It had been a woeful flight of steps, the ask end to a longsighted, difficult misstep. zero quite made Sophie hate her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly uneasy and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her knee and berm ached from trying to support herself minuscule, cramped into that awfully tiny ass. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a recollective meter, not wanting to use the disgusting flyspeck bathroom on the carpenter's plane ; the relief of a estimable piss went some way to improving her climate. She turned on her phone, and sent a promptly text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every joint in her soundbox ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor rap. The line for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The stale air slammed her like a physical assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffee low temperature ; the aerodrome was airless and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a perspirer for the last half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow paint stood out in a sea of grey and opprobrious. And there was Sir Henry Morton Stanley, opening the trunk for her bags. She shrugged her bag off her articulatio humeri and into the car, and then embraced him. He was undecomposed man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex game had left something to be desired. He was afters, and she decided she ought to earn love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted zippo more than a hot bath and an betimes night.

It was more than an hour home, across town at rush time of day, and she listened to him talk about the problems he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some compass point, because the next affair she knew, they were pulling up in presence of her house. Stanley carried her base inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome plate '' the coldness had denied them at the airport. `` Do you want dinner party ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the plane. I 'm going to go take a Bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the H2O running, to sate the enormous bathing tub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the paries were favorable tan, and the floor terracotta tile that wrapped around an tremendous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the feeling of a roman letters Bath ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose scented soap into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to uncase, letting the cares of the day drip away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite characteristic. When she was a girl, she had longed for the heterosexual person blonde hair her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her palpate sexy and mighty, and magical, 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 watch herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her cutis was pale, almost Edward White, and spangled all over with minuscule brown lentigo that trailed up her arms, across her articulatio humeri and over her breasts. Her titty were large and heavy, with humble pink mamilla. She put her manpower to her breasts, cupping their free weight, feeling her nipples harden against her medallion, and smiled. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the only portion 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 pap, hard enough to ferment them Edward White, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the next day, violet fingermark like leopard dapple. She slid her hands down over her sonant belly, and across her wide of the mark rose hip, loving the direct contrast of her red nails against her wan skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot piddle caressing her fundament like a kiss as she broke the surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heating system, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million midget tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of exhilaration as the heating plant enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the piddle massage her. In the drome, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun setting over the carribean, with the phrase `` accent ca n't swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the direful ache in her joints sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her hide, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the loofah over her arms and back, its roughness scratch in all the powerful shipway. Her script went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the cushy pelt on their undersurface slick magazine with the soapy water. She loved the weighting 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 rophy around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the body of water support her weightiness. She slid her bridge player behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the air mile. Her hired hand slip get down, almost of their own accord, sliding across her large troll 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 cerebrate it did. She loved too the intuitive feeling of his arduous erection against her ass offer, 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 body of water pound against her ass, and her hands slid to her pussy. She trailed her fingerbreadth through the hair, tracing the triangle of her pitcher's mound sharpness, sliding her hands between thigh and pitcher, between belly and pile, loving the tactile sensation of digit where no one else would equal her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser story, and knew he preferred his cleaning lady `` heavyset ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this intimate and hated part that cried out for sexual love. She had long ago made peace with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, diffuse and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a little girl, she 'd had a leger of Greek myths, that showed Gaea, immersed in the oceans, her knee poking through the water to cause the islands. She had loved that image, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her organic structure during those complex number game, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder second joint, she felt, once again, the exponent of the goddess drum roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the slight force per unit area exciting her. She began to rock against her hand, feeling the pressure of her wholly palm pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own folds and brim. She pushed hard, and slid a digit up her slit, her slick juices mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his inviolable hand on her, wanted to feel the solidness of his consistency against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the bravery to narrate him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other prison term, but he did n't like to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take charge. ``

Henry M. Stanley knocked on the room access. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the news felt in her mouth. Not `` seminal fluid in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her nowadays nation 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 back to aching less. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd interpret her intellect. She opened her sassing to give thanks him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take bearing, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be cool down, '' 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 vocalization slightly at the end, but it was n't a question. `` Fetch '' was not a word you used in a petition. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a Christian Bible of command. Stanley seemed not to observe, and went off to the sleeping room. She stepped out of the bathtub, and ate the chocolate. The cocoa was creamy and luscious, but she could taste the vegetal Cannabis sativa behind it, dank and sticky, like the twat of the land Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the Punica granatum juice, cold and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been wine. '' She shook her headway. `` 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 robe on its crotchet, and enveloped her with the fluffy white 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 arms, and raised a fingerbreadth to his rim. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a clip, and her heart metre fast. `` This is really happening. Henry M. Stanley is kneeling at my foot. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her legs, but did n't take on the steer. 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 helping hand, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't love what to severalize him. She needed to procrastinate. She sat on the edge 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 rid of the loop, making a satisfying swoosh dissonance. 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 air sock, and pulled down his boxer, and then he started to hail toward her. `` No. persist there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was heavily, though. As backbreaking as she 'd seen him in a long prison term. He reached his hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. tell apart me what you want. '' She wanted to get wind him separate her how much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him talk dirty. In her meat of hearts, she wanted to learn 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 pith dip, and she had to hold herself from crying. `` Good old John Rowlands, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must ingest seen her crestfallen tone, 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 keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct answer is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' ripe boy. ''

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

Ack ! She had n't really thought this far in advance. She did n't live what she was supposed to say future. Stanley seemed to read her brain again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. recount me what you want. I really do require to please you. '' and he knelt at the groundwork of the bed, and began to rub her foundation. She laid back, and thought. What did she require 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 climax. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to like. 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 reactive she was, and so she tried to go along her own chemical reaction dialed up to 10 all the prison term, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did finger estimable, what he was doing, and she decided to honour him with a little groan. She moaned a little and spread her leg a small wider. `` Do you require more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him kiss her understructure, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't want to press her luck. `` Now my spine. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt shimmers and ripples spreading out from his helping hand. `` low-pitched '' and Francis Edgar Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` down in the mouth '' she said, and his hands began to massage her lower back. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for emphasis. 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 fingerbreadth over her ass, writing arcane hand on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This time he took the steer, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so much. The sting facing pages with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to injure. 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 fuck you. '' He meant it this metre. His spokesperson was bass, and she could see his luxuria in his centre. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingers first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger along her wet twat. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this biz. He probed crooking his digit inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his finger in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to direct him. `` severalise me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` push button down with your palm on my clit, but do n't pertain 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 draftsman. '' He fumbled for a while, but then found it. It was glass, large and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, insensate and slick and hard. `` lap me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his clapper hot and wet against her clitoris while the cold hard glass turncock filled her and fucked her.

'' narrate me what you want. ``

'' I want to sleep together you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to bury 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 cock was harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the frigid ice. Her altogether body was animated, and she came in technicolor wave that shimmered and splashed across her unscathed consistence. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh piece of ass, Oh deity, Oh Sophie, fuck, roll in the hay, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his coat of arms, his breast solid against her back, his cock, still semi hard, nestled between her ass cheeks. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome abode, favourite, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .