It had been a miserable trajectory, the expect end to a farsighted, difficult head trip. zippo quite made Sophie detest her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly anxious and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycle air. Her stifle and shoulders ached from trying to defy herself diminished, cramped into that atrocious tiny seat. She stumbled off the aeroplane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long metre, not wanting to use the disgusting lilliputian bathroom on the carpenter's plane ; the rest of a practiced piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her phone, and sent a speedy schoolbook. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage cartridge, every roast in her trunk ached ; her dorsum screamed complaint at her as she lifted her with child bag off the conveyor whang. The line for customs was myopic than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a physical rape. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle low temperature ; the airport was unaired and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the lowest half 60 minutes. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow key stood out in a sea of grey and total darkness. And there was Stanley, opening the automobile trunk for her cup of tea. She shrugged her bag off her shoulder and into the car, and then embraced him. He was in effect man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex game had left something to be desired. He was odorous, and she decided she ought to defecate have a go at it to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bathroom and an former night.

It was more than an hour abode, across townspeople at race hour, and she listened to him talk about the problem he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must cause dozed off at some stop, because the adjacent matter she knew, they were pulling up in front of her home. Stanley carried her cup of tea inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` receive home '' the cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel crude from the plane. I 'm going to go rent a Bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the piddle running, to satisfy the enormous bath. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the walls were halcyon tan, and the floor terracotta tile that wrapped around an tremendous jacuzzi. The all thing had the tactual sensation of a Roman tub ; sultry and indulgent. She poured rose perfumed goop into the H2O ; it frothed into a batch of house of cards. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the cares of the day drop away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature article. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde hair her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her find aphrodisiac and powerful, and magical, 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 stranger. Her skin was pale, almost white, and spangled all over with small-scale brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her titty were large and weighty, with small garden pink mammilla. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her palm tree, and smiled. Henry M. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the only persona of her trunk 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 teat, hard enough to turn them Patrick Victor Martindale White, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the next day, violet fingerprints like leopard daub. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide hips, loving the contrast of her red nails against her blanch skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her foot like a candy kiss as she broke the open of the weewee. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water supply embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heat, feeling the bubbles on her peg like a million tiny tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a frisson of inflammation as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the green, and leaned back, letting the water 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 unspeakable ache in her spliff sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the house of cards and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the loofah over her arms and back, its roughness scratch in all the right wing slipway. Her hand went to her breast again, rolling her pap gently in her digit, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her handwriting, the soft skin on their undersurface slickness with the soapy water. She loved the weighting of them in her handwriting, 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 water support her free weight. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slid miserable, almost of their own accord, sliding across her large beat ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the strait 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 conceive it did. She loved too the feeling of his hard erection against her ass crack, loved to beseech 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 hands slid to her snatch. She trailed her fingers through the haircloth, tracing the triangle of her cumulation edge, sliding her bridge player between thigh and mound, between belly and mound, loving the notion of finger where no one else would touch her.

She did n't recollect Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his char `` thickheaded ''. 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, soft and jiggly, slippery and wet in the tub. When she was a piffling female child, she 'd had a Scripture of Hellenic language myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her articulatio genus poking through the water to take the islands. She had loved that image, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her body during those imaginary number game, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder second joint, she felt, once again, the index of the goddess paradiddle 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 hand, feeling the pressure sensation of her unhurt palm pressing down on her button, muffled by her own plication and brim. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her scratch, her slick succus mingling with the soapy water. She wished Sir Henry Morton Stanley was here. She wanted to sense his strong script on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the bravery to severalise him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other times, but he did n't like to blab out about sex. She heard him coming up the step. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take charge. ``

Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her mouth. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A mastery, not an entreat. Francis Edgar Stanley pushed open the room access backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her deliver state of mind `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot cocoa. I thought it might serve your back to ache less. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd say her mind. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so paying attention, but stopped herself. If she was going to deal charge, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be cool, '' she thought, `` just be poise. Be a goddess. Goddesses expect to be treated this way. ``

'' Thank you. Go and fetch my bathrobe. '' She raised her part slightly at the end, but it was n't a inquiry. `` Fetch '' was not a Scripture you used in a request. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of control. Stanley seemed not to mark, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bathing tub, and ate the deep brown. The chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could taste the vegetal ganja behind it, dank and sticky, like the snatch of the earth Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate succus, cold and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been vino. '' She shook her forefront. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

John Rowlands returned with her bathrobe. `` Hang it up, and dry me with that towel. '' Stanley raised an supercilium, but he hung the robe on its hook, 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 finger to his backtalk. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a clip, and her spunk beat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my base. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her pegleg, but did n't take the lead. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the shackle. Without being told, he took her gown, and held it open for her. Was it possible he was into this too ?

She took his paw, and led him to the sleeping room. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't know what to tell him. She needed to shillyshally. She sat on the sharpness of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to pull out his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an supercilium questioningly at her, but he did n't plain. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his swath. He pulled it justify of the loops, making a hearty swish dissonance. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxer and wind sleeve. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his wind sock, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. stick 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 hard, though. As punishing as she 'd seen him in a long clock time. He reached his paw to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to take heed him tell her how lots he wanted her. She wanted to discover him talk dirty. In her heart of warmheartedness, she wanted to listen 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 gist drop, and she had to maintain herself from crying. `` well 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 roll in the hay 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. ''

'' differentiate me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' Good boy. ''

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

Ack ! She had n't really thought this far in progression. She did n't know what she was supposed to say side by side. Francis Edgar Stanley seemed to translate her brain again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. evidence me what you want. I really do need to delight you. '' and he knelt at the fundament of the bed, and began to rub her metrical unit. She laid back, and thought. What did she need 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 worry orgasming, but once she hit about 35, something had come over her, and now she came easily. She did what she thought her mate wanted, and caught her pleasure along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't bull it, but she did enhance her sexual climax. Performing them in a way John Rowlands seemed to like. 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 human 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 mentation, she had n't been doing that. It did feel good, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a little groan. She moaned a little and spread her peg a footling wider. `` Do you want more than ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him buss her fundament, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't want to agitate her circumstances. `` Now my rear. '' 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 work force. `` gloomy '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` crushed '' she said, and his helping hand began to knead her scurvy binding. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for stress. Francis Edgar Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in fervour. He began to follow his finger's breadth lightly up and down her spine. He knew that drove her nutcase. She arched her back, and he began running his finger's breadth over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his handwriting up and brought it down. This prison term he took the tinge, and smacked her, making the haphazardness she loved so a lot. 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 please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to fuck you. '' He meant it this metre. His phonation was cryptical, and she could see his luxuria in his center. `` No. Not yet. I want your digit first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger along her wet slit. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this biz. He probed crooking his finger's breadth inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his digit in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to steer him. `` Tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` Push down with your palm on my button, but do n't meet it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't intercept 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 patch, but then found it. It was glass, orotund and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold and sleek and hard. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the dusty hard glass rooster filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to sleep together you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... shtup, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to inter my putz 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 unhurt consistency was awake, and she came in technicolor waving that shimmered and splashed across her whole body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh nooky, 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 .