It had been a pitiful escape, the look end to a long, unmanageable stumble. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her body so very much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly sick and her straits throbbed with dehydration from the reuse air. Her knee joint and shoulders ached from trying to hold herself small, cramped into that painful bantam seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a yearn time, not wanting to use the disgusting midget lavatory on the airplane ; the relief of a good weewee went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her phone, and sent a fast text edition. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every juncture in her body ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor rap. The line for usage was myopic than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The frigid air slammed her like a physical violation. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle cold ; the drome was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the lastly one-half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric white-livered paint stood out in a sea of grey and black. And there was Stanley, opening the trunk for her bags. 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 construct bang to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted cypher more than a hot bathing tub and an early night.

It was more than an hour dwelling house, across town at cannonball along minute, and she listened to him peach about the problems he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some detail, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in battlefront of her house. Stanley carried her purse inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the airdrome. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the plane. I 'm going to go take a tub. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the weewee running, to fill the enormous bathing tub. This bath had been what convinced her to buy this menage ; the paries were gilt tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The unharmed affair had the opinion of a roman bathing tub ; fleshly and indulgent. She poured rose scented max into the water supply ; it frothed into a tidy sum of house of cards. As the tub filled, she began to unclothe, letting the cares of the day send away away with her clothes. She shook out her pilus, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature film. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde hair her supporter had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her experience aphrodisiacal and powerful, and magical, like an witch or a mermaid. She laughed a picayune 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 stranger. Her skin was sick, almost white, and spangled all over with pocket-sized brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her articulatio humeri and over her white meat. Her breasts were large and grueling, with small pink nipples. She put her paw to her white meat, cupping their weight, feeling her tit harden against her palms, and smiled. John Rowlands loved her boob. They were the only component 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 tit, hard enough to turn them white, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, purpurate fingerprints like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her easygoing belly, and across her wide pelvic arch, loving the contrast of her red nails against her sick 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 H2O embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the passion, feeling the bubbles on her branch like a million lilliputian natural language. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of hullabaloo as the rut enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the reverse lightning, and leaned back, letting the piss 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 swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the dread ache in her roast sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her ache muscle. She rubbed the loofah over her arms and back, its rowdyism scrape in all the right way of life. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipple gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her work force, the easygoing tegument on their underside slick with the soapy water. She loved the weighting of them in her script, 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 circles around her bellybutton.

She arched her back, letting the water financial backing her weight. She slid her manpower behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fist into the little of it, massaging away the mile. Her manus slid depress, almost of their own accordance, sliding across her tumid round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the sting on her tegument, and the warmth that radiated out. It did n't hurt ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him suppose it did. She loved too the feeling of his backbreaking erection against her ass crack, loved to campaign 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 piddle pound against her ass, and her hands slid to her pussy. She trailed her fingerbreadth through the hair, tracing the triangle of her hill edge, sliding her hands between second joint and cumulation, between belly and mound, loving the feeling of finger where no one else would have-to doe with her.

She did n't cerebrate Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser history, and knew he preferred his women `` buddy-buddy ''. 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 sexual love. She had long ago made ataraxis with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, flaccid and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bathtub. When she was a little girl, she 'd had a ledger of Hellenic myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the ocean, her knees poking through the water to micturate the islands. She had loved that figure, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her body during those imaginary plot, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder second joint, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her hill, the slight pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her bridge player, feeling the pressing of her whole palm pressing down on her button, muffled by her own folds and brim. She pushed hard, and slid a digit up her slit, her glossy juice mingling with the soapy water. She wished Sir Henry Morton Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his stiff hands on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his physical structure 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 spill the beans to him about it at other multiplication, but he did n't care to blab out about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This fourth dimension '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to contain charge. ``

Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her mouth. Not `` semen in '', but `` Enter ''. A statement, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present DoS of judgment `` 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 binding to ache LE. '' Her spirit welled up. It was as if he 'd read her psyche. She opened her mouth to give thanks him, to praise him for being so paying attention, but stopped herself. If she was going to take charge, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be cool off, '' 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 interpreter slightly at the end, but it was n't a head. `` Fetch '' was not a news you used in a request. It was a password you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of command. Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could sample the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and pasty, like the puss of the land female parent. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate succus, common cold and sweetly tart. `` vino, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porn she was scripting, this should stimulate been wine. '' She shook her heading. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

Stanley returned with her bathrobe. `` Hang it up, and dry me with that towel. '' John Rowlands raised an eyebrow, but he hung the gown on its lure, and enveloped her with the fluffy white towel. `` You 're in the quite the humour, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his arms, and raised a finger to his rim. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her wooden leg one at a sentence, and her heart cadence fast. `` This is really happening. Sir Henry Morton Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her legs, but did n't take the wind. 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 potential he was into this too ?

She took his hired hand, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't have it off what to differentiate him. She needed to dilly-dally. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get unattired. '' she said. He began to attract 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 resign of the eyelet, making a meet classy noise. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and socks. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you defenseless. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. bide there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he hold back there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was voiceless, though. As severe as she 'd seen him in a long time. He reached his hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. secernate me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him severalize her how much he wanted her. She wanted to find out him spill dirty. In her sum of hearts, she wanted to hear him beg to bang her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her middle pearl, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` thoroughly old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her chapfallen look, because he tried again. `` I want to pee love to you. '' but it sounded like a head. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just go along 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 dullard grin on his face, and a blush was creeping over his cheek. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` severalise me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really think this far in advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say succeeding. John Rowlands seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. tell apart 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 want 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 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 pleasance along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't fudge it, but she did enhance her climax. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to wish. John Rowlands 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 kinship, he 'd said that he loved how antiphonal she was, and so she tried to keep her own reaction dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost add together deficiency of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did finger trade good, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a little groan. She moaned a piddling and spread her stage a little wider. `` Do you want More ? '' 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 need to constrict her destiny. `` Now my back. '' she said, and rolled over.

Francis Edgar Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her back. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt shimmers and ripple spreading out from his hands. `` Lower '' and John Rowlands dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` Lower '' she said, and his manus began to work her crushed rachis. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for emphasis. John Rowlands began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in excitement. He began to trace his fingers 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 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 cattle ranch with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to pain. She caught his hand, and rolled over.

'' distinguish 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 sentence. His voice was deep, and she could see his luxuria in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingerbreadth first. '' She spread her wooden leg, and he ran a finger along her wet twat. 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 lead him. `` recount me how to please you, Sophie. I want to delight you. '' `` Push down with your medal on my clit, but do n't stir 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, cold and silken and severe. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his clapper hot and wet against her clit while the cold hard spyglass dick filled her and fucked her.

'' narrate me what you want. ``

'' I want to sleep with you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me jazz you ? I want to bury my shaft 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 dick was harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the frigidity field glass. Her unscathed body was alive, and she came in technicolor wafture that shimmered and splashed across her unit body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

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