FILL: Apprentices (3/6)le_froufrouOctober 29 2012, 23:09:23 UTC
“I can see now that what I was doing was not quite right, but I have no idea how you did what you just did.” I tend to babble when I am nervous. Right now I am in emotional turmoil.
Holmes cocks his head as if considering the best course of action. He lets go of my hand and dodges underneath my outstretched arm, coming to stand right behind me. I jump when he touches my back. I can feel him laugh silently and then he gently pushes against my spine, making me stand more upright. His hands brush across my shoulders, my elbow, and my waist as he continues to correct my posture. Finally, they come to rest lightly on my hips. A fine tremor runs through me that he must surely pick up on.
“Just follow my lead,” he whispers, his breath ghosting across my nape. He pushes his left leg forward, lifting his knee into the back of mine. On the downward movement, his foot snakes along my instep and nudges my toes outwards, and as our feet touch down he puts gentle pressure on my right hip so that we both spin around. In a fluid motion, Holmes simultaneously hooks his right leg around the inside of mine and moves both forward, following the momentum of our bodies. Then his left foot is sliding mine inwards and across. My right foot is moved around, again with a twist of my hip so that automatically my left foot follows, gracefully completing the turn.
We pause for a moment, and then Holmes squeezes my hip briefly to signal another turn. We repeat the sequence until it becomes fluent and I can execute the movements with minimal assistance. Holmes slinks around me and resumes his position as my dancing partner, never missing a beat.
We dance, cautious at first but soon I am becoming bolder and take charge of the tempo. We spin and twirl to the tune of our heartbeats in the silence of the room. He grips my hand tightly and I cannot look away from him. Reflections from the fire bounce off his hair and his eyes, sparkling like champagne on a sunny afternoon.
I don’t know how long we keep going but when we finally grind to a halt, we are both breathless. Although we are no longer moving, neither of us lets go of his hold on the other. Holmes smiles softly. “This is it, old boy.”
My heartbeat quickens. I clear my throat. “I only wish I could repay you in kind.”
He looks at me intently and says, “I am confident that with your extensive experience, you could teach me a thing or two.”
This allusion to my sexual exploits - purportedly spanning three continents - is as unambiguous an invitation as I could have hoped for only in my wildest dreams. I search his eyes for signs of doubt and, finding none, I slowly lift my hand to his cheek. I run my finger along his jaw, watching his eyelids flutter. I tilt his chin towards me and lean forward.
FILL: Apprentices (4/6)le_froufrouOctober 29 2012, 23:10:25 UTC
Shock is not among the reactions that I expect when Watson’s lips touch my own.
It is not surprise at the fact that he is kissing me. After all, I had fully intended to seduce him with the bogus ball invitation, and I had very little doubt that I would be successful. I know my Watson and I know that he has been harbouring illicit feelings towards me for a rather long time, even if he might never have admitted it to himself.
It is also not due to any ignorance on my part of the act of kissing. Of course I know how to kiss. The mere thought that I might not be accomplished in that arena is absurd.
What startles me so is that despite all this, I have been completely unprepared for the sheer vehemence of the emotions that cascade through me now in response to this particular kiss. I can barely identify - let alone comprehend - most of them.
I pride myself in being aware of every detail in my surroundings at every moment. It is at once my blessing for this allows me to perform my work, and my curse because I find myself unable to attenuate the din of my thoughts for even a moment. I am therefore surprised to suddenly register the backs of my knees colliding with a soft surface that can only be my bed, a suspicion which is confirmed when I land unceremoniously on my back. The last two things I consciously recall are me standing in front of the fireplace in the room across the hallway, and Watson leaning in towards me. Now Watson is squarely on top of me and already halfway through ridding me of my shirt. It is most perplexing.
At some point it occurs to me that I should respond more assertively than by lying still and emitting soft moans while Watson explores the side of my neck with his lips and tongue. So I hook my leg around his back and roll us over to reverse our positions. I gasp when this act brings our groins into close contact. It is not difficult to deduce Watson’s internal state at that moment: even the dimmest fool at the Yard would have noticed the impressive evidence of his desire that is currently pressed against mine. Watson looks up at me with his eyes ablaze, his cheeks faintly flushed and his lips slightly parted, and he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
I have to make a conscious effort to tear my eyes away from his face lest I lose all semblance of composure. Instead, I shift my attention to his shirt buttons. This sparks a fierce contest of speed of undressing. I would have won, had it not been for the element of surprise that had previously addled my senses and provided Watson with an unfair head start. I do not mind, however, because I am more than rewarded by the sight and sensation of his naked skin.
I take a moment to just look at him before I trail my hands over his chest. Smooth skin quickly turns into goosebumps under my fingertips. He hisses softly when my fingernail grazes his nipple. I look back into his eyes when I take him in hand to learn the feel of him. I observe as his pupils widen. I push my hip forwards, rubbing my erection against his. He throws his head back. I trace the veins in his exposed throat with my fingers, feeling his pulse accelerate while I continue to grind against him.
I am so occupied with analyzing the signs of Watson’s pleasure that I completely fail to notice how he manages to get hold of the lubricant. It is as if he has conjured it out of thin air, or maybe - just maybe - the bastard has somehow masterminded this whole thing and planted the phial in my bed before manipulating me into the charade with the dancing and whatnot and anyway, none of this matters when there is a slick finger circling my entrance. A grin flashes across his face, probably at the undignified moan that escapes me when he pushes inside.
I am not usually at the receiving end of such ministrations. However, this is different. This is Watson. The thought of him penetrating me is indescribably arousing. Then his finger brushes my prostate and I cease to think altogether. I pull away to position myself with my entrance against the tip of his cock. Wordlessly, I am begging him to breach me. I want him to lead.
FILL: Apprentices (5/6)le_froufrouOctober 29 2012, 23:11:51 UTC
He curls his fingers into my hair and kisses me deeply. Then I steady myself with my hand on his good shoulder as he places his hand on my waist and gently guides me down. We groan simultaneously when the head of his cock pushes against resistance and then slips inside. He holds it there. I protest when he begins to pull out but he gently squeezes my hip and says that he merely wants to repeat the experience. My breath hitches. He waits until I have adjusted to the loss of him, and then he enters me again, a little deeper this time.
Far from innocent, I have a rather colourful past; but tonight, John Watson deflowers me many times over. By the time he is finally buried completely inside of me, I am shaking and he is visibly fighting for control over himself. I can feel his body tense up while he is holding his breath, his cock twitching inside me. I undermine his efforts by squeezing tightly around him. He retaliates swiftly, withdrawing and then plunging back into me. Hard. I fall onto his chest with the force of it. Watson is not one to let good opportunities go to waste. He wraps his arm around me, holding me tightly in the position in which I am and proceeds to slam into me at a punishing pace.
It does not take long before we are both overcome with the intensity of the act. Watson buries his length to the hilt with a muffled shout. I feel his cock pulsate, and sticky warmth spreads deep inside of me. I arch away from his chest and gaze at Watson’s face, trying to catalogue each and every facet of his expression at that precise moment in order to capture this intensely erotic experience with as many senses as possible, but then his hand wraps around my cock and my eyes fall shut on their own accord as I am rushing into my own climax. I can feel myself contracting rhythmically around him while he, still half-hard, continues to shallowly thrust into me.
I must have blanked out because when I open my eyes again, I am lying on my back once more, and Watson’s face is hovering above me. He smiles at me, but there is a hint of wickedness within it. I don’t begrudge him his smugness; after all, he has been rather instrumental in propelling me into utmost ecstasy. I smile back at him and lift my hand to pull him into a kiss. Or rather, I try to lift my hand unsuccessfully, for I find that I am restrained by cool and smooth fabric bound expertly around my wrists - two of my silk cravats, as it turns out. Well, technically they both belong to Watson, but we have a rather loose definition of personal property here at Baker Street. Watson’s grin widens, and before I have the chance to form a question of any sort, my dear friend puts two fingers where his cock has been mere moments prior.
It is too much, too soon. Although his fingers glide easily in the slickness of his own release, my nerve endings have not yet recovered from the previous onslaught. In between helpless moans and whimpers, I somehow manage to point out that as a medical professional, he should be aware of the discomfort associated with overstimulation. He looks at me with mock seriousness and replies that he is very aware and that, indeed, it is the crux of the exercise. As if to underscore his standpoint, he deliberately rubs against my oversensitive prostate. I jolt and twist, trying to jerk away but merely succeeding in digging my restraints deeper into my skin.
