Pretty Thing

Annie just can't find the right angle.

Phone in hand, she snaps picture after swiftly-deleted picture. Keeps her face out of the frame, granting only a bit of neck and auburn hair to prove that it's her. Tries sitting up onto the sink a bit, showing off her ass. Doesn't feel right. Shuffles into profile. Fuck no.

Tries another one, pressing her chest out, pinching her shirt in the back, showing off her breasts through the pale fabric. Maybe this could be the play. She snaps a dozen variations of the favoured position and shuts the phone off, lays it face down on the counter.

Stares herself down in the bathroom mirror, breathing as evenly as she can. Uses the prompts she learned online to reaffirm security, mentally reinforcing the parts of herself she knows she doubts. The shorter hair (chin-length) is convenient, not over the top -- helps frame her round face, too. She's a bit heavy around the hips, but that's just how she's built, nothing to be ashamed of. And freckles are cute, not a curse.

Annie chuckles to herself, looking down into the sink. She's so far out of her comfort zone with this sort of thing, it's laughable.

But the urge to stoke the fire with Marcel pushes her beyond all of that. So far beyond. She'd showered and changed the second she got home -- the car-seat vibrations hadn't been helpful in keeping her panties clean.

Phone off as much as possible. Forbidding herself from looking at Marcel's gorgeous picture again -- the one he'd so brazenly sent her way in the middle of class. Partly because she knows she'll go and find something to rub or hump or fuck the second she lays eyes on it again.

But mainly because she's saving that same energy for what she's about to do.

---

Annie hates how her heart rate picks up as she opens her texts with him. Forces her eyes to the chat box, away from his tapered core.

Checks the clock. Not too early, not too late. The perfect time to strike.

Annie opens simply:

Hey x

He's there in a second, typing back:

Hey urself x

Annie rolls onto her side, thighs pushing together with the motion. Taps away, threading her opening line together methodically.

I was thinking about what u sent me today

Marcel plays dumb.

The drawing reference? x

Annie snickers incredulously as she responds.

Soo unfair of u

Unfair how?

Annie dares:

Beside the fact it made me leave a stain on my car seat?

Marcel takes a few seconds longer to craft a reply. Annie adores the hesitation she's caused, but he gives nothing away:

Yeah besides that x

The tingle in her abdomen intensifies. She completes her play.

I feel like I haven't returned the favour is all xx

Brief pause.

I'm just happy looking pretty for u Miss, I'd do it for free x

Marcel's messages have Annie bunching up a fist between her thighs, breath growing ragged. And yet she can't help feel like he's deflecting something. She's about to double-check, but he has more to send.

His telling addition, trailing off:

I mean, like

Annie plays ball:

Hmm?

If u wanna send me some drawing references of ur own i'd be down <3

Annie hisses with satisfaction at the acception.

Yeah? purely for helping with ur learning ofc x

Yeah let's say that xx

That's when she sends through the first picture -- quickly, so she doesn't overthink it.

Mirror selfie in her loose pyjama clothes, flowery leggings, sheer top. Pulling the pink fabric tighter around her chest, nipples poking out. Hair still wet from the shower.

Marcel hearts the picture instantly.

Omg Miss they're so pretty xx

Annie steadies herself, the praise having an instant effect.

Glad u like them x

Hmm guess it's my turn <3

They enter a back and forth that has a telling dampness forming between Annie's thighs, soaking through the fabric of her panties. More pictures of Marcel -- plummeting views from his neck down to his thighs. Thumb hitched in his navy boxers. Lines of his abdomen carving their way down. Sharp clavicles crowning a biteable chest.

Marcel laps up all that Annie sends him. Calls her pretty, gorgeous. Fuckable. Annie's clenched knuckles are starting to rub away at her sweet spot, purely unconscious. But the surge of lust begins to wane as she makes a jarring realisation. She pulls her hand away with a little gasp.

She's got no more pictures to send. She's used them all up.

She rushes to the bathroom, tries to take some more. But everything looks wrong. And she wants to get naked but she can't, just can't. And Marcel's bulging through his underwear in his latest pic, daring to pull it out, and she's just been sending the same photo over and over, all slightly reimagined but practically identical.

Annie sends nothing for a while.

Marcel checks in:

Am I doing too much? x

It takes a beat for Annie to allow herself to communicate.

I feel like I'm not doing enough

How do u mean? xx

Idk.

Annie knows she's walling up and hates it. She adds:

sorry just hard to put into words

If you don't want to go further we don't have to xx

Annie hisses at herself, "You wanted this. Fuck's sake." The phone feels slippery in her hands, falling away. Too blocky, bright, unwieldy. He's just too far away. She thought the distance could've worked as a crutch. But it's doing the opposite.

