Welcome Home
Introduction:
A woman works up the courage to ask for what she wants.
She trudged to baggage pickup, every joint in her body ached; her back screamed complaint at her as she lifted her heavy bag off the conveyor belt. The line for customs was shorter than expected, and she made it to the doors earlier than she had said. The cold air slammed her like a physical assault. 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 last half hour. She looked around, and saw her car, the electric yellow paint stood out in a sea of grey and black. And there was Stanley, opening the trunk for her bags. 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 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 home, across town at rush hour, and she listened to him talk about the problems he was having at work, something about a new supervisor. She must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing she knew, they were pulling up in front of her house. Stanley carried her bags 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 want dinner?” he asked her. “No. I still feel gross from the plane. I’m going to go take a bath. You eat, though.”
She went upstairs, and set the water 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 mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the cares 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 girl, she had longed for the straight blonde 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 little 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 skin was pale, almost white, and spangled all over with small brown freckles that trailed up her arms, across her shoulders and over her breasts. Her breasts were large and heavy, with small pink nipples. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping their weight, feeling her nipples harden against her palms, and smiled. Stanley loved her breasts. They were the only part 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 breasts like a desperate schoolboy. Sometimes, bruises formed on them the next day, purple fingerprints like leopard spots. She slid her hands down over her soft belly, and across her wide hips, 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 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 tiny tongues. She sat down, shuddering with a tingle of excitement as the heat enveloped her ass and her pussy. She turned on the jets, and leaned back, letting the water massage her. In the airport, there had been an ad for Jamaica Air; the sun setting over the carribean, with the phrase “Stress can’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 aching muscles. She rubbed the loofah over her arms 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 soft skin on their underside slick with the soapy water. 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 water support her weight. She slid her hands 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 warmth that radiated out. It didn’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 fingers through the hair, tracing the triangle of her mounds edge, sliding her hands between thigh and mound, between belly and mound, loving the feeling of finger where no one else would touch her.
She didn’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 part that cried out for love. 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 little girl, she’d had a book of Greek myths, that showed Gaia, immersed in the oceans, her knees poking through the water to make 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 games, 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 pressure exciting her. She began to rock against her hand, feeling the pressure of her whole palm pressing down on her clit, muffled by her own folds and lips. She pushed hard, and slid a finger up her slit, her slick juices mingling with the soapy water. She wished 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 courage to tell him what she wanted; her voice disappeared when they made love. She’d tried to talk to him about it at other times, but he didn’t like to talk about sex. She heard him coming up the stairs. “This time”, she thought. “Tonight, I’m going to take charge.”
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 door backwards. He was carrying a tray, which, given her present state of mind “I know you said you didn’t want to eat, but I brought you some juice, and a pot chocolate. I thought it might help your back to ache less.” 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 thoughtful, but stopped herself. If she was going to take charge, she couldn’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 fetch my bathrobe.” She raised her voice slightly at the end, but it wasn’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 command. 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 taste 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 pomegranate juice, cold and sweetly tart. “Wine,” she thought. “In the lifetime-after-dark porno she was scripting, this should have been wine.” She shook her head. “Fuck it, tho. I don’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.” Stanley raised an eyebrow, but he hung the robe on its hook, and enveloped her with the fluffy 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 arms, and raised a finger to his lips. “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. Stanley is kneeling at my feet.” She opened her legs a little, and he dried the insides of her legs, but didn’t take the hint. 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 possible he was into this too?
She took his hand, and led him to the bedroom. She was starting to panic. She hadn’t thought this through. She didn’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 didn’t complain. He pulled off his shirt slowly. He slowly unbuckled his belt. He pulled it free 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 naked.” He kicked off his socks, and pulled down his boxers, and then he started to come 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 foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He was hard, though. As hard as she’d seen him in a long time. He reached his hand to his dick. “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 hearts, she wanted to hear him beg to fuck her.”
He shuffled, and didn’t say anything. Finally he said “I just want to hold you.” She felt her heart 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 crestfallen look, because he tried again. “I want to make 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 please you.’ Let’s try again.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want to please you.”
“Good boy.”
She didn’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 cheeks. “How can I please you, Sophie?” he said, quietly. “Tell me what to do.”
Ack! She hadn’t really thought this far in advance. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say next. Stanley seemed to read her mind again. “Not what you think I want to hear. 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 trouble 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 pleasure along the way, almost incidentally. She didn’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 didn’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 reactions dialed up to 10 all the time, despite his almost total lack of feedback. But now, lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t been doing that. It did feel good, what he was doing, and she decided to reward him with a little 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 feet, and suck her toes. Her ex had been into that, and she quite enjoyed it, but she didn’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 shimmers and ripples spreading out from his hands. “Lower” and Stanley dutifully moved from her shoulders to her back. “Lower” 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 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 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 fuck you.” He meant it this time. 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 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 palm on my clit, but don’t touch it directly.” He complied, and she jumped. “Don’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 glass, large and ridged, and she gasped as it went in, cold and slick and hard. “Lick me while you do it.” she said, and he did, his tongue hot and wet against her clit while the cold hard glass cock filled her and fucked her.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want to fuck you.”
“Beg.”
“I…fuck, Sophie, please? Please let me fuck 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 waves that shimmered and splashed across her whole body. He came too, gasping and moaning in a way he’d never done before “Oh fuck, Oh gods, Oh Sophie, fuck, fuck, I’m cummmmmmming!”
She settled into his 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 sleep.
