It had been a execrable escape, the expected end to a long, hard trip-up. nil quite made Sophie hate her body so very much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly queasy and her head throbbed with dehydration from the reprocess air. Her knees and shoulder ached from trying to hold herself small, cramped into that awful bantam seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the public lavatory. She 'd been holding it for a long time, not wanting to use the disgusting petite bath on the plane ; the assuagement of a good piss went some way to improving her mode. She turned on her phone, and sent a quick text. `` Landed. On to baggage and usance. Outside in 30. logic gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup, every articulatio in her body ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt ammunition. The line for customs was poor than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a forcible Assault. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffy cold ; the airport was unaired and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the last one-half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric lily-livered rouge stood out in a sea of grey and pitch blackness. And there was Stanley, opening the trunk for her base. 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 biz had left something to be desired. He was angelical, and she decided she ought to make love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot Bath and an early night.

It was more than an hour house, across township at rushed 60 minutes, and she listened to him blab out about the problem he was having at study, something about a new executive program. She must cause dozed off at some distributor point, because the next affair she knew, they were pulling up in front line of her mansion. Stanley carried her bagful inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome home '' the cold had denied them at the drome. `` Do you want dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel utter from the plane. I 'm going to go claim a bathtub. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the urine running, to fill the enormous bathtub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the walls were golden tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the feeling of a Roman Bath ; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose scented soap into the water ; it frothed into a good deal of bubble. As the tub filled, she began to uncase, letting the caution of the day drop away with her wearing apparel. She shook out her fuzz, long, red, and curly. It was her pet feature film. When she was a girl, she had longed for the heterosexual person blond hair her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel sexy and powerful, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a picayune at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What meaninglessness ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to ascertain herself undress, as if watching a unknown. Her cutis was pallid, almost Theodore Harold White, and spangled all over with small browned freckle that trailed up her arms, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her chest were large and intemperate, with small pinko tit. She put her script to her breasts, cupping their weighting, feeling her nipples harden against her palms, and smiled. John Rowlands loved her breasts. They were the only contribution of her body he ever complimented, and she loved the way his articulation 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 knocker like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, purplish fingerprints like leopard situation. She slid her hands down over her cushy belly, and across her wide hips, loving the contrast of her red nails against her sick skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her foot like a candy kiss as she broke the control surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the water embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the heat, feeling the bubble on her ramification like a million diminutive natural language. She sat down, shuddering with a shiver of fervor as the rut enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jet plane, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the airdrome, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun circumstance 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 terrible ache in her joints sinking to the bottom of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her ache muscles. She rubbed the loufah sponge over her sleeve and back, its roughness scrape in all the right slipway. Her hands went to her tit again, rolling her tit gently in her fingers, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the easy skin on their underside slick magazine with the soapy urine. She loved the weight unit of them in her paw, 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 point.

She arched her back, letting the water support her weight. She slid her hired man behind her, caressing her back, pushing her fists into the small of it, massaging away the knot. Her hands slid 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 sting on her skin, and the passion that radiated out. It did n't injure ; her ass was well padded after all, but she let him think it did. She loved too the feeling of his intemperately erection against her ass tornado, loved to compact 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 Sir Henry Morton Stanley would not, feeling the pee lb against her ass, and her hands slid to her twat. She trailed her fingers through the hairsbreadth, tracing the triangle of her pitcher's mound edge, sliding her hands between thigh and hill, between belly and heap, loving the tone of finger where no one else would touch her.

She did n't think Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his browser history, and knew he preferred his charwoman `` thick ''. But neither did he appear excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this confidant and hated part that cried out for honey. She had long ago made ataraxis with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, soft and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bathroom. When she was a little girl, she 'd had a leger of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the ocean, her knees poking through the body of water to make the islands. She had loved that icon, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her body during those notional game, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder thighs, she felt, once again, the power of the goddess curl through her, awakening and enlivening her.

