#sub!mycroft

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Omg yes. I'm here for Mycroft being a sweet amazing Dom who can see everything flawlessly, but also Mycroft being a quiet sub who gets worked up too much and loves a caring Dom.

Mycroft could also be a switch in the bedroom, a definite power-bottom, but a quiet one would take a lot of work since he’s more vocal.

You’d think out of the pair of Holmes that Sherlock is the loud one but its not.

[notenoughmycroft-blog]

Painful, excellent Myrene

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You and the stranger both like Irene Adler, and Myrene.

You: Good evening, Ms Adler. MH

Stranger: Mr. Holmes. To what do I this pleasure? IA

You: I am looking for a specific scenario to be played out. You are the most competent and discreet professional I know of. MH

Stranger: Oh, truly? Well, you have my attention and interest. IA

You: I am going to require you not to pass judgement or question my motives. I wish to be beaten, preferably with a cane, in silence, until there are wounds. I would then like to be touched sensually, though not necessarily sexually, and certainly not to orgasm. Then I would like you to wash my wounds, treat them, and comfort me, stroking my hair and holding me. MH

You: You understand now why I asked you to reserve judgement. MH

Stranger: Mr. Holmes, as you said I am a professional. It's my job to reserve judgement. IA

Stranger: I reccomend that you contact my assistant Kate to organise a booking, and I shall drop a note to her about your importance as a special client. IA

Stranger: How does that sound? IA

You: Perfectly reasonable, though I am willing to offer double your regular fee if this could occur tonight. MH

Stranger: Done. IA

Stranger: Eight thirty. I've moved Miss Higgins to Wednesday. And I may ask for extra seeing as I work primarily with women and you are quite the exception from that. IA

Stranger: Unless you have a cunt hidden in those suit layers, though I wouldn't be surprised. IA

Stranger: But we'll find out all of it in time, won't we? IA

Stranger: Eight thirty. IA

You: Eight thirty. MH

Stranger: See you soon, darling. XxIA

You: The car pulled up at 7:59. Mycroft stepped out, having already had the CCTV cameras swivelled away from him. The last thing he needed was this trip being recorded for posterity. He straightened his waistcoat, and knocked, greeted by Kate's wry smile. "Miss Adler is expecting you," she explained, taking his coat and umbrella. "Please, do come through." She led him through to a white room, where he met the eyes of the evening's focus.

Stranger: "Mr. Holmes," Irene greeted coldly and professionally. "Hands on the desk." She pointed her cane for extra emphasis. The room was set up to look like the inside of a headmaster's office and Irene was dressed in a more female and erotic version of a three piece suit, her cleavage and arse cheeks poking out in just the right spots.

You: Oh, she knew. Perfection. "Yes, Ms Adler." Mycroft felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. He walked slowly to the desk, like a man approaching the gallows, and firmly planted his hands, leaning most of his weight into them.

Stranger: "Now, Mr. Holmes," she said, her heels clicking lightly as she both gave the nod for Kate to leave and walked around to where Mycroft was. She gently stroked along his back before pulling back and hitting hard. "What will our safe word be?"

You: "Nero." Mycroft smiled to himself. "Ms Adler." He added, checking himself. /Remember why you are here, Mycroft./ Her touch through his clothing was sensational. The firmness of a domme, the passivity of a professional. A headmistress indeed.

Stranger: Irene hit again, harder this time, giving short, loving strokes intermitently, sometimes over the place she had hit, sometimes his cheek, sometimes oh so gently betweeen his thighs, though the majority of her touches were the hard, rough and painful hit of a cane.

You: Mycroft tried not to flinch. Through clothing, the strokes weren't the sharp, stinging pain he was used to. They were blunt, bruising strokes, each feeling like a punch. His body was warming with every one, his nerves coming alive, becoming more sensitive.

Stranger: After a while, Irene stopped. She pulled back and gently began polishing her cane. "Clothes off, Mr. Holmes," she said calmly, though her voice was much more commanding than a shout would have been. "I doubt we'll be leaving any welts if they're on, don't you think? This has been a lovely warm up," she said, running a loving hand through his hair.

You: Mycroft's breath hitched slightly as he felt her hand dishevelling his slicked-back hair. This woman just didn't care, and it was intoxicating. "Of course, Ms Adler." he growled in a soft voice. He slowly removed his clothes, catching her eye at various points, and staring at the floor immediately. Fully nude, buttocks flushed, he regained his position on the table, and tried to relax his mind. This would be cruel.

Stranger: Irene gave a sharp intake of breath and hit down on him mercilessly, not relenting for what seemed about ten minutes. No soft touches and caresses in between, just cold, hard,and deep punishment, both of their breathing sounds mingling in the air around them, mixed with the harsh slap of the cane.

You: Mycroft forced himself into silence, his face contorted in pain. His eyes stung- he felt as though he was crying, but without tears. For the last few strokes, his wrists began to shake so badly that he felt he might have to bend onto his forearms instead, but managed without. Her rhythm was beaten into his flesh, and her slow exhalations of exertion with his own sharp intakes of agony were the only sounds to fill the room, save wood on hot, sweating, breaking flesh. He felt the smallest of trickles run down the back of his thigh, and knew it to be bloodshed. His hair hung before his eyes.

Stranger: She stopped suddently, not touching him, not speaking to him, not moving anywhere to where he could see her as she rummaged quietly through her things behind her as she pulled out her weapon of choice and dragged it up his back gently, making sure he could feel the crop.

You: Mycroft was simultaneously relieved at the prospect of a wider whip and felt his heart race at the prospect of more beating. He exhaled, panting. Oh, god, the pain in his buttocks. Every thought of the previous weeks, every mistake, every regret, flooded back into him. He was being punished. It was the least he deserved.

Stranger: S

Stranger: After the first hit that broke the skin on his back, she went back to the original routine if intermittent beatings and caresses, evaluating when was the best time for each in order to create the most effective agony and frustration.

You: Mycroft waited as Irene paused to catch her breath. He felt empty, devoid of all emotion. His face was drained of colour, his hair lay lank, sticking to his brow, his body submitted, barely able to stand. He was a beaten man.

Stranger: "Use your safe word before you pass out," she said a little more tenderly as she dragged the crop up between his arse cheeks. "I do hate it when Kate has to pull bodies up off of the floor."

You: "Just five more." Mycroft muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper as he stared doggedly into the table. She delivered her blows, and he conceded. "Nero." He said, voice breaking. He looked up at her from under his eyebrows. Her face was tender, if firm. It couldn't exactly be a pleasant sight for her. "Please, Ms Adler. I think I'd like to get clean."

Stranger: Irene stroked her crop tenderly and put it away before stepping out of her heels and padding over to Mycroft, stroking his hair again softly. "Come on, darling," she murmured, her entire demeanour changingto a soft and loving one. "Let's clean you up."

You: He could have cried, but the emptiness prevailed. He followed through to the en-suit, where Irene ran the bath, wetted a sponge with warm water, and lovingly dabbed at her own handiwork before wrapping him in a warm towel to dry him. He felt her clasp his hand and lead him back to the first room, where she draped a blanket on the sofa and slowly helped him lower himself into a lying position, his head on her lap. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, slowly, feeling his wounds smart. He rolled onto his side, giving them space from the back of the sofa, and rested his head against her thighs.

Stranger: She began caressing his face and head comfortingly as he lay, occassionally stroking his arms and neck in the same soothing manner. "How do you feel now, M. Holmes?"

Your conversational partner has disconnected.