In my well informed personal experience, there is nothing quite so erotic and delightful as buggering Sherlock Holmes over the back of the settee in the late afternoon, after spanking him so thoroughly that the tender skin of his arse is pink and smarting with the abuse and he begs for mercy. To watch him squirm and writhe on the end of my prick brings me so much joy that at times I wonder that I have not simply burst in ecstasy. He spreads his legs beautifully, kneeling on the cushion of the settee and bracing himself against its long-suffering back, and he is at just the right height for me to stand behind him, rocking him slowly, my cock plunging deep into his welcoming body and then sliding out almost to the very tip. His arse hole is greedy for me, stretched tightly around my girth, and he whimpers unashamedly when I touch with saliva-wet fingers this most intimate place where we are joined.
"Oh hell," he says, "bloody hell!" and I warn him that I might gag him if he doesn't mind his manners. He covers his mouth with his slender hand and muffles the next moan that tries to escape him, as I punctuate my warning with a sharp thrust of my hips.
He always deserves the spanking. I don't punish him needlessly, but sometimes he fairly begs to be disciplined, to be reminded of his place and his responsibilities. He is a genius, a marvel, but he is also irreverent and occasionally rude, and it falls to me to keep him in line. His first priority is the solution to the problem, often at the expense of the sensibilities of ladies or the honour of gentlemen.
When it happens, I take him over my knee. He drops his drawers and crawls eagerly into my lap, and I slap him until he is no longer wincing, but pushing up into my blows and groaning into the cushions; until his cock is hard and leaking, and he begs me to stop so that I can fuck him. By then, the act is no longer punishment, and I must stop lest it lose its potency.
His cock is dripping. I cannot see it from my position, mounting him as I am from behind, but I know how he gets when he is this aroused. His back is damp with sweat, his head is bowed in supplication, and I know his cock is so hard, so close to bursting, that he weeps with desire. When I reach for him to see how he's getting on, he trembles at my touch and my fingers come away wet. I put them in his mouth.
I like to fuck him until he comes from that alone, but I can't always contain myself so long. I work my hips furiously, shoving him against the back of the settee, and he only moans for more. His cries are wordless, and they serve to bring my glory rushing upon me. I nearly choke him as I come, but he suffers my abuse gracefully, turning his head and biting down upon my fingers.
When I retreat on shaking legs, his whole body sags, trembling. He sinks to the side, legs spread, my emission already leaking down his thighs. His cockstand is magnificent, swollen with need, and I drop to my knees in front of him. Three fingers I slide into him as I swallow him down, and he muffles a howl between his teeth. He sobs my name when he comes. He is too loud by far; even the selectively deaf cannot help but hear him, but in these moments I cannot bring myself to care. Sherlock Holmes is mine to break to pieces.
He is also mine to put together again. Afterwards I treat him tenderly: wiping him clean, smoothing salve upon his reddened buttocks, ensuring that the marks I have left will not linger. When we are dressed once more he will spend the evening standing at the mantle or the window, contemplatively smoking a cigarette and shooting me dark, wanton looks every time his smarting backside reminds him what I have done.
It is in those moments that I think perhaps there is something better than spanking Sherlock Holmes, and that is being allowed to spank him.
***
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Compound a Felony: #teasertuesday
FanfictionConsulting detective Sherlock Holmes is a a veritable whirlwind of intellect and perception, tearing through the fog of intrigue and criminal activity with tremendous force. But behind the locked sitting room door at 221B Baker Street, his biographe...
