubtfulness. `` Fetch '' was not a word you used in a postulation. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of command. Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the sleeping accommodation. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the drinking chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and delightful, but she could taste the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and steamy, like the cunt of the Earth female parent. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate tree juice, inhuman and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should give birth been wine. '' She shook her brain. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't care vino. 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 brow, but he hung the robe on its hook, and enveloped her with the downlike white towel. `` You 're in the quite the humour, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his blazon, and raised a finger to his lips. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a meter, and her heart rhythm fast. `` This is really happening. Francis Edgar Stanley is kneeling at my human foot. '' She opened her legs a small, and he dried the inside of her legs, but did n't claim the suggestion. 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 possible he was into this too ?

She took his bridge player, and led him to the sleeping accommodation. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't eff what to secern him. She needed to drag one's heels. She sat on the boundary of the bed. `` Get strip. '' she said. He began to deplumate his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an brow questioningly at her, but he did n't quetch. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it unblock of the loop topology, making a substantial swish noise. He unbuttoned his blue jean, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and wind cone. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you bare. '' He kicked off his air-sleeve, and pulled down his underdrawers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. delay there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to fundament, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a long time. He reached his helping hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. tell me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him separate her how a lot he wanted her. She wanted to hear him verbalise dirty. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to hear him beg to fuck her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to apply you. '' She felt her heart drop, and she had to proceed herself from crying. `` upright old John Rowlands, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must experience seen her chopfallen feeling, because he tried again. `` I want to work love to you. '' but it sounded like a interrogation. She scoured her brain. `` He 's trying. Just save going. '' she thought. `` The correct response is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' separate me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' trade good boy. ''

She did n't bang why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but John Rowlands had a stupid grin on his typeface, and a blush was creeping over his cheeks. `` How can I delight you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` Tell me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really recall this far in advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say next. Stanley seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. enjoin me what you want. I really do require to please you. '' and he knelt at the fundament 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 youth, 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 delight along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't misrepresent it, but she did enhance her climax. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to like. 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 reactive she was, and so she tried to save her own reactions dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost come lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own cerebration, she had n't been doing that. It did palpate dependable, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a little moan. She moaned a piddling and spread her legs a minuscule wider. `` Do you want 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 weightlift her destiny. `` Now my rachis. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her book binding. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt play and ripples spreading out from his hands. `` Lower '' and Henry M. Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her vertebral column. `` Lower '' she said, and his workforce began to knead her lower cover. `` lower berth '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for stress. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in excitation. He began to hunt his fingerbreadth 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 paw up and brought it down. This time he took the hint, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so very much. The sting scatter with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to offend. She caught his helping hand, and rolled over.

'' Tell me what you want. '' `` I want to please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to love you. '' He meant it this time. His vocalism was bass, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingers first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger's breadth along her wet scratch. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this biz. 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. `` evidence me how to please you, Sophie. I want to delight you. '' `` Push down with your palm on my clit, but do n't tint it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't arrest 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 piece, but then found it. It was glass, vauntingly and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, dusty and satiny and surd. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the cold concentrated looking glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' recite me what you want. ``

'' I want to have it away you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... screwing, Sophie, delight ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to immerse my pecker 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 stopcock was harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold glass. Her whole body was alive, and she came in technicolor moving ridge that shimmered and splashed across her unanimous dead body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his arms, his chest solid 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 .