Fill: Road to New Roissy 4b/?voyeurineDecember 8 2011, 21:05:01 UTC
He tried to speak, but Irene pushed the leather bit past his lips. As she buckled the gag in place, she added, “I spoke to Mr. Lestrade before coming downstairs. He sends his love.”
Those words instantly derailed Mycroft’s curiousity about her helper’s identity. Gregory was sending his love. Heart swelling, he imagined Lestrade lounging in an ornate study or library upstairs, sipping his trademark scotch and soda and cutting a commanding figure in his black turtleneck jumper and leather trousers. I love him so much. What did I have before I met him? Shadow romances. One-night stands. Before Gregory, there was nothing.
Tears pricked his eyes. He suddenly wanted Gregory to hold him right now. What was happening to his normal stoicism? One minute he was rebellious, the next aroused and submissive, and now he felt as vulnerable and anxious as a lost child. Where was that imposing persona that could scare terrorists and enemy agents into pissing themselves and giving up their secrets?
Irene apparently read his mind.
“It’s just your defenses crumbling. You’re slowly letting go. That’s good.”
Her fingernails trailed down his chest, pausing to grasp his left nipple and twist it upward. Mycroft shuddered in surprise and bliss; how had she pinpointed one of his accelerated erogenous zones so quickly? He groaned and tried to touch her, but the cuffs frustrated his effort. Chuckling, she drew him close and bit gently down on that section of his neck that always made him a captive.
Mycroft moaned and his knees shook. His cock began leaking copiously. He tried to touch it, but the wrist cuffs refused to yield.
“We’ve never met, but I know you,” she purred into his ear. “Bathing someone is a fast track to mapping their body’s erogenous zones. And in my line of work, I make it my business to know men’s bodies.” To prove her point, she slid her hand under his balls and danced her fingertips across that sensitive spot above his entrance. "You like that, don't you? No need to confirm. I know."
His knees actually gave out then and he collapsed against her. Silky hair, soft skin, and Givenchy perfume flooded his senses. A ribbed leather corset shifted against his chest as Irene caught him and lowered him to his knees.
“Perfect,” she murmured. “I was going to have you kneel anyway. You’re quite teachable, you know. Almost as much as your-.” She stopped. “Never mind, you don’t really need to know about that. Position him.”
Her assistant took Mycroft by the shoulders and lowered him until his forehead touched the thick bath mat and his arse hovered in the air. The pose was humiliating, but he didn’t care. This was what Gregory wanted, and judging from his near-painful erection, he wanted it too.
Mycroft caught his breath and froze. He heard the rustle of a plastic bag and snapping of latex gloves, followed by the click of a tube opening. Then fingers, soft and slick, stroked against his entrance until he relaxed enough to let them inside. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold, riding a wave of vulnerability and arousal. The intruding digits coated his inner walls thoroughly with lube, whereupon they withdrew, and something hard and slick pushed against his still-tight entrance.
Those words instantly derailed Mycroft’s curiousity about her helper’s identity. Gregory was sending his love. Heart swelling, he imagined Lestrade lounging in an ornate study or library upstairs, sipping his trademark scotch and soda and cutting a commanding figure in his black turtleneck jumper and leather trousers. I love him so much. What did I have before I met him? Shadow romances. One-night stands. Before Gregory, there was nothing.
Tears pricked his eyes. He suddenly wanted Gregory to hold him right now. What was happening to his normal stoicism? One minute he was rebellious, the next aroused and submissive, and now he felt as vulnerable and anxious as a lost child. Where was that imposing persona that could scare terrorists and enemy agents into pissing themselves and giving up their secrets?
Irene apparently read his mind.
“It’s just your defenses crumbling. You’re slowly letting go. That’s good.”
Her fingernails trailed down his chest, pausing to grasp his left nipple and twist it upward. Mycroft shuddered in surprise and bliss; how had she pinpointed one of his accelerated erogenous zones so quickly? He groaned and tried to touch her, but the cuffs frustrated his effort. Chuckling, she drew him close and bit gently down on that section of his neck that always made him a captive.
Mycroft moaned and his knees shook. His cock began leaking copiously. He tried to touch it, but the wrist cuffs refused to yield.
“We’ve never met, but I know you,” she purred into his ear. “Bathing someone is a fast track to mapping their body’s erogenous zones. And in my line of work, I make it my business to know men’s bodies.” To prove her point, she slid her hand under his balls and danced her fingertips across that sensitive spot above his entrance. "You like that, don't you? No need to confirm. I know."
His knees actually gave out then and he collapsed against her. Silky hair, soft skin, and Givenchy perfume flooded his senses. A ribbed leather corset shifted against his chest as Irene caught him and lowered him to his knees.
“Perfect,” she murmured. “I was going to have you kneel anyway. You’re quite teachable, you know. Almost as much as your-.” She stopped. “Never mind, you don’t really need to know about that. Position him.”
Her assistant took Mycroft by the shoulders and lowered him until his forehead touched the thick bath mat and his arse hovered in the air. The pose was humiliating, but he didn’t care. This was what Gregory wanted, and judging from his near-painful erection, he wanted it too.
“Mr. Lestrade also sends something else,” Irene continued. “Please remain still.”
Mycroft caught his breath and froze. He heard the rustle of a plastic bag and snapping of latex gloves, followed by the click of a tube opening. Then fingers, soft and slick, stroked against his entrance until he relaxed enough to let them inside. He squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold, riding a wave of vulnerability and arousal. The intruding digits coated his inner walls thoroughly with lube, whereupon they withdrew, and something hard and slick pushed against his still-tight entrance.
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