Molly's 'Mistress' attitude was subtle at first, and Sherlock had to commend her on it because he did not see it coming, not that it wasn't unwelcome. In fact while he did enjoy being her 'master' when engaging in activities in the bedroom, he was intrigued by her being the 'one on top', if you would forgive the phrase. She started out with little things "Say please," when handing him things, and rewarded him with a kiss when he relented.
Well, I see there will now be a concerted effort to stop me teetering on the edge and fully dive over! I say, bring it on, lol!
pictures-to-prove-it asked: in the spirit of summer, how about dom Molly, ice cream, and a broken air conditioner?
Absolutely! Here's a steamy little frolic from the universe of His Silence. Explicit, of course. ;)
***
Molly sighed in contentment, letting her eyes wander out over the sunlit ocean. The water was startlingly blue against the white sandy bottom, bluer than she’d ever seen back home in Britain. Tiny waves lapped and retreated gently, almost soundlessly, a few yards out from the shaded cottage where Sherlock stood quietly and Molly lounged on the smooth cotton cushions.
The day was windless and decidedly hot, and elsewhere on the little island, the few other holiday cottages---well hidden from view---were surely closed up tight against the breathless heat, their air conditioners creating little cubes of artificial coolness. In Molly and Sherlock’s cottage, it transpired, the air conditioner was faulty. Molly didn’t mind. She’d simply slipped on a loose pareo of the lightest, smoothest silk, opened the glass doors wide, and had Sherlock indulge her in a little fantasy she’d been musing on for some time, ever since he’d booked this tropical holiday for her.
She’d allowed him to wear clothing earlier in the day, when she’d sent him into the greenery behind the cottage in search of a few immense palm fronds. Of course, as soon as he’d returned with his prizes, she’d made him strip off for her.
“Off with that shirt, beautiful boy,” she’d said, then enjoyed the taut stretch of his belly, the shift of the skin over his ribcage as he’d pulled the garment over his head. “And those shorts, drop them. Good, you know better than to wear any pants. You’re learning quickly.”
He’d gone half-hard already as he stood there before her, having heard her say only those few words. He was such a good boy.
She’d reward him later, but for now she just lay basking like a lizard in the heat, enjoying the little breeze Sherlock was fanning over her with the huge palm frond, every inch her little fantasy. Ah, this was the life. The perfect tropical holiday.
Molly closed her eyes as if in a light doze, and her dear boy kept fanning her steadily as long minutes passed. She’d been teaching him patience for a good while now, and he’d become so much better at obeying her beautifully, without complaining about or shirking the tasks she set him.
It wasn’t physical pain that truly disciplined him; she’d discovered that early on. In fact, he enjoyed spanking and cropping to a rather...astonishing degree. But she’d found what got to him, what he truly strived to avoid, and then his training had begun in earnest. She was such a good mistress. And he humbly thanked her for it, day after day, night after sultry night.
Molly shifted on her cushions, her eyes still closed. Her movements pulled at the fabric of her pareo and uncovered one soft breast, as if by accident. She heard his muted intake of breath and the faint smack of his mouth opening, but hid her smile.
Of course, he knew she was actually awake. He knew she knew. But still she pretended to doze, content in knowing that his eyes were on her. He was always allowed to look at her, to have all his senses, unless of course he was being punished.
Finally, she stirred and opened one eye. “Get me an ice lolly, pretty boy. A pineapple one. Hop.”
And Sherlock hastened to obey, setting down the frond fan and rushing behind her chaise longue to the cottage’s little kitchen. Unwrapping the ice lolly quickly on the way back, he sank to his knees and proffered it.
Molly let her hands lie where they were, looked at his face, and opened her mouth. She savoured the quirk in his brow, the quiver in his lips as he understood what she wanted. He was moving the ice lolly toward her mouth when she had a thought and said, “Up, pet. I want you standing to give it to me.”
Sherlock scrambled to his feet, and then he was carefully sliding the cold treat between her parted lips. She swiped at it lazily with her tongue, pulling back on it to pool its sweetness in her mouth before letting the tart flavor run down her throat.
Sherlock, bless him, was already growing hard, as she could plainly see only inches from her face. She looked upward as she bobbed on the ice lolly; his gaze was riveted on her, on the connection of her lips to the pineapple-flavoured ice. She slid her mouth away for a moment.
“Are you enjoying the view, pet?” she asked him. Oh, she adored this tease. As his mistress, she so rarely took his cock in her mouth; and even when she did, he was always heavily manacled to her bed, unable to move. At those times, it was always a slow torment that left him near tears with frustration, longing for release. But here she was before him, coyly miming an act she knew he craved. His eyes had gone wide, his jaw tight.
The ice lolly was almost gone; it had melted quickly in the heat. Drops of sweet liquid were running down her chin, dripping onto her collarbone and trickling lower. She swallowed the last bit, then pushed the wooden stick away. “Clean me, boy.”
And, of course, Sherlock understood that she wasn’t ordering him to fetch her a wet flannel. He leaned over her and set his tongue on her breastbone, laving up the drops of sweetness. He followed the sticky trail upward, licking up her neck and chin until his lips closed on hers. He sighed against her mouth, and lingered there.
Abruptly, Molly placed a hand on his breastbone and shoved, breaking the kiss and forcing him upright again. Her hand snaked back behind him and gripped a handful of plush backside. She pulled him toward her with a smile and, before he could react, bent her head and engulfed his cock in her mouth.
Sherlock gave a throaty moan of astonishment; his face when she peeked upward was a picture of anguished lust. After only a few moments of her loving attentions, his cock was already turning steely in her mouth; he’d come too soon if she wasn’t merciful. She let his cock slide free to bounce against his belly. Sherlock cringed; his hands spasmed.
“Your mistress requires service, Sherlock,” Molly told him, reaching her arms up for him to pull off her pareo. She lay back on the chaise longue and parted her legs, and the poor boy practically dove down to worship her pussy with his clever mouth.
All too soon, she was arching and sighing under his expert attentions. Such good training she’d given him. She gripped his dark curls. “Up. I want you in me. No, lie down on the tile.” She arose, stepped calmly over his hips, and settled herself comfortably on him, using his body as another yielding surface on which to lounge. Of course, Sherlock did come with some added features. She reached to position his cock, then leaned back with a sigh to fully seat him in her body.
“Mm. I feel so full, pretty boy.” She began to roll her hips, enjoying the view of Sherlock’s red, stricken face and the sheen of sweat glossing every inch of his fine skin. “I really needn’t say that you will not come before I do. Only good boys get to sleep in their mistress’s bed. You’d be so lonely on the tile floor. So be good for me, darling boy.”
Sherlock grimaced at that, his eyes sealing shut in despair; oh, she loved making things difficult for him. She adored controlling and disciplining Sherlock’s need to come inside her, and it was lucky for him that she found the sight of his struggle so intensely erotic. Her hero, her champion, striving so valiantly to hold back his orgasm, to please his beloved mistress. Serving her with his body, aching for her pleasure. She laid one hand tenderly on his cheek and, with the nails of her other hand, caught one of his little nipples in a cruel, twisting pinch.
Oh, his sharp cry was music. Molly tossed her head back. “Hands on my breasts. Yes, oh, lovely. I’m close, darling boy. Hold on, hold on.” She angled her hips and ground her clit against him, just hard enough. And she was there, her body giving sweet pulses around his cock. “Ah, Sherlock. My beautiful man. Fuck it out of me, ride me to the finish.”
And Sherlock abruptly reached around her hips and back and turned her over, rolling his body on top of hers. He opened her legs wide and twisted his hips into her, his feet skidding against the tile as he pushed inside as hard as he could. He arched his back and gave a shout that rang in her ears even after he had collapsed over her body, almost sobbing with relief.
“Good, good boy. My darling boy. You’re so brave, so sweet and strong for me.” Molly caressed his damp head, stroked his shaking shoulders. She let him rest for a moment, then pushed his curls away from his ear to whisper, “Now, up. Too hot to lie here like this. Let’s go to the shower and rinse off.”
At that, Sherlock bounced up, grinning at her. Molly had barely registered the mischief dancing in his eyes before he was scooping her up, hoisting her up into his arms and bearing her down the sand and right into the ocean. Churning up the water, he surely scared away every little sea creature in the vicinity as he dashed in up to his thighs, then let himself topple over backward with Molly in his arms, drowning her delighted laughter in an almighty splash.
Summary: Though he couldn't move freely, he also wasn't very uncomfortable. On the contrary, the person that bound him had been very careful to cause the least amount of undue stress or pain when securing him.
Sherlock Holmes was naked and completely restrained, yet there was nowhere else he would rather be.
Additional Notes: BDSMlock! If this isn't your thing, this is a story to avoid.
Hey my sherlolly family, Just taking a break from studying to give you a preview of my Dom!Molly one-shot. Tell me what you think! "On your knees boy and shut that mouth of yours, a little silence will be very much appreciated." Molly ordered, authority and amusement laced her voice. Sherlock felt the heat below his stomach stir as he followed the order. Something woke in him when he discovered the red box beneath Molly's bed, something foreign and admittedly pleasant. He felt a sharp tug on his scalp as his face was forced upwards. He looked into Molly's eyes and found himself transfixed. The usual dull brown held a shine that aroused him even more, his pathologist was replaced by Mistress Molly. "Naughty boys need to be punished, and you've been a very naughty boy." She whispered, a wicked grin graced her face. Sherlock swallowed as images of him at the mercy of his pathologist filled his mind. "On the bed, with your arms and legs spread out." Molly ordered with another hard tug of his hair. "Yes Mistress.' Sherlock gasped. So there's a little preview and tell me what you think! Love you! Leama
