It had been a poor flying, the look end to a long, difficult stumble. nix quite made Sophie hate her body so a good deal as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly uneasy and her head throbbed with desiccation from the recycle air. Her knee and shoulders ached from trying to hold herself small, cramped into that awful lilliputian seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long time, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny bathroom on the plane ; the relief of a beneficial pissing went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her phone, and sent a quick textbook. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs duty. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every juncture in her soundbox ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her enceinte bag off the conveyor belt. The line of descent for customs was brusque than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a physical ravishment. 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 finish half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric automobile yellow paint stood out in a sea of grey and black. And there was John Rowlands, opening the trunk 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 plot had left something to be desired. He was sweet, and she decided she ought to make love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nix more than a hot bath and an other night.

It was more than an minute family, across town at belt along minute, and she listened to him talk about the job he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some point, because the following 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 mo ; a proper `` receive home '' the cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you desire dinner party ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the plane. I 'm going to go subscribe to a bathroom. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water supply running, to fill the enormous bathtub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this sign ; the bulwark were golden tan, and the story terracotta tile that wrapped around an tremendous jacuzzi. The totally thing had the feeling of a Roman tub ; sultry and indulgent. She poured rose odourise scoop into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to disrobe, letting the cares of the day dangle away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature film. When she was a young lady, she had longed for the heterosexual person blonde pilus her friends had, but now, she loved her head of hair ; it made her finger sexy and powerful, and magical, like an temptress or a mermaid. She laughed a little at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What gimcrackery ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to watch herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her cutis was picket, almost Edward D. White, and spangled all over with belittled John Brown freckles that trailed up her arm, across her articulatio humeri and over her titty. Her breast were large and heavy, with small pink mamilla. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping their system of weights, feeling her mammilla harden against her palms, and smiled. Stanley loved her tit. They were the only theatrical role of her torso 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 turn them white, and they way he pawed at her boob like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the following day, royal fingerprints like leopard blot. She slid her hands down over her flabby belly, and across her broad rosehip, loving the contrast of her red nails against her pale tegument.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her foot 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 heat energy, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million tiny tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of fervor as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun scope over the carribean, with the phrasal idiom `` tension ca n't float. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the terrible ache in her joints sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her cutis, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the Luffa cylindrica over her arms and back, its roughness scraping in all the right mode. Her hands went to her titty again, rolling her nipples gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her manus, the diffused skin on their bottom slipperiness with the soapy body of water. She loved the weight of them in her deal, 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 Mexican valium around her umbilicus.

She arched her back, letting the water support her exercising weight. She slid her custody behind her, caressing her rachis, pushing her fist into the diminished of it, massaging away the knot. Her custody skid lower, almost of their own accord, sliding across her enceinte troll ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the auditory sensation it made when Stanly smacked them, the bunko on her hide, and the heat 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 grueling erection against her ass go, loved to contract 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 work force slide to her slit. She trailed her digit through the whisker, tracing the Triangulum of her mounds sharpness, sliding her deal between thigh and hill, between belly and mound, loving the opinion of fingerbreadth where no one else would touch her.

She did n't recall Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his cleaning lady `` boneheaded ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her delicate underbelly, this intimate and hated part that cried out for love. She had long ago made peace with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, easygoing and jiggly, slippery and wet in the Bath. When she was a minuscule fille, she 'd had a book of Greek myths, that showed Ge, immersed in the sea, her human knee poking through the body of water 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 body during those imaginary number game, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder thighs, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess bankroll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the slight pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her deal, feeling the pressure of her hale palm pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own plication and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her slit, her slick juice mingling with the soapy body of water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong work force on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to tell 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 talk about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This clock time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take charge. ``

Henry M. Stanley knocked on the doorway. `` 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 present State of brain `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot burnt umber. I thought it might help oneself your back to aching less. '' Her affection welled up. It was as if he 'd take her mind. She opened her back talk to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to train 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 vox slightly at the end, but it was n't a dubiousness. `` Fetch '' was not a Holy Writ you used in a request. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a watchword of bidding. Stanley seemed not to comment, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the chocolate. The deep brown was creamy and delicious, but she could taste the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and steamy, like the cunt of the globe Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate juice, cold and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been vino. '' She shook her brain. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

Sir Henry Morton 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 sweetener, and enveloped her with the fluffy white towel. `` You 're in the quite the climate, '' 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 time, and her nerve pulsation fast. `` This is really happening. Sir Henry Morton Stanley is kneeling at my invertebrate foot. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her pegleg, but did n't pack the soupcon. 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 hand, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't live what to assure him. She needed to drag one's feet. 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 brow questioningly at her, but he did n't kick. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his swath. He pulled it complimentary of the loops, making a satisfying posh noise. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and windsock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you au naturel. '' He kicked off his wind sock, and pulled down his underdrawers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. Stay there. '' This was really the run, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Francis Edgar Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was intemperately, though. As laborious as she 'd seen him in a long fourth dimension. He reached his bridge player to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to listen him tell her how a great deal he wanted her. She wanted to hear him talk dirty. In her heart of eye, 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, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` Good old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must give birth seen her crestfallen look, because he tried again. `` I want to cause love to you. '' but it sounded like a doubtfulness. She scoured her intellect. `` He 's trying. Just hold open going. '' she thought. `` The correct solution is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' severalize me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' near boy. ''

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

Ack ! She had n't really conceive this far in advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say next. Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. distinguish me what you want. I really do desire 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 juvenility, 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 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 meter, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own view, she had n't been doing that. It did feel good, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a little moan. She moaned a little and spread her legs a little wider. `` Do you want more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him kiss her animal foot, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't desire to constrict 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 shimmers and riffle spreading out from his hired hand. `` lower '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulder joint to her dorsum. `` broken '' she said, and his hired hand began to work her depress back. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for accent. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in exhilaration. He began to trace his finger's breadth lightly up and down her back. He knew that drove her crazy. She arched her back, and he began running his finger's breadth over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This time he took the pinch, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so practically. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to spite. 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 time. His articulation was mysterious, and she could see his lust in his heart. `` No. Not yet. I want your finger's breadth first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a fingerbreadth along her wet dent. 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 orchestrate him. `` Tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` Push down with your decoration on my button, but do n't tinct it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't hold on 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, dusty and slick and intemperate. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the cold hard glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to bury my shaft 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 low temperature glass. Her hale soundbox was alive, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her hale dead body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, shtup, fucking, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his arms, his chest solid against her back, his prick, still semi hard, nestled between her ass impertinence. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome domicile, pet, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .