Sherlock Imagines

Kinktober Day 4; Subbing + John Watson

Also requested! By @GraceHilton !
How about...BOTH!

Psychologically speaking, it made sense. He practically ran his medical firm, a former soldier—high ranking, too—needed some release from the pressure of decision making. Just your type of client.
Where he'd ever gotten the notion he'd be into this sort of thing (*cough* Adler case *cough*)... he'd been completely right. Your long nails leaving streams of red welts along his skin in the most gorgeous of places...tight restraints keeping him locked to the headboard...hungry eyes that looked desperate to devour him...it was all too much. And as much as it was frightening, it was equally as exciting.
Your voice had been so welcoming mere hours ago, but now it was dripping with lust and sadistic want, "Have you been wicked, love?" Those same nails dragged along his chin, tilting his head upwards. He wouldn't be getting off tonight, clearly, but that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying this beyond what would be considered normal.
"Yes, madam—absolutely dastardly.." His voice trembled, both in fear and in awe. He'd barely been touched, hadn't in a sensual way, but all he could feel is need for this woman he didn't even know.
"Tsk," Red lips connected with his, smearing the colour along his lips, "I'll have to make you pay, then." Teeth bit at his bottom lip, drawing a thin line of blood. Instead of being alarmed or even noticing the pain, a low moan left his lips. He writhed against the sheets, breath shaky as he looked up at you.
"Patience, Darling..." You purred, pushing yourself up to grab the riding crop. John's face flushed pink, clearly embarrassed at his own wanton desire.
"Maybe this will help you to remember your place..." Your fingers slid along the handle, hips swaying as you brought it over. His Adam's apple bobbed, pupils dilating the slightest bit. The poor man didn't even realize how much he wanted this. Ah, well...that was your job, after all.
At first, you just dragged the thick black keeper over his chest, slowly drifting it downward with a malicious smirk. He squirmed beneath the light weight, uncomfortable with how much he was enjoying this build up.
The crop was lifted, and before he could even react, brought back down. A bright red welts formed against his skin, feeding off of the red marks your nails had previously made. Without thinking, his head fell back, moans slipping from his lips. He blushed harder when he realized that he was, in fact, moaning over being tortured. It was an odd thing to crave, but that was the only way he could describe it. He craved to be lashed again and again, until he couldn't think straight. And you didn't seem intent to deny him such, either.
"Hush, now, or I might just stop." You teased, voice heavy with the threat. You wouldn't act on it; of course not, it was your job to give him exactly what he wanted, and clearly that was this. But the threat hung in the air and he snapped his lips shut, biting firmly down on the bottom one. His cock twitched when the next one came down, making no room for him to deny that he loved this. A quick gleam of lustful sadism filled your eyes. Perfect.
The next four came in quick succession, and it was increasingly difficult for John to keep his mouth shut. He needed to cry out, whether in encouragement or pain, he had no idea which one it was. And it was clear, too...his face twisted in agony, yet appreciation, every time the crop bit his skin, how his hips bucked and nails dug into his palms. It was one of your favourite sights, when a client had clearly found what they enjoyed most. It was such a freeing moment, because that's when you knew he'd be back.
"You get one word. What will it be, Sweetheart." Your raised his chin further by extending the crop along his neck, causing his breath to tremble with need. He didn't need to think, despite how torn he was. In the end, this is exactly what he needed, even if it ultimately felt wrong.

"More."