Thread: An Indecent Correspondence (AlluringEnigma x Dane Stalling)

My Dear Sinner, I write this letter under assumption that youve landed far away from London without harm befalling you. I shant imagine otherwise, as too many maids would have their poor hearts broken by a tragedy occurring to you or your more relevant parts, shall we say. Of course, I have also found that scoundrels are rarely ever harmed, perhaps due to some ironic notion from God. I imagine it hasnt taken long for your presence in the savage southern continent to be felt. The image of your dashing figure atop the helm of a rowboat, crossing onto the mainland several inches before your ship even touched beachhead is quite the humorous one to my mind. I shant say you were missed, for the only thing more incorrigible than a mans bedside manner is his ego, but the estate has felt rather, shall we say, quiet without you. Now, I cant imagine how you wouldve enjoyed much in the way of lewd adventure while aboard some leaking frigate, but Im sure you have more than a few stories to share nonetheless. Perhaps the Captains daughter, as she seemed like a sweet thing yearning to be corrupted by your touch. Yet, whatever they were, I shall wish to hear of them in all their detail. As I sit here writing this letter to you, surrounded by the loud boorishness of Fathers guests, a thought comes to mind. Without you here in London, the title of most debauched falls upon me, as far as I can tell. I also find it fairly safe to assume that your lascivious tendencies earn you the same title in that distant land that you now preside in. Tell me, are the women there of any compare to those of the Orient? I cant imagine that being true, but I would defer to your firsthand experience in this case. I must remark that I have a propensity to indulge myself further into the depraved depths of sinful passion since you left. Without your ever-insatiable appetite, it seems like the acts I commit must be that of deeper sin for the same level of gratification as before. Why, just this last week, my indulgent self-satisfaction only satiated my desire after some rather impolite obscenities escaped my mouth. Father was in a dizzy, but he lacks the conviction to attempt to disrupt my lechery anymore. Instead, he always seems to have the same forlorn look upon his face. I suppose, however, that if he wanted me to be a proper lady, he should have never slipped me wine as a babe. I now suspect that this is the root cause of my improper tendencies, and that I am without fault for my natural being. I must say that Ive rambled about myself quite a bit in this particular letter. I have always found letters to be a rather one-sided affair, despite the insistence of others. I could tell you about my affair with the maid, the one with blonde tresses down to her shapely backside that you seemed to adore, but Id rather simply leave you a reason to write me back. I find little point in telling you about all my affairs only for you to leave me in the dark of your own. So, despite the brevity of this letter, I shall leave you wanting more, like any proper maiden should. I implore you to write back posthaste to break the dreary silence your voyage has left behind. With desire and perhaps a dash of love, Elizabeth Cromwell P.S - I have included a picture taken recently at fathers behest. Personally, I found the attire too restricting, but he insisted that it was elegant. Perhaps you can use it to form some sort of wall of conquests while away, just ensure that I hold the first spot.