Silent Servant Part Three
Silence in the Diogenes
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Mycroft/Sherlock, Mycroft/Lestrade, Lestrade/Sherlock, Mycroft/John
Warnings: D/s, incest, bondage
Summary: The Diogenes Club isn't just one big anti-social opportunity. For some of its members, it's a live-saver. Series of one-shots that take place in the club.
Stories: Silent Sanctuary Shelter in the Storm Sound of Silence Silent Treatment Slave to the Silence Silent Servant Part One Silent Servant Part Two
Sherlock nearly safeworded (technically safe-gestured) on the spot. Bloody Anderson and Donovan? What the hell? He raised his head and began to unconsciously tug at the wrist cuffs, trying to rise. No, this wasn't on. Both Yarders were ignorant and malicious prats: he would NOT-
Mycroft's footsteps approached again. A warm hand descended onto his lower back. Sherlock stilled despite his anxiety. If Mycroft arranged this, then it had to be all right. He'd never abused his younger brother's trust here before. The younger Holmes relaxed and slumped against the beam, hiding his head between his outstretched arms. His tension abated, but embarrassment and curiousity remained strong.
I'm going to whisper from here on, Mycroft told the newcomers, keeping his palm firmly on Sherlock's skin. Technically, talking aloud is only permitted in the Visitor's Room. I broke protocol a moment ago so that my brother could hear me greet you both.
"Brother?" Sally Donovan echoed in a normal voice. She must have been reproved somehow, for her next words were spoken in the required sotto voce. What the bloody hell?
Sherlock heard another set of footsteps -lighter, quicker than Mycroft's- cross the rug and halt in front him. Although he couldn't see her, he could sense her hovering over him, trying to get a good look at his face. When Mycroft ordered him to raise his head, Sherlock obeyed, biting nervously into the gag.
Fuck me, she breathed. It IS him.
You're serious? Anderson joined her, his stride less confident. Oh, my God. The forensics expert sounded awestruck.
Sherlock kept his chin up, bracing himself to take the anticipated verbal abuse and derision. It wouldn't be fun, but he'd been through ordeals nearly as bad, like the time that Yakuza gangster put his testicles in a vice.
Practically every time the three of you meet, you disparage each other, Mycroft said as he joined them. I wanted you to see what you all had in common. He undid Sherlock's blindfold and slid it off.
The younger Holmes closed his eyes against the soft infusion of light from the gilded lamps and overhead chandelier. When he opened them again he saw Sally Donovan crouched in front of him, staring at him with undisguised fascination.
She wore black leather trousers and a sequined top whose sleeveless design showed off her lightly muscled arms. Her curly hair had been piled on top of her head and secured in place by glittering combs. Her dark eyes scanned him thoroughly before taking in the collar and leash, wrist and ankle cuffs, and the padded sawhorse.
Fuck me, she repeated, shaking her head and rising. This is crazy.
Behind her, Anderson swallowed heavily and remained silent. Like Donovan, he wore black, but his jeans and dress shirt were less showy. The top three buttons of the latter were undone, exposing the thin leather collar around his neck. Sherlock realized with a jolt that Anderson was Donovan's sub and, judging by his lowered eyes and deferential demeanour, had been for awhile now. When their stares met, the Yarder moistened his lips and nodded in nervous acknowledgement.
Sherlock's resentment receded: he was now curious about how long the two officers had been in a D/s relationship. Probably not long, or he would have spotted the signs. Unless he'd been too busy insulting one or the other to pay attention.
All three of you are constantly antagonistic toward each other, Mycroft said. His fingertips drew soothing circles around his brother's buttocks. I allow that Sherlock must shoulder the lion's share of the blame. He insults you both quite liberally, almost as much as he does me, and shows little respect for the protocols that your positions require you to follow. It's my intention to have him make it up to you both now.
Sherlock cast a poisonous glare up at Mycroft. Why should he be the one to grovel? Sally called him Freak and Anderson, in his opinion, should only be allowed to view crime scenes on television. In response, Mycroft dealt his arse a slap that sent the pepper splashing through his gut again. As he squirmed and yelped, the elder Holmes snapped, Because I say so, little brother. That's all you need to concern yourself with.
The door opened again. A liveried butler stepped noiselessly into the room with a tray of hors d'oeuvres and set it on a marble-topped sideboard, next to a crystal bar set. When he left, Mycroft gestured toward a leather-upholstered sofa and said, Sergeants, if you please. My brother will bring you refreshments now.
