The Only Drug I Need (Chapter 15)
REEEEEEEMMMMIIIIIXXXX! (aka You Rule the World With Me mix)
For this prompt on shkinkmeme:
Molly discovers, through use of a word, that Sherlock used to be a sub. At first she doesn't know what that means, but then she starts to take advantage of it.
Bonus points if she does it while he's in the lab acting like an ass to her.
For folks that read the original, this chapter took a major deviation from what I had originally written. Basically the following occurred:
Me: *editing away, adding bits here and there, taking away bits here and there*
Sherlock: Hey. I want to do something else than what you wrote.
Me: Fuck off. I'm busy. This is just an edit right? I'm not doing a major change.
Sherlock: COME ON. THIS IS AN OPPORTUNE MOMENT FOR EXPERIMENTING.
Me: Like what?
Sherlock: *whispers then runs*
Me: I HAVE TO RESEARCH WHAT NOW YOU FUCKHEAD? FUCKING HELL MAN. THAT IS MAJOR RIPPING AND CLEANING YOU ASSHAT!
But he was right (the asshole). Despite the pain of rewriting while this past week has been kinda shitty, it works. Not to mention, the entire scene is something I really like. But I like Scheherazade -- it's just a lush, gorgeous, vivid and romantic piece of music and I think I wanted something that did it justice. Well, as one can with kinky sex.
Disclaimers:
SO NOT MINE. I pray that Gatiss and Moffatt do not release the lawyers of war upon my ass. I am not part of the BDSM scene, but I got knowledge from the Internet and friends. Everything is unbeta'd, but it was edited by me. If you find errors, please let me know.
Definitely not safe for work. Not safe for children. Really, not safe period. If your computer starts on fire, it's not my fault.
If you're new, go check out Chapter 1
Comments are love and I am a hooooor.
The case turned out to be more of a puzzler than either of them thought it would be. Sherlock vanished from Molly’s life for a few days, offering nothing more than terse texts, saying things had become complicated. She tried texting John for information, but got nothing more than assurances that they were fine and were in Blackpool.
There was nothing for her to do but wait and bury herself in work in a futile attempt to distract herself as she cursed herself for becoming attached to Sherlock. She refused to say it was anything more than friendly concern for him. It wasn’t. Everyone worries about friends, she reasoned, especially friends who have an unnatural attraction to danger.
Saturday morning she woke to the sound of someone moving about her flat. Despite the urge to panic and hide under her bed, Molly got up, pulled on her dressing gown and grabbed the spreader bar from under her bed, wielding it as a club.
Opening the door, she let out a squawk of surprise as she came face to face with Sherlock standing in her kitchen, sipping coffee and scratching Toby behind the ears.
“I never thought of using that as a weapon,” he said nonplussed as Molly dropped the bar on the ground.
She couldn’t help herself. Molly bounded over to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. “You’re safe,” she said, completely forgetting to lecture him about breaking and entering her flat. “What happened to you?”
He was stock still in her arms -- probably startled by her reaction. “It wasn’t that much of a worry,” he said in her ear. “Really, just a bit of a puzzler, but nothing too dangerous.” Then there was the low rumble of a chuckle. “You were worried about me.”
There was no use lying, given her outburst. “Yes,” she said, “John said you weren’t eating or sleeping.”
“Well, I’m fine now,” he said, pulling away to pour her a cup of coffee.
Molly studied him. “Have you slept?”
He shrugged, handing her the mug. “A bit on the train.”
“That’s a nap,” she replied. “You’re going to sleep right now. No more coffee,” she grabbed the cup out of his hands.
“I thought I was the dominant today,” he said petulantly.
“It’s not noon yet,” she replied, pushing him towards her bedroom. “Go to sleep. I know you’ve been spinning some scenarios and you need your energy to make them real.”
“I’m fine,” he protested.
“Do not make me tie you up and force you to sleep,” Molly retorted. “Today’s your day to dominate. Get some rest. I’ll still be here.”
“Fine,” he replied, removing his shoes and falling backward on her bed. “But do not look in the bag I brought Ms. Hooper,” his voice got more commanding. “When I wake, I expect you to be cleaned and neatly groomed. I have plans.”
She did as he asked, bathing and cleaning herself (this time using the shower gel she knew he liked) and then lounged in the living room, munching on a bit of toast for breakfast and watching the morning news.
Splashed all over the headlines were Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan, credited for discovering a trove of art treasures in a Blackpool warehouse. The pieces were stolen by the Nazis during World War II and lost after the war, but somehow Scotland Yard got a tip about a major underground auction featuring these pieces. The brokers behind the auction were also arrested.
Molly smiled. The entire thing screamed Sherlock.
After watching the news, she peeked on him. He was still asleep, clothing rumpled, breathing softly and steadily, hands fisted on the duvet. Toby strolled into the room and jumped on the bed, finding a stray beam of sunlight to curl up in as he kneaded the blankets.
She felt her chest clench, then a small smile crept over her face as she shut the door and went to read a book in the living room.
Hours passed. He must have been more exhausted than he let on, Molly mused as she finished one book and then started another. She stretched, checked her e-mail and continued to wait for him. In a way, the wait was deliciously agonizing. She knew he had something planned for her, but wasn’t sure what it was and she couldn‘t stop her mind from spinning dark and dirty scenarios. The black duffle bag sitting in the entryway was too strong of a temptation. Even in sleep, Sherlock knew how to toy with her, she thought with a slight smile.
After awhile, she heard movement from her bedroom, then a small “mew” from Toby.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock called out.
“Sir,” she called back from her place on the couch. Blood started to thrum through her body.
“Today’s events will be a bit curtailed,” he said. “I was quite weary, but that won’t stop me from getting some enjoyment from you. Please meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.”
She could see him pad out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. Three minutes later, she heard the shower start running. Precisely two minutes later, she joined him. After all, she didn’t want to disappoint him.
Steam had begun to collect on the mirror and she could tell he had turned the water on as hot as he could get it. The faint outline of his body could be seen through her shower curtain. Molly’s eyes followed the curve of his arse and a slight grinned tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Right on time Ms. Hooper. Please remove your clothing and come into the shower.”
She did as he asked. His pale skin was turning a bright pink under the water -- which was almost scalding hot.
“Wash me,” he ordered.
Molly nodded and started with the shampoo. Without needing to say anything, he crouched slightly, allowing her access to his scalp. Her fingers massaged his scalp, lather building up. She could hear him humming a bit in appreciation.
He stood straight and rinsed his hair. Molly leaned past him and got her bath puff and shower gel. Pouring a generous amount on it, she worked up a lather, then began massaging it across his arms and chest.
Mentally she did a catalogue of his body. He was indeed fine -- there were no marks on him indicating that violence. Inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief as she inhaled the scent. Water was dribbling down on them as she crouched down to wash his torso and slid her hands lower.
“Behave Ms. Hooper,” she heard a warning from above. “My only desire to is to be clean after that case.”
She nodded, lathering his legs. A gently tap of her hand on his ankle resulted in one foot being raised so she could wash it. Another tap resulted in the other leg being raised and her washing his foot. Her hands slid between his legs and she lathered his arse then cock and balls.
Despite his warnings, she couldn’t help but gently caress him, feeling him twitch in one hand, while her other slid between his buttocks. It would be so simple to take him in her mouth, she idly thought.
“Ms. Hooper,” he said. “There will be plenty of time for that later. We don’t have much time before the concert and I have plans for you.”
She nodded, rising to stand.
“Please exit and get a towel for me.”
She did as he asked, grabbing one of her blue towels from under the sink. The water stopped flowing and Sherlock came out of the shower, rivulets of water dripping all over the place.
“Dry me,” he said.
Molly took the towel, starting by rubbing his hair, then slowly moving down his body, wiping the moisture from him. She could feel his gaze on her and the air felt heavier in a way she couldn’t explain.
The more she tried to deny it, the more she realized it was true -- whatever feelings she had for Sherlock had gone deeper than she wanted. She could tell because she was enjoying this, which wasn’t about sex. It was about taking care of him and surrendering to him, trusting him not to hurt her.
And that scared the everloving shit out of her.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. “You need to focus.”
She nodded.
“Dry yourself and meet me in the bedroom. We have to prepare for our outing tonight.”
Skin and hair dried, Molly returned to the bedroom. Sherlock had pushed the bed up, making room for whatever he had planned. Hanging on her closet door was an emerald green silk wrap dress and below it a matching pair of heels. Sherlock was standing in the open space, dressed in those impossibly tight trousers and the aubergine shirt that she liked so much. He was holding a coil of rope in his hand. Molly instantly noticed that the rope matched the dress’ colour.
“Come here Ms. Hooper,” he said.
She did so.
She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “Tell me,” he said, “What do you know about Japanese BDSM? And please, speak freely.”
Molly inhaled deeply. “Not much,” she said, flashing back to a University costume party where she was having a good time, flirting with a cute computer programmer dressed as a samurai, until the hosts put on Urotsukidoji. Once she saw the explicitness, which was highly unexpected, she and her friends left the party. “Isn’t it all about tentacles, nosebleeds and gigantic monsters raping women?”
There was a low laugh as Sherlock kissed her shoulder. “Interesting response,” he said. “I may need hear the explanation of this someday.
“Now, I had a plan to wind you up and have you as a quivering mess --” he kissed the back of her neck and she shivered. “However, time is running short. I haven’t been to the symphony in awhile and Scheherazade is a piece I know you will like. It suits your more romantic sensibilities. Spread your legs and arms out please Ms. Hooper.”
Molly did as he asked, trembling in a mix of anticipation and fear.
“Do you trust me Ms. Hooper?” he asked, as he began measuring out the rope. His focused his gaze on her.
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Always.”
There was the briefest hint of a smile, then he put the rope around her neck, tying a knot below her collarbone, then placing a kiss there. He continued to do that at regular intervals down the front of her torso, placing kisses at each point where a knot was made.
Molly took in a deep breath, attempting to maintain control.
“This is shibari,” he said as he ran the rope between her legs and then up her back. “Japanese rope bondage. I’ve been thinking about this and how I’d love to see you squirm. What I have planned is pretty elementary since I didn’t want you to be too frightened.”
Molly bit her lip as felt his hands skim her back and a few soft kisses be placed along her spine. He moved in front of her and began weaving the rope around in patterns on her skin. The pressure of the rope between her legs was light, almost teasing in a way, while his touch kept her anchored in the moment.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’m nervous about going out with this under that dress, but this is also incredibly arousing.”
“That’s why I wanted to do this as soon as possible,” he said as his fingers skimmed over the tops of her breasts as he wove the rope. “Originally I was going to keep you trussed up this afternoon, slowly tightening the ropes and perhaps adding a knot or two.”
Molly whined softly at the image and her hips jerked unsteadily. He firmly placed his hands on her, stilling her.
“I want to make sure you can compose yourself Ms. Hooper,” he chided. “Given your reaction to the mere suggestion of what I was going to do, I’m going to keep the pressure light so you can get used to this.”
“I know,” she breathed deeply, watching him concentrate on his work. She felt the ropes place pressure on her breasts, squeezing them lightly and also lifting them a bit. The pressure increased between her legs and for a moment, she was glad he didn’t place knots near her clitoris or anus, because she doubted her own self control. If he could get her aroused just by the mere description of what he had planned, then this was definitely going to be a difficult challenge.
It didn’t take him long to finish the job. After tying the last knot right on her mons and placing a lingering kiss there, he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork.
“Magnificent,” he said. His gleeful expression was similar to when Molly showed him a particularly interesting body in the morgue. “Do you want to see yourself?”
She nodded. Taking his hand, he led her to the bathroom where she could see herself. It was impressive, she had to admit. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but seeing the diamond pattern running down her torso in the dark green made her smile. The pressure was light, but ever-present. It was unmistakably him and erotic at the same time.
What made her smile more was the expression on Sherlock’s face -- hopeful, eager and aroused. His fingers skimmed her cheek and chin and she automatically tilted her head up to kiss him. Teeth gently nipped at her lip and Molly let out a soft moan, pressing her body against his.
He pulled away. “Patience Ms. Hooper,” he said, nipping at her ear. “You still have yet to get dressed for tonight.”
They returned to the bedroom and out of the bag he produced thigh-high stockings, which he helped her put on. Molly let out a soft whimper as his fingers skimmed up her legs, only to tease her between her legs.
“Breathe,” he said, chuckling from between her legs. “You will have to maintain control.”
She nodded, standing as he helped her into the dress.
“Do you like the dress?”
“It’s gorgeous,” she said. “But it’s too much. You don’t need to buy me gifts.”
“Ah pet,” he murmured, “the problem is that you have nothing that would have worked for tonight.”
Molly opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. Of course he’d know what was in her closet, she thought to herself. And he was right. Everything she had wasn’t posh enough for what a night at a concert hall. That was the only reason why he bought that for her, Molly rationalized. One has to make their pet presentable.
Next was a simple pearl necklace and earrings, with some small sparkly accents.
“Do you want my hair up or down Sir?” she asked.
He studied her for a moment. “Down,” he said. “Every time I see you at work, it’s up. When you have it down, it reminds me that you’re not just a morgue attendant. You‘re also my toy.”
Molly nodded, then headed to the bathroom to finish preparing. She brushed and styled her hair. A bit of green eyeshade, lip gloss and powder, plus a dab of perfume and she was set. He was quite clever, she thought. The ropes were hidden by the jewellery and her hair. The trick would be maintaining composure.
She breathed deeply, feeling the slight pressure of the ropes on her skin. “You can do this,” she told her reflection. “You can do this. You will not embarrass yourself or Sherlock by bursting into flame at the concert.”
With that, she left the bathroom. Sherlock was standing in the living room with the heels.
“Lovely,” he said, motioning for her to turn around like a model, which she did. “You can’t see the ropes. Sit please.”
She did as he asked and his hands slid down her legs to her ankles and he helped her put her shoes on. Standing, he offered her his hand and she took his arm.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “You have the power to end this any time you want.”
Molly nodded. “I will not let you down Sir,” she said.
There was an flash of pride on his face. “Thank you Ms. Hooper,” he said, before producing their coats. Helping her into her coat, he took her arm and they left the flat.
