This is my very first attempt of fanfic. Please let me know if you like it.
The pictures are generated with Chat-gpt.
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The bare necessities.
It was a Friday evening, cold and dark outside, but inside their bedroom it was warm and softly lit by gentle lamps. It was the week before Valentine's Day, and Mycroft and his wife had decided to fly to the Scottish Highlands for a long weekend. They had rented a cottage — small, secluded, but above all, cozy.
Both of them were looking forward to doing absolutely nothing by the fireplace, drinking wine and eating delicious food, with nothing else required of them but to be perfectly happy.
Mycroft was standing by the wardrobe, finishing the last part of his own, sober packing routine, when he heard his wife clear her throat behind him.
He turned around.
There she stood, hands casually on her hips, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"You've often complained that I pack too much when we go on holiday," she began lightly. "You would prefer if I only brought the bare essentials, right?"
Mycroft hummed in agreement, but wary.
"That's why you get to choose now."
Mycroft slowly raised an eyebrow. "Choose?"
She nodded seriously. "Choose what lingerie I bring.
You may pick only one set. You have three options: color, shape, or functionality."
He laughed animatedly, but stopped when he realized she was serious.
She pulled a chair into the middle of the room and motioned for him to sit.
"Sit," she said sweetly, her smile falsely innocent.
Mycroft lowered himself into the armchair, his back straight, his hands strict on the armrests. He smelled danger.
And he was right.
Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the bathroom, the soft click-clack of her heels echoing across the floor.
Mycroft remained motionless.
Until she returned.
She was clad in stunning red lace and silk lingerie set, the fabric shimmering seductively with every movement. The bra pushed her breasts up beautifully, and the panties kissed her hips as if they had been made just for her.
She walked slowly towards him, spinning once to give him a full view, playfully tugging her bra strap down and letting it snap back against her skin.
"This is the colour option," she said sultrily.
She stepped closer to Mycroft, who instinctively moved to reach for her. She noticed.
"Mycroft," she whispered, "you may look, but not touch."
He immediately dropped his hand, his jaw tensing. His breathing grew heavier.
She leaned in, her breasts almost brushing his face, but not quite.
Always just out of reach.
His fingers gripped the armrests harder, and he swallowed thickly.
Just when he thought he couldn't bear it any longer, she disappeared again.
Mycroft inhaled deeply, his entire body taut with desire.
This was only the first set.
He realized with tortured resignation that he had a long ordeal ahead of him.
The second time, she emerged in a blue set — leaving very little to the imagination.
A lifting, semi-transparent bra that showcased her breasts sublimely, and snug, shaping panties that idolized her curves.
"This is the shape option," she spoke hoarsely.
She walked up to him, half turned around, and lowered herself onto his lap, her backside grinding teasingly against his groin.
She began to move. Slowly, rhythmically, with the grace of a siren luring a sailor to his doom.
"Mycroft," she murmured seductively, pressing herself against him. "You may help yourself."
His head fell back briefly against the chair, his knuckles white from tension.
She took his hand and teasingly guided it to his own trousers.
He had no choice anymore.
She knelt between his legs, slowly opened his trousers. Mycroft lifted his hips up and she pushed his trousers and underwear down, tossing them aside carelessly. She stood again and continued her show.
With faltering movements, he slid his hand down and gripped his hard arousal. His movements started slow and hesitant, but quickly became fast and filled with desperate need.
She sat down on his knee and began to slowly move above him, her hands gliding over her own body, clearly enjoying the power she had over him.
She leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear.
"Good boy," she whispered. "Just keep watching."
Then she stood up smoothly, spun around, and glanced at him slyly.
She had never seen him like this: half-undone shirt, black socks, tie loose around his neck, and his arousal fully exposed.
And she left him just like that — open, but utterly helpless.
She disappeared into the bathroom once more.
Mycroft nearly bit his lip in frustration, his chest heaving with restrained breath. He tore off his tie, quickly removed his socks, unbuttoned his expensive shirt completely, and continued touching himself at a slow, torturous pace.
He braced himself.
The third set was bound to be the most difficult.
When the door opened for the third time, his heart nearly stopped.
She now wore the functional set.
Or rather: almost nothing.
Thin black straps framed her breasts without covering them. Her nipples were fully exposed, visibly aroused — something that sent a violent pang of need through Mycroft. His hand moved a fraction faster.
Her panties were merely decorative lines — entirely open underneath.
She also wore high lace stockings, long black gloves, and a pearl necklace.
Every detail accentuated her wicked beauty.
She walked toward him, slow, seductive.
She placed one knee beside his thigh, one between his legs, half crouching onto his lap.
The heat of her open panties pressed against him. She took his free hand and guided it carefully between her thighs.
He felt her — warm, wet, bare.
"Mycroft..." her voice was pure honey, "can you feel what I'm not wearing?"
He growled softly, nearly losing control.
She smiled devilishly, then stepped away, backing towards the bed.
She crawled onto it on all fours, presenting herself shamelessly, and slowly turned around.
She knelt, her thighs spread.