Donovan and Anderson complied, apparently too overwhelmed by the club -and the sight of a bound and gagged Sherlock- to make small talk. Mycroft undid his restraints and guided him into a standing position, holding his upper arm tightly until he was steady.
Miss Donovan? Mr. Anderson? What may we offer you to drink?
Red wine for me, Donovan answered. Her hand extended to Anderson's knee and clasped it possessively. He'll have a double scotch on ice. She surveyed the room appreciatively. I heard about this club, but thought it was some kind of urban legend.
Like Bigfoot, Anderson supplied. Sherlock's nose wrinkled in disdain.
We're rather secretive, Mycroft admitted. But we're progressing in other ways. Like last month's resolution to approve ladies as members. Some of the Old Guard decry this as heresy. I merely tell them that they've not been properly disciplined by a feminine hand yet.
They don't know what they're missing, Anderson agreed, gazing at his partner with undisguised adoration.
Mycroft poured the requested drinks and held them out to Sherlock. Would you be so kind, brother dear? And on your knees.
Sherlock knelt as ordered and accepted the glasses, but unconsciously pressed his bare shoulder against his brother's trouser leg. He wasn't used to his sensibilities being challenged like this. Neither Yarder appealed to him personally or physically, so he lacked his usual enthusiasm and felt awkward, not submissive or turned on.
Mycroft touched his head. Parce que je le veux, petit frère, he whispered. (Because I want it, little brother.)
Rejuvenated by the subtle command, Sherlock approached the sofa on his knees. The forward movement worked the plug inside him, making his swaying cock twitch and taking the edge off his embarrassment. Anderson accepted the scotch with a timid Thank you while Donovan deliberately brushed the detective's cock with the toe of her spike-heeled sandal. Sherlock jumped, sending half of the wine glass' contents spilling onto the carpet.
An unholy delight brightened her eyes. Look what you did, she chided.
Sherlock protested but the gag kept his response unintelligible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mycroft glare at his impudence and approach, but Sally was too fast for both of them: she grabbed one of Sherlock's wrists and, with a mighty tug, flung his lean white form across her knees. The younger Holmes grunted in surprise while Mycroft relaxed and settled onto one of the huge leather armchairs next to the fire. The older man steepled his fingertips and licked his lips, watching the unfolding scene so avidly that he didn't blink. Sherlock knew that he was eager to see how his vitriolic sibling would react to being disciplined by a woman- one he'd gratuitously insulted in the past.
Donovan ran her hand over his firm buttocks, exploring the rim of the plug without commenting. When she didn't begin to spank him immediately, Sherlock felt anticipatory tension begin to build. He shifted uncomfortably across her thighs, which were smaller than Mycroft's but impressively strong.
This is your chance to opt out, she whispered. Her wandering fingers stayed away from his cock, keeping sexual connection out of their personal equation. Want to use your safety signal?
Back down? Never! Sherlock shook his head before lowering it to ease the tension in his neck. When she fondled his arse again, he unconsciously arched into the touch. That urgent response surprised both of them: Donovan paused while Sherlock closed his eyes and let his body overpower his mind.
I want to hear him ask for it, she told Mycroft. The elder Holmes nodded once, unable to tear his eyes away from Sherlock's face.
Sherlock felt Anderson's fingers push through his sweaty hair, finding and undoing the gag's buckle. When the bit fell out of his mouth, he rotated his jaw, moistened his lips, and said hoarsely, Please punish me. I was clumsy and spilled your wine.
Yeah. You did, so request granted. Anderson, fetch me that paddle there.
Paddle? Sherlock looked up again. On the marble countertop, next to the hors d'oeuvres, was an assortment of dark objects that he hadn't noticed before. He watched Anderson rise, cross the floor, and pick up a broad paddle. The younger Holmes had been hit with it before, and remembered well the crushing bruises that took days to disappear. Mycroft was the only one who'd ever disciplined him with it, so in a silent plea for more reassurance he gazed over at his brother. Mycroft, face softened by pride and affection, smiled and Sherlock relaxed. When he saw Anderson pass the instrument to Donovan, he closed his eyes and let go.
You're going to get twenty-five, and that's me showing mercy on you, Donovan told him. I want you to count them. Anderson, sit beside me.
When the first blow landed on his white arse, Sherlock jumped at the deep, bruising pain, which was followed by a burst of agonizing pleasure as the toy hammered his prostate and the pepper solution scorched him again. He counted, and was rewarded with another, lighter smack. She initially varied the intervals between strokes as well as the intensity of her blows, intentionally keeping him off-balance. After fifteen she settled into a more even rhythm, alternating between the left and right buttock and pausing long enough between strikes to let pleasure flare up in pain's aftermath.
Sherlock heard a sigh, and saw Mycroft lightly biting his closed fist. At the same time Donovan spread her thighs slightly and Anderson, recognizing the invitation, leaned toward her and began kissing her smooth neck while palming one full breast through the sequined fabric. Sherlock thrust his arse up further as harder smacks rained down on him and he began to freely moan, forgetting how much Donovan had irritated him in the past, and giving himself permission to be turned on, to crave orgasm. He shifted like a shameless slut on her lap after the last blow and stuttered I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…..
Donovan dropped the paddle and seized Anderson's face. They kissed hungrily, Donovan's mouth devouring her sub's yielding lips. Sherlock felt Anderson's fingers brush his bare waist as they slid past the waistband of her leather trousers. Her slim hips rocked wildly in response and she snarled, Harder.
While the couple started bringing each other off, Mycroft rose abruptly, crossed the floor, and lifted his younger brother off of Sally's undulating lap. He carried Sherlock back to his chair, positioned him so that Sherlock's thighs gripped his waist and arse rested against his knees, and began biting his shoulders and neck.
Sherlock… little brother… Christ, you looked magnificent. Mycroft's strong fingers twisted and pinched his nipples, making him groan and grind his arse against the plug. Such a pain whore….
Yes, yes, YOUR pain whore, Mycroft. Always.
Muffled, satisfied sighs behind them signified the end of the session. Mycroft ceased his ministrations; an impressive demonstration of willpower considering the size and density of the erection that pressed against his zipper. He gently laid Sherlock on the floor and stood. The younger Holmes rolled onto his side, digging his fingers into the carpet fibres to refrain from touching his cock, and watched as his brother spoke quietly to the two Yarders, who were catching their breath and rearranging their clothes. He heard bits of conversation: "membership approval", "must bring my brother to the next session now" and "please stay and have something to eat."
The pain in his buttocks had settled into a tantalizing burn. Sally Donovan was a genius with a paddle: perhaps she did merit more respect than he'd been showing her. She hadn't called him Freak once, which boded well for their future association. As for Anderson, he was a bit too eager in his submission for Sherlock's liking -no fire, no rebellion- but voluntary relinquishment of power took strength, which the detective appreciated. He'd have to see how stupidly they behaved at the next crime scene to determine whether or not he actually respected them now, but for the time being, a mutual truce prevailed.
After shaking hands with both officers, Mycroft picked up the discarded leash and snapped the metal hook back onto Sherlock's collar. Follow me, he ordered. Hands and knees. I'm bringing you to the bathroom to get rid of the enema and then shower. After that you'll be taken to your next meeting.
Sherlock lifted himself onto all fours and crawled beside his brother toward the door leading into the corridor. When Mycroft opened it, Donovan called out softly, Hey, Fr- I mean, Holmes."
Both brothers paused and looked back, but her eyes were on Sherlock. You did good. That's all. Beside her, Anderson inclined his head in agreement.
Sherlock smiled briefly. Then Mycroft patted his head and tugged gently on the leash, compelling him to follow.
Sherlock was left alone in the bathroom to prepare for the next session. Expelling the itchy-hot water had been so intense that his legs shook for several minutes afterward. God damn Mycroft for making pain such an art form, he grumbled silently. Before stepping into the shower, he studied his reflection in the mirror and took note of his nipples, still puffy and pink from their earlier mauling, and the scarlet hue that flourished on his formerly pale arse cheeks. His cock, still trapped by the ring, prodded the air aggressively. In less than an hour he'd been bound, paddled, groped, and had pepper-tainted water poured into his bowels, but he'd rarely felt as exhilarated as he did now.
After the shower, Mycroft came in. Sherlock knelt when directed and let his brother reapply the blindfold and gag. When the older man pressed between his shoulder blades, he obediently lowered his chest to the floor and kept his arse elevated. He heard the soft squish of lube being applied to something just before the plug- which he'd been ordered to clean- was pushed back into his sore hole.
You did very well, Sherlock. Mycroft patted his rear after the toy sank home. I trust you feel somewhat rejuvenated after the shower?
The younger Holmes nodded once.
Good. Because the next person you must make amends to has arrived. Up, please.
Sherlock let his brother help him stand. Then the leash was snapped back on and Mycroft placed a warm arm around his bare shoulders.
