Molly/Irene 3/5 TW: dubious content bordering on non-con, drugged sex
anonymous
August 26 2012, 11:38:36 UTC
Molly's face doesn't light up or tense with recognition; Sherlock apparently hasn't mentioned Irene to all his little friends. Pity. She will so enjoy the look on his face when he comes (because he will come, it's in his nature to, this is the whole point of her being ‘kidnapped’) and finds Irene buried in between Molly's thighs, hears the moans that she will give, sees how she will writhe and beg just before she is pushed over the edge.
Delicious.
---
Irene's not sure that she's totally correct when she says nothing will happen to them. Knowing Jim, he'll have something planned. Whether or not the something is good, well, that's the fun part, isn't it?
She spends a lot of her time talking to Molly, asking about her job, her friends, what she likes to do. Molly is starting to trust her. By the end of it, she will be eating from the palm of Irene's hand.
(For a moment, she feels a flash of remorse for this girl, who hasn't asked to be another pawn in a twisted game of chess. One of the many casualties left behind by Sherlock. Irene wonders if he even knows how much Molly is in love with him. Not for much longer she won't be, Irene resolves, culling her weak feelings. She is Irene's now, for however long it takes them to be rescued... and perhaps even after that, if she plays her cards right.)
There’s a very interesting blond man - although she prefers Jim’s redhead - who comes, scares Molly into virtually hyperventilating, and leaves food for them. Irene isn’t about to touch the food. God knows what the dear mastermind has planned for this sweet girl (and her, she thinks, feeling suddenly very uneasy) but Irene’s not going to let herself be compromised. She’s gone for days without food before; it’s not just Sherlock who thinks it inhibits thinking processes.
The restraints are a pair of handcuffs, keeping in with the theme of a cell, although she isn’t quite sure why she has them on and Molly doesn’t. If she dislocates her thumb… She’ll be out, but the play will be ruined. She can’t let that happen. Not yet.
That is her first inkling that something’s not quite right - her second is the fact that Molly’s pupils are becoming bigger and bigger, and that panting is not from fear. The tray with the sludge masquerading as stew - Irish, hah - has been half-eaten, and it occurs to Irene that Molly is really very naïve.
Which is a pity, because she has a soft spot for innocence, and now is really not the time for soft spots. Not now: not ever. She knows her weaknesses, knows that she’s not only disadvantaged by being a woman, but also by being a ‘sex worker’ and by her last shreds of humanity. She’s tried very hard to get this far. A pair of lust-glazed brown eyes and a pert pink mouth is not going to stop her.
Sex is dominance, sex is control, sex is power - and she will use her only weapon.
After all, she can’t look weak while the Spider is watching.
While anyone is watching.
Molly doesn’t lunge upon her so much as she falls limply, somehow managing to kiss and drape and shudder with fear, desire, cold. The woman’s thumb pops out of its socket a second after she bites down on the girl’s bottom lip, muffling the pained groan she wants to make. She is sliding her right hand out of the cuff when Molly shivers away from her, leaving only a faint remnant of her surprisingly sweet breath - milky tea, four sugars, cafeteria quality, tough day, kidnapped… when?
Her eyes are as big as moons. Irene thinks she would be screaming for help if she could.
Delicious.
---
Irene's not sure that she's totally correct when she says nothing will happen to them. Knowing Jim, he'll have something planned. Whether or not the something is good, well, that's the fun part, isn't it?
She spends a lot of her time talking to Molly, asking about her job, her friends, what she likes to do. Molly is starting to trust her. By the end of it, she will be eating from the palm of Irene's hand.
(For a moment, she feels a flash of remorse for this girl, who hasn't asked to be another pawn in a twisted game of chess. One of the many casualties left behind by Sherlock. Irene wonders if he even knows how much Molly is in love with him. Not for much longer she won't be, Irene resolves, culling her weak feelings. She is Irene's now, for however long it takes them to be rescued... and perhaps even after that, if she plays her cards right.)
There’s a very interesting blond man - although she prefers Jim’s redhead - who comes, scares Molly into virtually hyperventilating, and leaves food for them. Irene isn’t about to touch the food. God knows what the dear mastermind has planned for this sweet girl (and her, she thinks, feeling suddenly very uneasy) but Irene’s not going to let herself be compromised. She’s gone for days without food before; it’s not just Sherlock who thinks it inhibits thinking processes.
The restraints are a pair of handcuffs, keeping in with the theme of a cell, although she isn’t quite sure why she has them on and Molly doesn’t. If she dislocates her thumb… She’ll be out, but the play will be ruined. She can’t let that happen. Not yet.
That is her first inkling that something’s not quite right - her second is the fact that Molly’s pupils are becoming bigger and bigger, and that panting is not from fear. The tray with the sludge masquerading as stew - Irish, hah - has been half-eaten, and it occurs to Irene that Molly is really very naïve.
Which is a pity, because she has a soft spot for innocence, and now is really not the time for soft spots. Not now: not ever. She knows her weaknesses, knows that she’s not only disadvantaged by being a woman, but also by being a ‘sex worker’ and by her last shreds of humanity. She’s tried very hard to get this far. A pair of lust-glazed brown eyes and a pert pink mouth is not going to stop her.
Sex is dominance, sex is control, sex is power - and she will use her only weapon.
After all, she can’t look weak while the Spider is watching.
While anyone is watching.
Molly doesn’t lunge upon her so much as she falls limply, somehow managing to kiss and drape and shudder with fear, desire, cold. The woman’s thumb pops out of its socket a second after she bites down on the girl’s bottom lip, muffling the pained groan she wants to make. She is sliding her right hand out of the cuff when Molly shivers away from her, leaving only a faint remnant of her surprisingly sweet breath - milky tea, four sugars, cafeteria quality, tough day, kidnapped… when?
Her eyes are as big as moons. Irene thinks she would be screaming for help if she could.
Reply
Leave a comment