[ Bold, and lovely. This is relatively new for her, too -- at least sending pictures without his prompting, or an impromptu shopping trip for pretty little things.
She has grown very fond of them, too. Has half the mind to put on another for him.
Instead, she feels the familiar stirrings of arousal snaking through her, legs rubbing together as she admires the view.
[ With five months of experience under her belt, Francesca remains quite shy with technical words, but considerably less so with Nate, given his penchant for talking and coaxing her to talk for him. It's become more commonplace.
And she feels like she's been aphroed when she gets the picture. His cock is very possibly her favorite thing in the world, besides her piano. Makes it easy to be vulgar. ]
Inside me, of course. Inside my pussy.
[ If that doesn't do the trick, the photo she takes of her slip shucked up her legs might. She's only in a tiny pink thong.]
[ That's what she was after. If this were in person, she'd swipe up that precum. Her hand itches to now, miles apart.
For that, he gets a peek at the splotch of wetness seeping out of her, staining the scrap of fabric that comprises her thong, and her white thighs. For someone from 19th century England, she's surprisingly quite good at taking these photos. ]
Perhaps. You would not wish me to be unsatisfied, surely.
Fran has to think about how to respond. Once she does, it's without any accompanying message.
She graces him back with video.
She's retired to her room, on the lounge chair -- straddling a big cream-colored pillow, breasts fully out, the video cutting off at her shoulders. She draws her fingers slowly up her sides, then over the swell of her breasts, stopping to squeeze them, a little noise of pleasure followed by a tweak of her nipples. ]
[Vaguely, Cable recalls telling Francesca that she's the kind of girl men go to war for. He's still confident of that, but he's also pretty sure she's the kind of girl men drive themselves into the depths of insanity for. Writing poetry obsessively, or whatever it is men do for women in her era.
He thinks often about her life back home. What a hidden gem she is for her passion-- will it be wasted? She's very beautiful, sophisticated, talented and soft-spoken. He's sure she's a prize. Sure someone very powerful will want her. But now he has her, and he doesn't want to let her go.
He returns to video, shirt hitched to perhaps intentionally show off his torso. Mostly because he doesn't want cum on his shirt, but also because he knows he's well sculpted. His flesh hand stroking his cock faster, his breathing is hastened.]
If you want me to fuck you to your limit, I will---
[Typing is far too laborious now. Even if his voice is breathless and impatient.]
Won't stop until you pass out. Might not stop then. Bet you fuck just as good in your sleep, princess.
[ God. And she thought she was turned on before. His voice pitched low, the things he promises he could do, the hurry of his hand -- it all skates down her spine and accumulates. Slicks past her underwear, onto the tufted fabric of the pillow.
Revving that engine he mentioned.
Realizing she ought not to leave him hanging, now the vision he receives is of her using the pillow for friction. Hips rolling back and forth, her cunt rubbing over it. ]
Oh... please. I want you to take me until I cannot stand it.
[ Floating on the end of breathy moans, still rubbing her breasts. ]
Good girl. [It's said with particular emphasis, she's impressed him. He shows her just enough of his jawline for her to see it clenched, teeth gritted. He pumps himself fast, rubbing his thumb over the swollen head of his cock. It's very easy to imagine her sitting on it, he feels like he knows every groove of every muscle in her pussy.]
Can't think of a better job for me. [He sounds a little amused at the situation he's found himself in. Outpaced by a Jane Austen girl.]
Think something about my cock drives you crazy. Maybe I ought to wean you off it.
[ Not so very long ago she didn't know how to pleasure herself, now she's demonstrating to him exactly how she likes it.
She's only recently discovered how pleasant humping pillows can be.
Thoroughly aroused, already she can feel the glow of climax lurking nearby. Then, it's not usually difficult for her to come. She comes quite easily, in fact.
Easiest with him. Francesca plays the clip at least three times before she forfeits and video calls.
The view: a flush of exertion creeps from her chest to her cheeks, hair disheveled.
[It is tempting to decline the call. It would be a wonderful expression of self-control.
But he wants to see her, which is half the problem. A problem that ceases to exist when she comes into view. His camera isn't on while he admires her. Then it is, but it's pointing up at the ceiling. Deliberately.
His voice is low, with the edge an authority figure gets when they're about to count to three.]
Ask nicely. [He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he's still jerking off but she can't see it.]
[It becomes very apparent that Cable is 1. Mad horny and 2. Looking up toward his phone. The light from his eye is pinging on the ceiling, erratic like the pumps of his hand.
He's also laughing at her.]
You're a good girl.
[He turns the phone so she can see him from the neck down, letting his telekinesis keep it afloat so he can busy himself with his hands.]
You just saw me. Had me.
[He's not good at hiding his surprise. Maybe he should be taking this in stride.]
Do you love my dick that much, bunny? You're making me feel guilty.
[ It hardly matters that she saw him within the past day. She misses him so powerfully in this moment, with a ferocity she doesn't know what to do with it, nor presently explain.
It's not merely his dick she loves.
She's enraptured by the work of his hands, how furiously he's touching himself. She wishes it was her own hands, her mouth doing this for him. Performing their duty.
Without reservations: ] Yes.
[ And to drive that point home, knowing he's close, she maneuvers the camera and herself so that he can see the state of her cunt, the fingers of one hand pulling aside the lips so he might get the full view. Right down to the flare and clench of her opening, the forming of a string of wetness. ]
[He unfilters himself, briefly. His hand moves faster and his hips arch up into his own touch, a little needily for him. He'd like to say the guilt he feels for brainwashing her is somewhere else right now, but it isn't. He's thinking about it. And it turns him on.
He groans, thready and urgent. He also huffs out a surprised breath, because he's genuinely enraptured by what he's watching and he knows he's very fucking close.]
Touch yourself. [He orders, and his voice still carries authority even when he's breathless and clearly desperate for her.]
[ Say less. Francesca loves an order. Especially when it has to do with sexual pleasure.
She does just as he bade, three fingers running down her cunt, making a further mess of things. She curls two inside herself -- it's easy, too easy this wet -- and uses her thumb to rub against her clit. He didn't say what they had to be doing. ]
Wish I were inside you. [And he will be, soon. But he needs to finish or he'll probably go inside. Luckily the side of her pretty fingers buried inside herself does it for him.
He curses under his breath, finishing up his stomach and chest and over his hand. His chest rises and falls, still watching her.]
I'll be there soon. I want you like that for me when I come in.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It is only a table, after all. And a testament to your ... passion, if I may be so bold.
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i think it says more about what you do to me, if i may be so bold.
i can show you.
[And this is a bold, new move. He attaches an image of his erection through his trunks, pants pushed down his hips to reveal it.]
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She has grown very fond of them, too. Has half the mind to put on another for him.
Instead, she feels the familiar stirrings of arousal snaking through her, legs rubbing together as she admires the view.
She'll be bold, too. ]
I want it.
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He attaches another picture, this time with his hand down his trunks, gripping his cock which is just visible.]
where do you want it?
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And she feels like she's been aphroed when she gets the picture. His cock is very possibly her favorite thing in the world, besides her piano. Makes it easy to be vulgar. ]
Inside me, of course.
Inside my pussy.
[ If that doesn't do the trick, the photo she takes of her slip shucked up her legs might. She's only in a tiny pink thong.]
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Since it seems to drive her wild, he feels encouraged enough to take his cock out of his trunks completely. Precum is beading on the head of it.]
i didn't leave you satisfied?
maybe i need to try harder.
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For that, he gets a peek at the splotch of wetness seeping out of her, staining the scrap of fabric that comprises her thong, and her white thighs. For someone from 19th century England, she's surprisingly quite good at taking these photos. ]
Perhaps. You would not wish me to be unsatisfied, surely.
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[And he means it, because he's salivating thinking about eating her out. Missing how she tastes.
The next attachment is a video of him lazily stroking himself with long swipes of his fingers.]
starting to wonder if you're ever really satisfied. got a motor on you. never quits.
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Fran has to think about how to respond. Once she does, it's without any accompanying message.
She graces him back with video.
She's retired to her room, on the lounge chair -- straddling a big cream-colored pillow, breasts fully out, the video cutting off at her shoulders. She draws her fingers slowly up her sides, then over the swell of her breasts, stopping to squeeze them, a little noise of pleasure followed by a tweak of her nipples. ]
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He thinks often about her life back home. What a hidden gem she is for her passion-- will it be wasted? She's very beautiful, sophisticated, talented and soft-spoken. He's sure she's a prize. Sure someone very powerful will want her. But now he has her, and he doesn't want to let her go.
He returns to video, shirt hitched to perhaps intentionally show off his torso. Mostly because he doesn't want cum on his shirt, but also because he knows he's well sculpted. His flesh hand stroking his cock faster, his breathing is hastened.]
If you want me to fuck you to your limit, I will---
[Typing is far too laborious now. Even if his voice is breathless and impatient.]
Won't stop until you pass out. Might not stop then. Bet you fuck just as good in your sleep, princess.
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Revving that engine he mentioned.
Realizing she ought not to leave him hanging, now the vision he receives is of her using the pillow for friction. Hips rolling back and forth, her cunt rubbing over it. ]
Oh... please. I want you to take me until I cannot stand it.
[ Floating on the end of breathy moans, still rubbing her breasts. ]
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Can't think of a better job for me. [He sounds a little amused at the situation he's found himself in. Outpaced by a Jane Austen girl.]
Think something about my cock drives you crazy. Maybe I ought to wean you off it.
[As if he has any control of this situation.]
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She's only recently discovered how pleasant humping pillows can be.
Thoroughly aroused, already she can feel the glow of climax lurking nearby. Then, it's not usually difficult for her to come. She comes quite easily, in fact.
Easiest with him. Francesca plays the clip at least three times before she forfeits and video calls.
The view: a flush of exertion creeps from her chest to her cheeks, hair disheveled.
Almost petulant: ] Bunny wants Daddy. Now.
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But he wants to see her, which is half the problem. A problem that ceases to exist when she comes into view. His camera isn't on while he admires her. Then it is, but it's pointing up at the ceiling. Deliberately.
His voice is low, with the edge an authority figure gets when they're about to count to three.]
Ask nicely. [He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he's still jerking off but she can't see it.]
Ask nice enough and I'll come bury it in you.
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It reduces her to whining. She doesn't even pretend or attempt to hold out. Not this horny. ]
Please.
[ The opposite of elegant and lady-like. The Ton would be scandalized. By all of this. ]
I need you. I need you so very badly. I miss you. I miss Daddy's cock.
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He's also laughing at her.]
You're a good girl.
[He turns the phone so she can see him from the neck down, letting his telekinesis keep it afloat so he can busy himself with his hands.]
You just saw me. Had me.
[He's not good at hiding his surprise. Maybe he should be taking this in stride.]
Do you love my dick that much, bunny? You're making me feel guilty.
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It's not merely his dick she loves.
She's enraptured by the work of his hands, how furiously he's touching himself. She wishes it was her own hands, her mouth doing this for him. Performing their duty.
Without reservations: ] Yes.
[ And to drive that point home, knowing he's close, she maneuvers the camera and herself so that he can see the state of her cunt, the fingers of one hand pulling aside the lips so he might get the full view. Right down to the flare and clench of her opening, the forming of a string of wetness. ]
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[He unfilters himself, briefly. His hand moves faster and his hips arch up into his own touch, a little needily for him. He'd like to say the guilt he feels for brainwashing her is somewhere else right now, but it isn't. He's thinking about it. And it turns him on.
He groans, thready and urgent. He also huffs out a surprised breath, because he's genuinely enraptured by what he's watching and he knows he's very fucking close.]
Touch yourself. [He orders, and his voice still carries authority even when he's breathless and clearly desperate for her.]
Three fingers.
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She does just as he bade, three fingers running down her cunt, making a further mess of things. She curls two inside herself -- it's easy, too easy this wet -- and uses her thumb to rub against her clit. He didn't say what they had to be doing. ]
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He curses under his breath, finishing up his stomach and chest and over his hand. His chest rises and falls, still watching her.]
I'll be there soon. I want you like that for me when I come in.