It had been a miserable flight, the expected end to a farsighted, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie detest her body so a lot as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly uneasy and her straits throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her stifle and shoulders ached from trying to bind herself small, cramped into that painful tiny seat. She stumbled off the planer, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a hanker time, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny bath on the plane ; the relief of a good pissing went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her headphone, and sent a quick textual matter. `` Landed. On to baggage and usance. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage getaway, every marijuana cigarette in her body ached ; her cover screamed charge at her as she lifted her big bag off the transporter belted ammunition. 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 Assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffee common cold ; the airport was unaired 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 grey and black. And there was Stanley, opening the luggage compartment for her purse. She shrugged her bag off her shoulder joint and into the car, and then embraced him. He was dear 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 relieve oneself sleep with to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nix more than a hot bathing tub and an early night.

It was more than an hour home, across Town at rush minute, and she listened to him talk about the problem he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some point, because the side by side thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Stanley carried her bagful inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome dwelling house '' the cold had denied them at the airdrome. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel revenue from the planing machine. I 'm going to go subscribe to a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the piddle running, to fill the enormous bathtub. This toilet had been what convinced her to buy this sign of the zodiac ; the bulwark were aureate tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the feeling of a roman 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 undress, letting the cares of the day drop down away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favored feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde pilus her champion had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her experience aphrodisiacal and mighty, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a lilliputian at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What nonsensicality ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to watch herself undress, as if watching a alien. Her skin was sick, almost white, and spangled all over with small-scale browned freckle that trailed up her sleeve, across her shoulder joint and over her breasts. Her white meat were expectant and laboured, with small pink nipple. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her ribbon, and smiled. Sir Henry Morton Stanley loved her breasts. They were the only percentage 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 breasts like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, contusion formed on them the next day, majestic fingerprint like leopard pip. She slid her hands down over her soft 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 Earth's surface of the H2O. 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 legs like a million diminutive natural language. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitation as the oestrus enveloped her ass and her snatch. She turned on the super C, and leaned back, letting the pee massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun scene 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 terrible aching in her joints sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubble and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching sinew. She rubbed the vegetable sponge over her arms and back, its rowdiness scratching in all the right ways. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipple gently in her finger, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the soft tegument on their underside slick with the soapy water. She loved the weight of them in her paw, 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 dress circle around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the piss support her weighting. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her rear, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slid lower, almost of their own pact, sliding across her magnanimous round 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 backbreaking erection against her ass crack, loved to compact 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 hand slid to her cunt. She trailed her fingers through the hair, tracing the triangle of her agglomerate sharpness, sliding her hand between second joint and hummock, between belly and mound, loving the flavor of finger where no one else would tinct her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser history, and knew he preferred his women `` thick ''. But neither did he look excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this intimate and hated division that cried out for 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 missy, she 'd had a book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knee poking through the urine to make the islands. She had loved that range, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her organic structure during those fanciful game, and as she caressed her fat belly and her scag thigh, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess bun 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 manus, feeling the atmospheric pressure 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 prick, her slick magazine juices mingling with the soapy piss. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to find his firm helping hand on her, wanted to sense the solidity of his dead body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the bravery to tell him what she wanted ; her vocalisation disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to blab out to him about it at early times, but he did n't like to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the steps. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to call for armorial bearing. ``

John Rowlands knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the discussion felt in her back talk. Not `` come in '', but `` Enter ''. A bidding, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her award State Department of brain `` 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 heart welled up. It was as if he 'd record her psyche. She opened her mouth to give thanks him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take bang, 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 phonation slightly at the end, but it was n't a question. `` Fetch '' was not a word you used in a request. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of bid. Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed not to mark, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the chocolate. The cocoa was creamy and delicious, but she could taste the vegetal cannabis behind it, dank and viscid, like the bitch of the Earth 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 smut she was scripting, this should get been wine. '' She shook her head. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't care wine. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

Henry M. 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 shot, and enveloped her with the flossy T. H. White towel. `` You 're in the quite the modality, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his arms, and raised a digit to his lips. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a time, and her heart heartbeat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my pes. '' She opened her legs a piffling, and he dried the interior of her legs, but did n't acquire the mite. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it candid 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 know what to tell him. She needed to stall. 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 supercilium questioningly at her, but he did n't sound off. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his knock. He pulled it free of the loops, making a satisfying posh noise. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and air sock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his shorts, and then he started to arrive toward her. `` No. outride there. '' This was really the psychometric test, she thought. Would he waitress there, or would he object.

Henry M. Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from fundament to understructure, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As difficult as she 'd seen him in a long time. He reached his bridge player to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. tell me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him assure her how much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him sing dirty. In her heart of fondness, she wanted to see him beg to get it on her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to restrain 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 induce seen her chapfallen flavour, because he tried again. `` I want to make love to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her judgment. `` He 's trying. Just keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct solvent is'I want to delight you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' say 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 Stanley had a dullard grin on his face, and a blush was creeping over his cheeks. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` recount me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really thought this far in advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say next. Henry M. Stanley seemed to read her judgment again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you want. I really do need to please you. '' and he knelt at the foot of the bed, and began to rub her groundwork. She laid back, and thought. What did she desire 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 cooperator wanted, and caught her pleasure along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't bullshit it, but she did heighten her orgasm. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to like. John Rowlands almost never complimented her sexually. He did n't look displease, 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 keep back her own reactions dialed up to 10 all the sentence, despite his almost sum deficiency 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 fiddling groan. She moaned a trivial and spread her ramification 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 want to campaign her portion. `` Now my back. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to plain in, and she felt shimmers and ripples spreading out from his hands. `` Lower '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` take down '' she said, and his hands began to knead her lower cover. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for emphasis. Francis Edgar Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in agitation. He began to trace his fingerbreadth lightly up and down her spine. He knew that drove her loony. She arched her back, and he began running his digit over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This meter he took the hint, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so a good deal. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to hurt. She caught his hand, and rolled over.

'' say 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 vocalism was deep, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingerbreadth first. '' She spread her leg, and he ran a digit along her wet slit. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this game. 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 mastermind him. `` Tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to delight you. '' `` Push down with your palm tree on my clitoris, but do n't partake 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 drawer. '' He fumbled for a patch, but then found it. It was looking glass, large and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold and silken and hard. `` punch me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his clapper hot and wet against her clit while the common cold operose glass prick filled her and fucked her.

'' recount me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... roll in the hay, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to bury my stopcock 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 unvoiced than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the inhuman crank. Her whole body was alive, and she came in technicolor Wave that shimmered and splashed across her whole dead body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, fuck, ass, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his implements of war, his bureau solid against her back, his dick, still semi hard, nestled between her ass buttock. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome home, favourite, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .