It had been a miserable flight, the expected end to a foresightful, difficult misstep. cipher quite made Sophie hate her consistency so very much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly nauseating and her top dog throbbed with evaporation from the recycled air. Her human knee and shoulder joint ached from trying to agree herself small, cramped into that awful tiny posterior. She stumbled off the carpenter's plane, and made her way to the toilet facility. She 'd been holding it for a long time, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny toilet on the aeroplane ; the relief of a trade good pee went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her phone, and sent a quick text. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every joint in her body ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her sonorous bag off the conveyor belt. The line of reasoning for usage was curt than expected, and she made it to the threshold earlier than she had said. The inhuman air slammed her like a physical assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle coldness ; the airport was unaired and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coating over a sweater for the finis half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the galvanizing yellow pigment stood out in a sea of grey and contraband. And there was Stanley, opening the luggage compartment for her udder. She shrugged her bag off her berm and into the car, and then embraced him. He was adept 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 fuck to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot tub and an ahead of time night.

It was more than an hour home, across town at rush hr, and she listened to him speak about the problems he was having at workplace, something about a new supervisor. She must take dozed off at some point, because the next matter she knew, they were pulling up in nominal head of her house. Francis Edgar Stanley carried her pocketbook inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome household '' the frigidness 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 demand a tub. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water running, to fill the tremendous bath. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the bulwark were golden tan, and the trading floor terracotta roofing tile that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole matter had the feeling of a Roman Bath ; fleshly and indulgent. She poured rose sweet soap into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the cares of the day set down away with her wearing apparel. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her dearie feature article. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde haircloth her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel aphrodisiac and powerful, and magical, like an Delilah or a mermaid. She laughed a little at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What nonsense ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to watch over herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her skin was blanch, almost White River, and spangled all over with small brownness freckles that trailed up her blazonry, across her shoulders and over her tit. Her chest were expectant and heavy, with small pink nipples. She put her men to her boob, cupping their free weight, feeling her nipples harden against her decoration, and smiled. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the solitary percentage of her body he ever complimented, and she loved the way his voice 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 ovalbumin, and they way he pawed at her titty like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the following day, empurple fingerprints like Panthera pardus spots. She slid her hands down over her diffused belly, and across her broad articulatio coxae, loving the contrast of her red nails against her pale skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her foot like a kiss as she broke the airfoil of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the urine embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the warmth, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million petite lingua. She sat down, shuddering with a shiver of excitement as the oestrus enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the fountain, and leaned back, letting the piss massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun scope over the carribean, with the musical phrase `` Stress ca n't swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the dire ache in her articulation sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubble and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the Luffa cylindrica over her arms and back, its indentation scratching in all the right ways. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her fingerbreadth, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the soft tegument on their underside slick with the soapy H2O. 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 circles around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the H2O backup her weight unit. She slid her script behind her, caressing her binding, pushing her fist into the low of it, massaging away the burl. Her workforce slue lower, almost of their own accord, sliding across her large round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the bunko on her skin, and the affectionateness that radiated out. It did n't hurt ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him cogitate it did. She loved too the opinion of his hard erection against her ass wisecrack, 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 body of water pound against her ass, and her work force slid to her pussy. She trailed her fingers through the pilus, tracing the triangle of her hummock sharpness, sliding her hands between thigh and cumulus, between belly and mound, loving the feeling of finger where no one else would affect her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his woman `` slurred ''. But neither did he look excited by it. He never touched her here, on her diffuse underbelly, this intimate and hated part that cried out for passion. She had long ago made repose with her fat, and she loved the flavor of her belly, soft and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a small girl, she 'd had a Bible of Hellenic language myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knees poking through the urine to get to the islands. She had loved that range of a function, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her body during those notional games, and as she caressed her fat belly and her nose drops thighs, she felt, once again, the big businessman of the goddess gyre through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the cold-shoulder pressure exciting her. She began to shake against her deal, feeling the imperativeness of her whole laurel wreath pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own fold and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her snatch, her slick juices mingling with the soapy water. She wished Sir Henry Morton Stanley was here. She wanted to experience his strong script on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to enjoin him what she wanted ; her articulation disappeared when they made love. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other times, but he did n't care to verbalise about sex. She heard him coming up the step. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take flush. ``

Stanley knocked on the threshold. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her mouth. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A program line, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the threshold backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her deliver state of brain `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot deep brown. I thought it might assist your back to ache lupus erythematosus. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd read her mind. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so paying attention, but stopped herself. If she was going to make rush, 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 convey my bathrobe. '' She raised her spokesperson 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 God of bidding. Stanley seemed not to find, and went off to the sleeping room. She stepped out of the Bath, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and Delicious, but she could savour 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 Punica granatum juice, coldness and sweetly tart. `` wine-coloured, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been wine-coloured. '' She shook her head. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like wine. 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 hook, and enveloped her with the flossy 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 subdivision, and raised a fingerbreadth to his sassing. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her pegleg one at a time, and her heart pulsation fasting. `` This is really happening. Henry M. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a piffling, and he dried the insides of her legs, but did n't hold the tip. 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 potential he was into this too ?

She took his paw, and led him to the bedchamber. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't know what to state him. She needed to procrastinate. She sat on the sharpness of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to rip his shirt off. `` Slowly. '' she said, suppressing a giggle. Once again, he raised an brow questioningly at her, but he did n't complain. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it disengage of the loops, making a satisfying swish 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 au naturel. '' He kicked off his wind sleeve, and pulled down his bagger, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. remain there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he await there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to fundament, looking embarrassed. He was knockout, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a foresightful time. He reached his mitt to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. secernate me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him differentiate her how practically he wanted her. She wanted to hear him talk dirty. In her warmheartedness of hearts, she wanted to hear him beg to fuck her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her marrow cliff, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` Good old Francis Edgar Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must have seen her crestfallen flavor, because he tried again. `` I want to pretend love to you. '' but it sounded like a inquiry. 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. ``

'' 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 face, and a blush was creeping over his buttock. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` Tell me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really recall this far in betterment. 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. Tell me what you want. I really do desire to delight you. '' and he knelt at the ft of the bed, and began to rub her invertebrate foot. 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 early days, she 'd had hassle 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 joy along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't wangle it, but she did enhance her orgasms. Performing them in a way Stanley seemed to care. 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 sustain her own reactions dialed up to 10 all the fourth dimension, despite his almost full lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own opinion, she had n't been doing that. It did feel right, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a minuscule moan. She moaned a little and spread her peg a trivial wider. `` Do you require 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 want to press her luck. `` Now my cover. '' she said, and rolled over.

Francis Edgar Stanley climbed onto the bed, and began to rub her rachis. The pot was beginning to kick in, and she felt shimmers and ripples spreading out from his hands. `` Lower '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulder to her rear. `` humble '' she said, and his hands began to knead her lower back. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for emphasis. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in excitement. He began to trace his digit lightly up and down her spine. He knew that drove her crazy. She arched her back, and he began running his fingerbreadth over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This metre he took the hint, and smacked her, making the noise 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 please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to do it you. '' He meant it this time. His voice was deeply, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingers first. '' She spread her peg, and he ran a digit along her wet pussy. She sighed in contentment. She was enjoying this plot. 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 direct him. `` order me how to please you, Sophie. I want to delight you. '' `` push down with your ribbon on my clit, but do n't tint 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 spell, but then found it. It was glass, large and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold and wily and grueling. `` biff me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his natural language hot and wet against her clitoris while the cold hard glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to sleep together you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... fuck, Sophie, please ? Please let me love 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 prick was harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the insensate glass. Her completely body was alive, and she came in technicolor wafture that shimmered and splashed across her unscathed body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh screwing, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, fuck, nookie, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his coat of 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 log Z's .