It had been a miserable flight, the expected end to a long, difficult trip. Nothing quite made Sophie hate her body so much as flying. She felt fat and old and gross. She was slightly queasy and her head throbbed with dehydration from the recycled air. Her knees and shoulders ached from trying to hold 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 time, not wanting to use the disgusting tiny bathroom on the plane; the relief of a good piss went some way to improving her mood. She turned on her phone, 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 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."
