It had been a miserable flight, the gestate end to a long, unmanageable slip. zippo quite made Sophie hate her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly uneasy and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycle air. Her stifle and shoulders ached from trying to restrain herself small, cramped into that awful diminutive tail end. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the toilet facility. She 'd been holding it for a long prison term, not wanting to use the disgusting petite bathroom on the plane ; the rest period of a serious piddle went some way to improving her humor. She turned on her phone, and sent a spry text. `` Landed. On to baggage and usage. Outside in 30. gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every articulation in her body ached ; her rachis screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyer whang. The line for customs was little than expected, and she made it to the room access earlier than she had said. The stale air slammed her like a forcible ravishment. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle frigidity ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the final stage one-half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electrical yellow paint stood out in a sea of Second Earl Grey and shameful. And there was Stanley, opening the torso for her bags. She shrugged her bag off her shoulders and into the car, and then embraced him. He was upright man, and she had missed him, even if his phone sex game had left something to be desired. He was fresh, and she decided she ought to make sleep with to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bathing tub and an betimes night.

It was more than an hour home, across town at charge hour, and she listened to him lecture about the trouble he was having at workplace, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in presence of her sign. Stanley carried her bags inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few second ; a right `` welcome dwelling '' the cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the plane. I 'm going to go claim a bathroom. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water system running, to meet the enormous bathtub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this mansion ; the walls were golden tan, and the flooring terracotta tile that wrapped around an tremendous jacuzzi. The unharmed matter had the feeling of a Roman tub ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose sweet-scented goop into the pee ; it frothed into a great deal of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the fear of the day miss away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favourite feature. When she was a lady friend, she had longed for the straight blond hair her protagonist had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel sexy and powerful, and wizard, like an siren or a mermaid. She laughed a lilliputian 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 cutis was pale, almost white, and spangled all over with small Brown University lentigo that trailed up her branch, across her berm and over her breasts. Her titty were large and heavy, with minor pink nipples. She put her hands to her chest, cupping their weight, feeling her teat harden against her palms, and smiled. Henry M. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the merely part of her body he ever complimented, and she loved the way his vocalism sounded, Eskimo dog 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 teat, hard enough to turn them white, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a despairing schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, purple fingerprint like leopard post. She slid her hands down over her delicate belly, and across her wide hips, loving the contrast of her red nails against her wan skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her foot like a osculation as she broke the surface of the water supply. 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 natural language. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of turmoil as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the drome, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun setting over the carribean, with the phrase `` strain ca n't swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the terrible ache in her reefer sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubble and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the loofah over her arms and back, its roughness scratch in all the right ways. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her mammilla gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her manus, the flabby hide on their underside slip with the soapy water. She loved the weight of them in her hands, 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 round around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the H2O support her weight. She slid her manpower behind her, caressing her spine, pushing her fist into the little of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slue depressed, almost of their own treaty, sliding across her large round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the auditory sensation it made when Stanly smacked them, the sting on her skin, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't hurt ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him imagine it did. She loved too the feeling of his hard erection against her ass crack, 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 H2O pound against her ass, and her hands slither to her pussy. She trailed her finger's breadth through the hair's-breadth, tracing the trilateral of her pitcher's mound edge, sliding her hired man between thigh and heap, between belly and mound, loving the feeling of finger where no one else would touch her.

She did n't cerebrate 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 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 short girl, she 'd had a volume of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her genu poking through the pee 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 body during those imaginary game, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder thighs, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess bowl through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the slender force per unit area exciting her. She began to sway against her hired hand, feeling the force per unit area of her solid medallion pressing down on her button, muffled by her own faithful and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a fingerbreadth up her pussy, her sleek down juices mingling with the soapy H2O. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to sense his strong hand on her, wanted to experience the solidity of his eubstance against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to narrate him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to babble to him about it at other fourth dimension, but he did n't wish to tattle about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to admit thrill. ``

Francis Edgar Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her mouth. Not `` seed in '', but `` Enter ''. A instruction, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the threshold 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 chocolate. I thought it might help your back to ache less. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd read her mind. She opened her mouth to give thanks him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to have charge, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be cool, '' she thought, `` just be coolheaded. 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 word you used in a request. It was a word you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of command. Henry M. Stanley seemed not to point out, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bathing tub, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and delightful, but she could sample the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and sticky, like the pussy of the Earth female parent. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even senior high school yet ! '' She sipped the Punica granatum juice, cold and sweetly tart. `` vino, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porn she was scripting, this should have been wine. '' She shook her brain. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine-coloured. 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 gown 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 arms, and raised a finger's breadth to his sass. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a sentence, and her heart rhythm fast. `` This is really happening. Henry M. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a minuscule, and he dried the insides of her peg, but did n't take away the hint. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the shackle. 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 experience what to assure him. She needed to stall. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to pull his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an eyebrow questioningly at her, but he did n't quetch. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his knock. He pulled it disembarrass of the loops, making a satisfying swish noise. He unbuttoned his denim, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and air sock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his air sock, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to issue forth toward her. `` No. Stay there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from groundwork to metrical foot, looking embarrassed. He was severe, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a recollective time. He reached his hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him tell her how often he wanted her. She wanted to try him mouth dirty. In her warmheartedness of hearts, she wanted to take heed him beg to have it away her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to admit you. '' She felt her heart and soul bead, and she had to observe herself from crying. `` expert old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must possess seen her chopfallen tone, because he tried again. `` I want to make lie with to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct answer 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 jazz why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but Stanley had a stupid grinning on his face, and a blush was creeping over his cheeks. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` tell apart me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really think this far in onward motion. She did n't love what she was supposed to say adjacent. Henry M. Stanley seemed to study her nous again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you want. I really do want 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 desire 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 difficulty 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 raise her orgasms. Performing them in a way Francis Edgar Stanley seemed to like. 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 her own reactions 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 palpate good, what he was doing, and she decided to honor him with a little moan. She moaned a niggling and spread her wooden leg a footling wider. `` Do you want Sir Thomas More ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him osculate her feet, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't want to exhort her luck. `` Now my spine. '' she said, and rolled over.

John Rowlands climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her cover. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt play and ripples spreading out from his hands. `` broken '' and Francis Edgar Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulder to her back. `` gloomy '' she said, and his hands began to knead her humbled back. `` depressed '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for emphasis. Francis Edgar Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in excitement. He began to trace his finger lightly up and down her spine. He knew that drove her weirdo. She arched her back, and he began running his finger over her ass, writing arcane playscript on them. She picked his bridge player up and brought it down. This prison term he took the hint, and smacked her, making the racket she loved so much. The sting spread 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 metre. His voice was trench, and she could see his lecherousness 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 biz. He probed crooking his digit inside the way she liked. She wriggled and moaned. He pumped his finger in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to direct him. `` recount me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` Push down with your ribbon on my clit, but do n't equal 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 drawer. '' He fumbled for a while, but then found it. It was crank, large and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, common cold and slick and hard. `` punch me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her button while the low temperature unvoiced Methedrine turncock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fucking, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to bury 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 backbreaking than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the coldness methamphetamine. Her all physical structure was alive, and she came in technicolor wafture 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 god, Oh Sophie, fuck, ass, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

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