"Mycroft..." her voice dripped with temptation.
"Would you like to see what I can do with this set?"
Mycroft was beyond answering properly. His reply was nothing more than an animalistic growl — wild and dangerous.
She ran her hand slowly over her belly, lower, across her thighs...
Teasingly she let her fingers barely graze herself — just brushing over her entrance without giving herself relief.
She made him watch.
She taunted him.
She loved this power game.
Every movement, every soft moan, every deliberate near-miss drove him closer to madness.
His hand was still tightly wrapped around his hard shaft, stroking faster now — a reflex he couldn’t suppress while watching her.
She touched herself, slow, teasing — pausing now and then to throw him a hungry glance.
She watched his shoulder moving rapidly, the way his erection disappeared and reappeared within his hand.
She pulled her stockings higher up her thighs, glided her gloved hands over her own breasts, pinched her nipples, and bit her lip while staring at him like he was her personal toy.
"Mycroft..." she sighed, her voice trembling with feigned innocence, "don’t you want to come help me?"
But he couldn’t.
She knew it.
He knew it.
Not yet. Not yet.
Only when he was completely broken, completely under her spell, she crooked one finger at him. And then he lost it entirely.
Mycroft rose slowly from the chair. He picked up his tie from the floor.
His gaze was dark, his movements controlled.
She remained kneeling on the bed, her thighs spread invitingly, her lips moist with anticipation.
"My dear," he growled softly, slowly stripping off his shirt and laying it carefully on the ground, "you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into."
She smiled challengingly.
Oh, she knew. And she wanted it.
He reached her in two long strides, grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up at him.
"Stay exactly like this," he commanded lowly. "Do not move until I say so."
She nodded, her eyes wide with excitement.
He slowly circled the bed, his eyes devouring her — the thin straps outlining her body, the pearl necklace swaying gently between her breasts, the high stockings hugging her thighs.
"Mycroft," she whispered, her voice rough with need.
"Silence," he warned sternly.
He came up behind her, seized her wrists gently but firmly, and bound her hands behind her back with his tie. His fingers were swift, practiced — there was no escape. He brought his mouth to her ear.
"Now you’re going to properly pay for your little performance," he whispered. "And I’ll damn well make sure you remember every second of it."
She whimpered softly, her whole body trembling with anticipation. He grabbed her by the hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed until she was spread completely for him. Her crotchless panties offered no protection.
"Mycroft, please..." she whispered desperately.
"Still not allowed to speak," he said softly, sliding his hand between her thighs.
She gasped as his fingers found her — warm, wet, desperate for him. He traced her entrance teasingly, applying just enough pressure to torment, but not enough to satisfy. She squirmed, but he held her hips firmly in place.
"This is your punishment," he murmured. "You get nothing... until I decide to give it to you."
His hand traveled upward, gripping the pearl necklace behind her. With a sharp tug, he pulled her head and neck back, forcing her chest out. He leaned over her, his body pressed tightly against hers.
"You look like a goddess," he whispered possessively in her ear. "My goddess."
She gasped, her whole body vibrating with tension.
And then — finally — he grabbed her thighs and pressed his mouth to her without warning.
She screamed his name, her back arching against the restraint of the tie.
He licked, sucked, nipped — ruthless, relentless — building her up, denying her release again and again.
Every time she thought she could finally let go, he withdrew.
"No," he said darkly, over and over. "Not yet."
Tears pricked at her eyes from sheer, torturous pleasure.
"Mycroft," she sobbed eventually, "I can’t... anymore..."
He pulled on her necklace again, forcing her against him.
"You’ll wait," he hissed. "Until I say."
She nodded, her whole body shaking.
And only then, when he decided she had suffered enough, he stood.
He lifted her easily, her hands still bound, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist.
"Hold on," he ordered.
With one deep thrust, he filled her completely, without warning.
She screamed his name, her head thrown back in ecstasy.
"Mycroft!" she sobbed.
His hands were everywhere — her thighs, her hips, her back — as he took her hard and deep.
Each movement was firm, controlled, punishing. He made her feel how much power she had over him — and how much he was taking back.
"Mycroft," she whimpered, "please..."
"You may come," he finally whispered, right into her ear. That was all she needed. She exploded around him, her whole body shaking, her moans loud and unfiltered.
He followed moments later, locking his face in her neck, gasping her name against her skin.
Slowly, gently, he lowered her back onto the bed. Carefully, he untied the tie and massaged her wrists lovingly. He kissed her hands, her shoulders, her face — his love just as intense as his desire.
She nestled against him. Together, they slowly came back to themselves. After a few minutes, she looked up at him, a rosy blush on her cheeks, her eyes still hazy from pure surrender.
"Mycroft..." she whispered, her voice still hoarse.
He brushed a lock of hair from her face and smiled. "Yes?" he asked.
"Which set will it be, then?" she asked playfully.
Mycroft let out a soft chuckle.
"This time, I’ll allow you to take more than just the bare necessities. Just take all three," he said, pressing a tender kiss to her lips.
