[ Francesca feels ... safe. She is safe, when she's with Nathan. It's the first real time she's felt so since waking with a line cut across her neck.
The moment is intimate, no sexual undercurrent. Right up to his hand grasping her neck. She automatically goes lax, her glassy eyes reflected in his own. That, combined with the talk of being collared wets her cunt. Never has a collar sounded so appealing.
Instead of agreeing vocally, she simply nods after a length of hesitation. It mean he'll know where she is at all times. Not her favorite idea in the world. Though, she has nothing to hide. She's very transparent.
She does miss it, too. It was her favorite piece of jewelry. And it meant something, between the two of them. Hence the compromise.
Also, it's difficult to think things through when he's holding her like a kitten. ]
May I bring my pianoforte? [ They'll have to talk living arrangements. ]
[Cable tries very hard not to pry into the thoughts and feelings of others, but sometimes an impulse is of particular interest. He feels her thrill intensely, causing his breath to hitch softly against her ear.
Her question is received gratefully, since it's the only thing that stops him from licking the shell of her ear while calling her a naughty girl with naughty thoughts. He will not be broken in less than twenty minutes.
He pulls back instead, looking genuinely amused.]
Of course you can bring your pianoforte. You can bring anything you like. [He can't resist one impulse, a more innocent one. He lifts her, bringing her to sit on his knee.]
And whatever you need, you'll get. All I need you to do is stay home and look pretty.
[He teases, knowing full well she'll do whatever she wants and he'll support it.]
Never say that in front of my sister. [ Her arms have threaded around his neck, playing at the nape of it. She has few objections to being held. Even if she did, she's seen many a submissive forced to sit in their dominant's lap. She has to adjust.
It strikes her he could fuck her here, in front of everyone, and there would be nobody to object. No fines or disciplinary actions. She has to push the thought aside, not matter how pleasant.
She's rarely thought about sex for the past two weeks or so -- now it's increasingly obvious she's had a dry spell. Worse, because she knows how equipped he is for the job.
Her cheek leans on his shoulder. ]
It is not so very much to lug over. I promise. My pianoforte, my wardrobe, the cookbooks... [ The first two are the most important to her. She has far too many clothes already.
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no subject
The moment is intimate, no sexual undercurrent. Right up to his hand grasping her neck. She automatically goes lax, her glassy eyes reflected in his own. That, combined with the talk of being collared wets her cunt. Never has a collar sounded so appealing.
Instead of agreeing vocally, she simply nods after a length of hesitation. It mean he'll know where she is at all times. Not her favorite idea in the world. Though, she has nothing to hide. She's very transparent.
She does miss it, too. It was her favorite piece of jewelry. And it meant something, between the two of them. Hence the compromise.
Also, it's difficult to think things through when he's holding her like a kitten. ]
May I bring my pianoforte? [ They'll have to talk living arrangements. ]
no subject
Her question is received gratefully, since it's the only thing that stops him from licking the shell of her ear while calling her a naughty girl with naughty thoughts. He will not be broken in less than twenty minutes.
He pulls back instead, looking genuinely amused.]
Of course you can bring your pianoforte. You can bring anything you like. [He can't resist one impulse, a more innocent one. He lifts her, bringing her to sit on his knee.]
And whatever you need, you'll get. All I need you to do is stay home and look pretty.
[He teases, knowing full well she'll do whatever she wants and he'll support it.]
no subject
It strikes her he could fuck her here, in front of everyone, and there would be nobody to object. No fines or disciplinary actions. She has to push the thought aside, not matter how pleasant.
She's rarely thought about sex for the past two weeks or so -- now it's increasingly obvious she's had a dry spell. Worse, because she knows how equipped he is for the job.
Her cheek leans on his shoulder. ]
It is not so very much to lug over. I promise. My pianoforte, my wardrobe, the cookbooks... [ The first two are the most important to her. She has far too many clothes already.
Her finger traces his collar. ]
Are there any other preconditions?