~*~
Molly wasn’t one for classical music. The last time she was at the symphony, she was a child. But it was clear that this was important to Sherlock, so she leaned back in her seat and studied her programme. Even though they missed the first act, they arrived in time for Scheherazade.
He had chosen seats wisely at Barbican Hall. They were in the in the first row of the dress circle, with no one surrounding them. This allowed Molly a little bit more breathing room to squirm and feel the pressure of the ropes. The cab ride had been excruciating, despite his efforts to divert her mind from the rubbing against her body.
Of course, his choice to educate her in Japanese BDSM and a tale called “The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife” (which apparently was the basis for much of Japan’s tentacle erotica) wasn’t exactly the most appropriate thing. Especially when he was speaking in quiet tones in her ear so the cabbie couldn’t hear him. Molly had to bite her lip to keep from exploding in giggles as he quoted some of the text on the painting.
"You hateful octopus! Your sucking at the mouth of my womb makes me gasp for breath! Aah! yes... it's... There!” he whispered in her ear, high pitched and in an attempt to imitate a woman. “With the sucker, the sucker!”
It was supposed to be entirely conversational and, in his defence, he focused on the storytelling aspects of the story most of the time. But all Molly could focus on was his baritone, the proximity of his body to hers and that the cab apparently found the bumpiest route in all of London. Every single time the car jolted, she had to suppress the desire to rub her legs together or moan.
By the time they got out of the cab, Molly’s legs were shaking and she was taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. Fortunately, Sherlock was acting like a perfect gentleman, offering his arm for her as they entered the concert hall.
“Have you ever been to the symphony?” he asked, as they settled into their seats.
She shook her head. “Only as a child,” Molly said.
“Did you like it?”
Molly thought back. “Honestly, it’s been so long I barely remember,” she replied. “I remember being thrilled that it was a school trip and I could miss class.”
He chuckled. “You know Scheherazade? From 1,001 Arabian Nights?”
She nodded. “I’m familiar with 1,001 Arabian Nights,” she whispered, as discordant notes of the orchestra tuning up started. She twitched slightly in her seat, the Shibari ropes rubbing against her. The low bass notes from the brass and percussion went thrumming through her body.
His hand reached out and grasped her fingers, steadying her as the conductor raised his bow and the first movement began. Molly took a deep breath as the opening bars -- regal, stately and thundering -- washed over her body. In the back of her mind she expected the entire piece to be like this, with the bass lines thrumming through her body and requiring her to focus on nothing but her composure.
Then the violin solo started. Molly didn’t know how to describe it except as “pretty,” which she knew was small words for such a solo. It was high and lilting, feminine, but strong and it caused her breath to catch for a moment.
She glanced over at Sherlock. His eyes were closed and a small, blissful smile marked his mouth, indicating that he was also lost in the music. Molly felt herself relaxing, savouring the sensations around her. The music buoyed her, creating images in her head of beautiful and wily Arabian princesses taming temperamental sultans with a never-ending trove of stories.
As the final violin solo filled the concert hall, Molly felt loose and pliant, more relaxed than she thought she would be. She glanced over at him as the lights came up and the audience applauded. His eyes closed in rapture and that smile still lingered on his mouth.
It would be so easy to reach over and kiss him, Molly thought to herself. But subs do not do that. They wait for their master’s orders. So she waited. Waited as the audience left and they were the only two left sitting in the hall and the final ringing of the last notes of the violin solo faded into the night.
She felt his hand on her arm. “Ms. Hooper,” he said. “Are you hungry? I don‘t want my pet to be uncomfortable.”
She nodded.
He led her to the Barbican Lounge, a lounge on the first floor. He scanned the menu. “No, nothing too heavy for you my dear,” he mused. “I want you awake and able to react to what I have planned when we get home.”
She couldn’t help but smile wickedly at those words. “Yes Sir,” she said.
A waiter floated by and Sherlock ordered a few bar snacks and a glass prosecco for her and water for him. “Did you enjoy the concert Ms. Hooper?”
“Very,” Molly purred. “My knowledge of classical music is very limited, but that was so lush and beautiful. I loved the violins.”
He grinned. “I do play the violin,” he sidled closer to her. “How are the ropes?”
“They remind me of you,” she whispered in his ear. “Every time I move, it reminds me that I belong to you. I remember your hands on my body.”
His eyes widened slightly and she could see him swallow. “Behave Ms. Hooper,” he said. “If you keep this up, we’ll never eat and I know you need your energy for what I have planned.”
Molly breathed slightly. Before more could be said, the waiter flitted by, dropping off the plank with smoked fish, olives and other items, the wine and the water.
“You may eat Ms. Hooper,” he said.
Molly assembled a bit of smoked fish, cheese and bread and took a small bite. “Aren’t you going to eat Sir? You do need your energy.”
“Make me something,” he replied. “Then feed it to me.”
Molly shook her head, smiling as she assembled a bit of fish and prosciutto. Placing it on the bread, she held it up to his mouth. He took it, placing a small kiss on her fingertips, which she responded with a small, shy smile.
It continued for a bit until the plank was cleared and the wine consumed. During the meal, Sherlock offered an impromptu lecture on the Russian composers and the history of Scheherazade. Molly didn’t understand everything he said, but with that voice, he could’ve recited the phone book and she would’ve been enraptured.
“Now Ms. Hooper,” he said, taking her hand. “I think it’s time we return to your place.”
The ride back to her place was quiet. Sherlock’s fingers lightly stroked her arms, the back of her neck and Molly kept biting her lip to keep from moaning. She tried rubbing her thighs together, but a gently tap on her arm reminded her to behave.
Once they were in the flat, he helped her remove her coat and heels.
“Wait here,” he said.
She stood, waiting patiently. Toby greeted them both with a meow, wrapping himself around her legs and rising on two legs to sniff at her fingers. Molly could hear the bed coming down from the upright position that it was left in.
After a few minutes, she heard Sherlock call for her.
He was lying on the bed, back propped by up pillows.
“Strip Ms. Hooper,” he ordered. “I want to watch you.”
She nodded, then undid the sash of the dress. Unbuttoning the side, she slowly peeled it off her, exposing the ropes to him.
He let out a soft “mmmm” of appreciation. “Lovely,” he said. “I am very pleased with how you behaved at the concert hall.”
Molly put one leg on the bed and rolled the stocking down. His breathing was heavy and she could see him getting hard under his trousers. She repeated the same action for her other stocking.
He got up off the bed. “Lay down please,” he said.
She did as he asked. He went over to the bag and produced a pair of leather cuffs and two lengths of rope “Arms up over your head and spread your legs please,” he said.
Once she obeyed his request, he cuffed her hands to the headboard. “Comfortable?”
Molly wiggled her fingers, then waggled her eyebrows. “Very,” she purred.
“So insolent,” he chuckled, then kissed her. Molly’s back arched as he ran his hands down her body and over the ropes. “Hips up please.”
She obeyed. Sherlock slid a few pillows underneath her to prop her up, then took the rope and tied her legs spread eagle to the bedposts. “Comfortable?”
“Yes Sir,” Molly replied, wiggling her toes.
“So lovely. I could do whatever I wanted to you right now,” he said, fingers sliding down between her legs. “You are so eager,” he chuckled. “As prime as goats, as hot as monkeys.”
A low groan escaped her as one finger wiggled past the ropes and into her.
“You did fantastically Ms. Hooper,” he said. “I believe it’s time for your reward.”
“Yes,” she moaned, hips undulating under his touch. There was a sigh of loss as he pulled his hand away from her to loosening the ropes between her legs, parting them.
“But I think you can wait a bit,” he said.
Her eyes flashed open to meet his. There was a bright twinkle to them and she arched her back, letting out a low whimper of protest.
“You can and you will,” Sherlock said. “Besides, I have you spread open for my whims. I definitely want to take advantage of that. I‘ve been meaning to do some experiments.”
Molly squeaked.
Sherlock slid off the bed and opened the bag. He pulled out a vibrator, some wipes and a bottle of lubricant. “I’m going to have fun with you.”
Returning to the bed, he turned on the vibrator and gently dragged it along her breasts. “Now, I was thinking,” he said almost conversationally, “and I have come to the conclusion that despite your varied sexual background, you’re missing something.”
“Which is?”
“You haven’t had anal sex,” Sherlock said, sliding the vibrator down her torso.
Molly could feel herself redden as the vibrator buzzed merrily down between her thighs and along her hipbone. He was right. It wasn‘t something that she really was interested before. Everything she had heard from her friends was that it was painful, dirty and not really satisfying. “How --”
“Lucky guess,” he said, grinning at her. “You just told me everything. Are you scared?”
“A little,” she admitted.
The vibrator gently bumped up against her mons and she arched her back again, emitting a ragged gasp. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he studied her body’s reactions. Gooseflesh began popping up on her skin and Molly took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
"Oh Ms. Hooper," Sherlock's voice was low, even lower than she thought possible. "For a woman who did so many things to my arse, not to have had the same pleasures?" he made a tsk sound.
His hand moved between her legs, first stroking her sex, then moving to the perineum, before lightly circling her hole. Molly’s hips twitched as she let out a small gasp.
“Give me a word,” he said, looking up at her.
There shouldn’t be a need for a word, Molly thought to herself. Sherlock would be smart enough to know exactly what she was thinking, but it was comforting to know he wanted to hear it from her.
“Osmosis.”
“Do you want to stop?”
She knew she could if she wanted to and that was enough. “No,” she said after taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Just go slow? Please?” her voice quavered. You know I’d never say no to you, she thought, hoping that he wasn’t a mind reader.
Sherlock’s gaze was intense as he processed the information. “That’s my girl,” he said. Setting down the vibrator, he squirted a bit of lube onto his hand. Slowly one hand slid down past the ropes to toy with her perineum, then her ass.
He was covering her body with his, kissing her deeply, as his finger toyed with the ring of muscle. Then his mouth moved to ear, whispering bits of a poetry that helped reignite her lagging arousal as one finger slowly breached her.
Molly’s back arched as she let out a gasp.
“How does it feel?” those eyes were staring into hers, scanning for information about her state of being.
“Strange,” she murmured. “It’s not unpleasant, but it’s kind of odd.”
“Give me a word.”
“Hypothesis,” she breathed out. It was strange -- a certain fullness, but nothing painful, like what her friends had told her. Instead of hesitation, curiosity took over.
Sherlock pulled back so he was kneeling between her legs. She could feel a second finger slide into her, scissoring her gently, opening her up. Before she could say anything else, Sherlock placed hot kisses along her thighs, causing her to moan and jerk as arousal began to pool in her lower belly. Her wrists strained at the cuffs and she could feel the ropes bite into her ankles as he lavished attention along her torso.
Pulling back, he pulled his fingers out of her. Molly craned her head up to see what he was doing. First he cleaned his hand off with a wipe, then Sherlock undid his trousers and pulled a condom on. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
With that, he grabbed the vibrator and rubbed it along her sex. Coherent thoughts and words shut down as he slid it into her at an agonizing pace. This she was familiar with, right down to the fantasies of Sherlock accompanying the buzzing sound.
What wasn’t familiar was the feeling of him entering her a different way, achingly slow and gentle. Molly thought she was sort of worldly. Maybe not in the whole “porn star I’ve had four cocks at the same time” worldly, but she thought she had some experience.
This -- this blew those beliefs out the door. It wasn’t like how her friends described it -- it wasn’t painful. Molly couldn’t describe it other than feeling full. Every nerve was singing with the sensations she was feeling and there was an ache, a need for something more.
One hand ran down her flanks and he looked at her. “What do you feel?”
“Full,” she managed to say.
“What do you want?”
“More,” she breathed.
“More of what?” There was an impish gleam in his eyes.
“Move,” she moaned trying to move her hips, but his hands were stilling her. “More of you.”
“Ask nicely pet,” he said, offering nothing more than a shallow thrust, which didn’t offer the relief she wanted.
“Please.”
Sherlock began to move, slowly. He took her nipple in his mouth, gently biting it. She could feel herself reach the edge, twisting under him, helpless to anything but react to the sensations he was layering on her.
His mouth was travelling all over her -- from her breasts, he began nipping at her ear and offering dirty words of encouragement as she jerked under him. From her ears, his tongue traveled down her neck and along her shoulders.
One hand slid between them and rubbed her clit and she twisted underneath him. He looked up at her with a debauched grin.
“Come for me,” he said, sliding his hands down her torso. “I want to see you.”
Later Molly would reflect on his uncanny ability to read her and time everything perfectly, but at that moment, she came instantly, as the pent-up arousal from the past hours and his ministrations was unleashed. Her back arched and as she wailed and shuddered beneath him. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, but instead, her legs strained against the ropes, scratching and burning her ankles.
His strokes began to move faster as she writhed under him. Sherlock leaned forward, kissing the hollow of her throat, whispering something Molly couldn’t make out as she thrashed under him, crying incoherently. A few strokes later and he came, groaning her play name into her ear.
After a few lazy kisses, Sherlock began cleaning her before he undid the cuffs. Next was the ankles.
“You do need to help me by moving a bit,” he chided, as he began undoing the shibari ropes.
“Can’t move,” she groaned. “You’ll have to call work and tell them I’ve been fucked into submission.”
There was a chuckle as she felt the burn of the rope as he pulled it out from under her. “You do realize that I need the results from that drowning report?” he said. “I will drag you into the office by hook or crook Ms. Hooper.”
“Yes, but good luck getting results out of me,” she reposted. “You’ll have to talk to Norris for that. I believe my brain is now the equivalent of pudding.”
She could feel his hands sliding over her body, examining her for bruises and cuts. The drawer opened and he began massaging salve into her scrapes.
“Norris is terrified of me,” he said, before placing a soft kiss where a knot had been. “That wouldn’t do at all. He’d throw any result at me and say that was it. He’s about as reliable as a drunken Anderson. No, you‘re the one I rely on.”
Molly chuckled. “If Sir wishes, it shall be done,” she said, with a faint hint of sarcasm. “Besides, if you check my messenger bag, you will notice that there is a certain report that you have been seeking.”
She wasn’t surprised to see him bounce off the bed and scurry off to the living room. Molly half-expected to hear him shout a goodbye as he headed out the door. What she didn’t expect was him coming back into the bedroom, laying next to her.
She rolled over and glanced at him curiously.
“I can read in this bed also,” he replied. “Besides, I can poke you if I need answers to my questions.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “How convenient for you.”
Chapter 16
For this prompt on shkinkmeme:
Molly discovers, through use of a word, that Sherlock used to be a sub. At first she doesn't know what that means, but then she starts to take advantage of it.
Bonus points if she does it while he's in the lab acting like an ass to her.
For folks that read the original, this chapter took a major deviation from what I had originally written. Basically the following occurred:
Me: *editing away, adding bits here and there, taking away bits here and there*
Sherlock: Hey. I want to do something else than what you wrote.
Me: Fuck off. I'm busy. This is just an edit right? I'm not doing a major change.
Sherlock: COME ON. THIS IS AN OPPORTUNE MOMENT FOR EXPERIMENTING.
Me: Like what?
Sherlock: *whispers then runs*
Me: I HAVE TO RESEARCH WHAT NOW YOU FUCKHEAD? FUCKING HELL MAN. THAT IS MAJOR RIPPING AND CLEANING YOU ASSHAT!
But he was right (the asshole). Despite the pain of rewriting while this past week has been kinda shitty, it works. Not to mention, the entire scene is something I really like. But I like Scheherazade -- it's just a lush, gorgeous, vivid and romantic piece of music and I think I wanted something that did it justice. Well, as one can with kinky sex.
Disclaimers:
SO NOT MINE. I pray that Gatiss and Moffatt do not release the lawyers of war upon my ass. I am not part of the BDSM scene, but I got knowledge from the Internet and friends. Everything is unbeta'd, but it was edited by me. If you find errors, please let me know.
Definitely not safe for work. Not safe for children. Really, not safe period. If your computer starts on fire, it's not my fault.
If you're new, go check out Chapter 1
Comments are love and I am a hooooor.
The case turned out to be more of a puzzler than either of them thought it would be. Sherlock vanished from Molly’s life for a few days, offering nothing more than terse texts, saying things had become complicated. She tried texting John for information, but got nothing more than assurances that they were fine and were in Blackpool.
There was nothing for her to do but wait and bury herself in work in a futile attempt to distract herself as she cursed herself for becoming attached to Sherlock. She refused to say it was anything more than friendly concern for him. It wasn’t. Everyone worries about friends, she reasoned, especially friends who have an unnatural attraction to danger.
Saturday morning she woke to the sound of someone moving about her flat. Despite the urge to panic and hide under her bed, Molly got up, pulled on her dressing gown and grabbed the spreader bar from under her bed, wielding it as a club.
Opening the door, she let out a squawk of surprise as she came face to face with Sherlock standing in her kitchen, sipping coffee and scratching Toby behind the ears.
“I never thought of using that as a weapon,” he said nonplussed as Molly dropped the bar on the ground.
She couldn’t help herself. Molly bounded over to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. “You’re safe,” she said, completely forgetting to lecture him about breaking and entering her flat. “What happened to you?”
He was stock still in her arms -- probably startled by her reaction. “It wasn’t that much of a worry,” he said in her ear. “Really, just a bit of a puzzler, but nothing too dangerous.” Then there was the low rumble of a chuckle. “You were worried about me.”
There was no use lying, given her outburst. “Yes,” she said, “John said you weren’t eating or sleeping.”
“Well, I’m fine now,” he said, pulling away to pour her a cup of coffee.
Molly studied him. “Have you slept?”
He shrugged, handing her the mug. “A bit on the train.”
“That’s a nap,” she replied. “You’re going to sleep right now. No more coffee,” she grabbed the cup out of his hands.
“I thought I was the dominant today,” he said petulantly.
“It’s not noon yet,” she replied, pushing him towards her bedroom. “Go to sleep. I know you’ve been spinning some scenarios and you need your energy to make them real.”
“I’m fine,” he protested.
“Do not make me tie you up and force you to sleep,” Molly retorted. “Today’s your day to dominate. Get some rest. I’ll still be here.”
“Fine,” he replied, removing his shoes and falling backward on her bed. “But do not look in the bag I brought Ms. Hooper,” his voice got more commanding. “When I wake, I expect you to be cleaned and neatly groomed. I have plans.”
She did as he asked, bathing and cleaning herself (this time using the shower gel she knew he liked) and then lounged in the living room, munching on a bit of toast for breakfast and watching the morning news.
Splashed all over the headlines were Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan, credited for discovering a trove of art treasures in a Blackpool warehouse. The pieces were stolen by the Nazis during World War II and lost after the war, but somehow Scotland Yard got a tip about a major underground auction featuring these pieces. The brokers behind the auction were also arrested.
Molly smiled. The entire thing screamed Sherlock.
After watching the news, she peeked on him. He was still asleep, clothing rumpled, breathing softly and steadily, hands fisted on the duvet. Toby strolled into the room and jumped on the bed, finding a stray beam of sunlight to curl up in as he kneaded the blankets.
She felt her chest clench, then a small smile crept over her face as she shut the door and went to read a book in the living room.
Hours passed. He must have been more exhausted than he let on, Molly mused as she finished one book and then started another. She stretched, checked her e-mail and continued to wait for him. In a way, the wait was deliciously agonizing. She knew he had something planned for her, but wasn’t sure what it was and she couldn‘t stop her mind from spinning dark and dirty scenarios. The black duffle bag sitting in the entryway was too strong of a temptation. Even in sleep, Sherlock knew how to toy with her, she thought with a slight smile.
After awhile, she heard movement from her bedroom, then a small “mew” from Toby.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock called out.
“Sir,” she called back from her place on the couch. Blood started to thrum through her body.
“Today’s events will be a bit curtailed,” he said. “I was quite weary, but that won’t stop me from getting some enjoyment from you. Please meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.”
She could see him pad out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. Three minutes later, she heard the shower start running. Precisely two minutes later, she joined him. After all, she didn’t want to disappoint him.
Steam had begun to collect on the mirror and she could tell he had turned the water on as hot as he could get it. The faint outline of his body could be seen through her shower curtain. Molly’s eyes followed the curve of his arse and a slight grinned tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Right on time Ms. Hooper. Please remove your clothing and come into the shower.”
She did as he asked. His pale skin was turning a bright pink under the water -- which was almost scalding hot.
“Wash me,” he ordered.
Molly nodded and started with the shampoo. Without needing to say anything, he crouched slightly, allowing her access to his scalp. Her fingers massaged his scalp, lather building up. She could hear him humming a bit in appreciation.
He stood straight and rinsed his hair. Molly leaned past him and got her bath puff and shower gel. Pouring a generous amount on it, she worked up a lather, then began massaging it across his arms and chest.
Mentally she did a catalogue of his body. He was indeed fine -- there were no marks on him indicating that violence. Inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief as she inhaled the scent. Water was dribbling down on them as she crouched down to wash his torso and slid her hands lower.
“Behave Ms. Hooper,” she heard a warning from above. “My only desire to is to be clean after that case.”
She nodded, lathering his legs. A gently tap of her hand on his ankle resulted in one foot being raised so she could wash it. Another tap resulted in the other leg being raised and her washing his foot. Her hands slid between his legs and she lathered his arse then cock and balls.
Despite his warnings, she couldn’t help but gently caress him, feeling him twitch in one hand, while her other slid between his buttocks. It would be so simple to take him in her mouth, she idly thought.
“Ms. Hooper,” he said. “There will be plenty of time for that later. We don’t have much time before the concert and I have plans for you.”
She nodded, rising to stand.
“Please exit and get a towel for me.”
She did as he asked, grabbing one of her blue towels from under the sink. The water stopped flowing and Sherlock came out of the shower, rivulets of water dripping all over the place.
“Dry me,” he said.
Molly took the towel, starting by rubbing his hair, then slowly moving down his body, wiping the moisture from him. She could feel his gaze on her and the air felt heavier in a way she couldn’t explain.
The more she tried to deny it, the more she realized it was true -- whatever feelings she had for Sherlock had gone deeper than she wanted. She could tell because she was enjoying this, which wasn’t about sex. It was about taking care of him and surrendering to him, trusting him not to hurt her.
And that scared the everloving shit out of her.
“Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. “You need to focus.”
She nodded.
“Dry yourself and meet me in the bedroom. We have to prepare for our outing tonight.”
Skin and hair dried, Molly returned to the bedroom. Sherlock had pushed the bed up, making room for whatever he had planned. Hanging on her closet door was an emerald green silk wrap dress and below it a matching pair of heels. Sherlock was standing in the open space, dressed in those impossibly tight trousers and the aubergine shirt that she liked so much. He was holding a coil of rope in his hand. Molly instantly noticed that the rope matched the dress’ colour.
“Come here Ms. Hooper,” he said.
She did so.
She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “Tell me,” he said, “What do you know about Japanese BDSM? And please, speak freely.”
Molly inhaled deeply. “Not much,” she said, flashing back to a University costume party where she was having a good time, flirting with a cute computer programmer dressed as a samurai, until the hosts put on Urotsukidoji. Once she saw the explicitness, which was highly unexpected, she and her friends left the party. “Isn’t it all about tentacles, nosebleeds and gigantic monsters raping women?”
There was a low laugh as Sherlock kissed her shoulder. “Interesting response,” he said. “I may need hear the explanation of this someday.
“Now, I had a plan to wind you up and have you as a quivering mess --” he kissed the back of her neck and she shivered. “However, time is running short. I haven’t been to the symphony in awhile and Scheherazade is a piece I know you will like. It suits your more romantic sensibilities. Spread your legs and arms out please Ms. Hooper.”
Molly did as he asked, trembling in a mix of anticipation and fear.
“Do you trust me Ms. Hooper?” he asked, as he began measuring out the rope. His focused his gaze on her.
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Always.”
There was the briefest hint of a smile, then he put the rope around her neck, tying a knot below her collarbone, then placing a kiss there. He continued to do that at regular intervals down the front of her torso, placing kisses at each point where a knot was made.
Molly took in a deep breath, attempting to maintain control.
“This is shibari,” he said as he ran the rope between her legs and then up her back. “Japanese rope bondage. I’ve been thinking about this and how I’d love to see you squirm. What I have planned is pretty elementary since I didn’t want you to be too frightened.”
Molly bit her lip as felt his hands skim her back and a few soft kisses be placed along her spine. He moved in front of her and began weaving the rope around in patterns on her skin. The pressure of the rope between her legs was light, almost teasing in a way, while his touch kept her anchored in the moment.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’m nervous about going out with this under that dress, but this is also incredibly arousing.”
“That’s why I wanted to do this as soon as possible,” he said as his fingers skimmed over the tops of her breasts as he wove the rope. “Originally I was going to keep you trussed up this afternoon, slowly tightening the ropes and perhaps adding a knot or two.”
Molly whined softly at the image and her hips jerked unsteadily. He firmly placed his hands on her, stilling her.
“I want to make sure you can compose yourself Ms. Hooper,” he chided. “Given your reaction to the mere suggestion of what I was going to do, I’m going to keep the pressure light so you can get used to this.”
“I know,” she breathed deeply, watching him concentrate on his work. She felt the ropes place pressure on her breasts, squeezing them lightly and also lifting them a bit. The pressure increased between her legs and for a moment, she was glad he didn’t place knots near her clitoris or anus, because she doubted her own self control. If he could get her aroused just by the mere description of what he had planned, then this was definitely going to be a difficult challenge.
It didn’t take him long to finish the job. After tying the last knot right on her mons and placing a lingering kiss there, he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork.
“Magnificent,” he said. His gleeful expression was similar to when Molly showed him a particularly interesting body in the morgue. “Do you want to see yourself?”
She nodded. Taking his hand, he led her to the bathroom where she could see herself. It was impressive, she had to admit. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but seeing the diamond pattern running down her torso in the dark green made her smile. The pressure was light, but ever-present. It was unmistakably him and erotic at the same time.
What made her smile more was the expression on Sherlock’s face -- hopeful, eager and aroused. His fingers skimmed her cheek and chin and she automatically tilted her head up to kiss him. Teeth gently nipped at her lip and Molly let out a soft moan, pressing her body against his.
He pulled away. “Patience Ms. Hooper,” he said, nipping at her ear. “You still have yet to get dressed for tonight.”
They returned to the bedroom and out of the bag he produced thigh-high stockings, which he helped her put on. Molly let out a soft whimper as his fingers skimmed up her legs, only to tease her between her legs.
“Breathe,” he said, chuckling from between her legs. “You will have to maintain control.”
She nodded, standing as he helped her into the dress.
“Do you like the dress?”
“It’s gorgeous,” she said. “But it’s too much. You don’t need to buy me gifts.”
“Ah pet,” he murmured, “the problem is that you have nothing that would have worked for tonight.”
Molly opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. Of course he’d know what was in her closet, she thought to herself. And he was right. Everything she had wasn’t posh enough for what a night at a concert hall. That was the only reason why he bought that for her, Molly rationalized. One has to make their pet presentable.
Next was a simple pearl necklace and earrings, with some small sparkly accents.
“Do you want my hair up or down Sir?” she asked.
He studied her for a moment. “Down,” he said. “Every time I see you at work, it’s up. When you have it down, it reminds me that you’re not just a morgue attendant. You‘re also my toy.”
Molly nodded, then headed to the bathroom to finish preparing. She brushed and styled her hair. A bit of green eyeshade, lip gloss and powder, plus a dab of perfume and she was set. He was quite clever, she thought. The ropes were hidden by the jewellery and her hair. The trick would be maintaining composure.
She breathed deeply, feeling the slight pressure of the ropes on her skin. “You can do this,” she told her reflection. “You can do this. You will not embarrass yourself or Sherlock by bursting into flame at the concert.”
With that, she left the bathroom. Sherlock was standing in the living room with the heels.
“Lovely,” he said, motioning for her to turn around like a model, which she did. “You can’t see the ropes. Sit please.”
She did as he asked and his hands slid down her legs to her ankles and he helped her put her shoes on. Standing, he offered her his hand and she took his arm.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “You have the power to end this any time you want.”
Molly nodded. “I will not let you down Sir,” she said.
There was an flash of pride on his face. “Thank you Ms. Hooper,” he said, before producing their coats. Helping her into her coat, he took her arm and they left the flat.
~*~
Molly wasn’t one for classical music. The last time she was at the symphony, she was a child. But it was clear that this was important to Sherlock, so she leaned back in her seat and studied her programme. Even though they missed the first act, they arrived in time for Scheherazade.
He had chosen seats wisely at Barbican Hall. They were in the in the first row of the dress circle, with no one surrounding them. This allowed Molly a little bit more breathing room to squirm and feel the pressure of the ropes. The cab ride had been excruciating, despite his efforts to divert her mind from the rubbing against her body.
Of course, his choice to educate her in Japanese BDSM and a tale called “The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife” (which apparently was the basis for much of Japan’s tentacle erotica) wasn’t exactly the most appropriate thing. Especially when he was speaking in quiet tones in her ear so the cabbie couldn’t hear him. Molly had to bite her lip to keep from exploding in giggles as he quoted some of the text on the painting.
"You hateful octopus! Your sucking at the mouth of my womb makes me gasp for breath! Aah! yes... it's... There!” he whispered in her ear, high pitched and in an attempt to imitate a woman. “With the sucker, the sucker!”
It was supposed to be entirely conversational and, in his defence, he focused on the storytelling aspects of the story most of the time. But all Molly could focus on was his baritone, the proximity of his body to hers and that the cab apparently found the bumpiest route in all of London. Every single time the car jolted, she had to suppress the desire to rub her legs together or moan.
By the time they got out of the cab, Molly’s legs were shaking and she was taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. Fortunately, Sherlock was acting like a perfect gentleman, offering his arm for her as they entered the concert hall.
“Have you ever been to the symphony?” he asked, as they settled into their seats.
She shook her head. “Only as a child,” Molly said.
“Did you like it?”
Molly thought back. “Honestly, it’s been so long I barely remember,” she replied. “I remember being thrilled that it was a school trip and I could miss class.”
He chuckled. “You know Scheherazade? From 1,001 Arabian Nights?”
She nodded. “I’m familiar with 1,001 Arabian Nights,” she whispered, as discordant notes of the orchestra tuning up started. She twitched slightly in her seat, the Shibari ropes rubbing against her. The low bass notes from the brass and percussion went thrumming through her body.
His hand reached out and grasped her fingers, steadying her as the conductor raised his bow and the first movement began. Molly took a deep breath as the opening bars -- regal, stately and thundering -- washed over her body. In the back of her mind she expected the entire piece to be like this, with the bass lines thrumming through her body and requiring her to focus on nothing but her composure.
Then the violin solo started. Molly didn’t know how to describe it except as “pretty,” which she knew was small words for such a solo. It was high and lilting, feminine, but strong and it caused her breath to catch for a moment.
She glanced over at Sherlock. His eyes were closed and a small, blissful smile marked his mouth, indicating that he was also lost in the music. Molly felt herself relaxing, savouring the sensations around her. The music buoyed her, creating images in her head of beautiful and wily Arabian princesses taming temperamental sultans with a never-ending trove of stories.
As the final violin solo filled the concert hall, Molly felt loose and pliant, more relaxed than she thought she would be. She glanced over at him as the lights came up and the audience applauded. His eyes closed in rapture and that smile still lingered on his mouth.
It would be so easy to reach over and kiss him, Molly thought to herself. But subs do not do that. They wait for their master’s orders. So she waited. Waited as the audience left and they were the only two left sitting in the hall and the final ringing of the last notes of the violin solo faded into the night.
She felt his hand on her arm. “Ms. Hooper,” he said. “Are you hungry? I don‘t want my pet to be uncomfortable.”
She nodded.
He led her to the Barbican Lounge, a lounge on the first floor. He scanned the menu. “No, nothing too heavy for you my dear,” he mused. “I want you awake and able to react to what I have planned when we get home.”
She couldn’t help but smile wickedly at those words. “Yes Sir,” she said.
A waiter floated by and Sherlock ordered a few bar snacks and a glass prosecco for her and water for him. “Did you enjoy the concert Ms. Hooper?”
“Very,” Molly purred. “My knowledge of classical music is very limited, but that was so lush and beautiful. I loved the violins.”
He grinned. “I do play the violin,” he sidled closer to her. “How are the ropes?”
“They remind me of you,” she whispered in his ear. “Every time I move, it reminds me that I belong to you. I remember your hands on my body.”
His eyes widened slightly and she could see him swallow. “Behave Ms. Hooper,” he said. “If you keep this up, we’ll never eat and I know you need your energy for what I have planned.”
Molly breathed slightly. Before more could be said, the waiter flitted by, dropping off the plank with smoked fish, olives and other items, the wine and the water.
“You may eat Ms. Hooper,” he said.
Molly assembled a bit of smoked fish, cheese and bread and took a small bite. “Aren’t you going to eat Sir? You do need your energy.”
“Make me something,” he replied. “Then feed it to me.”
Molly shook her head, smiling as she assembled a bit of fish and prosciutto. Placing it on the bread, she held it up to his mouth. He took it, placing a small kiss on her fingertips, which she responded with a small, shy smile.
It continued for a bit until the plank was cleared and the wine consumed. During the meal, Sherlock offered an impromptu lecture on the Russian composers and the history of Scheherazade. Molly didn’t understand everything he said, but with that voice, he could’ve recited the phone book and she would’ve been enraptured.
“Now Ms. Hooper,” he said, taking her hand. “I think it’s time we return to your place.”
The ride back to her place was quiet. Sherlock’s fingers lightly stroked her arms, the back of her neck and Molly kept biting her lip to keep from moaning. She tried rubbing her thighs together, but a gently tap on her arm reminded her to behave.
Once they were in the flat, he helped her remove her coat and heels.
“Wait here,” he said.
She stood, waiting patiently. Toby greeted them both with a meow, wrapping himself around her legs and rising on two legs to sniff at her fingers. Molly could hear the bed coming down from the upright position that it was left in.
After a few minutes, she heard Sherlock call for her.
He was lying on the bed, back propped by up pillows.
“Strip Ms. Hooper,” he ordered. “I want to watch you.”
She nodded, then undid the sash of the dress. Unbuttoning the side, she slowly peeled it off her, exposing the ropes to him.
He let out a soft “mmmm” of appreciation. “Lovely,” he said. “I am very pleased with how you behaved at the concert hall.”
Molly put one leg on the bed and rolled the stocking down. His breathing was heavy and she could see him getting hard under his trousers. She repeated the same action for her other stocking.
He got up off the bed. “Lay down please,” he said.
She did as he asked. He went over to the bag and produced a pair of leather cuffs and two lengths of rope “Arms up over your head and spread your legs please,” he said.
Once she obeyed his request, he cuffed her hands to the headboard. “Comfortable?”
Molly wiggled her fingers, then waggled her eyebrows. “Very,” she purred.
“So insolent,” he chuckled, then kissed her. Molly’s back arched as he ran his hands down her body and over the ropes. “Hips up please.”
She obeyed. Sherlock slid a few pillows underneath her to prop her up, then took the rope and tied her legs spread eagle to the bedposts. “Comfortable?”
“Yes Sir,” Molly replied, wiggling her toes.
“So lovely. I could do whatever I wanted to you right now,” he said, fingers sliding down between her legs. “You are so eager,” he chuckled. “As prime as goats, as hot as monkeys.”
A low groan escaped her as one finger wiggled past the ropes and into her.
“You did fantastically Ms. Hooper,” he said. “I believe it’s time for your reward.”
“Yes,” she moaned, hips undulating under his touch. There was a sigh of loss as he pulled his hand away from her to loosening the ropes between her legs, parting them.
“But I think you can wait a bit,” he said.
Her eyes flashed open to meet his. There was a bright twinkle to them and she arched her back, letting out a low whimper of protest.
“You can and you will,” Sherlock said. “Besides, I have you spread open for my whims. I definitely want to take advantage of that. I‘ve been meaning to do some experiments.”
Molly squeaked.
Sherlock slid off the bed and opened the bag. He pulled out a vibrator, some wipes and a bottle of lubricant. “I’m going to have fun with you.”
Returning to the bed, he turned on the vibrator and gently dragged it along her breasts. “Now, I was thinking,” he said almost conversationally, “and I have come to the conclusion that despite your varied sexual background, you’re missing something.”
“Which is?”
“You haven’t had anal sex,” Sherlock said, sliding the vibrator down her torso.
Molly could feel herself redden as the vibrator buzzed merrily down between her thighs and along her hipbone. He was right. It wasn‘t something that she really was interested before. Everything she had heard from her friends was that it was painful, dirty and not really satisfying. “How --”
“Lucky guess,” he said, grinning at her. “You just told me everything. Are you scared?”
“A little,” she admitted.
The vibrator gently bumped up against her mons and she arched her back again, emitting a ragged gasp. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he studied her body’s reactions. Gooseflesh began popping up on her skin and Molly took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
"Oh Ms. Hooper," Sherlock's voice was low, even lower than she thought possible. "For a woman who did so many things to my arse, not to have had the same pleasures?" he made a tsk sound.
His hand moved between her legs, first stroking her sex, then moving to the perineum, before lightly circling her hole. Molly’s hips twitched as she let out a small gasp.
“Give me a word,” he said, looking up at her.
There shouldn’t be a need for a word, Molly thought to herself. Sherlock would be smart enough to know exactly what she was thinking, but it was comforting to know he wanted to hear it from her.
“Osmosis.”
“Do you want to stop?”
She knew she could if she wanted to and that was enough. “No,” she said after taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Just go slow? Please?” her voice quavered. You know I’d never say no to you, she thought, hoping that he wasn’t a mind reader.
Sherlock’s gaze was intense as he processed the information. “That’s my girl,” he said. Setting down the vibrator, he squirted a bit of lube onto his hand. Slowly one hand slid down past the ropes to toy with her perineum, then her ass.
He was covering her body with his, kissing her deeply, as his finger toyed with the ring of muscle. Then his mouth moved to ear, whispering bits of a poetry that helped reignite her lagging arousal as one finger slowly breached her.
Molly’s back arched as she let out a gasp.
“How does it feel?” those eyes were staring into hers, scanning for information about her state of being.
“Strange,” she murmured. “It’s not unpleasant, but it’s kind of odd.”
“Give me a word.”
“Hypothesis,” she breathed out. It was strange -- a certain fullness, but nothing painful, like what her friends had told her. Instead of hesitation, curiosity took over.
Sherlock pulled back so he was kneeling between her legs. She could feel a second finger slide into her, scissoring her gently, opening her up. Before she could say anything else, Sherlock placed hot kisses along her thighs, causing her to moan and jerk as arousal began to pool in her lower belly. Her wrists strained at the cuffs and she could feel the ropes bite into her ankles as he lavished attention along her torso.
Pulling back, he pulled his fingers out of her. Molly craned her head up to see what he was doing. First he cleaned his hand off with a wipe, then Sherlock undid his trousers and pulled a condom on. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
With that, he grabbed the vibrator and rubbed it along her sex. Coherent thoughts and words shut down as he slid it into her at an agonizing pace. This she was familiar with, right down to the fantasies of Sherlock accompanying the buzzing sound.
What wasn’t familiar was the feeling of him entering her a different way, achingly slow and gentle. Molly thought she was sort of worldly. Maybe not in the whole “porn star I’ve had four cocks at the same time” worldly, but she thought she had some experience.
This -- this blew those beliefs out the door. It wasn’t like how her friends described it -- it wasn’t painful. Molly couldn’t describe it other than feeling full. Every nerve was singing with the sensations she was feeling and there was an ache, a need for something more.
One hand ran down her flanks and he looked at her. “What do you feel?”
“Full,” she managed to say.
“What do you want?”
“More,” she breathed.
“More of what?” There was an impish gleam in his eyes.
“Move,” she moaned trying to move her hips, but his hands were stilling her. “More of you.”
“Ask nicely pet,” he said, offering nothing more than a shallow thrust, which didn’t offer the relief she wanted.
“Please.”
Sherlock began to move, slowly. He took her nipple in his mouth, gently biting it. She could feel herself reach the edge, twisting under him, helpless to anything but react to the sensations he was layering on her.
His mouth was travelling all over her -- from her breasts, he began nipping at her ear and offering dirty words of encouragement as she jerked under him. From her ears, his tongue traveled down her neck and along her shoulders.
One hand slid between them and rubbed her clit and she twisted underneath him. He looked up at her with a debauched grin.
“Come for me,” he said, sliding his hands down her torso. “I want to see you.”
Later Molly would reflect on his uncanny ability to read her and time everything perfectly, but at that moment, she came instantly, as the pent-up arousal from the past hours and his ministrations was unleashed. Her back arched and as she wailed and shuddered beneath him. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, but instead, her legs strained against the ropes, scratching and burning her ankles.
His strokes began to move faster as she writhed under him. Sherlock leaned forward, kissing the hollow of her throat, whispering something Molly couldn’t make out as she thrashed under him, crying incoherently. A few strokes later and he came, groaning her play name into her ear.
After a few lazy kisses, Sherlock began cleaning her before he undid the cuffs. Next was the ankles.
“You do need to help me by moving a bit,” he chided, as he began undoing the shibari ropes.
“Can’t move,” she groaned. “You’ll have to call work and tell them I’ve been fucked into submission.”
There was a chuckle as she felt the burn of the rope as he pulled it out from under her. “You do realize that I need the results from that drowning report?” he said. “I will drag you into the office by hook or crook Ms. Hooper.”
“Yes, but good luck getting results out of me,” she reposted. “You’ll have to talk to Norris for that. I believe my brain is now the equivalent of pudding.”
She could feel his hands sliding over her body, examining her for bruises and cuts. The drawer opened and he began massaging salve into her scrapes.
“Norris is terrified of me,” he said, before placing a soft kiss where a knot had been. “That wouldn’t do at all. He’d throw any result at me and say that was it. He’s about as reliable as a drunken Anderson. No, you‘re the one I rely on.”
Molly chuckled. “If Sir wishes, it shall be done,” she said, with a faint hint of sarcasm. “Besides, if you check my messenger bag, you will notice that there is a certain report that you have been seeking.”
She wasn’t surprised to see him bounce off the bed and scurry off to the living room. Molly half-expected to hear him shout a goodbye as he headed out the door. What she didn’t expect was him coming back into the bedroom, laying next to her.
She rolled over and glanced at him curiously.
“I can read in this bed also,” he replied. “Besides, I can poke you if I need answers to my questions.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “How convenient for you.”
Chapter 16