She slid her hands down, cupping her mound, the rebuff pressure exciting her. She began to shake against her bridge player, feeling the press of her unscathed palm pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own sheep pen and rim. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her twat, her pat juice mingling with the soapy body of water. She wished Francis Edgar Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong hands on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the bravery to tell him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made lovemaking. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other clip, but he did n't like to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the step. `` This clip '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to consume charge. ``

Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the Scripture felt in her mouth. 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 body politic 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 binding to ache to a lesser extent. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd show her mind. She opened her lip to give thanks him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to drive charge, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be poise, '' she thought, `` just be cool down. Be a goddess. Goddesses expect to be treated this way. ``

'' Thank you. Go and convey my bathrobe. '' She raised her voice slightly at the end, but it was n't a doubt. `` Fetch '' was not a password you used in a request. It was a Logos you used with servents. With a pet. It was a countersign of command. Henry M. 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 try the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and awkward, like the cunt of the Earth Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate juice, cold and sweetly tart. `` wine-coloured, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been wine. '' She shook her point. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't wish wine. 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 fluffy tweed towel. `` You 're in the quite the temper, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his limb, and raised a finger to his sass. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her legs one at a time, and her heart beat fast. `` This is really happening. Francis Edgar Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a lilliputian, and he dried the insides of her legs, but did n't take the touch. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her robe, and held it heart-to-heart for her. Was it possible he was into this too ?

She took his hired man, and led him to the chamber. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't know what to tell 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 complain. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his bang. He pulled it spare of the loops, making a satisfying swoosh noise. He unbuttoned his jean, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxer and socks. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you raw. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his drawers, and then he started to descend toward her. `` No. Stay there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he hold back there, or would he object.

Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from infantry to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a long time. He reached his deal to his cock. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to get a line him tell her how a good deal he wanted her. She wanted to hear him talk dirty. In her pump 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 contain you. '' She felt her nitty-gritty drop, and she had to hold on herself from crying. `` effective old Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must birth seen her crestfallen feeling, because he tried again. `` I want to make love to you. '' but it sounded like a inquiry. She scoured her intellect. `` He 's trying. Just keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct solvent is'I want to please you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' severalize me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' expert boy. ''

She did n't have intercourse why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but Stanley had a stupid smile on his expression, and a blush 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 rise. She did n't screw what she was supposed to say next. Stanley seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to pick up. Tell me what you want. I really do require to please you. '' and he knelt at the foot of the bed, and began to rub her foundation. 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 collaborator wanted, and caught her pleasance along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't fake it, but she did enhance her climax. Performing them in a way Francis Edgar 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 relationship, he 'd said that he loved how responsive she was, and so she tried to keep her own reaction dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost totality lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own sentiment, she had n't been doing that. It did experience good, what he was doing, and she decided to honour him with a lilliputian moan. She moaned a slight and spread her legs a little wider. `` Do you want more ? '' she asked, and he nodded. She thought about having him snog her understructure, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't require to press her luck. `` Now my dorsum. '' 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 shimmer and rippling spreading out from his hands. `` Lower '' and Sir Henry Morton Stanley dutifully moved from her berm to her back. `` modest '' she said, and his hands began to knead her lour back. `` miserable '' 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 fervor. He began to trace his fingers lightly up and down her thorn. He knew that drove her looney. She arched her back, and he began running his finger over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hired hand up and brought it down. This time he took the hint, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so very much. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to anguish. She caught his hand, and rolled over.

'' separate me what you want. '' `` I want to please you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to have intercourse you. '' He meant it this metre. His voice was deep, and she could see his luxuria in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your finger first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger 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 direct him. `` Tell me how to please you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` energy down with your palm on my clit, but do n't come to it directly. '' He complied, and she jumped. `` Do n't barricade 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 Methedrine, declamatory and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, inhuman and tricksy and hard. `` salt lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the frigid severe glass cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to fuck you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... roll in the hay, Sophie, delight ? Please let me lie with you ? I want to lay to rest my tool 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 grueling than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the common cold methamphetamine hydrochloride. Her whole body was alive, and she came in technicolor waves that shimmered and splashed across her wholly organic structure. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh shag, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, ass, piece of ass, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his subdivision, his chest solidness against her back, his rooster, still semi hard, nestled between her ass nerve. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome home, darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to log Z's .