[Dream is certainly not the best person to teach one about the subtilities of sexting, he prefers by far actions over words, especially since he can transport himself in a mere second with his sand. But he knows how the devices can be useful at times, and he can muster the patience to teach a pretty pupil like Daphne.]
There is an option on your device for you to be able to send a picture, or to turn this into a video call, should you wish for it.
It is a good thought. I particularly favour the thought of how soft the skin of your inner thigh would feel against my lips, against my tongue.
[That last question does make him pause for a moment. He's been in the city long enough to be familiar with the raunchy exchange of words, but he can see how this might not be an experience everyone enjoys.]
It is not, as long as it is something that you want to explore and that it puts you at ease, Daphne. The last thing I wish for is for you to be made uncomfortable by anything I do.
[He knows how it feels to have one's agency taken from themselves, never will he put anyone in that situation if he can help it.]
[ Daphne reads his first set of texts, fiddling with her device, finding the options he mentioned and testing out trying to take a picture. The first couple are blurry, so she finds how to steady it, squealing in delight when a photo of a standing mirror in her room comes out clear.
In a course of pressing on different functions (and getting several more randomly taken photos of her own bedroom now saved to her photo reel), she discovers being able to switch the camera's position. That gets a blurry selfie, also saved.
Then she reads the rest of what Dream has said, getting the rest of his texts in the time she'd been fooling around with the camera. ]
You have not made me uncomfortable, now or ever. I assure you. I have simply not received messages like this before, nor do I think I know much about sending ones in turn that may be satisfying.
[ Somehow the exchange of texts is making her bolder, body heating up when she thinks about what else he's said.
So, with all of the grace she's capable of given her unfamiliarity with taking photos, she ends up snapping a couple. The first, a shot of white fabric and wavy hair hanging in the frame, clothed stomach and pooling of her nightdress showing, one she hadn't meant to take but sends accidentally. The second, there's intent behind. Daphne takes to heart what he'd said in response to her misfired text: he wanted to see how wet she is.
It makes her heart race to think of sending him such an intimate picture, scooting the hem of her dress up, positioning the camera so it's between her legs, looking down at herself in frame with a soft gasp, wisps of hair covering her sex, slit clear and slightly wet. That she's in the privacy of her own room, has chosen to send this text, it's what she needs to feel secure and unashamed of her choice to even take the picture. ]
Like this?
[ She grows a little nervous then, blushing, still aroused by him getting the message but it's the first of this kind for her. Some self-doubt emerges, and she waits for his reply instead of adding more words. ]
It is a skill that can be learned in time, I promise. Even I had not done this before I was brought to the city, and I have had to humbly learn the skill as you are. Though I am convinced you will master it in no time, with how smart and charming you are, pretty nymph.
[Dream patiently waits for Daphne to send back a picture, if she chooses so, and he takes the time it takes for her to figure out her device to move to his bedroom. It's late enough that he too has winded down, only wearing his pants and shirt, and he makes himself comfortable in his bed, piling pillows between his back and the headboard of his bed. Even if this conversation doesn't turn into a dirty one, Morpheus is intrigued enough by Daphne that she is getting all of his attention for the night.
When she sends her first picture, the whole composition of it indicates that she hasn't meant to take it, let alone send it, but it does make Dream smile lightly. There's such a romantic quality to it that it makes him itch to draw or paint Daphne.
He's musing on his idea of a painting when the second picture comes in and all polite thoughts he's having are instantly thrown out of a proverbial window in his mind. The sight of her cunt wet like this makes him crave the taste of it on his tongue, and if the anticipation of their texting has brought some arousal to his groin, and his pants are now certainly too tight for comfort. It pains him to think that he will have to delete the picture later, as he doesn't trust his own device not to leak it on the network one day. But for now, he takes a long moment to look at the picture, cherishing the sight of it.]
Yes, like this. Gods, Daphne, you may be breathtaking every day, but I must admit that this picture of you is simply mouthwatering. How I would love to have a taste of you, right now.
[ daphne's teeth work over both of her lips, pondering precisely how dream might reply. she is not certain that she's sent a picture as properly as one might, in this circumstance, the concept novel to her.
but her heart rate picks up when she reads those first words back, the confirmation ringing like praise in her ears. her legs go tighter together, need prickling between them, awareness of just how wet she is suddenly rushing through her. ]
I wish that you could taste me, too. I'd like to feel your mouth on me. I'm glad you approve of the picture.