She types and sends the text without thinking:

Marcel can we call please

He's there in an instant, buzzing in her hand.

Annie picks up. His disarming voice, sweet with concern, suddenly in her room. "Hey. You alright?"

Annie's voice is quivering, so she steadies it. "I'm sorry for messing this up, Marcel."

"Oh,

hush

. You're not messing anything up. I was worried I was showing too much before you were ready."

"Yes and no," Annie hums. Chuckles softly. "I'd never be complaining about seeing you like that."

"Mm. You're too sweet." Marcel's smile is audible. "But if you're not comfortable sending back, that's fine."

"But I should be, because, like, I want to keep

going

," Annie mutters, frustration tensing her fingers.

Marcel pauses. There's a shuffling sound on his end, cloth rustling. Then he speaks, softly, confidently. "Remember what I said earlier, Miss?"

Annie hugs an arm across her chest, drawing circles on her chest. "You'll have to remind me."

Marcel turns his camera on.

He's shirtless on his bed, sat on his knees with a hand on his thigh, the other adjusting the phone against the pillows, propping it up. No face in the frame, just enough jawline and smirk to snap Annie out of her funk. "I'm just happy looking pretty for you."

Annie says nothing. He looks beyond pretty in this moment. A carved angel, come to life just for her. Something straining against his boxers.

"I need you to promise me something, Miss," he purrs.

"Yes, Marcel?"

"You have to tell me any time you wanna stop, okay?"

Annie gulps. Gets into a more committed position, laying on her stomach. "Okay."

That's when he starts running fingers up his thigh, catching on his shaft through the fabric and rolling it about. Annie matches his motion, nestling her fist back down between her legs, brushing against her wet spot. She whispers to the phone, "Are you sure it's okay I'm not showing you anything?"

"It's

fine

, Miss. You worry too much. Just knowing you're watching me is enough."

Jolt of butterflies. "Putting on a little show for me. I'm getting spoiled."

Marcel's faceless lips twist into his trademark smirk as he fiddles with his waistband. "How should I take these off, Miss?"

"Soon, I hope," Annie murmurs.

"Miss is so impatient," Marcel drawls. He shifts to face away from his camera. Annie digs a fingertip into her clothed slit at the sight of his muscular back, his toned ass. He hesitates, on his hands and knees. Even rolls his hips in a teasing circle like a stripper. "Should I get my cock out like this, huh, Miss?"

Annie licks her lips, cheeks burning as she murmurs, "So

dirty

... Yes. Please."

Marcel rolls his boxers down with his face in the mattress, ass on display. Parading themselves one by one: his waxed hole, his swaying balls, his dripping shaft. Annie has her hand inside her panties and pushes her pussy into it at the sight, half rubbing, half grinding against her clenched digits.

She makes an involuntary exhale, embarrassingly loud and husky.

"What was that, Miss?" Marcel teases. More rustling as he smoothly returns to his previous position, facing her, hardening cock in hand.

Annie cups a hand to her mouth. "Can't help it," she manages between smothered gasps.

"You make such pretty noises, Miss. You're making me so sticky..." Marcel pulls his hand away from the head of his cock, webbing precum between his splayed fingers as if to prove his point.

"That looks... so

good

," Annie groans, shoving her leggings and panties down to her knees in a clumsy tangle. Grabs her pillow and shoves it against her bare cunt, starts humping away. Soothingly cool softness against her mess of a pussy.

"What looks good, Miss?" Marcel giggles. Sucks on his fingers.

"Everything," Annie mutters, wedging a hand between the mattress and her tit, groping and pinching herself roughly. Wishes it was him. "Everything. You're perfect."

"Want me to go faster for you, Miss? You sound so sexy, I can't help it."

"Please, Marcel. Show me how you feel good, please."

Marcel smiles, shifting his knees as he braces one hand on the bed for support, working his length with the other. Graceful strokes, slender fingers gliding over his head, whipping down to his balls, making them bounce. He whimpers -- a girly sound, perfectly pathetic. Annie digs into her pillow doubly hard, stifling a groan with the back of her hand.

Marcel hears her, cocks his head to the side. "Sorry, Miss, I can't help it. I'm getting too worked up with you watching."

Annie hardly hears him. Mental lust fog. Scent of her pussy on her fingers, nails catching against her cheek.

Marcel's saying something. "Wanna hear something dirty, Miss?"

"Tell me," Annie grins, exhaling. Thin prickles of sweat lining her forehead, her hips, her lower back as she grinds away. He might as well be in the room with her, the moment feels so intimate.

"I've imagined masturbating in front of you before."

Annie catches a moan in her throat, forcing it down. "That's

really

hot," she mumbles. "Tell me more."

