Chapter Text
Francesca Bridgerton has a dilemma.
Well.. multiple dilemmas.
The first being that her parents chose to spend the entirety of her childhood on missionary missions across all of Africa and Asia. Her formative years were shaped by hundreds of postcards and thousands of flights. Never staying in one place for longer than a year.
And sure—objectively speaking, she had an amazing childhood. Her mother, Violet, homeschooled her all the way through her senior year of high school. She had access to, an often times seemingly endless, amount of wealth.
Because Edmund Bridgerton is fucking loaded. And her father had never hoarded his wealth. He had helped hundreds of impoverished communities on their tours around the continents, and reconstructed entire regions of dilapidated homes whenever he could.
Thus, Francesca made relationships with people of all ages, ethnicities, and genders at a very young age. So, even though most of her weekdays were spent in the confines of her own home, she has been exposed to human contact before. Even with the language barriers at times. And yes, she had little access to technology, and abysmal cellular service most days of the year. So, her connection to the urban world had been a bit disjointed for most of her life.
But America is.. different. And this brings Francesca back to her second dilemma.
The fact that she knows absolutely nothing about existing amongst first-world society.
And she realizes this fact within the first year of her attending college classes. Because one day, her classmates, Eloise and Penelope, learn that Francesca had never had sex before. And hereby, accounting for her third dilemma.
Like—ever? In life? Penelope had asked.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Eloise had said, completely scandalized.
Thus, came Francesca’s fourth dilemma, (the most scandalous of them all, apparently) is the fact that she has—
“You’ve never reached a.. climax?” Eloise asks for a third time, lowering her voice towards the end, in an effort to not disturb the students seated around them. As if she can’t process the words that Francesca keeps repeating to them both.
“Oh honey.” Penelope offers Francesca a pitying smile and a not-so-comforting pat on her forearm.
It should be comforting. Well, would be comforting. If only Francesca had any idea of what either of them mean.
A climax… Like a movie?
“Can we bring it down a notch?” Francesca blushes in embarrassment. The professor at the bottom of the auditorium drones on and on about the theory of music, while Francesca tries not to launch herself out of the window next to her.
Eloise shakes her head, apologizing, “Sorry, this is just.. a lot to take in.” Then she looks at Francesca with the most serious expression that Francesca’s seen her capable of since meeting her last semester in their literature class, “Fran, this is unacceptable.” Eloise chides.
She says it like she’s disappointed. At who, Francesca isn’t quite sure.
Because she’s not exactly sure what one has to do with the other.
Sex, climax. Is she supposed to have sex during a movie’s climax? It’s all so confusing. And she never saw reason before now to find out.
Because she’s only twenty—damn it! It can’t be so bad that she’s never had sexual contact with another human before. She’s never even been in a relationship before. She’s never been on a date. Held, nor even kissed. And honestly, she’d never considered the thought until that moment.
Penelope comes to her friend’s aid, “Leave her alone, Eloise, maybe she just hasn’t met the right person yet.”
Francesca smiles gratefully, “Thank you, Pen.”
She appreciates the reprieve, because there actually is some truth behind that statement.
Because the topic of sex was a bit.. taboo in her household. Francesca never having shown enough interest in companionship to ask, and her parents never feeling the need to educate her. But suddenly, she feels as if she’s at an extreme disadvantage in comparison to her peers.
So, later that day, she calls her mother in hopes to assuage her confusion—
“Mama, what is a climax?”
Francesca listens as Violet chokes on the opposite end of the line, her voice rising an octave as she tries to clear her throat from the muffin she had been attempting to eat, “I beg your pardon?”
“Sex, Mama.” Francesca groans through her own embarrassment. “What is a climax?”
“Oh dear.” Violet murmurs under her breath, setting the muffin down, and then, “Edmund.. Edmund.” Francesca hears her mother hiss. She imagines her dad inching out of the room with his hands up—wanting no parts of this particular topic of conversation.
“Mama?” Francesca asks after the line goes mute, her mother begging her father to help her weather this awkward storm, Francesca’s sure. And then, the background noises return, and she hears her mother take a deep breath.
Starting slowly, Violet begins. “Well… yes..” She says, “It is when two people are.. very.. happy together.” Violet is dragging her feet, and Francesca has a feeling it’s a talk she’s been putting off for decades.
“Like you and dad?”
Her mother rushes to agree, completely uncomfortable and ready to end the line of questioning entirely, “Yes, exactly we both reach a.. pinnacle of happiness… Together... At the same time.”
But Francesca only gets more desperate for answers. She frowns, “But what does it mean during the act? How do they relate to one another?”
“Oh, dearest, I think your father needs me,” Violet lies not-so-smoothly, her voice still high and completely unconvincing, “—but listen, I will give you a call back in the morning, okay? Love you! Bye-bye!”
Francesca doesn’t even have enough time to protest before her mother hangs up in her face. She lets out a frustrated sigh—frowning deeply, she flops back onto her bed. Her phone bounces once on her mattress, and drops to the floor.
She tosses and turns all night. At about three a.m., she gives up on finding sleep, unable to sit still. She gets out of her bed again, she swipes up her forgotten phone, and paces the floor.
Maybe she should Google it? Or maybe.. search for ‘climax’ video depictions? Surely there would be some kind of visual aid for beginners. Or maybe she could ask Eloise and Penelope to reenact this ‘climax’ scene out.
Francesca blanches a little, completely sure that they actually would do so. And the fact that Francesca isn’t sure what that is yet, she’s less inclined to request an audience.
She just wishes someone, anyone, would tell her.
Francesca stops pacing.
That’s it.
She lifts her phone, already swiping up and over to the Safari browser app at the bottom of her screen.
Search Google or type a URL: Phone Sex Hotline
Francesca bites her lip, hesitating, then taps the ‘search’ icon. Her eyes widen as the screen immediately begins to populate options.
Talk with Gorgeous Phone Sex Girls for Amazing Erotic Talk and Arousal
1-800-PHONESEX
Naughty Phone Sex Operators- Cheap and Affordable Options Available
FREE Phone sex chat line with trial up to 10 minutes
She clicks the last link without reading the rest of the results, calling the number in the description without a second thought. Because reading the words, even with being said in her head, is too much. She feels like she’s breaking some kind of rule. As if her mother would burst into her dorm room and chastise her, herself.
The line rings. Once. Twice.
Actually—the more that Francesca thinks about it, maybe she doesn’t want to know.
Maybe she should just leave it alone, cross that bridge when she gets to it. It’s not even like she has a partner to even—
“You’ve reached the Velvet Vixens hotline—where your desires never go unanswered. What’s your flavor preference for the night?”
Francesca definitely did not think this through. Because, apparently, there are code words one must know in order to participate in such debauchery.
“Um..” She stumbles over her words, eyes widening as she tries to wrack her brain to understand what the hell that should mean. So, she takes the easy route, and ignores picking a ‘flavor’ entirely, “Sweet?”
The operator chuckles at the sound of her hesitant, and clearly still very youthful, voice.
“I’ve got just the girl for you, one moment, hun.”
“Thank yo—”
Elevator music begins to play on the opposite end of the line before Francesca can even get the rest of her words out. And it’s probably a good thing, because with every second that ticks by, she’s slowly realizing that.. she’s calling a fucking sex hotline.
This is ridiculous.
She should hang up.
She should tell Eloise and Penelope to mind the business that pays them and that she is perfectly fine without ever having had a climax—
“Hi, darling, my name is Princess—and I’ll be your playmate tonight.” The greeting comes quicker than Francesca had anticipated, her mind lingering for longer than it should on the way the operator calls her darling, “May I ask with whom do I speak?”
The voice is soft, and slightly pitched up—Francesca, with ever an ear for music, can tell that her tone is digitally altered. Most likely in an attempt to keep their workers safe, and their identities unknown. Francesca wonders if her own voice is distorted on the other end too.
So focused on the sound of the phone sex operator’s voice, she misses the last question entirely. Instead, she simply blurts—
“What is a pinnacle?”
Francesca does not mean to be so forward. And it’s certainly an.. odd way to start the conversation. But isn’t that the whole point of a sex hotline? To discuss, well.. Sex??
There’s a pause on the opposite end, and Francesca holds her breath. Half expecting the woman to hang up on her.
Then, a tentatively confused voice asks, “A.. pinnacle?”
Francesca flounders for synonyms, the whole point is that she doesn’t have a fucking clue about what she’s asking, “Yes, a pinnacle—the climax—a summit, an apex, whatever the hell they’re calling it around here I just don’t know what—”
Francesca’s nervous rambling trails off as she realizes the phone operator is chuckling lightly at her. It’s a little long to be polite, but it’s genuine, and Francesca finds herself smiling at the sound.
“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I promise.” Princess apologizes softly, her giggles tapering out. “This is just a first for me.”
Francesca’s cheeks redden in embarrassment, “I’m pathetic, I know.”
“You’re not pathetic. And I’m more than happy to explain it to you, love.” The operator assures her quickly, “Before I answer your question though, there are some things I need to know.” She informs Francesca, “First—what is your name, and second, what’s your preferred flavor for tonight?”
Francesca doesn’t think providing her government name is necessary, given the fact that Miss’ Princess’s name is probably a fake altogether. And she’s really starting to wonder just how many ‘flavors’ there are to choose from, and what exactly does it all mean.
But that isn’t what’s important right now.
She needs to focus.
“Fran—” Francesca tell her quietly, “And um… Sweet.”
“Sweet?”
“Yes…?” Francesca ask-answers.
Another chuckle, “Well, that answers my first question.”
Francesca blinks, attempting to recall the sex operator’s rehearsed introduction, “You asked a question?”
“Is this your first time?”
Shit.
It’s rather obvious. It would be embarrassing. But, again, Francesca's shame meter has been a bit low today, “Well.. yeah.” She scratches the back of her neck.
“That’s not a problem, love. I just want to know how to better please you.”
Francesca swallows.
Please her?
That makes her.. feel things.
“I am just.. confused.” Francesca admits timidly.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Francesca considers lying, but decides to be honest, it’s not like she’ll ever talk to this woman again—“I am.. twenty years old.”
Princess hums, “And you know the female anatomy, yes?”
“Of course I do.”
It’s not like Francesca is completely useless. She’d done a little research on female genitalia, but she focused more on their function—rather than how one may be.. pleased.
“So,” Princess begins gently, “—would you like me to walk you through this.. climax.. that you seek?” She asks.
“Yes—No!—I mean,” Francesca corrects, just a little too loudly. “I think I just want to know what it is.” She says, lower this time, “Not explained as some kind of awful riddle like my mom does every time I ask.”
That was probably.. too much information. And it definitely emphasizes her obvious inexperience. But this lady with the beautiful voice is but a stranger, and Francesca doesn’t have enough shame in her system to be embarrassed about her naivety.
The phone sex operator just hums again, before pivoting easily, “Are you somewhere comfortable?”
“I—” Francesca looks around the space. Her room is nothing special. A single dorm room, about the size of her closet back home (see again: financially loaded father) and sparsely decorated, “I’m standing, in my room.”
“Sit down.” Princess all but commands her. And Francesca legs immediately lead her toward the chair in front of her computer desk, before Princess stops her in her tracks, “On your bed.”
Francesca hears three beeps from the speaker next to her ear, but ignores it. She pivots on the spot, not quite sure why she feels compelled to do anything this velvet-voiced ‘playmate’ tells her to. But unable to stop herself nonetheless.
She sits on her bed, feeling a little awkward, “I’m here.”
“Good girl.” Francesca’s eyes widen, having never been called that before. Her stomach flips, and her free hand grips the top of her thigh. But before she can even recover, Princess begins her promised explanation—“Now, there are some parts of our anatomy that bring great pleasure.” She says in a low voice.
“I won’t ask you to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with.” Princess assures her sweetly, and Francesca feels some of the nervous energy she’s been harboring all day bleed away, “What I’d actually like for you to do is.. lay back on your bed, and close your eyes.”
Francesca follows her instructions carefully. And actually moves to lie down underneath her comforter. Still fully clothed; she does what she’s asked.
Francesca's left hand holds her phone to her ear, while her right hand clutches at the top of the comforter as she brings it up to her chest. “Okay.” Francesca breathes, letting her eyes slide shut.
Princess's next command comes quickly, “Now, close your legs.” Francesca does, and then Princess tells her to, "Cross your legs at the knee, and press your thighs together.”
Francesca hesitates a fraction of second, before slowly lifting her right leg. She bends it slightly, fitting the top of her left knee into the hollow of the back of her right. She hooks her ankles together, and squeezes her thighs together as requested.
Oh.
“Tighter.”
Francesca tightens the apex of her thighs further, and she begins to feel even stronger.. sensations.. originating in her lower belly.
Oh.
Oh shit. She said that out loud. She must have, because the Princess is chuckling at her again. And the sound is sending jolts right down to the middle of Francesca’s thighs.
A few breaths pass, as Princess allows Francesca to get more comfortable, before she begins again, “Every three seconds, I want you to clench your thighs together—then release. Can you do that for me, Fran?”
Francesca nods her head quickly, her breaths a little ragged. Then she realizes the operator can’t see a nod through a phone’s speaker, “Yes, I can.. do that.”
“Good girl, now, I want you to think of a tingling sensation, starting at the tip of your toes.”
Squeeze...
Release...
That’s a.. horrifyingly accurate description of what Francesca’s beginning to feel now, and it only gets worse as her playmate keeps talking, “Eventually, you begin to feel these tingles in every muscle of your body.” The sex operator tells Francesca, her voice dripping down into a purr, “And that tingle intensifies, until you feel your muscles tense. That feeling reaches a ‘pinnacle’ of pleasure, and then your body relaxes again." Francesca breathes out through her nose as she listens, almost being able to imagine it as her thighs work, "You become.. sensitive, to this pleasure. One often forms a bond with a partner who helps them achieve this.. climax.”
Squeeze...
Release...
Francesca’s breathing becomes a bit more labored, because she’s definitely been wriggling and squeezing her thighs together more frequently than she’d been commanded to. So, she tries her best again to grasp what it all means.
“So it is in essence… being.. happy..?” The explanation somehow sounded exactly how her mother explained it to be, but for some reason her understanding feels entirely different.
Princess laughs, “It is better to be experienced than described. Have you never attempted on yourself before?” She asks curiously, entirely sweet, yet still in a little disbelief at such a late bloomer. Or what would be considered ‘late’ in today’s society, at least.
Francesca’s mouth parts in surprise, she had never thought of that, “I can reach a pinnacle alone?”
“Absolutely, love.” Princess assures her sweetly, “Better than you would with anyone else, usually.” She chuckles a bit, “But it’s important to know what your body likes, first.”
Francesca frowns, “But how would I know that?”
“Fran,” Princess laughs, and then, in a voice so devious Francesca sucks in a harsh breath, “You can get yourself off, love.”
That’s another first for Francesca—
Get yourself off.
It sounds, well.. naughty. The Google descriptions were definitely accurate, at least.
Francesca’s feeling.. emboldened all of a sudden, for some reason. And it has everything to do with the itch that Princess’s voice is currently scratching vocally in her head and between her thighs.
“But could it be better if.. someone else does it for you?” Francesca asks tentatively, “If we..” She bites her lip, “—get each other off?”
She swears she hears Princess take a deep breath, before she finally responds, “Depends on who that someone is.” She pauses for a second, as if considering her words, “Two parties are better than one, though, if you ask me.”
Beeeeeep. Beeeeeep. Beeeeep.
Francesca frowns, “What is that?”
The beeping is more apparent now. And Francesca vaguely recalls the initial beep 5 minutes ago. Princess groans lightly under her breath,
“Shit.. it means the call is about to en—”
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
The 10 minute trial ends, and Francesca sits in stunned silence for a few seconds.
Damn it.
She should have paid for more time. She should've known it’d take more than ten minutes to explain this.. pinnacle process.
Francesca considers calling the hotline back. But the concept of her being suddenly, uncomfortably.. moist, and the embarrassment she’d feel at having to have the ‘flavor’ conversation again with the receptionist leads her to calling it a night.
Because, ultimately, Francesca can’t help but feel like she learned everything, yet nothing at all. But she refuses to ask her friends, and she knows her mother would simply set herself on fire to get out of the conversation.
She’ll just have to call the hotline again, soon. Maybe.. Maybe she can request the same playmate. And Princess can finally walk her through to this ‘climax’ they all know so well.
She’ll have to bring a pad and pencil, she decides, it's probably best to just write it all down.
She falls asleep with a smile on her lips, and her body tingles with a giddy feeling that’s extremely unfamiliar to her. But.. pleasant.
Because Princess’s words keep repeating themselves in her mind, and it just might be the most beautiful lullaby she’s ever had to carry her into the abyss of her, soon to be increasingly wet, dreams.
Good girl.