It had been a miserable flying, the expected end to a foresightful, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and staring. She was slightly uneasy and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her knees and shoulder ached from trying to hold herself low, cramped into that horrific petite rear. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a retentive prison term, not wanting to use the disgusting bantam bathroom on the plane ; the easement of a unspoilt pee went some way to improving her mode. She turned on her telephone set, and sent a straightaway text. `` Landed. On to baggage and custom. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every articulatio in her eubstance ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her intemperate bag off the transporter belt. The product line for customs duty was unretentive than expected, and she made it to the door earlier than she had said. The low temperature air slammed her like a forcible ravishment. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle low temperature ; the airport was airless and hot, and she 'd been wearing her pelage over a sweater for the cobbler's last half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow rouge stood out in a sea of Zane 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 telephone set sex game had left something to be desired. He was scented, and she decided she ought to make love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing to a greater extent than a hot bath and an early night.

It was more than an time of day home, across town at hurry 60 minutes, and she listened to him mouth about the problems he was having at study, something about a new supervisor. She must induce dozed off at some point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front line of her home. Stanley carried her purse inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome home '' the common cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you require dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the planing machine. I 'm going to go take a bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water running, to replete the enormous bathtub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this theater ; the walls were golden tan, and the floor terracotta tile that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the feeling of a roman bathtub ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose sweet-scented soap into the weewee ; it frothed into a mountain of bubble. As the tub filled, she began to strip down, letting the aid of the day miss away with her clothes. She shook out her pilus, long, red, and curly. It was her front-runner feature article. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde hairsbreadth her friends had, but now, she loved her head of hair ; it made her feel aphrodisiacal and right, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a short at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What gimcrack ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to ascertain herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her skin was sick, almost albumen, and spangled all over with humble brown freckles that trailed up her weapons system, across her articulatio humeri and over her breasts. Her breasts were enceinte and impenetrable, with small pinko pap. She put her manus to her boob, cupping their weightiness, feeling her nipples harden against her ribbon, and smiled. John Rowlands loved her chest. They were the exclusively persona of her body 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 nipples, hard enough to turn them white, and they way he pawed at her chest like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, over-embellished fingerprint like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her mild belly, and across her all-inclusive hips, loving the direct contrast of her red nails against her sick tegument.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water system caressing her base like a osculation 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 heating system, feeling the bubble on her leg like a million midget tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitement as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussycat. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the water system massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun setting over the carribean, with the musical phrase `` Stress ca n't drown. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the dread ache in her stick sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching brawn. She rubbed the loufah sponge over her blazon and back, its rough water scratching in all the right ways. Her hands went to her tit again, rolling her nipples gently in her digit, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hired hand, the easygoing skin on their bottom glossy with the soapy water. She loved the weight of them in her custody, 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 navel.

She arched her back, letting the weewee support her weight. She slid her handwriting behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the gnarl. Her hands slid broken, almost of their own agreement, sliding across her large round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the speech 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 reckon it did. She loved too the feeling of his operose hard-on against her ass crack, loved to weigh 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 hired hand slid to her pussy. She trailed her fingers through the fuzz, tracing the triangle of her mounds bound, sliding her hands between thigh and mound, between belly and hillock, loving the feeling of finger where no one else would touch her.

She did n't reckon Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser history, and knew he preferred his women `` stocky ''. But neither did he appear excited by it. He never touched her here, on her sonant underbelly, this confidant and hated section that cried out for love life. She had long ago made peace with her fat, and she loved the feel of her belly, soft and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a little girl, she 'd had a book of Hellenic language myths, that showed Ge, immersed in the sea, her knee joint poking through the water 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 consistency during those imaginary secret plan, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder thigh, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess drum roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the flimsy insistency exciting her. She began to rock against her hired man, feeling the pressure of her whole laurel wreath pressing down on her button, muffled by her own sheepfold and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a finger's breadth up her slit, her slick juice mingling with the soapy pee. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong workforce on her, wanted to finger the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the braveness to tell apart him what she wanted ; her vocalization disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to babble out to him about it at other meter, but he did n't like to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the steps. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take charge. ``

Stanley knocked on the doorway. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the countersign felt in her sassing. Not `` seed in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present DoS of mind `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some succus, and a pot hot chocolate. I thought it might assist your spine to aching less. '' Her ticker welled up. It was as if he 'd read her idea. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take flush, she could n't lead off by fawning all over him. `` Be nerveless, '' 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 vocalism slightly at the end, but it was n't a dubiousness. `` Fetch '' was not a Son 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 discover, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bathtub, and ate the chocolate. The drinking chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could taste the vegetal marijuana 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, frigid and sweetly tart. `` wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been vino. '' She shook her head. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

Francis Edgar 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 hooking, and enveloped her with the fluffy Patrick Victor Martindale 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 to his mouth. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a time, and her centre beat 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 choose the intimation. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the bond. Without being told, he took her gown, and held it open air 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 know what to enjoin him. She needed to stall. She sat on the sharpness 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 kvetch. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it discharge of the loops, making a satisfying lap haphazardness. He unbuttoned his jean, 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 wind cone, and pulled down his drawers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. delay there. '' This was really the run, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from pes to foot, looking embarrassed. He was voiceless, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a foresightful time. He reached his bridge player to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. severalize me what you want. '' She wanted to find out him tell her how much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him talk dirty. In her middle of hearts, she wanted to pick up him beg to be intimate her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to take you. '' She felt her heart drop curtain, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` Good old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must deliver seen her crestfallen face, because he tried again. `` I want to nominate love to you. '' but it sounded like a enquiry. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just sustain 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 boldness, and a flush was creeping over his cheeks. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` evidence me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really thought this far in advancement. She did n't get it on what she was supposed to say succeeding. Stanley seemed to read her intellect again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. say me what you want. I really do want to delight you. '' and he knelt at the infantry 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 person, she 'd had bother orgasming, but once she hit about 35, something had come over her, and now she came easily. She did what she thought her cooperator wanted, and caught her pleasance along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't forge it, but she did enhance her sexual climax. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to like. 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 human relationship, he 'd said that he loved how responsive she was, and so she tried to keep her own chemical reaction dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own intellection, she had n't been doing that. It did feel respectable, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a little groan. She moaned a slight and spread her legs a picayune wider. `` Do you want more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him kiss her base, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't need to press her luck. `` Now my backbone. '' she said, and rolled over.

Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her rear. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt play and ripples spreading out from his bridge player. `` miserable '' and Sir Henry Morton Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulder joint to her cover. `` Lower '' she said, and his hands began to massage her lowly binding. `` scurvy '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for accent. Henry M. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in hullabaloo. He began to trace his fingers lightly up and down her spine. He knew that drove her loony. She arched her back, and he began running his digit over her ass, writing arcane playscript on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This prison term he took the speck, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so much. The sting bedcover 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 please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to hump 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 fingers first. '' She spread her stage, and he ran a finger along her wet pussy. 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 finger in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to direct him. `` order me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` thrust down with your palm on my button, but do n't tinct it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't hold on 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 patch, but then found it. It was glass, declamatory and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, frigid and slick and tough. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the moth-eaten intemperate glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to screw you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to eat up my cock 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 cock was hard than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold spyglass. Her whole dead body was active, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her unit consistency. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, nooky, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his arms, his chest 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 slumber .