[ then after a few seconds, heart thumping, hand drifting down over the cloth covering her stomach, she types out another text. rushed, before she can tell herself that, maybe, it's improper to continue being so forward. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
There is an option on your device for you to be able to send a picture, or to turn this into a video call, should you wish for it.
It is a good thought. I particularly favour the thought of how soft the skin of your inner thigh would feel against my lips, against my tongue.
[That last question does make him pause for a moment. He's been in the city long enough to be familiar with the raunchy exchange of words, but he can see how this might not be an experience everyone enjoys.]
It is not, as long as it is something that you want to explore and that it puts you at ease, Daphne. The last thing I wish for is for you to be made uncomfortable by anything I do.
[He knows how it feels to have one's agency taken from themselves, never will he put anyone in that situation if he can help it.]
no subject
In a course of pressing on different functions (and getting several more randomly taken photos of her own bedroom now saved to her photo reel), she discovers being able to switch the camera's position. That gets a blurry selfie, also saved.
Then she reads the rest of what Dream has said, getting the rest of his texts in the time she'd been fooling around with the camera. ]
You have not made me uncomfortable, now or ever. I assure you. I have simply not received messages like this before, nor do I think I know much about sending ones in turn that may be satisfying.
[ Somehow the exchange of texts is making her bolder, body heating up when she thinks about what else he's said.
So, with all of the grace she's capable of given her unfamiliarity with taking photos, she ends up snapping a couple. The first, a shot of white fabric and wavy hair hanging in the frame, clothed stomach and pooling of her nightdress showing, one she hadn't meant to take but sends accidentally. The second, there's intent behind. Daphne takes to heart what he'd said in response to her misfired text: he wanted to see how wet she is.
It makes her heart race to think of sending him such an intimate picture, scooting the hem of her dress up, positioning the camera so it's between her legs, looking down at herself in frame with a soft gasp, wisps of hair covering her sex, slit clear and slightly wet. That she's in the privacy of her own room, has chosen to send this text, it's what she needs to feel secure and unashamed of her choice to even take the picture. ]
Like this?
[ She grows a little nervous then, blushing, still aroused by him getting the message but it's the first of this kind for her. Some self-doubt emerges, and she waits for his reply instead of adding more words. ]
no subject
[Dream patiently waits for Daphne to send back a picture, if she chooses so, and he takes the time it takes for her to figure out her device to move to his bedroom. It's late enough that he too has winded down, only wearing his pants and shirt, and he makes himself comfortable in his bed, piling pillows between his back and the headboard of his bed. Even if this conversation doesn't turn into a dirty one, Morpheus is intrigued enough by Daphne that she is getting all of his attention for the night.
When she sends her first picture, the whole composition of it indicates that she hasn't meant to take it, let alone send it, but it does make Dream smile lightly. There's such a romantic quality to it that it makes him itch to draw or paint Daphne.
He's musing on his idea of a painting when the second picture comes in and all polite thoughts he's having are instantly thrown out of a proverbial window in his mind. The sight of her cunt wet like this makes him crave the taste of it on his tongue, and if the anticipation of their texting has brought some arousal to his groin, and his pants are now certainly too tight for comfort. It pains him to think that he will have to delete the picture later, as he doesn't trust his own device not to leak it on the network one day. But for now, he takes a long moment to look at the picture, cherishing the sight of it.]
Yes, like this. Gods, Daphne, you may be breathtaking every day, but I must admit that this picture of you is simply mouthwatering. How I would love to have a taste of you, right now.
no subject
but her heart rate picks up when she reads those first words back, the confirmation ringing like praise in her ears. her legs go tighter together, need prickling between them, awareness of just how wet she is suddenly rushing through her. ]
I wish that you could taste me, too. I'd like to feel your mouth on me.
I'm glad you approve of the picture.
[ then after a few seconds, heart thumping, hand drifting down over the cloth covering her stomach, she types out another text. rushed, before she can tell herself that, maybe, it's improper to continue being so forward. ]
Would you send me a picture as well?