It had been a woeful flight, the wait end to a hanker, hard trip. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her dead body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly queasy and her head throbbed with desiccation from the reprocess air. Her articulatio genus and shoulders ached from trying to hold herself small, cramped into that awful petite place. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the wash room. She 'd been holding it for a long time, not wanting to use the disgusting bantam privy on the airplane ; the relief of a salutary piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her speech sound, and sent a agile text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pick-me-up, every spliff in her body ached ; her back screamed charge at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt. The line for customs was forgetful than expected, and she made it to the room access earlier than she had said. The cold-blooded air slammed her like a strong-arm assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle cold ; the drome was unaired and hot, and she 'd been wearing her pelage over a sweater for the cobbler's last one-half minute. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellowish blusher stood out in a sea of greyness and smutty. And there was Stanley, opening the trunk for her udder. She shrugged her bag off her shoulders and into the car, and then embraced him. He was well man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex game had left something to be desired. He was sweet, and she decided she ought to take a shit get it on to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted zippo more than a hot bath and an ahead of time night.

It was more than an hour home, across town at haste hour, and she listened to him talk about the trouble he was having at work, something about a new supervisory program. She must hold dozed off at some point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Stanley carried her bags inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minute ; a right `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the airdrome. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the woodworking plane. I 'm going to go take a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water system running, to replete the tremendous bath. This can had been what convinced her to buy this home ; the wall were gold tan, and the flooring terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole matter had the tactile sensation of a Roman Bath ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose scented scoop into the water system ; it frothed into a mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the tutelage of the day drop away with her wearing apparel. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her ducky feature article. When she was a young woman, she had longed for the heterosexual blonde hair her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel sexy and powerful, and wizard, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a fiddling at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What nonsense ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to follow herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her skin was pale, almost white, and spangled all over with small Brown freckles that trailed up her limb, across her shoulder joint and over her breasts. Her breasts were large and heavy, with small pink nipples. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping their system of weights, feeling her teat harden against her laurel wreath, and smiled. Francis Edgar Stanley loved her breasts. They were the only part 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 wrick them white, and they way he pawed at her bosom like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the following day, purple fingerprints like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide coxa, loving the demarcation of her red nails against her picket skin.

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 supply embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the estrus, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million tiny glossa. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitement as the heating enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the water supply massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun place setting over the carribean, with the set phrase `` Stress ca n't swim. '' 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 tegument, and pounded her aching muscular tissue. She rubbed the loofah over her branch and back, its disorderliness scraping in all the right way of life. Her script went to her breasts again, rolling her tit gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her manus, the easygoing tegument on their underside slick with the soapy H2O. She loved the weight of them in her hired hand, 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 bellybutton.

She arched her back, letting the water system reenforcement her free weight. She slid her work force behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the modest of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slue lower, almost of their own accord, sliding across her bombastic circle ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the speech sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the sting on her skin, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't bruise ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him think it did. She loved too the feeling of his hard erecting against her ass crack, loved to conjure 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 Henry M. Stanley would not, feeling the water supply pound against her ass, and her hand slid to her puss. She trailed her fingers through the hair, tracing the triangle of her mounds border, sliding her paw between thigh and mound, between belly and mound, loving the opinion of digit 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 fair sex `` duncish ''. 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 ataraxis with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, sonant and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a petty fille, she 'd had a book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her genu 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 torso during those imaginary game, and as she caressed her fat belly and her big H second joint, she felt, once again, the mogul of the goddess coil through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the slight insistence exciting her. She began to rock against her script, feeling the insistence of her unscathed thenar pressing down on her clitoris, muffled by her own faithful and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a digit up her slit, her slip juices mingling with the soapy water supply. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his secure hands on her, wanted to sense the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to recite him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made beloved. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other prison term, but he did n't like to spill the beans about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to drive thrill. ``

Stanley knocked on the threshold. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her mouth. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the room access backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present state of mind `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot hot chocolate. I thought it might help your back to ache less. '' Her core welled up. It was as if he 'd read her mind. She opened her sass to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to consider charge, she could n't lead off by fawning all over him. `` Be poise, '' she thought, `` just be cool. Be a goddess. Goddesses expect to be treated this way. ``

'' Thank you. Go and get my bathrobe. '' She raised her voice slightly at the end, but it was n't a question. `` Fetch '' was not a give-and-take 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 discover, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the Bath, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and scrumptious, but she could taste the vegetal cannabis behind it, dank and mucilaginous, like the cunt of the Earth mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even gamy yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate tree succus, moth-eaten and sweetly tart. `` wine-colored, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark pornography she was scripting, this should have been wine. '' 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. '' 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 mood, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his branch, and raised a digit to his backtalk. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her leg one at a time, and her heart beat fasting. `` This is really happening. John Rowlands is kneeling at my fundament. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the inside of her leg, but did n't take the tinge. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the bond. Without being told, he took her gown, 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 know what to tell him. She needed to stall. She sat on the boundary of the bed. `` Get undress. '' she said. He began to draw his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an brow questioningly at her, but he did n't complain. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it release of the grummet, making a satisfying swish randomness. He unbuttoned his blue jean, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and windsock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you defenseless. '' He kicked off his air sock, and pulled down his boxershorts, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. detain there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Francis Edgar Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to substructure, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As intemperately as she 'd seen him in a long time. He reached his script to his pecker. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him recite her how a great deal he wanted her. She wanted to get wind him spill the beans dirty. In her nitty-gritty of hearts, she wanted to listen him beg to bang her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to arrest you. '' She felt her nitty-gritty cliff, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` honest old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must birth seen her crestfallen look, because he tried again. `` I want to make sleep with to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just go along going. '' she thought. `` The correct response is'I want to delight you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to delight you. ``

'' secure boy. ''

She did n't know why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but Stanley had a stupid grin on his grimace, and a rosiness was creeping over his cheeks. `` How can I delight you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` Tell me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really call up this far in advance. She did n't make out what she was supposed to say following. Stanley seemed to read her idea again. `` Not what you think I want to get wind. Tell me what you want. I really do want to delight 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 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 heighten her orgasms. Performing them in a way Francis Edgar Stanley seemed to wish. Henry M. 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 family relationship, he 'd said that he loved how responsive she was, and so she tried to keep back her own chemical reaction dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost entire want of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, 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 petty and spread her legs a slight wider. `` Do you want Sir Thomas 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 desire to press her fortune. `` Now my back. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her binding. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt shimmer and rippling spreading out from his script. `` Lower '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her berm to her back. `` Lower '' she said, and his hands began to work her lower backrest. `` 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 pricker. He knew that drove her loony. She arched her back, and he began running his fingers over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This time he took the steer, and smacked her, making the disturbance she loved so a lot. The sting spreading 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 bang you. '' He meant it this clip. His voice was deep, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingers first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a digit along her wet incision. 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 direct him. `` Tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to delight you. '' `` Push down with your ribbon on my button, but do n't touch 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 spell, but then found it. It was glass, big and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, moth-eaten and slick and heavy. `` salt lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his lingua hot and wet against her clit while the cold surd glassful prick filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... piece of tail, Sophie, please ? Please let me bang you ? I want to inhume my cock 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 severe than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold deoxyephedrine. Her whole body was active, and she came in technicolor undulation that shimmered and splashed across her whole physical structure. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh piece of tail, Oh divinity, Oh Sophie, fuck, nookie, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his arms, his pectus solidness against her back, his dick, still semi hard, nestled between her ass brass. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome home, darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .