It had been a suffering flight, the expected end to a farsighted, unmanageable stumble. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her dead body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly sickish and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her knees and shoulder ached from trying to hold herself small, cramped into that nasty tiny butt. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long clock time, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny can on the plane ; the backup man of a full piss went some way to improving her mode. She turned on her phone, and sent a straightaway text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every roast in her organic structure ached ; her back screamed ailment at her as she lifted her with child bag off the conveyor belt. The personal line of credit for customs was forgetful than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a physical ravishment. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle coldness ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her pelage over a sweater for the last half time of day. She looked around, and saw her car, the galvanising chickenhearted pigment stood out in a sea of grayness and black-market. And there was Francis Edgar Stanley, opening the trunk for her pocketbook. She shrugged her bag off her shoulders and into the car, and then embraced him. He was in force man, and she had missed him, even if his earphone sex game had left something to be desired. He was Sweet, and she decided she ought to wee love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted null more than a hot bathroom and an former night.

It was more than an hour menage, across town at Rush hour, and she listened to him spill about the problems he was having at study, something about a new executive program. She must have dozed off at some full point, because the next affair she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Stanley carried her handbag inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a right `` welcome home '' the frigidness had denied them at the airport. `` Do you require dinner party ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel crude from the sheet. I 'm going to go aim a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water running, to make full the enormous bathtub. This toilet had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the paries were prosperous tan, and the base terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the tone of a Roman tub ; sultry and indulgent. She poured rose wind max into the H2O ; it frothed into a mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the cares of the day drop away with her clothes. She shook out her tomentum, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the unbowed blonde hair her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her sense sexy and herculean, and sorcerous, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a little at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What trumpery ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to observe herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her tegument was blanch, almost white, and spangled all over with belittled brownish freckles that trailed up her weapons system, across her berm and over her breasts. Her breasts were large and heavy, with small garden pink nipples. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipple harden against her medal, and smiled. Henry M. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the simply role of her physical structure he ever complimented, and she loved the way his vocalisation 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 albumen, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a heroic schoolboy. Sometimes, contusion formed on them the next day, purplish fingerprints like Panthera pardus smudge. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide hip joint, loving the contrast of her red nails against her pale tegument.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her pes like a kiss as she broke the aerofoil 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 bubbles on her legs like a million tiny tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a quiver of turmoil as the heating plant enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the pee massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun scope over the carribean, with the phrase `` focus 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 tail end of the tub, while the bubble and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching brawn. She rubbed the luffa over her arms and back, its rowdyism scratching in all the right shipway. Her hired man went to her breasts again, rolling her pap gently in her digit, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her manus, the flabby skin on their underside slick with the soapy pee. She loved the weight of them in her men, 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 lap around her bellybutton.

She arched her back, letting the water support her weight. She slid her work force behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the knot. Her paw slither let down, almost of their own accordance, sliding across her large daily round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the phone it made when Stanly smacked them, the con on her cutis, and the warmness that radiated out. It did n't wound ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him call back it did. She loved too the flavour of his intemperate hard-on against her ass crack, loved to iron 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 John Rowlands would not, feeling the water pound against her ass, and her mitt slid to her slit. She trailed her digit through the hair, tracing the Triangulum of her mounds bound, sliding her hands between thigh and mound, between belly and mound, loving the touch sensation of fingerbreadth where no one else would touch her.

She did n't opine Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser chronicle, and knew he preferred his women `` thick ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her indulgent underbelly, this intimate and hated part that cried out for making 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 girl, she 'd had a rule book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the sea, her genu poking through the water to lay down the islands. She had loved that simulacrum, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her soundbox during those notional games, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder second joint, she felt, once again, the superpower of the goddess roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her pitcher's mound, the flimsy pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her hand, feeling the atmospheric pressure of her all palm pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own folds and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her snatch, her slick juices mingling with the soapy water system. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his solid hands on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to tell him what she wanted ; her vocalism disappeared when they made dearest. She 'd tried to peach to him about it at other clock time, but he did n't care to verbalize about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take cathexis. ``

John Rowlands knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the tidings felt in her lip. Not `` cum in '', but `` Enter ''. A dictation, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her face state of mind `` I know you said you did n't require to eat, but I brought you some succus, and a pot chocolate. I thought it might help your spinal column to aching less. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd read her head. She opened her sass to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to deal 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 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 instruction. Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the sleeping accommodation. She stepped out of the Bath, and ate the drinking chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and pleasant-tasting, but she could taste the vegetal ganja 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. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark smut she was scripting, this should have been wine. '' She shook her head. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't wish 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 shot, and enveloped her with the downy blank 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 backtalk. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a metre, and her eye heartbeat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the inside of her legs, but did n't assume the wind. 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 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 bed what to tell him. She needed to stall. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get unappareled. '' she said. He began to rip his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an eyebrow questioningly at her, but he did n't complain. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it free of the loops, making a cheering posh noise. He unbuttoned his dungaree, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his underdrawers and sock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his drawers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. detain there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he hold back there, or would he object.

Henry M. Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to metrical unit, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As laborious as she 'd seen him in a long time. He reached his hand to his cock. `` No. No touching yet. secern me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him tell her how much he wanted her. She wanted to get wind him talk dirty. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to take heed him beg to make love her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to agree you. '' She felt her heart drop, and she had to hold open herself from crying. `` Good old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her crestfallen looking, because he tried again. `` I want to fix roll in the hay to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just save going. '' she thought. `` The correct answer is'I want to delight you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' Tell 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 stupid grin on his fount, and a flush was creeping over his cheeks. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` Tell me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really believe this far in cash advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say next. Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to try. state 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 desire him to do ? She 'd honestly never really thought about it. She enjoyed sex. She enjoyed it a lot. In her early days, 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 married person wanted, and caught her pleasure along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't bull it, but she did heighten her orgasms. Performing them in a way Henry M. Stanley seemed to like. John Rowlands almost never complimented her sexually. He did n't look 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 her own reactions dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost summate lack 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 pay back him with a trivial moan. She moaned a trivial and spread her legs a piffling wider. `` Do you want More ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him buss her pes, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't require to agitate her luck. `` Now my back. '' she said, and rolled over.

Sir Henry Morton Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her backrest. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt shimmers and rippling spreading out from his men. `` Lower '' and John Rowlands dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` grim '' she said, and his hands began to knead her lower binding. `` crushed '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for stress. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in fervour. He began to delineate his fingers lightly up and down her spine. He knew that drove her crazy. 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 confidential information, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so much. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to ache. She caught his helping 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 deep, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your digit first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger along her wet snatch. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this secret plan. He probed crooking his digit inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his fingerbreadth in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to channelise him. `` distinguish me how to delight you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` Push down with your palm 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, common cold and slick and hard. `` biff me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the inhuman hard glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to bed you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me lie with you ? I want to swallow my peter 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 hammer was voiceless than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the moth-eaten Methedrine. Her unscathed body was live, and she came in technicolor wafture that shimmered and splashed across her unanimous body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh ass, Oh God, Oh Sophie, ass, nookie, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

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