FILL: Apprentices (6/6)le_froufrouOctober 29 2012, 23:12:42 UTC
I vaguely register that Watson is calling my name. He does not cease, so I finally raise my head and look at him with exasperation. He nods at my groin. There I find that, implausibly, my cock is painfully hard again, flushed and leaking from the tip. I stare at it dumbfounded. This earns me a chuckle from Watson, the devil in manform so vigorously prodding my rectum. I open my mouth to launch an acerbic retort but all I manage to produce is a pathetic cross between a high-pitched whine and a guttural growl because Watson is choosing that precise moment to dip down and flick his tongue across the very tip of my cock. He laps up the bead of fluid that has gathered there, moaning wantonly as he does so. My eyes roll into the back of my head.
He looks up at me and, finding me shaking and straining against the ties, strokes the side of my waist and hip with his free hand. He says that I should not fight it, that I should let it wash over me. My body screams at me, imploring me to ignore this advice, but I trust Watson with my life and soul. And so I let go.
It is as if I am plugged into Tesla’s machine. Pain and pleasure cease to be meaningful concepts. With every nudge of Watson’s fingers against my prostate, white hot currents jolt straight into my brain where they explode like pyrotechnic stars behind my eyes, showering my spine with cold glittering sparks. Whenever he encircles the head of my cock with slow, velvet licks, the source of the current alternates between his tongue and his fingers. I yearn for it to stop and hope it never ends. When my climax approaches, the core of my body is shaking, and my fingers and toes are tingling. My eyes remain transfixed on Watson, he is now leaning his face against my cock, gently rubbing it with his cheek and lips. His free hand disappears between his legs where it begins to move rhythmically. I expect to black out again, but au contraire my senses appear to be heightened, fully aware of everything that happens to me. We both groan when the first spurt erupts from me. The movements of both of Watson’s hands speed up while hot semen splatters onto my chest where it quickly cools. My entire body tenses and then finally goes limp with a last spasm of my cock.
I am both sated and utterly drained.
Watson crawls up towards me. He lowers his head and licks across my nipple. He swirls his tongue through the viscous mess there and then covers my lips with his own. I greedily plunge my tongue into his mouth, tasting myself. My throat reverberates with his moans, mirrored by the vibrations that shake the bed in time with his hand fisting his cock. I swallow his shouts when he comes.
He rests his forehead against mine while we both recover. His fingers blindly fumble with the knots of the cravats before he collapses onto the mattress next to me. I clear my throat and comment on the educational value of the activity. He picks up one of my hands and begins to gently massage the red mark around my wrist. He compliments my progress, to which I reply that he should not flatter himself too much for I am an excellent student. He retorts that he definitely considers me a better student than a teacher; apparently, he does not yet feel confident enough in his dancing skills to attend any kind of ball anytime soon. I suggest that we schedule regular lessons, with the caveat that I be appropriately compensated for my efforts. He puts his arms around me and pulls me towards him. He assures me that that won’t be a problem, and that he can already think of a thing or two. I sigh and nuzzle the side of his neck contentedly.
Holmes cocks his head as if considering the best course of action. He lets go of my hand and dodges underneath my outstretched arm, coming to stand right behind me. I jump when he touches my back. I can feel him laugh silently and then he gently pushes against my spine, making me stand more upright. His hands brush across my shoulders, my elbow, and my waist as he continues to correct my posture. Finally, they come to rest lightly on my hips. A fine tremor runs through me that he must surely pick up on.
“Just follow my lead,” he whispers, his breath ghosting across my nape. He pushes his left leg forward, lifting his knee into the back of mine. On the downward movement, his foot snakes along my instep and nudges my toes outwards, and as our feet touch down he puts gentle pressure on my right hip so that we both spin around. In a fluid motion, Holmes simultaneously hooks his right leg around the inside of mine and moves both forward, following the momentum of our bodies. Then his left foot is sliding mine inwards and across. My right foot is moved around, again with a twist of my hip so that automatically my left foot follows, gracefully completing the turn.
We pause for a moment, and then Holmes squeezes my hip briefly to signal another turn. We repeat the sequence until it becomes fluent and I can execute the movements with minimal assistance. Holmes slinks around me and resumes his position as my dancing partner, never missing a beat.
We dance, cautious at first but soon I am becoming bolder and take charge of the tempo. We spin and twirl to the tune of our heartbeats in the silence of the room. He grips my hand tightly and I cannot look away from him. Reflections from the fire bounce off his hair and his eyes, sparkling like champagne on a sunny afternoon.
I don’t know how long we keep going but when we finally grind to a halt, we are both breathless. Although we are no longer moving, neither of us lets go of his hold on the other. Holmes smiles softly. “This is it, old boy.”
My heartbeat quickens. I clear my throat. “I only wish I could repay you in kind.”
He looks at me intently and says, “I am confident that with your extensive experience, you could teach me a thing or two.”
This allusion to my sexual exploits - purportedly spanning three continents - is as unambiguous an invitation as I could have hoped for only in my wildest dreams. I search his eyes for signs of doubt and, finding none, I slowly lift my hand to his cheek. I run my finger along his jaw, watching his eyelids flutter. I tilt his chin towards me and lean forward.
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It is not surprise at the fact that he is kissing me. After all, I had fully intended to seduce him with the bogus ball invitation, and I had very little doubt that I would be successful. I know my Watson and I know that he has been harbouring illicit feelings towards me for a rather long time, even if he might never have admitted it to himself.
It is also not due to any ignorance on my part of the act of kissing. Of course I know how to kiss. The mere thought that I might not be accomplished in that arena is absurd.
What startles me so is that despite all this, I have been completely unprepared for the sheer vehemence of the emotions that cascade through me now in response to this particular kiss. I can barely identify - let alone comprehend - most of them.
I pride myself in being aware of every detail in my surroundings at every moment. It is at once my blessing for this allows me to perform my work, and my curse because I find myself unable to attenuate the din of my thoughts for even a moment. I am therefore surprised to suddenly register the backs of my knees colliding with a soft surface that can only be my bed, a suspicion which is confirmed when I land unceremoniously on my back. The last two things I consciously recall are me standing in front of the fireplace in the room across the hallway, and Watson leaning in towards me. Now Watson is squarely on top of me and already halfway through ridding me of my shirt. It is most perplexing.
At some point it occurs to me that I should respond more assertively than by lying still and emitting soft moans while Watson explores the side of my neck with his lips and tongue. So I hook my leg around his back and roll us over to reverse our positions. I gasp when this act brings our groins into close contact. It is not difficult to deduce Watson’s internal state at that moment: even the dimmest fool at the Yard would have noticed the impressive evidence of his desire that is currently pressed against mine. Watson looks up at me with his eyes ablaze, his cheeks faintly flushed and his lips slightly parted, and he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
I have to make a conscious effort to tear my eyes away from his face lest I lose all semblance of composure. Instead, I shift my attention to his shirt buttons. This sparks a fierce contest of speed of undressing. I would have won, had it not been for the element of surprise that had previously addled my senses and provided Watson with an unfair head start. I do not mind, however, because I am more than rewarded by the sight and sensation of his naked skin.
I take a moment to just look at him before I trail my hands over his chest. Smooth skin quickly turns into goosebumps under my fingertips. He hisses softly when my fingernail grazes his nipple. I look back into his eyes when I take him in hand to learn the feel of him. I observe as his pupils widen. I push my hip forwards, rubbing my erection against his. He throws his head back. I trace the veins in his exposed throat with my fingers, feeling his pulse accelerate while I continue to grind against him.
I am so occupied with analyzing the signs of Watson’s pleasure that I completely fail to notice how he manages to get hold of the lubricant. It is as if he has conjured it out of thin air, or maybe - just maybe - the bastard has somehow masterminded this whole thing and planted the phial in my bed before manipulating me into the charade with the dancing and whatnot and anyway, none of this matters when there is a slick finger circling my entrance. A grin flashes across his face, probably at the undignified moan that escapes me when he pushes inside.
I am not usually at the receiving end of such ministrations. However, this is different. This is Watson. The thought of him penetrating me is indescribably arousing. Then his finger brushes my prostate and I cease to think altogether. I pull away to position myself with my entrance against the tip of his cock. Wordlessly, I am begging him to breach me. I want him to lead.
Reply
Far from innocent, I have a rather colourful past; but tonight, John Watson deflowers me many times over. By the time he is finally buried completely inside of me, I am shaking and he is visibly fighting for control over himself. I can feel his body tense up while he is holding his breath, his cock twitching inside me. I undermine his efforts by squeezing tightly around him. He retaliates swiftly, withdrawing and then plunging back into me. Hard. I fall onto his chest with the force of it. Watson is not one to let good opportunities go to waste. He wraps his arm around me, holding me tightly in the position in which I am and proceeds to slam into me at a punishing pace.
It does not take long before we are both overcome with the intensity of the act. Watson buries his length to the hilt with a muffled shout. I feel his cock pulsate, and sticky warmth spreads deep inside of me. I arch away from his chest and gaze at Watson’s face, trying to catalogue each and every facet of his expression at that precise moment in order to capture this intensely erotic experience with as many senses as possible, but then his hand wraps around my cock and my eyes fall shut on their own accord as I am rushing into my own climax. I can feel myself contracting rhythmically around him while he, still half-hard, continues to shallowly thrust into me.
I must have blanked out because when I open my eyes again, I am lying on my back once more, and Watson’s face is hovering above me. He smiles at me, but there is a hint of wickedness within it. I don’t begrudge him his smugness; after all, he has been rather instrumental in propelling me into utmost ecstasy. I smile back at him and lift my hand to pull him into a kiss. Or rather, I try to lift my hand unsuccessfully, for I find that I am restrained by cool and smooth fabric bound expertly around my wrists - two of my silk cravats, as it turns out. Well, technically they both belong to Watson, but we have a rather loose definition of personal property here at Baker Street. Watson’s grin widens, and before I have the chance to form a question of any sort, my dear friend puts two fingers where his cock has been mere moments prior.
It is too much, too soon. Although his fingers glide easily in the slickness of his own release, my nerve endings have not yet recovered from the previous onslaught. In between helpless moans and whimpers, I somehow manage to point out that as a medical professional, he should be aware of the discomfort associated with overstimulation. He looks at me with mock seriousness and replies that he is very aware and that, indeed, it is the crux of the exercise. As if to underscore his standpoint, he deliberately rubs against my oversensitive prostate. I jolt and twist, trying to jerk away but merely succeeding in digging my restraints deeper into my skin.
Reply
He looks up at me and, finding me shaking and straining against the ties, strokes the side of my waist and hip with his free hand. He says that I should not fight it, that I should let it wash over me. My body screams at me, imploring me to ignore this advice, but I trust Watson with my life and soul. And so I let go.
It is as if I am plugged into Tesla’s machine. Pain and pleasure cease to be meaningful concepts. With every nudge of Watson’s fingers against my prostate, white hot currents jolt straight into my brain where they explode like pyrotechnic stars behind my eyes, showering my spine with cold glittering sparks. Whenever he encircles the head of my cock with slow, velvet licks, the source of the current alternates between his tongue and his fingers. I yearn for it to stop and hope it never ends. When my climax approaches, the core of my body is shaking, and my fingers and toes are tingling. My eyes remain transfixed on Watson, he is now leaning his face against my cock, gently rubbing it with his cheek and lips. His free hand disappears between his legs where it begins to move rhythmically. I expect to black out again, but au contraire my senses appear to be heightened, fully aware of everything that happens to me. We both groan when the first spurt erupts from me. The movements of both of Watson’s hands speed up while hot semen splatters onto my chest where it quickly cools. My entire body tenses and then finally goes limp with a last spasm of my cock.
I am both sated and utterly drained.
Watson crawls up towards me. He lowers his head and licks across my nipple. He swirls his tongue through the viscous mess there and then covers my lips with his own. I greedily plunge my tongue into his mouth, tasting myself. My throat reverberates with his moans, mirrored by the vibrations that shake the bed in time with his hand fisting his cock. I swallow his shouts when he comes.
He rests his forehead against mine while we both recover. His fingers blindly fumble with the knots of the cravats before he collapses onto the mattress next to me. I clear my throat and comment on the educational value of the activity. He picks up one of my hands and begins to gently massage the red mark around my wrist. He compliments my progress, to which I reply that he should not flatter himself too much for I am an excellent student. He retorts that he definitely considers me a better student than a teacher; apparently, he does not yet feel confident enough in his dancing skills to attend any kind of ball anytime soon. I suggest that we schedule regular lessons, with the caveat that I be appropriately compensated for my efforts. He puts his arms around me and pulls me towards him. He assures me that that won’t be a problem, and that he can already think of a thing or two. I sigh and nuzzle the side of his neck contentedly.
All in all, it seems a rather splendid bargain.
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I love how this escalates from small looks and touches to glorious steamy porn, and just when you think it ends there is EVEN MOAR OMG.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS AMAZING FILL! ♥
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Thank you for the wonderful prompt! It was impossible to not get carried away with it...
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