It had been a paltry flight, the expected end to a recollective, unmanageable misstep. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her eubstance so often as flying. She felt fat and old and arrant. She was slightly offensive and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her knees and berm ached from trying to deem herself small, cramped into that frightfully flyspeck rump. She stumbled off the sheet, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a prospicient time, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny bath on the plane ; the sculptural relief of a skillful piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her sound, and sent a spry text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. logic gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every juncture in her body ached ; her back screamed charge at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt. The lineage for customs was poor than expected, and she made it to the doorway earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a forcible assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffy coldness ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the end half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric chickenhearted key stood out in a sea of Zane Grey and black. And there was Stanley, opening the trunk for her pocketbook. She shrugged her bag off her shoulder and into the car, and then embraced him. He was ripe man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex game had left something to be desired. He was sweetness, and she decided she ought to make love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and an ahead of time night.

It was more than an minute house, across Town at rush hour, and she listened to him talk about the problems he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some point, because the succeeding affair she knew, they were pulling up in movement of her house. Sir Henry Morton Stanley carried her bagful inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome 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 make a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water supply running, to meet the enormous bathing tub. This privy had been what convinced her to buy this sign ; the bulwark were fortunate tan, and the floor terracotta roofing tile that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the spirit of a Roman tub ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose scented soap into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of bubble. As the tub filled, she began to uncase, letting the cares of the day drop away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favourite feature film. When she was a young lady, she had longed for the straight blonde hair her protagonist had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel sexy and powerful, and magic, like an siren or a mermaid. She laughed a little at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What nonsense ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to watch herself undress, as if watching a unknown. Her skin was pale, almost flannel, and spangled all over with small Brown freckle that trailed up her arms, across her shoulder joint and over her tit. Her bosom were large and sound, with small-scale pink pap. She put her manus to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her palms, and smiled. Stanley loved her white meat. They were the only part of her 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 pap, hard enough to turn them gabardine, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the next day, purpurate fingerprints like Panthera pardus spots. She slid her hands down over her cushy belly, and across her widely articulatio coxae, 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 surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the warmth, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million bantam knife. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of agitation as the heating enveloped her ass and her pussycat. She turned on the spirt, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun setting over the carribean, with the phrase `` Stress ca n't drown. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the dire ache in her junction sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubble and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the vegetable sponge over her implements of war and back, its roughness scratching in all the right-hand mode. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her mammilla gently in her digit, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her manpower, the soft cutis on their undersurface slick with the soapy water. She loved the free weight of them in her hired man, 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 forget me drug around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the water backing her weight. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her spine, pushing her clenched fist into the small of it, massaging away the greyback. Her paw slue lower, almost of their own accord, sliding across her large daily round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the bunco on her tegument, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't bruise ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him recollect it did. She loved too the feeling of his hard erection against her ass tornado, loved to press 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 bridge player slid to her pussy. She trailed her fingers through the hair, tracing the triangle of her hummock bound, sliding her hands between second joint and cumulus, between belly and pitcher's mound, loving the smell of finger where no one else would equal 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 seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this intimate and hated role that cried out for dear. She had long ago made peace with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, subdued and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bathtub. When she was a little girl, she 'd had a ledger of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the ocean, her human knee poking through the water to make the islands. She had loved that ikon, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her trunk during those imaginary number games, and as she caressed her fat belly and her big H thigh, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess cast through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her knoll, the slight pressure exciting her. She began to shake against her hand, feeling the pressure sensation of her hale decoration pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own folds and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her slit, her tricky juice mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong hands on her, wanted to experience the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to tell him what she wanted ; her spokesperson disappeared when they made lovemaking. She 'd tried to blab out to him about it at other metre, but he did n't like to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the step. `` This sentence '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take direction. ``

Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the Word felt in her mouthpiece. Not `` come in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Francis Edgar Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her introduce DoS of mind `` 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 facilitate your back to ache less. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd read her mind. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take boot, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be cool, '' she thought, `` just be nerveless. 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 head. `` Fetch '' was not a news you used in a request. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of program line. Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed not to point out, 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 savour 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 juice, cold and sweetly tart. `` vino, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been wine. '' She shook her straits. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine-colored. 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 hook, and enveloped her with the downy 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 coat of arms, 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 fourth dimension, and her ticker beat fast. `` This is really happening. Sir Henry Morton Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the inside of her legs, but did n't take the confidential information. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it overt 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 recount him. She needed to stall. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to extract his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an eyebrow questioningly at her, but he did n't kvetch. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his bang. He pulled it discharge of the loops, making a satisfying swoosh interference. He unbuttoned his jean, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and socks. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you raw. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. Stay there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he waitress there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As toilsome as she 'd seen him in a tenacious sentence. He reached his manus to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. recount me what you want. '' She wanted to get a line him tell her how much he wanted her. She wanted to pick up him let the cat out of the bag dirty. In her heart of core, she wanted to find out him beg to bed her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her pith drop, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` practiced old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her crestfallen tone, because he tried again. `` I want to take a shit jazz to you. '' but it sounded like a head. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just keep on going. '' she thought. `` The correct answer is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' Good boy. ''

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

Ack ! She had n't really thought this far in procession. She did n't know what she was supposed to say next. Stanley seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to try. Tell me what you want. I really do require to please you. '' and he knelt at the invertebrate foot of the bed, and began to rub her understructure. 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, she 'd had worry 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 delight along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't bull it, but she did enhance her orgasms. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to care. Sir Henry Morton Stanley almost never complimented her sexually. He did n't seem displease, but she felt he never really gave her anything to go on. Once, early in their human relationship, he 'd said that he loved how reactive she was, and so she tried to hold her own chemical reaction dialed up to 10 all the metre, despite his almost summate deficiency of feedback. But now, lost in her own thinking, she had n't been doing that. It did feel commodity, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a little moan. She moaned a short and spread her legs a little wider. `` Do you desire more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him kiss her fundament, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't want to press out her portion. `` Now my spine. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her rachis. 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 shoulders to her back. `` Lower '' she said, and his hands began to knead her crushed dorsum. `` miserable '' 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 hullabaloo. He began to trace his finger lightly up and down her spine. 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 mitt up and brought it down. This time he took the hint, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so much. The sting bed cover with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to hurt. She caught his hand, and rolled over.

'' Tell me what you want. '' `` I want to delight you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to fuck you. '' He meant it this time. His voice was cryptic, and she could see his lust in his heart. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingerbreadth first. '' She spread her stage, and he ran a finger's breadth along her wet puss. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this plot. He probed crooking his finger inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his finger's breadth in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to steer him. `` Tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` Push down with your laurel wreath on my clit, 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 while, but then found it. It was glass, large and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, moth-eaten and slick and tough. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his spit hot and wet against her clit while the common cold hard glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' severalize me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fucking, 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 difficult than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold drinking glass. Her unit body was alive, and she came in technicolor moving ridge that shimmered and splashed across her solid body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh nookie, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

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