Fill: Road to New Roissy 4a/?voyeurineDecember 8 2011, 14:31:02 UTC
The hand stayed in place until departing footsteps signaled that the two of them were now alone. Then she said in dulcet tones, “Please step into the water.”
Her voice was unfamiliar, but that touch- he knew he’d felt it before. Not under adverse circumstances, or he’d remember. Intrigued and anticipating the moment when the blindfold would come off, Mycroft placed one foot into the warm depths. When he wobbled a bit, firm and familiar hands steadied him.
“You’re all right,” she said. “My assistant has got you. Sit down.”
Assistant? Someone else was in the room? When had they come in- or had they been present the entire time, silently watching? Mycroft hesitated, disoriented by the abrupt switch in perception. It wasn’t the woman he had faintly recognized: it was an unknown party who had yet to speak.
Two more hands clasped his face. They were soft and feminine. Hers, for sure. “You’re all right,” she repeated.
He exhaled slowly and nodded. Of course he was all right- would Gregory have brought him here if there was a risk of otherwise? So what if he had met one of these attendants before? In his line of work, he encountered dozens of people on a daily basis. Why did he have to over-analyze?
Because doing so kept me alive in the field for fifteen years. But I’m not at war with anyone here, except possibly myself. Must remember that.
But who is…
Stop. You’re safe. Trust Gregory.
As Mycroft sank into the steaming water, all tension fled, leaving him languid and boneless everywhere except his groin. He was now fully erect, but couldn’t summon the energy to be embarrassed. He sat quietly while two sets of hands -one hauntingly familiar- scrubbed him thoroughly, careful not to wet the collar or cuffs. Then they made him kneel and one of them ran a cloth perfunctorily about his lower belly and genitals. He bit down on the leather and shifted his hips, craving more intimate stimulation, but they just assisted him out of the tub and toweled him off.
“You must be thirsty after a hot bath,” the woman said.
The gag was removed and the rim of a drinking glass pressed against his lips. Mycroft drank greedily. The water was cool and delicious, and soothed his dry mouth. When the glass was taken away, he said, “I know your assistant from somewhere.”
“Perhaps. But you don’t know me. My name is Irene.”
Her voice was unfamiliar, but that touch- he knew he’d felt it before. Not under adverse circumstances, or he’d remember. Intrigued and anticipating the moment when the blindfold would come off, Mycroft placed one foot into the warm depths. When he wobbled a bit, firm and familiar hands steadied him.
“You’re all right,” she said. “My assistant has got you. Sit down.”
Assistant? Someone else was in the room? When had they come in- or had they been present the entire time, silently watching? Mycroft hesitated, disoriented by the abrupt switch in perception. It wasn’t the woman he had faintly recognized: it was an unknown party who had yet to speak.
Two more hands clasped his face. They were soft and feminine. Hers, for sure. “You’re all right,” she repeated.
He exhaled slowly and nodded. Of course he was all right- would Gregory have brought him here if there was a risk of otherwise? So what if he had met one of these attendants before? In his line of work, he encountered dozens of people on a daily basis. Why did he have to over-analyze?
Because doing so kept me alive in the field for fifteen years. But I’m not at war with anyone here, except possibly myself. Must remember that.
But who is…
Stop. You’re safe. Trust Gregory.
As Mycroft sank into the steaming water, all tension fled, leaving him languid and boneless everywhere except his groin. He was now fully erect, but couldn’t summon the energy to be embarrassed. He sat quietly while two sets of hands -one hauntingly familiar- scrubbed him thoroughly, careful not to wet the collar or cuffs. Then they made him kneel and one of them ran a cloth perfunctorily about his lower belly and genitals. He bit down on the leather and shifted his hips, craving more intimate stimulation, but they just assisted him out of the tub and toweled him off.
“You must be thirsty after a hot bath,” the woman said.
The gag was removed and the rim of a drinking glass pressed against his lips. Mycroft drank greedily. The water was cool and delicious, and soothed his dry mouth. When the glass was taken away, he said, “I know your assistant from somewhere.”
“Perhaps. But you don’t know me. My name is Irene.”
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