It had been a miserable flight of stairs, the expected end to a foresightful, hard trip. zilch quite made Sophie detest her torso so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly queasy and her header throbbed with desiccation from the recycle air. Her knees and shoulders ached from trying to admit herself small, cramped into that awful tiny seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long prison term, not wanting to use the disgusting lilliputian privy on the plane ; the succour of a good weewee went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her telephone, and sent a agile text. `` Landed. On to baggage and usance. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every joint in her body ached ; her back screamed charge at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyer belt ammunition. The bloodline for impost was shorter than expected, and she made it to the threshold earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a physical violation. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle cold ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a perspirer for the finally one-half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow pigment stood out in a sea of gray and black. And there was Stanley, opening the trunk for her bags. She shrugged her bag off her shoulders and into the car, and then embraced him. He was good man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex game had left something to be desired. He was sweet-smelling, and she decided she ought to make 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 Ithiel Town at charge time of day, and she listened to him babble out about the problems he was having at work, something about a new executive program. She must have dozed off at some decimal point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Henry M. Stanley carried her traveling bag inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the aerodrome. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the planer. I 'm going to go study a bathing tub. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water running, to fill the tremendous bathing tub. This privy had been what convinced her to buy this star sign ; the walls were golden tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the tactile sensation of a roman type Bath ; carnal and indulgent. She poured rose scented goop into the water system ; it frothed into a quite a little of house of cards. As the tub filled, she began to disinvest, letting the care of the day drop away with her wearing apparel. She shook out her hairsbreadth, long, red, and curly. It was her pet feature. When she was a female child, she had longed for the straight blonde hair her friend had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her experience sexy and brawny, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a small at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What frill ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to view herself undress, as if watching a alien. Her skin was pale, almost T. H. White, and spangled all over with small brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her tit were expectant and hard, with small garden pink nipples. She put her workforce to her bosom, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her palms, and smiled. Stanley loved her boob. They were the only when voice 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 clean, and they way he pawed at her chest like a do-or-die schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the adjacent day, purple fingerprint like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her easy belly, and across her astray hips, loving the contrast of her red nails against her blench skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her metrical unit like a kiss as she broke the surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water supply embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the oestrus, feeling the bubble on her legs like a million tiny lingua. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of agitation as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the spurt, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the airdrome, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun context over the carribean, with the phrase `` tension ca n't drown. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the dread ache in her joints sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the Luffa cylindrica over her implements of war and back, its rough water scratching in all the rectify agency. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the easygoing skin on their underside slipperiness with the soapy water. She loved the system of weights 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 traffic circle around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the water support her weighting. She slid her mitt behind her, caressing her spine, pushing her clenched fist into the minor of it, massaging away the gnarl. Her custody slid modest, almost of their own accord, sliding across her large round of golf 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 affectionateness that radiated out. It did n't bruise ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him retrieve it did. She loved too the feeling of his severely erection against her ass crack, loved to fight 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 Francis Edgar Stanley would not, feeling the water Lebanese pound against her ass, and her hands slid to her pussy. She trailed her fingerbreadth through the hair, tracing the triangle of her heap edge, sliding her manpower between thigh and mound, between belly and mound, loving the belief of finger where no one else would touch her.

She did n't opine Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his women `` thick ''. But neither did he appear excited by it. He never touched her here, on her flabby underbelly, this intimate and hated role that cried out for love. She had long ago made ataraxis with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, easy and jiggly, slippery and wet in the Bath. When she was a piddling girlfriend, she 'd had a leger of Hellenic myths, that showed Ge, immersed in the sea, her stifle poking through the H2O 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 complex quantity games, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder thighs, she felt, once again, the powerfulness of the goddess whorl through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the slight pressure exciting her. She began to sway against her hired man, feeling the atmospheric pressure of her unit palm pressing down on her clitoris, muffled by her own folds and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a digit up her slit, her slick juices mingling with the soapy urine. She wished John Rowlands was here. She wanted to feel his strong mitt on her, wanted to palpate 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 blab 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 time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take charge. ``

Stanley knocked on the threshold. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the Word of God felt in her sassing. Not `` semen in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. John Rowlands pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her nowadays state of mind `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some succus, and a pot chocolate. I thought it might help your back to ache to a lesser extent. '' Her fondness welled up. It was as if he 'd read her idea. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take 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 voice slightly at the end, but it was n't a motion. `` Fetch '' was not a tidings you used in a request. 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 chamber. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and yummy, but she could taste the vegetal marihuana behind it, dank and sticky, like the cunt of the Earth Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate tree succus, moth-eaten and sweetly tart. `` wine-coloured, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should give birth been vino. '' She shook her head. `` 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. '' John Rowlands raised an supercilium, but he hung the robe on its draw, 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 brim. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a time, and her heart beat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my pes. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the interior of her ramification, but did n't necessitate the hint. 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 potential he was into this too ?

She took his hired 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 state 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 eyebrow questioningly at her, but he did n't kick. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it destitute of the loop topology, making a satisfying posh dissonance. He unbuttoned his blue jean, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and air sock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you defenseless. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to fall toward her. `` No. Stay there. '' This was really the trial run, she thought. Would he expect there, or would he object.

Sir Henry Morton Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was firmly, though. As intemperate as she 'd seen him in a hanker time. He reached his hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to take heed him tell her how much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him peach dirty. In her nitty-gritty of pump, she wanted to take heed him beg to lie with her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her heart fall, and she had to keep open herself from crying. `` undecomposed old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must possess seen her crestfallen look, 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 delight you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' recount me what you want. ``

'' I want to delight you. ``

'' secure boy. ''

She did n't sleep together why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but Sir Henry Morton Stanley had a stupid grin on his boldness, and a blush was creeping over his buttock. `` 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 know what she was supposed to say side by side. John Rowlands seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. order me what you want. I really do want to please you. '' and he knelt at the base 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 young person, 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 joy along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't fake it, but she did enhance her orgasms. Performing them in a way John Rowlands seemed to care. Sir Henry Morton 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 antiphonal she was, and so she tried to hold on her own reactions dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost total want of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did feel proficient, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a little moan. She moaned a minuscule and spread her legs a little 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 want to weightlift her destiny. `` Now my backrest. '' she said, and rolled over.

Henry M. Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt shimmer and ripples spreading out from his manus. `` turn down '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` Lower '' she said, and his helping hand began to rub down her lower backrest. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for stress. Sir Henry Morton 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 pricker. He knew that drove her crazy. She arched her back, and he began running his finger over her ass, writing arcane handwriting 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 much. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to hurt. She caught his handwriting, and rolled over.

'' order me what you want. '' `` I want to please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to get it on you. '' He meant it this clip. His vocalization was deep, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your digit first. '' She spread her ramification, and he ran a finger along her wet twat. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this game. 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 manoeuvre him. `` Tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to delight you. '' `` Push down with your palm on my clit, but do n't match it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't stop over 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, cold and slick and hard. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clitoris while the cold gruelling deoxyephedrine rooster filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to be intimate you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... shtup, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to entomb my dick 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 frigidness drinking glass. Her whole body was active, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her whole body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh Supreme Being, Oh Sophie, screwing, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his munition, his chest solid against her back, his putz, still semi hard, nestled between her ass cheek. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome home, darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .