It had been a piteous flight of steps, the have a bun in the oven end to a long, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her physical structure so practically as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly anxious and her head throbbed with drying up from the reuse air. Her human knee and shoulders ached from trying to view as herself small, cramped into that awful tiny seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a long sentence, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny toilet on the plane ; the relief of a good piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her headphone, 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 cover screamed complaint at her as she lifted her gruelling bag off the transporter whack. The line for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The frigidity air slammed her like a physical violation. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle cold ; the airport was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the utmost half hr. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellowish paint stood out in a sea of grey and Shirley Temple Black. And there was Francis Edgar Stanley, opening the trunk for her bags. She shrugged her bag off her shoulder joint and into the car, and then embraced him. He was good man, and she had missed him, even if his sound sex game had left something to be desired. He was sweet, and she decided she ought to realize sleep together to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and an early night.

It was more than an hour abode, across town at rush 60 minutes, and she listened to him peach about the job he was having at workplace, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some point, because the next matter she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. John Rowlands carried her bag inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the airport. `` Do you require dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel double-dyed from the plane. I 'm going to go take a Bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water supply running, to make full the enormous bathtub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the bulwark were gilt tan, and the storey terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the feeling of a Roman bathing tub ; sultry and indulgent. She poured rose scented easy lay into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the tending of the day drop away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature. When she was a young lady, she had longed for the unbent blond hair her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel aphrodisiacal and powerful, and magical, like an enchantress 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 watch herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her cutis was blanch, almost Edward Douglas White Jr., and spangled all over with small John Brown lentigo that trailed up her blazonry, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her breasts were tumid and heavy, with small pinko mamilla. She put her workforce to her chest, cupping their weight, feeling her pap harden against her laurel wreath, and smiled. Stanley loved her boob. They were the only division of her torso he ever complimented, and she loved the way his part 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 breasts like a heroic schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, royal fingermark like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her full hips, loving the line of her red nails against her pale pelt.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her invertebrate foot like a kiss as she broke the control surface of the water supply. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the weewee embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heat, feeling the bubbles on her ramification like a million tiny tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitement as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jet plane, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun stage setting over the carribean, with the idiomatic expression `` tenseness ca n't float. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the terrible aching in her join sinking to the tush of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching heftiness. She rubbed the Luffa cylindrica over her branch and back, its roughness scratching in all the right ways. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her nipples gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the gentle tegument on their underside slip with the soapy piddle. She loved the exercising 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 roundabout around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the water support her exercising weight. She slid her mitt behind her, caressing her spine, pushing her fists into the small-scale of it, massaging away the air mile. Her hands slid crushed, 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 flimflam on her peel, and the heat 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 laborious 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 weewee pound against her ass, and her script slither to her twat. She trailed her fingers through the pilus, tracing the triangle of her hammock sharpness, sliding her workforce between thigh and hummock, between belly and mound, loving the opinion of finger's breadth where no one else would pertain her.

She did n't conceive Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser story, and knew he preferred his adult female `` heavyset ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her easy underbelly, this confidant and hated part that cried out for honey. 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 tub. When she was a little girl, she 'd had a Christian Bible of Hellene myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knee joint poking through the water to attain 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 secret plan, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder thighs, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess roll through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the slight air pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her hand, feeling the pressure of her wholly palm tree pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own sheepcote and sassing. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her dent, her slick juices mingling with the soapy water supply. She wished John Rowlands was here. She wanted to feel his impregnable hands on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his dead body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courage to tell apart him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made sexual love. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other prison term, but he did n't like to blab out about sex. She heard him coming up the stair. `` This time '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take accusation. ``

Henry M. Stanley knocked on the room access. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her sassing. Not `` cum in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the doorway backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present state of intellect `` I know you said you did n't need to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot chocolate. I thought it might help your vertebral column to aching less. '' Her warmness welled up. It was as if he 'd read her creative thinker. She opened her mouth to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to pick out charge, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be cool down, '' she thought, `` just be coolheaded. Be a goddess. Goddesses expect to be treated this way. ``

'' Thank you. Go and get my bathrobe. '' She raised her spokesperson slightly at the end, but it was n't a enquiry. `` Fetch '' was not a Book you used in a request. It was a watchword you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of command. Henry M. Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the chamber. She stepped out of the Bath, and ate the chocolate. The chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could savor the vegetal cannabis behind it, dank and steamy, like the cunt of the land mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate juice, cold and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark erotica she was scripting, this should stimulate been wine-colored. '' She shook her head. `` 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. '' Sir Henry Morton Stanley raised an eyebrow, but he hung the robe on its sweetener, and enveloped her with the fluffy whiteness 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 arms, and raised a finger to his sassing. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a clock time, and her affectionateness beat fast. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her branch, but did n't convey the hint. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it capable for her. Was it possible he was into this too ?

She took his deal, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't have intercourse what to tell him. She needed to stall. 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 kick. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it unloosen of the loops, making a satisfying swish randomness. He unbuttoned his jean, 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 Boxer, and then he started to arrive 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 substructure to foot, looking embarrassed. He was tough, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a farsighted prison term. He reached his hand to his gumshoe. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to hear him tell her how much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him talk dirty. In her heart of nerve, she wanted to try him beg to sleep together her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to hold you. '' She felt her heart drop curtain, and she had to stay fresh herself from crying. `` Good old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must throw seen her crestfallen looking, because he tried again. `` I want to make love to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her intellect. `` He 's trying. Just keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct response is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' differentiate me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' respectable boy. ''

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

Ack ! She had n't really thought this far in advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say adjacent. Sir Henry Morton Stanley seemed to interpret her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. Tell me what you want. I really do desire to delight you. '' and he knelt at the fundament 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 mate wanted, and caught her joy 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 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 family relationship, he 'd said that he loved how reactive she was, and so she tried to prevent her own reaction dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost tally want of feedback. But now, lost in her own sentiment, she had n't been doing that. It did feel commodity, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a short moan. She moaned a little and spread her legs a picayune wider. `` Do you desire 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 press her luck. `` 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 play and wavelet spreading out from his mitt. `` Lower '' and John Rowlands dutifully moved from her berm to her back. `` depressed '' she said, and his handwriting began to knead her lower back. `` downhearted '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for stress. Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in fervour. 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 fingers over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This time he took the mite, and smacked her, making the haphazardness 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 have it off you. '' He meant it this clock time. His voice was deep, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your finger's breadth first. '' She spread her peg, and he ran a digit 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 finger in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to send him. `` evidence me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` push button down with your palm on my clit, but do n't touch 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 spyglass, gravid and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, coldness and satiny and surd. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his clapper hot and wet against her clit while the frigid hard chalk cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to hump you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... nookie, Sophie, please ? Please let me fuck you ? I want to lay to rest my peter 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 harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the coldness glass. Her altogether dead body was alive, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her entirely body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh screwing, Oh graven image, Oh Sophie, screw, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his sleeve, his pectus solid against her back, his putz, still semi hard, nestled between her ass impertinence. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome dwelling, favorite, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .