[She could probably convince him to do just about anything right now. Inhibitions are low, curiosity is at a high — so is want, which is not rare for him in regards to mental stimulation, but physically? So uncommon is it that he can't help but follow its lead, to see where it might take them.]
Is it so rare? I cannot- [His words stumble on his tongue when she strokes him again, but it's with diligent effort that he continues.] -imagine it is.
[With his future self, he means, that man he might someday become.
Still, he plays with her tail, realizing slowly that her undergarments must be fashioned in a way to allow for it. Both practical and, in this era, a bit scandalous, indeed.]
I want to make you feel the same. Isn't it only fair?
[He wants to excel as she does, and this isn't terribly surprising.]
[ that Victorian open crotch nearly seems made for her, it's true. as though somehow this world had known to one day expect her, and at least in this one way, had prepared. his hands are so close. she can feel the coolness of the room teasing itself between her legs, where she has become damp, where her lips tingle with the desire to be paid attention to. little pleasures straight from her tail to her cunt. it's not a long way to go.
his stutter all but rolls off his lips and across her cheek like a caress; she inhales as though she might taste. this inexperience of his holds deep allure. ]
Go on, then.
[ her hand has fallen still, as though she can't focus on the two things at once. ]
[Her hand halting so soon is torture, but more importantly, further motivation to touch. To explore. To be less cautious, waiting for her permission, and far more exploratory, as he knows he can be. As he knows she must want.]
Very well. Then…
[Quite bold, indeed, is the course he decides upon. His hands abandon both her cheek and her tail, one finding itself resting upon her hip, the other snaking down—through or over or however the material might allow him—to touch, with two exploratory fingers, the wetness of her folds.
As he said, it’s only fair. And it’s just about what imagined it to be.]
[ i cannot overstate how easy it is for him to get in there. all he need do is venture in, perhaps tuck some of the material to one side, and there it all is. it's as if the Victorians designed women's drawers with her, specifically, in mind. how easy to bare herself to the room. how easy, too, for a young man to play with her cunt for the first time.
the hair at her nape seems to stand on end as she feels the creep of him moving down. then his slender fingers—cool compared to the heat coming off her—settling upon her lips. only now can she feel how wet she's gotten, simply from playing with him like this. she inhales shakily, sharply, prickles of heat and pleasure coursing through her. without meaning to, she lifts her tail. she's an easy woman. ]
[Exceptionally easily, almost laughably so. In this one and only instance, a woman's clothing seems far less complicated than a man's, but that is a thought he might revisit another time, another day.
Now, he thinks not of the ease with which he touches her but the sensation that meets his fingertips. She is so very wet and hot, and there's satisfaction in knowing that he has caused a similar physical reaction in her that she did with him, but his mind remains foggy and too-slippery all at once. That thought, too, doesn't linger.
No, Sholmes only wants to feel. And moreover, to learn. To take stock of her reactions, commit them to memory, with a confidence that perhaps seems foolish for how drug-addled he is.]
And... like this...?
[There's no point in being shy now, not with his fingers already pressed against her cunt. He dips down a little lower and slides one long and extended digit through her folds to wet the entire length of his finger, suddenly wishing most direly that he could see as well as feel. How very indecent in a thoroughly exciting way.]
the thought seeps in, seeps out. she smiles instinctively in response, a long sigh that sounds like relief, and gently lifts one thigh a little higher to open herself to the touching. invite him in. welcome; stay. ]
[Even more clearance to explore, though it isn’t as if he was much restrained. The thought makes his heart pump hard in his chest, a feeling so paradoxical to the laziness he otherwise experiences (nearly) everywhere else.
Where his slender finger had slipped up and through, now it slides back down where she’s parted so nicely for him, his touch feeling her out in a way that is both curious and massaging. Once more, he turns his face to bury it in the crook of her neck; and once more, his lips tickle her skin as he speaks.
Options of what to do next. Sholmes decides to slip his digit up again, languidly slow, but angled in such a way that he’s sure he glides across the bud of her clit as he does so. It must be — he can only go off of what he feels, but he’s certain.]
[ it is. the tension which ripples through her can only confirm. hot flashes up her back; pools of liquid heat settling in her low spots. he has buried his face close enough that she couldn't disguise her tiny gasp even if she wished to. and she doesn't wish to.
better it drive him insane. ]
Ha—ahh-hh. Mmn. I love being touched like this.
[ she murmurs, warm, into his hair behind his ear. tries to curl closer where she's laid out on top of him. finally she remembers to move her own hand, wrapped gently around his stiff length, and tugs it once, twice, three times, generously and firmly. at the head, she rubs over him so the dampness beading there smears into the creases of her palm. ]
[The noises he makes when she smears her palm over his cockhead would be embarrassing were he more lucid. Now, they escape him practically without his knowledge, a low, long moan that rumbles against her neck. He'll ruck up once against her again, seeking more, greedily wanting a release but also wishing for its delay.]
Aha... [Don't worry, she has no issue thus far driving him insane.] I do like it when you praise me in such a libertine way, Ms Sapione...
[Now, that finger of his finds itself between her folds again, and lower, teasing its tip at her entrance.]
Will you part for me?
[...He doesn't wait for a reply. With ease, given how wet she is, Sholmes will indeed just slip that finger inside of her.]
[ she parts warm and so soft, a little purring sigh in her throat. she tries to spread her thighs wider, push her backside into the air, and the hand cradled at the back of his neck tightens and holds him near.
he should moan like this for her all the time (forgetting that he often does). he should compliment her even more than he has—"libertine" sends a giddy thrill straight down to the cool slip of his finger just inside. ]
Oh... lapochka...
[ thinking hazily: two fingers would be better. two fingers nice and seated. maybe three? or... more...
she is not thinking of him much at all when she moves her hand from his cock, leaving him bereft, and worms it from beneath his trousers and underwear, and reaches behind herself to take his wrist and guide him deeper. ]
["Libertine" is only ever a compliment in a context like this one. This is something Sholmes is learning on this day; lucky him.
Instructionless, he would have left that single finger inside of her, angling it to feel her soft insides, thoughts wandering in even lewder directions as he wonders what it must feel like to properly fuck her — his future self would know, wouldn't he? But suddenly, he's bereft of her touch. Or rather, it moves away from his cock and loops around his wrist, instead, urging him deeper. He makes another little noise, somewhat of a complaint that he's no longer being tended to, but not enough to... not allow his finger to sink in ever deeper into her.
Right up to his knuckle, hugged all around. Still just the one finger, though.]
I couldn't have imagined... [He trails off, dumbly. That she'd be so soft, so warm, that the very notion would make his body react this way?
[ hushed laughter beneath his ear: isn't he so sweet man. couldn't have imagined—coming from Herlock Sholmes, the man who is always imagining. ]
I have room for you. [ for more than just a single finger. ] Are you unhappy with me? Your poor, stiff cock.
[ the words are easy and brazen, no bashfulness. no; she likes to speak boldly and earn a reaction. the idea entertains of rising up and parting her drawers for him so he can see where he plays, but she can't... get up... ]
[Romance is so far-flung a notion that, no, he could not imagine it. He had been starkly in the camp that it was simply never to be his forte; even an adult Sholmes, that day they met in Reverie, believed the same, only not so staunchly. Just that it was an airy truth that had no reason to meld itself into anything different, until it did.
Is she trying to get up? Or just thinking about it?]
I cannot imagine I look particularly unhappy.
[Again, his moves his finger, a slight twist to his wrist to simply feel at a different angle, scant of a difference it might make.]
Another finger?
[Room for him, she said. His brain is slush. Help him.]
[ she is thinking about it while not moving at all, not even her hand still around his wrist and not his cock. languid with opium, she loosens her fingers and then drapes her arm across his chest.
murmuring, deliriously, into his neck, ] Two or three or four more...
[Ah, so useless, then. Sholmes might be able to summon enough strength to shift either of them this way or that, especially since her hand has stilled, but his brain first tries to process what she’s telling him.]
Sprezzatura's laugh is nowhere near a "tee hee." ]
I might never give it back.
[ she has never done that, taken an entire hand, and while the opium allows the thought of doing so to skate more easily across her mind, she feels little true draw towards trying. in many ways, she's only saying so to get a reaction from him... and to educate him on things that could be, and are, often done. ]
[she's with the wrong blond twink if she wants to take a whole arm up her coochie
Because while Sholmes is not so high out of his mind to think that maybe, yes, he should shove his whole hand inside her cunt and see if it swallows it up—what a lurid thought! and yet strangely titillating???—it does prompt him to finally nudge in a second one, sliding in curiously to see how easily she parts for the extra width.
[ easily. she rolls gently towards the seam of the back of the chaise and the cushions, in case she might be able to hold her thigh up enough that he can finger her from the front.
[He's lost for a moment in the sensation of two fingers hilted inside of her—as though it's all that different from one—but her movement is notable enough amid their generally useless bodies that he gives attention to her effort, despite it.
Sholmes might feel about as boneless as she, but he thinks he can make this request and follow through, able to summon up enough energy to do so. Probably.]
[ all of her energy has gone to holding that thigh aloft. after a moment, she lets it fall again, curling up closer against him. it hugs his fingers inside her wonderfully. ]
[And her curled up against him like this could be nice, too. Comfy. Even with the sensation of his fingers inside of her, were his body not so keyed up (yet paradoxically lazy), it'd be a comfort.
But he says, with as much confidence a man in his state can muster-]
[ everything she wants would require moving. perhaps if she turned herself around she might feel the touch of his gaze on her cunt. she could ask him to kiss it, or her hole, or to take his pick of both. she could sit up and nurse him on her aching nipples. she could make him sit and bury her face in his lap.
... he would be so incredibly cute if she...
and if she wants her pipe, another languid pull... that needs moving, too.
Sprezzatura remains so still she can feel her own heartbeat thumping around his fingers.
what he wants—she wants to know that, too. but the thought of being anything less than seamed together?... ]
Suck on my nipples.
[ she's settled on the first. guess what this requires? getting her nightgown above or below her breasts. moving. ]
[Flushes anew, a pretty pink color, but there's no stammering and stuttering or wide eyes this time. The request is no less wanton than what he's already doing between her legs, after all.
Immediately, his eyes trail to her chest — or try to, anyway, difficult as it is with her leaning against him.]
Sit up, then, my dear girl.
[His free hand comes up to brace at her side, as though to help her.]
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finalflight2024-09-12 10:58 am
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Is it so rare? I cannot- [His words stumble on his tongue when she strokes him again, but it's with diligent effort that he continues.] -imagine it is.
[With his future self, he means, that man he might someday become.
Still, he plays with her tail, realizing slowly that her undergarments must be fashioned in a way to allow for it. Both practical and, in this era, a bit scandalous, indeed.]
I want to make you feel the same. Isn't it only fair?
[He wants to excel as she does, and this isn't terribly surprising.]
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his stutter all but rolls off his lips and across her cheek like a caress; she inhales as though she might taste. this inexperience of his holds deep allure. ]
Go on, then.
[ her hand has fallen still, as though she can't focus on the two things at once. ]
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Very well. Then…
[Quite bold, indeed, is the course he decides upon. His hands abandon both her cheek and her tail, one finding itself resting upon her hip, the other snaking down—through or over or however the material might allow him—to touch, with two exploratory fingers, the wetness of her folds.
As he said, it’s only fair. And it’s just about what imagined it to be.]
…here?
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the hair at her nape seems to stand on end as she feels the creep of him moving down. then his slender fingers—cool compared to the heat coming off her—settling upon her lips. only now can she feel how wet she's gotten, simply from playing with him like this. she inhales shakily, sharply, prickles of heat and pleasure coursing through her. without meaning to, she lifts her tail. she's an easy woman. ]
Da, good boy.
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Now, he thinks not of the ease with which he touches her but the sensation that meets his fingertips. She is so very wet and hot, and there's satisfaction in knowing that he has caused a similar physical reaction in her that she did with him, but his mind remains foggy and too-slippery all at once. That thought, too, doesn't linger.
No, Sholmes only wants to feel. And moreover, to learn. To take stock of her reactions, commit them to memory, with a confidence that perhaps seems foolish for how drug-addled he is.]
And... like this...?
[There's no point in being shy now, not with his fingers already pressed against her cunt. He dips down a little lower and slides one long and extended digit through her folds to wet the entire length of his finger, suddenly wishing most direly that he could see as well as feel. How very indecent in a thoroughly exciting way.]
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the thought seeps in, seeps out. she smiles instinctively in response, a long sigh that sounds like relief, and gently lifts one thigh a little higher to open herself to the touching. invite him in. welcome; stay. ]
Da...
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Where his slender finger had slipped up and through, now it slides back down where she’s parted so nicely for him, his touch feeling her out in a way that is both curious and massaging. Once more, he turns his face to bury it in the crook of her neck; and once more, his lips tickle her skin as he speaks.
Options of what to do next. Sholmes decides to slip his digit up again, languidly slow, but angled in such a way that he’s sure he glides across the bud of her clit as he does so. It must be — he can only go off of what he feels, but he’s certain.]
You feel nearly as eager as I am.
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better it drive him insane. ]
Ha—ahh-hh. Mmn. I love being touched like this.
[ she murmurs, warm, into his hair behind his ear. tries to curl closer where she's laid out on top of him. finally she remembers to move her own hand, wrapped gently around his stiff length, and tugs it once, twice, three times, generously and firmly. at the head, she rubs over him so the dampness beading there smears into the creases of her palm. ]
Good boy....
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Aha... [Don't worry, she has no issue thus far driving him insane.] I do like it when you praise me in such a libertine way, Ms Sapione...
[Now, that finger of his finds itself between her folds again, and lower, teasing its tip at her entrance.]
Will you part for me?
[...He doesn't wait for a reply. With ease, given how wet she is, Sholmes will indeed just slip that finger inside of her.]
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he should moan like this for her all the time (forgetting that he often does). he should compliment her even more than he has—"libertine" sends a giddy thrill straight down to the cool slip of his finger just inside. ]
Oh... lapochka...
[ thinking hazily: two fingers would be better. two fingers nice and seated. maybe three? or... more...
she is not thinking of him much at all when she moves her hand from his cock, leaving him bereft, and worms it from beneath his trousers and underwear, and reaches behind herself to take his wrist and guide him deeper. ]
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Instructionless, he would have left that single finger inside of her, angling it to feel her soft insides, thoughts wandering in even lewder directions as he wonders what it must feel like to properly fuck her — his future self would know, wouldn't he? But suddenly, he's bereft of her touch. Or rather, it moves away from his cock and loops around his wrist, instead, urging him deeper. He makes another little noise, somewhat of a complaint that he's no longer being tended to, but not enough to... not allow his finger to sink in ever deeper into her.
Right up to his knuckle, hugged all around. Still just the one finger, though.]
I couldn't have imagined... [He trails off, dumbly. That she'd be so soft, so warm, that the very notion would make his body react this way?
Experimentally crooks his finger from within.]
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I have room for you. [ for more than just a single finger. ] Are you unhappy with me? Your poor, stiff cock.
[ the words are easy and brazen, no bashfulness. no; she likes to speak boldly and earn a reaction. the idea entertains of rising up and parting her drawers for him so he can see where he plays, but she can't... get up... ]
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Is she trying to get up? Or just thinking about it?]
I cannot imagine I look particularly unhappy.
[Again, his moves his finger, a slight twist to his wrist to simply feel at a different angle, scant of a difference it might make.]
Another finger?
[Room for him, she said. His brain is slush. Help him.]
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murmuring, deliriously, into his neck, ] Two or three or four more...
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Four?
[math lady meme]
That would be my entire hand.
[jgdfhj revelations upon him]
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Sprezzatura's laugh is nowhere near a "tee hee." ]
I might never give it back.
[ she has never done that, taken an entire hand, and while the opium allows the thought of doing so to skate more easily across her mind, she feels little true draw towards trying. in many ways, she's only saying so to get a reaction from him... and to educate him on things that could be, and are, often done. ]
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Because while Sholmes is not so high out of his mind to think that maybe, yes, he should shove his whole hand inside her cunt and see if it swallows it up—what a lurid thought! and yet strangely titillating???—it does prompt him to finally nudge in a second one, sliding in curiously to see how easily she parts for the extra width.
for horny science]
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it's... not likely she can for long. ]
Good...
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Sholmes might feel about as boneless as she, but he thinks he can make this request and follow through, able to summon up enough energy to do so. Probably.]
Mmn. Why don't we switch positions?
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Aren't you wanting to see?
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But he says, with as much confidence a man in his state can muster-]
I'd still be able to observe.
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I do not think you could.
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Mm, are you sure it’s not simply because you don’t wish to move…?
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... he would be so incredibly cute if she...
and if she wants her pipe, another languid pull... that needs moving, too.
Sprezzatura remains so still she can feel her own heartbeat thumping around his fingers.
what he wants—she wants to know that, too. but the thought of being anything less than seamed together?... ]
Suck on my nipples.
[ she's settled on the first. guess what this requires? getting her nightgown above or below her breasts. moving. ]
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Immediately, his eyes trail to her chest — or try to, anyway, difficult as it is with her leaning against him.]
Sit up, then, my dear girl.
[His free hand comes up to brace at her side, as though to help her.]
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for once being stuck with younger icons works out for me
hehe
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/3
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I'M BACK
:pinkmoon:
:pinksun:
Re: :pinksun:
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