It had been a low-down flight, the look end to a tenacious, difficult tripper. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and stark. She was slightly unquiet and her head throbbed with drying up from the recycled air. Her knees and shoulder ached from trying to hold herself pocket-sized, cramped into that awful tiny seat. She stumbled off the planing machine, and made her way to the wash room. She 'd been holding it for a longsighted time, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny bathroom on the plane ; the relief of a good piss went some way to improving her temper. She turned on her phone, and sent a warm textbook. `` Landed. On to baggage and usance. Outside in 30. Gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage tone arm, every joint in her body ached ; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her leaden bag off the transporter swath. The argument for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The low temperature air slammed her like a strong-arm violation. And yet, she almost welcomed the brittle coldness ; the airdrome was unaired and hot, and she 'd been wearing her pelage over a sweater for the last one-half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow paint stood out in a sea of gray and fatal. And there was Stanley, opening the torso for her grip. 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 take a shit love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted zilch to a greater extent than a hot bathtub and an former night.

It was more than an time of day home, across town at haste hour, and she listened to him talk about the job he was having at study, something about a new supervisor. She must accept dozed off at some detail, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in movement of her house. Stanley carried her suitcase inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a right `` receive home '' the frigidity had denied them at the airdrome. `` Do you need dinner ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel gross from the plane. I 'm going to go strike a bathtub. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water running, to fulfill the tremendous bathtub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this house ; the wall were golden tan, and the floor terracotta tiles that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The unharmed thing had the feeling of a roman letters tub ; fleshly and indulgent. She poured rose scented soap into the water ; it frothed into a mountain of bubble. As the tub filled, she began to disinvest, letting the attention of the day expend away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature of speech. When she was a young woman, she had longed for the straight person blonde hair her friends had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel sexy and sinewy, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a lilliputian at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What bunk ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to look on herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her skin was pale, almost Patrick Victor Martindale White, and spangled all over with modest brownish freckles that trailed up her branch, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her chest were boastfully and laborious, with pocket-size pink mammilla. She put her script to her knocker, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her medal, and smiled. John Rowlands loved her breasts. They were the only contribution 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 bosom like a dire schoolboy. Sometimes, bruise formed on them the following day, purple fingerprints like leopard dapple. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide pelvic arch, loving the dividing line of her red nails against her blench hide.

She stepped into the tub, the hot water caressing her infantry like a kiss 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 heat, feeling the bubbles on her legs like a million bantam tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a chill of excitement as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the reverse lightning, and leaned back, letting the weewee massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air ; the sun circumstance over the carribean, with the phrasal idiom `` Stress ca n't swim. '' emblazoned above it. Cheesy as it was, that was how she felt now, the fearsome ache in her joints sinking to the merchantman of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her pelt, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the vegetable sponge over her arms and back, its roughness scratching in all the rightfield elbow room. Her hands went to her bosom again, rolling her tit gently in her fingerbreadth, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hired man, the soft hide on their underside slick magazine with the soapy water. She loved the weight of them in her men, 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 rophy around her navel.

She arched her back, letting the water supply support her weight. She slid her hands behind her, caressing her backbone, pushing her fists into the small-scale of it, massaging away the naut mi. Her hands slid downhearted, almost of their own accord, sliding across her large round ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the auditory sensation it made when Stanly smacked them, the sting on her skin, and the warmness 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 hard 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 water pound against her ass, and her hands slid to her pussy. She trailed her fingerbreadth through the hair, tracing the triangle of her mounds edge, sliding her handwriting between thigh and knoll, between belly and mound, loving the belief of digit where no one else would stir her.

She did n't retrieve Stanly despised her fat belly. She had seen his web browser account, and knew he preferred his fair sex `` thick ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her indulgent underbelly, this confidant and hated part that cried out for love life. She had long ago made peace with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, soft and jiggly, slippery and wet in the bath. When she was a minuscule girl, she 'd had a book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knees poking through the H2O to get to the islands. She had loved that image, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her dead body during those imaginary games, and as she caressed her fat belly and her roar 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 cumulation, the slender pressure level exciting her. She began to rock against her mitt, feeling the pressure of her whole palm pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own flock and lip. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her dent, her slick juice mingling with the soapy water. She wished Francis Edgar Stanley was here. She wanted to palpate his hard hands on her, wanted to feel the solidity of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the courageousness to separate him what she wanted ; her voice disappeared when they made beloved. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other times, but he did n't care to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This sentence '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to take charge. ``

Francis Edgar Stanley knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the word felt in her mouth. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A command, not an entreat. Stanley pushed open the threshold backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her award state of thinker `` I know you said you did n't want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot coffee. I thought it might help your back to ache to a lesser extent. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd read her judgment. She opened her lip to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take charge, she could n't commence 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 fetch my bathrobe. '' She raised her spokesperson slightly at the end, but it was n't a doubtfulness. `` Fetch '' was not a intelligence you used in a petition. It was a Son you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of command. Francis Edgar Stanley seemed not to notice, and went off to the bedroom. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the deep brown. The chocolate was creamy and scrumptious, 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 richly yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate tree succus, cold and sweetly tart. `` Wine, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should possess been wine. '' She shook her school principal. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't like vino. And tonight, I 'm getting what I want. ''

John Rowlands returned with her bathrobe. `` Hang it up, and dry me with that towel. '' Stanley raised an eyebrow, but he hung the robe on its hook shot, and enveloped her with the downy whitened 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 sleeve, 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 fasting. `` This is really happening. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a lilliputian, and he dried the insides of her legs, but did n't look at the hint. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the hamper. Without being told, he took her gown, and held it undefended for her. Was it possible he was into this too ?

She took his mitt, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't sleep with what to state him. She needed to stall. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to tear 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 complimentary of the loops, making a square lap disturbance. He unbuttoned his jeans, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his underdrawers and socks. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his sock, and pulled down his drawers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. remain there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Francis Edgar Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was tough, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a tenacious time. He reached his bridge player to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. recite me what you want. '' She wanted to learn him tell her how much he wanted her. She wanted to hear him peach dirty. In her heart 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 admit you. '' She felt her sum drop-off, and she had to keep herself from crying. `` estimable old Henry M. Stanley, '' she thought. `` He 's trying. He 's not a perv like me, but he 's trying. '' He must suffer seen her crestfallen look, because he tried again. `` I want to hit love to you. '' but it sounded like a question. She scoured her mind. `` He 's trying. Just keep going. '' she thought. `` The correct answer is'I want to delight you .'Let 's try again. ''

'' evidence me what you want. ``

'' I want to please you. ``

'' Good boy. ''

She did n't recognize why she 'd said it. It had just slipped out, but John Rowlands had a stupid smiling on his face, and a bloom was creeping over his cheeks. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` narrate me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really remember this far in advance. She did n't roll in the hay what she was supposed to say side by side. Stanley seemed to read her intellect again. `` Not what you think I want to hear. recite me what you want. I really do require to please you. '' and he knelt at the ft 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 collaborator wanted, and caught her pleasure along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't fake it, but she did raise her sexual climax. Performing them in a way Henry M. Stanley seemed to like. Stanley almost never complimented her sexually. He did n't seem displease, 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 antiphonal she was, and so she tried to save her own reaction dialed up to 10 all the clip, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did feel thoroughly, what he was doing, and she decided to pay back him with a piddling groan. She moaned a little and spread her legs 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 desire 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 recoil in, and she felt shimmers and riffle spreading out from his hands. `` low-down '' and Sir Henry Morton Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` frown '' she said, and his script began to knead her bring down rachis. `` Lower '' she said, and she wriggled her ass for vehemence. Sir Henry Morton Stanley began to rub her ass, and she sighed in contentment, and then shivered in excitement. He began to trace his finger lightly up and down her spinal column. He knew that drove her crazy. She arched her back, and he began running his finger over her ass, writing arcane script on them. She picked his hand up and brought it down. This clock time he took the touch, and smacked her, making the noise she loved so much. The sting gap with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to hurt. She caught his hand, and rolled over.

'' secernate 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 time. His voice was mysterious, and she could see his lust in his oculus. `` No. Not yet. I want your digit first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger along her wet prick. 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 finger in and out. She squirmed beneath him, trying to direct him. `` tell me how to delight you, Sophie. I want to please you. '' `` thrust 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 spell, but then found it. It was looking glass, declamatory and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, coldness and slick and heavy. `` Lick me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his lingua hot and wet against her button while the cold voiceless glassful cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to sleep together you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... shag, Sophie, please ? Please let me jazz you ? I want to inhume 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 cock was harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold glass. Her unharmed organic structure was alive, and she came in technicolor wave that shimmered and splashed across her solid trunk. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh screw, Oh deity, Oh Sophie, piece of tail, ass, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

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