april
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,164
- Points
- 38
Sherlock and Irene
http://youtu.be/HfwFx-PfQJc
Meet the world’s most brilliant asshole! Isn't he a gem?
http://youtu.be/ga9hKt_grUI
Drunk off his Mother f#%cking ass!
http://youtu.be/HAu9JknOheY
“And I will have the duck with your best bottle of red wine.” said Sherlock handing his menu back to the waiter.
“Very good sir.” Replied the waiter as he abruptly turned and left the somewhat sullen couple at their table.
“Oh why the sad face Sherlock? Don’t tell me that you’re still upset over our little coo together last night? That handsome face of yours is still intact; wouldn't want to upset your adoring fans.”
“I don’t bruise easily Miss Adler and I would hardly call kidnap and torture a coo. Sadness is a sentiment of the weak minded. Being royally pissed off fits my current constitution more accurately.”
“You have always been one for dramatics Sherlock.”
“Clearly.” He replied sarcastically.
“Let’s not spoil this lovely occasion. Tell me, how is the detective business going?”
Sherlock stared at her void of any discernible expression.
“How is the dominatrix business going?”
“Touché Mr. Holmes.”
“Why exactly are we here Miss Adler? You have acquired what you came here for so why the need for such…formalities?”
“Because I like your company Mr. Holmes. Danger seems to follow you. I like danger…and detectives.” She said as she slipped her bare foot out of her stiletto and into Sherlock’s lap.
Sherlock jumped and gave her a surprised if somewhat reproachful look. His hands had been neatly folded together at the table but his fingers were curling irately now.
“Kindly remove your…”
“Absolutely not.” She cut him off, slowly rubbing her foot against the outline of his crotch.
Sherlock jumped again and shifted his eyes quickly away from hers. He started to move his arm, his hand clearly making its way beneath the tablecloth.
“Don’t,” she warned. “I’ll make a scene. Wouldn't that be sticky gossip for the tabloids?”
He placed his hand back onto the table top and eyed her viciously.
“Enough of your tricks Miss Adler.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen my best tricks yet Mr. Holmes,” she continued to rub his crotch, causing him to grow hard against her light touch “I’m positively bursting with them.”
She continues to rub him this way, her foot delicately massaging his lap as Sherlock eyes daggers at her for having to endure the sensual torture. Irene managed to unzip him with her toes and Sherlock’s eyes grew round when that clever foot of hers slipped into his trousers. His fists balled up and he exhaled slowly.
“Witch.” He whispered.
“Clearly.” she smiled back.
The waiter returned with their wine and Sherlock startled in surprise and embarrassment.
“Here you are sir and Madame.” said the waiter, pouring them each a glass of wine.
“That will be fine, thank you.” Sherlock snapped, hoping the waiter didn't notice anything amiss.
The waiter hurried away and Sherlock hastily took a large gulp of his wine. He then focused his attention once again on Irene.
“So you like playing games Miss Adler?”
“Most definitely.” She replied digging her foot deeper into his trousers.
Sherlock involuntarily closed his eyes, unable to ignore the delicious sensations.
“It would seem that you do as well.” She taunted him.
Sherlock’s eyes snapped open.
“In that you are most correct.” He replied ominously as he reached down into his trouser pocket to produce from it a small vile. He placed the vile on the table top in clear view of Irene’s eye line.
It was Irene’s turn for her eyes to grow wide and she immediately attempted to remove her foot from Sherlock’s lap. He quickly reached down and snatching her ankle, held it firmly in place. She attempted to dislodge her foot from his grasp.
“Don’t,” he warned “Or I’ll make a scene. The tabloids are sticky business. Wouldn't want your enemies to come round would we?”
She gave him a death stare and then wearily eyed the bottle.
“Where did you get that?”
Sherlock smiled at her very assuredly.
“I confiscated it. It wasn't too difficult a task. Your henchmen are idiots. Well, most people are. Wouldn't want to give them all the credit.”
She knew all too well what the contents in that vile were. It was special oil that she had commissioned. Oil that’s contents included an ingredient which tripled the sensitivity of the skin. She had used it on Sherlock the night before during their little torture session together. It had worked…sufficiently.
“Let us play a little game shall we? It’s called, I torture you and you hand over the disk you stole from me.”
“I don’t think I like this game.” She whispered; her eyes tinted with worry and fear.
Sherlock unscrewed the vile with his free hand and slowly reached underneath the table, pouring its contents onto her captured foot. He rubbed it in deliberately, in a manner which would suggest that he was enjoying himself. She could tell that clearly, he was.
“I cannot imagine what is going on in that shallow little mind of yours,” he began as he continued on with the erotic massage “Worry, fear; the desperate anticipation of it all?”
“Please don’t do this Sherlock,” she pleaded as she warily looked about the room.
“Are you begging already Miss Adler?”
Her eyes snapped back to his.
“Do you want me to beg?”
“Yes.”
“No.” she replied curtly as she attempted to sit up straighter in her chair.