Let's go. He's waiting.
Part Four
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Mycroft/Sherlock, Mycroft/Lestrade, Lestrade/Sherlock, Mycroft/John
Warnings: D/s, incest, bondage
Summary: The Diogenes Club isn't just one big anti-social opportunity. For some of its members, it's a live-saver. Series of one-shots that take place in the club.
Stories: Silent Sanctuary Shelter in the Storm Sound of Silence Silent Treatment Slave to the Silence Silent Servant Part One Silent Servant Part Two
Sherlock nearly safeworded (technically safe-gestured) on the spot. Bloody Anderson and Donovan? What the hell? He raised his head and began to unconsciously tug at the wrist cuffs, trying to rise. No, this wasn't on. Both Yarders were ignorant and malicious prats: he would NOT-
Mycroft's footsteps approached again. A warm hand descended onto his lower back. Sherlock stilled despite his anxiety. If Mycroft arranged this, then it had to be all right. He'd never abused his younger brother's trust here before. The younger Holmes relaxed and slumped against the beam, hiding his head between his outstretched arms. His tension abated, but embarrassment and curiousity remained strong.
I'm going to whisper from here on, Mycroft told the newcomers, keeping his palm firmly on Sherlock's skin. Technically, talking aloud is only permitted in the Visitor's Room. I broke protocol a moment ago so that my brother could hear me greet you both.
"Brother?" Sally Donovan echoed in a normal voice. She must have been reproved somehow, for her next words were spoken in the required sotto voce. What the bloody hell?
Sherlock heard another set of footsteps -lighter, quicker than Mycroft's- cross the rug and halt in front him. Although he couldn't see her, he could sense her hovering over him, trying to get a good look at his face. When Mycroft ordered him to raise his head, Sherlock obeyed, biting nervously into the gag.
Fuck me, she breathed. It IS him.
You're serious? Anderson joined her, his stride less confident. Oh, my God. The forensics expert sounded awestruck.
Sherlock kept his chin up, bracing himself to take the anticipated verbal abuse and derision. It wouldn't be fun, but he'd been through ordeals nearly as bad, like the time that Yakuza gangster put his testicles in a vice.
Practically every time the three of you meet, you disparage each other, Mycroft said as he joined them. I wanted you to see what you all had in common. He undid Sherlock's blindfold and slid it off.
The younger Holmes closed his eyes against the soft infusion of light from the gilded lamps and overhead chandelier. When he opened them again he saw Sally Donovan crouched in front of him, staring at him with undisguised fascination.
She wore black leather trousers and a sequined top whose sleeveless design showed off her lightly muscled arms. Her curly hair had been piled on top of her head and secured in place by glittering combs. Her dark eyes scanned him thoroughly before taking in the collar and leash, wrist and ankle cuffs, and the padded sawhorse.
Fuck me, she repeated, shaking her head and rising. This is crazy.
Behind her, Anderson swallowed heavily and remained silent. Like Donovan, he wore black, but his jeans and dress shirt were less showy. The top three buttons of the latter were undone, exposing the thin leather collar around his neck. Sherlock realized with a jolt that Anderson was Donovan's sub and, judging by his lowered eyes and deferential demeanour, had been for awhile now. When their stares met, the Yarder moistened his lips and nodded in nervous acknowledgement.
Sherlock's resentment receded: he was now curious about how long the two officers had been in a D/s relationship. Probably not long, or he would have spotted the signs. Unless he'd been too busy insulting one or the other to pay attention.
All three of you are constantly antagonistic toward each other, Mycroft said. His fingertips drew soothing circles around his brother's buttocks. I allow that Sherlock must shoulder the lion's share of the blame. He insults you both quite liberally, almost as much as he does me, and shows little respect for the protocols that your positions require you to follow. It's my intention to have him make it up to you both now.
Sherlock cast a poisonous glare up at Mycroft. Why should he be the one to grovel? Sally called him Freak and Anderson, in his opinion, should only be allowed to view crime scenes on television. In response, Mycroft dealt his arse a slap that sent the pepper splashing through his gut again. As he squirmed and yelped, the elder Holmes snapped, Because I say so, little brother. That's all you need to concern yourself with.
The door opened again. A liveried butler stepped noiselessly into the room with a tray of hors d'oeuvres and set it on a marble-topped sideboard, next to a crystal bar set. When he left, Mycroft gestured toward a leather-upholstered sofa and said, Sergeants, if you please. My brother will bring you refreshments now.