"I thought about it during life drawing..." Marcel's speech is interrupted by another fluttery whimper before continuing, "I imagined doing some private modelling for you. Just you and me, one of us goes back to the other's place, whatever. The main thing was..." More involuntary vocalisation. His hand rolls up and down faster now, turning to a soft, rhythmic blur on Annie's phone screen.

"Tell me, please, Marcel," Annie begs.

"The main thing was... I'd get hard, and I'd start...

leaking

... And I wouldn't be able to hold the pose, and I'd start stroking myself because I couldn't help it, and you'd just be watching me make a mess... Apologising the whole... time..."

The revelation of Marcel's fantasy has Annie's coil wound to its tightest point -- aching to unravel, to break loose. Her composure continues to crack as she slurs, "That's

so

hot. I'm close. I'm close, fuck. Fuck. That's hot."

Marcel tosses his hair. "So am I, Miss. Can I cum for you, please?"

Her pretty little student, asking permission to unload.

So perfect, it can't be real.

But it is, and Annie's whispering at her phone in a way she knows she'll be blushing over later. "

Pretty please, Miss

," she prompts breathlessly.

"Pretty please, Miss..." Marcel repeats meekly. "Pretty please let me shoot my load for you."

Annie grits her teeth. "Cum for me, Marcel. Show me what a

good

fucking boy you are."

"Oh, Miss, I'm..." His hips buckle. He explodes right onto the bed without warning, two shuddering spurts, then whips his head back and sits back into his hips. The third thick trickle loops up and down, pooling with the contour of his abs, lazily snaking down to coat his trembling hand, his spent shaft. The whole time he's moaning and hissing and quaking in the most gorgeous, helpless way.

The sight of his perfect release is more than enough for Annie to finish the job on her end. Her hips accelerate, forgetting any semblance of flow or rhythm as she humps her pillow like a bitch in heat. The orgasm hits in a distinct ripple, striking in waves through the lower parts of her body. She sucks in air, expels it with a shameless grunt. Whines through her teeth as she comes down, convulsing, repeating stupidly through her drool-lined lips: "Marcel, Marcel, Marcel."

A wash of silence, punctuated by ragged breaths from both parties. Recovering from their simultaneous climax.

Marcel's the first to speak up. He chuckles, running his fingers across his sticky tummy. "Look at the mess you made me make."

Annie takes a second to reply, shaking off the post-orgasm daze. "That makes two of us. My pillow's all dirty, now."

"Oh, that's not fair, Miss."

"What isn't?"

Marcel lays down onto his front, ignoring the fact he's going front-first into his own cumshot. Laces his hands together beneath his chin. "I'm going to be thinking about you humping your pillow now. Won't be able to focus in class."

Annie rubs the side of her phone tenderly. "Well, you're just going to have to be a good boy and try your best then, won't you?"

Flicker of submissiveness across his face. Like he's getting hard again. "I like it when you call me that."

"I know. I can tell."

Marcel dips his head with a sheepish grin. "Well, I'll start being good by getting cleaned up, getting to bed, hey?"

"I'll do the same, I reckon." Annie regards the clock, forces herself to accept reality. "This was so nice -- fuck that. This was

perfect

, Marcel. Thank you."

"Thank

you

, Miss." His eyes are so full, so brown, sparkling even through the video call. "It's so hot seeing this part of you."

Annie wants to pinch his cheek. Kiss his forehead. Sniff and lick along his collarbone, down to his cum-stained abdomen. She compacts the rush of endearment into six words. "Look who's talking. You pretty little thing."

Marcel kisses the camera before turning it off. "Goodnight, Miss."

"Goodnight, Marcel." Annie ends the call.

She rolls over onto her back, takes in the blurred dimness of the ceiling, the yellow lamplight cutting across in soft-edged shards. Lays a hand on her sternum, breathes deep. Finds her pillow and rests her head on the dry part. She can smell the scent of her lust all around her -- it's one of the few things tethering her to reality.

Something vague and imagined has become real. The feeling is immensely calming and electric at the same time. Annie sinks into the bed, closing her eyes. Circling her tender clit lazily with her fingers.

He's still burned in her mind's eye as she cums three more times in a row, back-to-back, all with her fingers. Can't even get up to grab her dildo.

She sits up abruptly, common sense kicking back in. High time to get cleaned up, get ready for bed. Drunk on lust, brain starting to blur and slosh at the edges, Annie staggers to the bathroom. Disrobes, allows herself to look at her reflection longer than she has in a long time.

Legs still trembling. Lust running down, streaking her thighs, her calves. Face vacant, placid, satisfied.

She's a mess. Because of him.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.