Compound a Felony: #teasertuesday

Sherlock Holmes learns his manners

"You were insufferably rude," I said, laying my hand across Sherlock Holmes's backside with a crack. Holmes jerked on my lap, his face hidden in his arms, his sob muffled by the settee cushions. "What was that?"

He picked up his head. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "Watson,please!"

"Don't try to get out of this," I said calmly, giving him another smack.

"I'm not," he said, squirming uselessly, his knees sliding on the settee's satiny fabric, "I'm not."

I spanked him again, hard, on the left cheek. "Stop wriggling."

He yelped and tensed all over, trying to be still, obedient to the last. I carded my other hand through his hair fondly.

"That's it," I murmured, and slapped him again. "Now, up, dear boy,and take your trousers down."

"Oh, God," he said, but he pushed himself up and shoved a hand between our bodies. His cock was like an iron rod against my thigh, and it sprang out, hot and eager, when I helped him pull his trousers and drawers down to his knees. He would leave a wet spot on my nice linen trousers if he wasn't careful. I told him this.

"I'm sorry," he said again, breathless, "I'll try to be good."

"You are good," I said, kissing his ear. "But I don't want any messes."

Holmes shook his head hard and lowered himself carefully across my lap again. His arse was already pink from taking half his punishment through two layers of clothing, but I knew there were brighter colors I could achieve with a little effort. I caressed each cheek, gripping it roughly to hear him whimper and then soothing the ache with a gentler rub. I pulled his left knee towards me, wedging it between the settee seat cushion and that of the back, and he held his position beautifully. This exposed his bollocks, which were already loose and heavy.

I felt Holmes begin to squirm again in anticipation, so I gave him what he was waiting for: I spanked him good and sharp across both cheeks. He twitched away from the blow on instinct, which rubbed his bare prick along my thigh. Each successive blow across his gorgeous reddening backside did the same, until he was rocking against me, moaning shamelessly, utterly deaf to my orders that he cease that nonsense at once.

"Watson," he gasped, "Watson, oh, God, Watson!"

He was done for; I could see it. He was going to come whether I wanted it or not, so he might as well really enjoy himself. I tensed my thigh and laid upon him a flurry of blows that had him sobbing and jerking, head down to hide his scarlet, sweat-damp face, arse up to meet my stinging hand. I felt him go rigid, trembling, and then the hot pulse of his seed was soaking through my trousers.

I would have to hand-wash them later. Our landlady was only so long-suffering.

***

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