Donovan and Anderson complied, apparently too overwhelmed by the club -and the sight of a bound and gagged Sherlock- to make small talk. Mycroft undid his restraints and guided him into a standing position, holding his upper arm tightly until he was steady.
Miss Donovan? Mr. Anderson? What may we offer you to drink?
Red wine for me, Donovan answered. Her hand extended to Anderson's knee and clasped it possessively. He'll have a double scotch on ice. She surveyed the room appreciatively. I heard about this club, but thought it was some kind of urban legend.
Like Bigfoot, Anderson supplied. Sherlock's nose wrinkled in disdain.
We're rather secretive, Mycroft admitted. But we're progressing in other ways. Like last month's resolution to approve ladies as members. Some of the Old Guard decry this as heresy. I merely tell them that they've not been properly disciplined by a feminine hand yet.
They don't know what they're missing, Anderson agreed, gazing at his partner with undisguised adoration.
Mycroft poured the requested drinks and held them out to Sherlock. Would you be so kind, brother dear? And on your knees.
Sherlock knelt as ordered and accepted the glasses, but unconsciously pressed his bare shoulder against his brother's trouser leg. He wasn't used to his sensibilities being challenged like this. Neither Yarder appealed to him personally or physically, so he lacked his usual enthusiasm and felt awkward, not submissive or turned on.
Mycroft touched his head. Parce que je le veux, petit frère, he whispered. (Because I want it, little brother.)
Rejuvenated by the subtle command, Sherlock approached the sofa on his knees. The forward movement worked the plug inside him, making his swaying cock twitch and taking the edge off his embarrassment. Anderson accepted the scotch with a timid Thank you while Donovan deliberately brushed the detective's cock with the toe of her spike-heeled sandal. Sherlock jumped, sending half of the wine glass' contents spilling onto the carpet.
An unholy delight brightened her eyes. Look what you did, she chided.
Sherlock protested but the gag kept his response unintelligible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mycroft glare at his impudence and approach, but Sally was too fast for both of them: she grabbed one of Sherlock's wrists and, with a mighty tug, flung his lean white form across her knees. The younger Holmes grunted in surprise while Mycroft relaxed and settled onto one of the huge leather armchairs next to the fire. The older man steepled his fingertips and licked his lips, watching the unfolding scene so avidly that he didn't blink. Sherlock knew that he was eager to see how his vitriolic sibling would react to being disciplined by a woman- one he'd gratuitously insulted in the past.
Donovan ran her hand over his firm buttocks, exploring the rim of the plug without commenting. When she didn't begin to spank him immediately, Sherlock felt anticipatory tension begin to build. He shifted uncomfortably across her thighs, which were smaller than Mycroft's but impressively strong.
This is your chance to opt out, she whispered. Her wandering fingers stayed away from his cock, keeping sexual connection out of their personal equation. Want to use your safety signal?
Back down? Never! Sherlock shook his head before lowering it to ease the tension in his neck. When she fondled his arse again, he unconsciously arched into the touch. That urgent response surprised both of them: Donovan paused while Sherlock closed his eyes and let his body overpower his mind.
I want to hear him ask for it, she told Mycroft. The elder Holmes nodded once, unable to tear his eyes away from Sherlock's face.
Sherlock felt Anderson's fingers push through his sweaty hair, finding and undoing the gag's buckle. When the bit fell out of his mouth, he rotated his jaw, moistened his lips, and said hoarsely, Please punish me. I was clumsy and spilled your wine.
Yeah. You did, so request granted. Anderson, fetch me that paddle there.
Paddle? Sherlock looked up again. On the marble countertop, next to the hors d'oeuvres, was an assortment of dark objects that he hadn't noticed before. He watched Anderson rise, cross the floor, and pick up a broad paddle. The younger Holmes had been hit with it before, and remembered well the crushing bruises that took days to disappear. Mycroft was the only one who'd ever disciplined him with it, so in a silent plea for more reassurance he gazed over at his brother. Mycroft, face softened by pride and affection, smiled and Sherlock relaxed. When he saw Anderson pass the instrument to Donovan, he closed his eyes and let go.
You're going to get twenty-five, and that's me showing mercy on you, Donovan told him. I want you to count them. Anderson, sit beside me.
When the first blow landed on his white arse, Sherlock jumped at the deep, bruising pain, which was followed by a burst of agonizing pleasure as the toy hammered his prostate and the pepper solution scorched him again. He counted, and was rewarded with another, lighter smack. She initially varied the intervals between strokes as well as the intensity of her blows, intentionally keeping him off-balance. After fifteen she settled into a more even rhythm, alternating between the left and right buttock and pausing long enough between strikes to let pleasure flare up in pain's aftermath.
