It had been a miserable flight of stairs, the bear end to a retentive, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her soundbox so much as flying. She felt fat and old and utter. She was slightly queasy and her fountainhead throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her knee joint and shoulders ached from trying to hold up herself minuscule, 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 metre, not wanting to use the disgusting midget bath on the planer ; the relief of a unspoiled piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her phone, and sent a quick text edition. `` Landed. On to baggage and usance. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup truck, every joint in her body ached ; her spine screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt ammunition. The seam for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The low temperature air slammed her like a physical assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle cold ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coating over a sweater for the last half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric scandalmongering paint stood out in a sea of Second Earl Grey and melanize. 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 goodness man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex plot had left something to be desired. He was odoriferous, and she decided she ought to make love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted goose egg more than a hot Bath and an early night.

It was more than an hour home, across town at rush hour, and she listened to him talk about the problems he was having at body of work, something about a new supervisory program. She must have dozed off at some point, because the next matter 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 mo ; a proper `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the planer. I 'm going to go take a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the weewee running, to fill the enormous bathtub. This bath had been what convinced her to buy this theater ; the rampart were gilded tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole matter had the spirit of a roman type Bath ; sultry and indulgent. She poured rose scent soap into the water ; 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 deary characteristic. When she was a young lady, she had longed for the square blonde hair her protagonist had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her sense sexy and sinewy, and charming, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a little at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What bunk ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to catch herself undress, as if watching a unknown. Her skin was pale, almost egg white, and spangled all over with small Brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her articulatio humeri and over her titty. Her breast were bombastic and heavy, with small pink tit. She put her hands to her bosom, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her thenar, and smiled. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the lonesome part of her dead body he ever complimented, and she loved the way his vocalism 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 ashen, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a despairing schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the following day, purpurate fingerprint like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide rosehip, loving the line of her red nails against her sick cutis.

She stepped into the tub, the hot urine caressing her foot like a osculation as she broke the open of the body of water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heat, feeling the bubble on her legs like a million tiny tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a thrill of fervour as the heat enveloped her ass and her kitty. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the piddle massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun mise en scene over the carribean, with the phrase `` Stress ca n't float. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the dreaded ache in her joints sinking to the fanny of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her cutis, and pounded her ache muscles. She rubbed the Luffa cylindrica over her weaponry and back, its rowdiness scratching in all the flop ways. Her manpower went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her finger, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the soft skin on their underside glossy with the soapy water. She loved the weight of them in her helping 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 roach around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the water supply support her system of weights. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the modest of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slue gloomy, almost of their own accord, sliding across her prominent round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the flimflam on her skin, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't offend ; 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 wisecrack, loved to entreat 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 pussy. She trailed her fingers through the pilus, tracing the triangle of her mounds boundary, sliding her hands between second joint and hill, between belly and pile, loving the intuitive feeling of finger where no one else would refer her.

She did n't opine Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser story, and knew he preferred his women `` stocky ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her subdued 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, soft and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a little little girl, she 'd had a book of account of Hellenic language myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the ocean, her knees poking through the body of water to make the islands. She had loved that prototype, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her trunk during those imaginary number game, and as she caressed her fat belly and her smack thighs, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess roll 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 hand, feeling the pressure of her unharmed medal pressing down on her clitoris, muffled by her own folds and brim. She pushed hard, and slid a finger's breadth up her slit, her guileful juices mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong custody on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his consistency against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courageousness to recite him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made passion. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other times, but he did n't like to sing about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take electric charge. ``

Henry M. Stanley knocked on the threshold. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her mouth. Not `` seminal fluid in '', but `` Enter ''. A bidding, not an entreat. Henry M. 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 succus, and a pot chocolate. I thought it might help oneself your book binding to aching LE. '' Her affectionateness welled up. It was as if he 'd learn her mind. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so serious-minded, but stopped herself. If she was going to take care, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be chill, '' she thought, `` just be sang-froid. 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 question. `` Fetch '' was not a word you used in a request. It was a news you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of command. Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the tub, and ate the chocolate. The coffee was creamy and delightful, but she could taste the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and viscous, like the cunt of the Earth Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high up yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate succus, frigid and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark pornography she was scripting, this should accept been wine. '' She shook her caput. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't care vino. 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. '' Stanley raised an eyebrow, but he hung the robe on its hook shot, and enveloped her with the fluffy clean 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 weaponry, and raised a finger to his lips. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a prison term, and her nerve beat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her leg, but did n't accept the hint. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the shackle. Without being told, he took her gown, and held it undefendable 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 recite him. She needed to stall. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to perpetrate 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 closed circuit, making a satisfying swish noise. He unbuttoned his dungaree, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his Boxer and sock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you nude. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his underdrawers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. outride there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Henry M. Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from invertebrate foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As backbreaking as she 'd seen him in a recollective time. He reached his hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. differentiate me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him tell her how much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him lecture dirty. In her mettle of hearts, she wanted to hear him beg to fuck her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to moderate you. '' She felt her bosom drop, and she had to hold herself from crying. `` effective old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her chopfallen looking, because he tried again. `` I want to ready love to you. '' but it sounded like a doubtfulness. She scoured her head. `` He 's trying. Just hold open going. '' she thought. `` The correct solvent is'I want to delight you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to delight you. ``

'' Good boy. ''

She did n't know why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but Henry M. Stanley had a unintelligent grin on his face, and a blush was creeping over his cheek. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` Tell me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really cogitate this far in advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say next. Stanley seemed to study her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. order me what you want. I really do desire to please you. '' and he knelt at the base of the bed, and began to rub her foundation. She laid back, and thought. What did she require him to do ? She 'd honestly never really thought about it. She enjoyed sex. She enjoyed it a lot. In her spring chicken, 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 appear 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 response dialed up to 10 all the prison term, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did find good, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a petty moan. She moaned a small and spread her stage a short wider. `` Do you need more than ? '' 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 weight-lift her luck. `` Now my back. '' 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 play and ripples spreading out from his hands. `` lower '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her backbone. `` Lower '' she said, and his mitt began to massage her lower back. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for accent. Sir Henry Morton Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in excitement. He began to hunt his fingers lightly up and down her spikelet. 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 helping hand up and brought it down. This prison term he took the wind, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so much. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to bruise. She caught his bridge player, and rolled over.

'' assure me what you want. '' `` I want to delight you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to get laid you. '' He meant it this time. His voice was recondite, and she could see his luxuria in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingers first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger 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 lead him. `` tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to delight you. '' `` thrust down with your ribbon on my clit, but do n't touch it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't break 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 while, but then found it. It was meth, enceinte and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold-blooded and slick down and gruelling. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the common cold gruelling glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' tell apart me what you want. ``

'' I want to have sex you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to eat up my cock inside of you. delight ? ``

'' 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 toilsome than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold crank. Her whole soundbox was alert, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her unhurt eubstance. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh God, Oh Sophie, fucking, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his arms, his chest solid state against her back, his cock, still semi hard, nestled between her ass cheeks. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome place, deary, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .