It had been a misfortunate flight of steps, the expected end to a long, hard trip-up. cipher quite made Sophie detest her body so a lot as flying. She felt fat and old and utter. She was slightly nervous and her headway throbbed with drying up from the recycled air. Her knees and shoulders ached from trying to hold herself small-scale, cramped into that dire diminutive seat. She stumbled off the plane, and made her way to the restroom. She 'd been holding it for a longsighted fourth dimension, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny bathroom on the plane ; the relief of a good weewee went some way to improving her mode. She turned on her phone, and sent a quick schoolbook. `` Landed. On to baggage and customs. Outside in 30. gate D. ''

She trudged to baggage pickup arm, every joint in her soundbox ached ; her rachis screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt belt. The line for usance was shortsighted than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The stale air slammed her like a physical violation. And yet, she almost welcomed the toffee coldness ; the airdrome was stuffy and hot, and she 'd been wearing her coat over a sweater for the live on half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric white-livered rouge stood out in a sea of greyness and nigrify. And there was Stanley, opening the trunk for her bag. 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 plot had left something to be desired. He was sugared, and she decided she ought to cause love to him tonight, although, honestly, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and an other night.

It was more than an hour home, across town at race hour, and she listened to him talk about the problems he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must get dozed off at some point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her home. Stanley carried her bag inside, and they kissed in the kitchen for a few minutes ; a proper `` welcome home '' the coldness had denied them at the drome. `` Do you want dinner party ? '' he asked her. `` No. I still feel staring from the plane. I 'm going to go take a Bath. You eat, though. ``

She went upstairs, and set the water supply running, to fill up the enormous bathtub. This bathroom had been what convinced her to buy this home ; the walls were lucky tan, and the floor terracotta tile that wrapped around an enormous jacuzzi. The whole thing had the touch of a Roman bathing tub ; fleshly and indulgent. She poured rose scented soap into the piss ; it frothed into a mount of house of cards. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the cares of the day cut down away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her front-runner feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde hairsbreadth her admirer had, but now, she loved her mane ; it made her feel sexy and knock-down, and magical, like an enchantress or a mermaid. She laughed a little at herself, `` Like a mermaid ? What gimcrack ! ``

She caught herself laughing in the mirror, and she began to observe herself undress, as if watching a stranger. Her hide was sick, almost whiteness, and spangled all over with lowly brown freckle that trailed up her limb, across her berm and over her breasts. Her bosom were large and grave, with small pink nipples. She put her hired hand to her breast, cupping their weight, feeling her pap harden against her palms, and smiled. Francis Edgar Stanley loved her titty. They were the only office of her consistence he ever complimented, and she loved the way his representative 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 flex them albumen, and they way he pawed at her breasts like a despairing schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the succeeding day, purple fingerprints like Panthera pardus spots. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide coxa, loving the contrast of her red nails against her blanch skin.

She stepped into the tub, the hot H2O caressing her ft like a kiss as she broke the control surface of the water. She got in slowly, reveling in the way the piss embraced her. Slowly slowly she lowered herself into the oestrus, feeling the bubble on her legs like a million tiny spit. She sat down, shuddering with a shiver of excitation as the heat enveloped her ass and her kitty-cat. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the airdrome, 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 terrible ache in her roast sinking to the nates of the tub, while the bubbles and jet licked at her skin, and pounded her aching muscles. She rubbed the loofa over her arms and back, its rough water scratching in all the right hand ways. Her hands went to her breasts again, rolling her mammilla gently in her digit, softly massaging and lifting them. She cupped them in her hands, the mild skin on their underside slick with the soapy pee. She loved the weight of them in her workforce, 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 financial support her weight. She slid her men behind her, caressing her back, pushing her clenched fist into the small of it, massaging away the greyback. Her hands skid lower, almost of their own accord, sliding across her declamatory troll ass. She loved having her ass touched, even spanked, and she loved the sound it made when Stanly smacked them, the bite on her hide, and the affectionateness 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 look 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 supply hammer against her ass, and her hands skid to her pussy. She trailed her fingerbreadth through the hair, tracing the triangle of her mounds edge, sliding her hands between thigh and heap, between belly and mound, loving the notion 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 women `` thick ''. But neither did he seem excited by it. He never touched her here, on her soft underbelly, this intimate and hated constituent that cried out for making love. She had long ago made serenity with her fat, and she loved the feeling of her belly, diffused and jiggly, slippery and wet in the Bath. When she was a piffling little girl, she 'd had a record book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knees poking through the piss to create the islands. She had loved that figure, and often imagined herself to be the Great Goddess when she bathed. She had first discovered her body during those imaginary games, and as she caressed her fat belly and her thunder 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 mound, the cold-shoulder force per unit area exciting her. She began to rock against her bridge player, feeling the pressure of her whole palm pressing down on her button, muffled by her own folds and mouth. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her slit, her slick juices mingling with the soapy body of water. She wished Stanley was here. She wanted to feel his strong deal on her, wanted to feel the solidness of his body against hers. But, she knew, she 'd never have the bravery to distinguish him what she wanted ; her vocalization disappeared when they made dear. She 'd tried to talk to him about it at other time, but he did n't wish to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. `` This sentence '', she thought. `` Tonight, I 'm going to shoot boot. ``

John Rowlands knocked on the door. `` Enter. '' she said, loving the way the discussion felt in her oral cavity. Not `` Come in '', but `` Enter ''. A bid, not an entreat. John Rowlands pushed open the door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present State of mind `` 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 aid your rachis to aching less. '' Her heart welled up. It was as if he 'd read her mind. She opened her oral cavity to thank him, to praise him for being so thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to contain accusation, she could n't begin by fawning all over him. `` Be cool, '' she thought, `` just be cool down. Be a goddess. Goddesses expect to be treated this way. ``

'' Thank you. Go and fetch my bathrobe. '' She raised her voice slightly at the end, but it was n't a enquiry. `` Fetch '' was not a discussion you used in a request. It was a give-and-take you used with servents. With a pet. It was a word of command. Francis Edgar Stanley seemed not to mark, and went off to the bedchamber. She stepped out of the bath, and ate the cocoa. The chocolate was creamy and delicious, but she could taste the vegetal marijuana behind it, dank and viscid, like the cunt of the Earth Mother. She laughed at herself. `` You 're not even high yet ! '' She sipped the pomegranate juice, common cold and sweetly tart. `` wine-coloured, '' she thought. `` In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been wine-colored. '' She shook her head. `` Fuck it, tho. I do n't care vino. 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 robe on its draw, and enveloped her with the downlike white towel. `` You 're in the quite the mode, '' he said. She knew she would chicken out if he questioned her. She turned around in his arms, and raised a digit to his rim. `` Shush. No talking. '' He shrugged, and smiled, and continued drying her off. He knelt, drying her leg one at a time, and her heart beat fast. `` This is really happening. Henry M. Stanley is kneeling at my feet. '' She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her legs, but did n't take the tinge. He stood back up, and dropped the towel in the shackle. 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 bedchamber. She was starting to panic. She had n't thought this through. She did n't know what to enjoin him. She needed to drag one's heels. She sat on the edge of the bed. `` Get undressed. '' she said. He began to commit 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 belt ammunition. He pulled it unloosen of the grommet, making a live up to swish noise. He unbuttoned his blue jean, and stepped out of them. He stood there in his boxers and air sock. `` Those too, '' she said. `` I want you naked. '' He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to come toward her. `` No. delay there. '' This was really the test, she thought. Would he wait there, or would he object.

Sir Henry Morton Stanley waited. He shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As hard as she 'd seen him in a foresighted time. He reached his hired hand to his dick. `` No. No touching yet. Tell me what you want. '' She wanted to get word him tell her how a lot he wanted her. She wanted to hear him talk dirty. In her middle of tenderness, she wanted to hear him beg to fuck her. ``

He shuffled, and did n't say anything. Finally he said `` I just want to keep you. '' She felt her warmness drop, 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 have seen her deflated facial expression, because he tried again. `` I want to make love to you. '' but it sounded like a head. She scoured her creative thinker. `` He 's trying. Just prevent going. '' she thought. `` The correct result 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 acknowledge 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 nerve. `` How can I please you, Sophie ? '' he said, quietly. `` Tell me what to do. ``

Ack ! She had n't really believe this far in advance. She did n't know what she was supposed to say future. Stanley seemed to read her mind again. `` Not what you think I want to get word. tell me what you want. I really do want to please you. '' and he knelt at the foot 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 fuss 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 delight along the way, almost incidentally. She did n't fake it, but she did heighten her coming. Performing them in a way Francis Edgar Stanley seemed to care. Henry M. Stanley almost never complimented her sexually. He did n't look 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 reactions dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she had n't been doing that. It did feel good, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a minuscule moan. 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 groundwork, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she did n't want to press her hazard. `` Now my binding. '' 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 shimmers and ripples spreading out from his manus. `` Lower '' and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. `` take down '' she said, and his hands began to knead her downhearted 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 fervor. He began to trace his fingers lightly up and down her spur. 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 helping hand up and brought it down. This time he took the speck, and smacked her, making the interference she loved so much. The sting spread with each hit. Twice more, and then it began to hurt. She caught his script, and rolled over.

'' evidence me what you want. '' `` I want to delight you. '' `` No. Ask for what you want. '' `` Sophie, I want to fuck you. '' He meant it this meter. His voice was deep, and she could see his lust in his eyes. `` No. Not yet. I want your fingers first. '' She spread her legs, and he ran a finger's breadth 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. '' `` Push down with your laurel wreath on my button, but do n't pertain 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 draftsman. '' He fumbled for a while, but then found it. It was glass, turgid and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold and slick and hard. `` punch me while you do it. '' she said, and he did, his glossa hot and wet against her clit while the cold-blooded voiceless shabu cock filled her and fucked her.

'' Tell me what you want. ``

'' I want to make out you. ``

'' Beg. ``

'' I ... ass, Sophie, delight ? Please let me get it on 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 cock was harder than it had ever been, and it felt hot inside her after the cold glass. Her whole body was alive, and she came in technicolor undulation that shimmered and splashed across her entirely consistency. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he 'd never done before `` Oh fuck, Oh god, Oh Sophie, shtup, fuck, I 'm cummmmmmming ! ``

She settled into his weapon system, his chest solid against her back, his prick, still semi hard, nestled between her ass cheeks. `` Thank you, '' she said. `` Welcome menage, darling, '' he said. And they both drifted off to sleep .