Sherlock heard a sigh, and saw Mycroft lightly biting his closed fist. At the same time Donovan spread her thighs slightly and Anderson, recognizing the invitation, leaned toward her and began kissing her smooth neck while palming one full breast through the sequined fabric. Sherlock thrust his arse up further as harder smacks rained down on him and he began to freely moan, forgetting how much Donovan had irritated him in the past, and giving himself permission to be turned on, to crave orgasm. He shifted like a shameless slut on her lap after the last blow and stuttered I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…..
Donovan dropped the paddle and seized Anderson's face. They kissed hungrily, Donovan's mouth devouring her sub's yielding lips. Sherlock felt Anderson's fingers brush his bare waist as they slid past the waistband of her leather trousers. Her slim hips rocked wildly in response and she snarled, Harder.
While the couple started bringing each other off, Mycroft rose abruptly, crossed the floor, and lifted his younger brother off of Sally's undulating lap. He carried Sherlock back to his chair, positioned him so that Sherlock's thighs gripped his waist and arse rested against his knees, and began biting his shoulders and neck.
Sherlock… little brother… Christ, you looked magnificent. Mycroft's strong fingers twisted and pinched his nipples, making him groan and grind his arse against the plug. Such a pain whore….
Yes, yes, YOUR pain whore, Mycroft. Always.
Muffled, satisfied sighs behind them signified the end of the session. Mycroft ceased his ministrations; an impressive demonstration of willpower considering the size and density of the erection that pressed against his zipper. He gently laid Sherlock on the floor and stood. The younger Holmes rolled onto his side, digging his fingers into the carpet fibres to refrain from touching his cock, and watched as his brother spoke quietly to the two Yarders, who were catching their breath and rearranging their clothes. He heard bits of conversation: "membership approval", "must bring my brother to the next session now" and "please stay and have something to eat."
The pain in his buttocks had settled into a tantalizing burn. Sally Donovan was a genius with a paddle: perhaps she did merit more respect than he'd been showing her. She hadn't called him Freak once, which boded well for their future association. As for Anderson, he was a bit too eager in his submission for Sherlock's liking -no fire, no rebellion- but voluntary relinquishment of power took strength, which the detective appreciated. He'd have to see how stupidly they behaved at the next crime scene to determine whether or not he actually respected them now, but for the time being, a mutual truce prevailed.
After shaking hands with both officers, Mycroft picked up the discarded leash and snapped the metal hook back onto Sherlock's collar. Follow me, he ordered. Hands and knees. I'm bringing you to the bathroom to get rid of the enema and then shower. After that you'll be taken to your next meeting.
Sherlock lifted himself onto all fours and crawled beside his brother toward the door leading into the corridor. When Mycroft opened it, Donovan called out softly, Hey, Fr- I mean, Holmes."
Both brothers paused and looked back, but her eyes were on Sherlock. You did good. That's all. Beside her, Anderson inclined his head in agreement.
Sherlock smiled briefly. Then Mycroft patted his head and tugged gently on the leash, compelling him to follow.
Sherlock was left alone in the bathroom to prepare for the next session. Expelling the itchy-hot water had been so intense that his legs shook for several minutes afterward. God damn Mycroft for making pain such an art form, he grumbled silently. Before stepping into the shower, he studied his reflection in the mirror and took note of his nipples, still puffy and pink from their earlier mauling, and the scarlet hue that flourished on his formerly pale arse cheeks. His cock, still trapped by the ring, prodded the air aggressively. In less than an hour he'd been bound, paddled, groped, and had pepper-tainted water poured into his bowels, but he'd rarely felt as exhilarated as he did now.
After the shower, Mycroft came in. Sherlock knelt when directed and let his brother reapply the blindfold and gag. When the older man pressed between his shoulder blades, he obediently lowered his chest to the floor and kept his arse elevated. He heard the soft squish of lube being applied to something just before the plug- which he'd been ordered to clean- was pushed back into his sore hole.
You did very well, Sherlock. Mycroft patted his rear after the toy sank home. I trust you feel somewhat rejuvenated after the shower?
The younger Holmes nodded once.
Good. Because the next person you must make amends to has arrived. Up, please.
Sherlock let his brother help him stand. Then the leash was snapped back on and Mycroft placed a warm arm around his bare shoulders.
Let's go. He's waiting.
Part Four