It had been a suffering flight, the expected end to a farseeing, difficult tripper. null quite made Sophie detest her eubstance so much as flying. She felt fat and old and everlasting. She was slightly nauseated and her head throbbed with dehydration from the reprocess air. Her knees and shoulders ached from trying to hold herself pocket-size, cramped into that horrendous petite seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a yearn fourth dimension, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny can on the plane ; the relief of a good piddle went some way to improving her temper. She turned on her earpiece, and sent a agile text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. logic gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every joint in her body ached ; her spine screamed complaint at her as she lifted her gravid bag off the conveyor belt. The line for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a physical assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffee cold ; the aerodrome was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the stopping point half 60 minutes. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow paint stood out in a sea of grey and black. And there was Sir Henry Morton Stanley, opening the trunk for her cup of tea. 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, and she decided she ought to make bed to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted zero to a greater extent than a hot bath and an early night.

It was more than an minute home, across town at rush minute, and she listened to him spill about the problem he was having at workplace, something about a new supervisor. She must receive dozed off at some tip, because the adjacent affair she knew, they were pulling up in front of her sign. Henry M. Stanley carried her bags inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minute of arc ; a proper `` welcome base '' the cold had denied them at the drome. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the airplane. I 'm going to go take a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the weewee running, to sate the enormous bathing tub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the walls were favorable tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an tremendous jacuzzi. The unharmed matter had the smell of a Roman Bath ; fleshly and indulgent. She poured rose wind max into the water ; it frothed into a raft of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to strip, letting the maintenance of the day unload away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite lineament. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde hair her booster had, but now, she loved her head of hair ; it made her feel sexy and powerful, and charming, like an siren 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 watch herself undress, as if watching a alien. Her skin was pale, almost white, and spangled all over with diminished chocolate-brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her articulatio humeri and over her breasts. Her white meat were turgid and heavy, with pocket-size pinko teat. She put her hands to her tit, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her palm, and smiled. Francis Edgar Stanley loved her boob. They were the only part of her organic structure 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 tit, hard enough to release them white, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the next day, empurple fingermark like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her piano belly, and across her full hips, loving the direct contrast of her red nails against her pale pelt.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her foot like a buss as she broke the airfoil of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the piddle embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the estrus, feeling the house of cards on her legs like a million lilliputian spit. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitement as the estrus enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, 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 `` tenseness ca n't swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the severe aching in her joints sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her hide, and pounded her aching sinew. She rubbed the loofah over her limb and back, its harshness scratch in all the right wing mode. Her hands went to her knocker again, rolling her nipples gently in her finger's breadth, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her workforce, the diffuse skin on their underside slick with the soapy weewee. She loved the exercising 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 set around her omphalos.

She arched her back, letting the water bread and butter her system of weights. She slid her hired hand behind her, caressing her vertebral column, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slew lower, almost of their own accord, sliding across her large one shot ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the sting on her pelt, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't hurt ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him think it did. She loved too the feeling of his hard erection against her ass crack cocaine, loved to agitate 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 pee Sudanese pound against her ass, and her hands slid to her pussy. She trailed her fingerbreadth through the hair, tracing the triangle of her cumulus edge, sliding her hand between second joint and mound, between belly and mound, loving the feeling of digit where no one else would adjoin her.

She did n't remember Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser story, and knew he preferred his cleaning lady `` thick ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her flaccid underbelly, this intimate and hated part that cried out for love life. She had long ago made peace with her fat, and she loved the look of her belly, diffused and jiggly, slippery and wet in the tub. When she was a slight missy, she 'd had a record of Hellene myths, that showed Gaea, immersed in the oceans, her knees poking through the water to get 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 notional biz, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder thighs, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess axial rotation through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her agglomerate, the slight pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her helping hand, feeling the pressure of her altogether palm pressing down on her button, muffled by her own sheepfold and lip. She pushed hard, and slid a fingerbreadth up her slit, her slick juices mingling with the soapy water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his potent hired hand on her, wanted to feel the solidness of his torso 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 babble to him about it at early fourth dimension, but he did n't wish to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This clock time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take charge. ``

Henry M. Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the Good Book felt in her mouth. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Francis Edgar Stanley pushed open the doorway backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her represent state of mind `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot drinking chocolate. I thought it might help your back to ache less. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd read her judgment. She opened her mouth to give thanks him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to occupy charge, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be assuredness, '' 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 countersign you used in a request. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a Logos of bidding. Francis Edgar Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the sleeping room. She stepped out of the bathtub, and ate the coffee. The chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could try the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and steamy, like the slit of the Earth Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate tree juice, stale and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have got been wine. '' She shook her mind. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't care wine-colored. 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. '' Henry M. Stanley raised an eyebrow, but he hung the robe on its draw, and enveloped her with the fluffy whitened towel. `` You 're in the quite the climate, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his weapon, 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 time, and her nub beat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a petty, and he dried the insides of her branch, but did n't take the hint. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her gown, and held it open for her. Was it possible he was into this too ?

She took his bridge player, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't get it on what to tell him. She needed to stall. She sat on the boundary of the bed. `` Get strip down. '' she said. He began to displume 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 ammunition. He pulled it free of the grommet, making a satisfying swosh haphazardness. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and sock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his packer, and then he started to total toward her. `` No. last out there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As punishing as she 'd seen him in a foresightful clip. He reached his handwriting to his prick. `` No. No touching yet. distinguish me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him secern her how much he wanted her. She wanted to take heed him talk dirty. In her gist of inwardness, she wanted to hear him beg to fuck her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to contain you. '' She felt her heart dip, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` adept old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her chopfallen flavour, because he tried again. `` I want to give have sex to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her thinker. `` He 's trying. Just keep 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. ``

'' thoroughly boy. ''

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

Ack ! She had n't really call back this far in advancement. She did n't know what she was supposed to say side by side. Henry M. Stanley seemed to take her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you want. I really do need to please 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 young, 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. 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 responsive she was, and so she tried to keep on her own response dialed up to 10 all the meter, despite his almost total 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 repay him with a little groan. She moaned a footling and spread her legs a little wider. `` Do you want more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him buss 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 destiny. `` Now my back. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt shimmers and wavelet spreading out from his hand. `` Lower '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` Lower '' she said, and his script began to knead her lower backbone. `` frown '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for vehemence. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in upheaval. He began to hunt his fingerbreadth lightly up and down her thorn. He knew that drove her crazy. She arched her back, and he began running his fingers over her ass, writing arcane book on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This clock time he took the pinch, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so very much. The sting counterpane with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to spite. She caught his hand, and rolled over.

'' Tell me what you want. '' `` I want to please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to eff you. '' He meant it this fourth dimension. His voice was deep, and she could see his lust in his centre. `` No. Not yet. I want your finger's breadth first. '' She spread her wooden leg, 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 digit in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to calculate 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 stir it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't blockade 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. `` punch me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the cold hard glass putz filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... screw, Sophie, delight ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to inter 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 cock was heavily than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the moth-eaten glassful. Her whole eubstance was active, and she came in technicolor undulation that shimmered and splashed across her whole organic structure. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh deity, Oh Sophie, piece of ass, shtup, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

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