She felt the familiar warming and pleasant tingling against her bare foot as the oil began to activate. She gave him a scathing look and Sherlock threw back at her an all too knowing grin.
As she was about to say something, he grazed his thumb nail against her big toe. Her words were lost as her mouth snapped shut and she jumped in her chair. He continued to gently flick his thumb nail, randomly switching which toe he tormented next. She squirmed with each assault.
“I am going to murder you for this!” she hissed.
“I highly doubt that.” he replied as he continued to play this little piggy with her toes.
Turning her foot gently to the side, Sherlock skittered his fingers within the elegant arch of her instep making her jump and accidently knock over her glass of wine. A few people at their surrounding tables looked over to see what the commotion was about. Sherlock offered them an apologetic smile and they continued on with their dining.
“Clean that up.” He ordered, still playing his fingers along her instep.
Irene begrudgingly reached for her napkin, dropped it when he had hit a particularly sensitive spot, gave off a little yelp but was barely able to sop up the spilled wine. Sherlock stilled his hand in order for her to complete the task.
“Be reasonable about this Sherlock,” she tried convincing him “I need that information to save my life.”
“And what about the lives of all those innocent people that would be irrecoverably endangered should that information fall into the wrong hands? Always a one track mind Miss Adler. You’re positively besotted with yourself. Now” he continued “back to the game shall we?”
He didn't give her a chance to respond as he drew two fingers against her slippery heel. Her hands flew to her mouth to muffle the sounds that began to escape.
“Is that the spot?” he taunted and tested his theory again. She erupted into muffled giggles and embarrassing squeals. “Yes I dare say it is.” He happily announced.
Irene shook her head and with eyes tightly squeezed shut, squirmed and wiggled cutely in her dinner chair. Sherlock was amused to see the classic beauty so highly un-composed.
“Stop!” she gasped through her trembling fingers “I can’t stand it!”
“Obviously.” He replied nonchalantly “Only you can end this.”
“No!” she exclaimed a little too loudly, momentarily drawing a few more eyes to their table.
He started to tickle the delicate pad of her foot and she flounced forward, her hands grabbing furiously at the tablecloth. His wine glass precariously wobbled but did not spill over. She desperately tried to control her breathing but it only made her concentrate on the horrible sensations, making it even worse.
“Ass!” she hissed wishing she could reach across the table and slap him.
“I've been called far worse, " he yawned " Boring.”
She tugged against his grasp, attempting to twist out of it. This only made him rake the length of her entire sole with his fingernails. She let out a string of giggles and an unattractive hiccup.
“Here we are Sir, Madame,” the waiter startled them as he stood there with their dinner plates in hand. He eyed Irene suspiciously who now had her head down on the table giggling maniacally.
“Em, by all means.” Sherlock replied to the waiter. He raised his hand and made a motion as if he were knocking back a glass of wine and then indicated the motion towards Irene, giving the waiter a knowing wink. The waiter smiled awkwardly but understood his meaning and left them abruptly after setting their food down. Irene’s head was still down and she was gulping in oxygen during her momentary reprieve.
Sherlock calmly picked up his dinner fork and his hand disappeared with it under the tablecloth.
“I will ask you one more time Miss Adler,” he warned “where is the disk?”
He received only but silence so he carefully and meticulously ran the dinner fork down the length of her sole. Irene’s head shot up off of the table and she panicked. The feeling was incredible and unimaginable; utterly and absolutely horrible. He gently raked the prongs of the fork back up and then down, doing this over and over again in one nonstop motion.
“Stop it! I can’t stand it please!” she begged him.
Irene began to shake uncontrollably. She furiously bit down on her tongue to stop herself from laughing. She had been tortured before but this was of the absolutely worst kind. She was at a public venue, surrounded by dozens of people and in the company of a notably famous person. Her life literally depended on not giving herself away. And Sherlock had known all of this. The prick had known it, planned it and delivered it to her by the spoon full; or in this instance, by fork full! She could take it no longer.
“I destroyed the disk!” she confessed. “But I transferred all of the data onto my phone, now for god’s sake stop!”
Sherlock stilled his hand as she grappled in her purse and handed over her phone.
“The pass-code?” he demanded.
“It’s unlocked.” She replied, her voice lightly shaking and her body visibly trembling.
Sherlock grabbed the phone and quickly pocketed it. He surprised her by abruptly standing up.
“If I find that you are lying to me, I will track you down and your deserved misery will be far, far worse Miss Adler, make no mistake.”
“What?! Are you leaving me here then?”
“I have no reason to stay. I have what I came here for.”
He took out his bill fold and threw a couple hundred’s down on the table.
“This should amply cover the evening,” he began; his voice laced with distaste “I advise you to disappear if you value your life.”
“Still such the gentleman I gather.” She huffed.
Sherlock rumpled his hair and popped the collar on his trench coat.
“I’d call you a lady but we both know better.” He bent down and taking her head into both his hands, proceeded to give her a most passionate kiss that thrilled her to her very toes.
“Good bye Miss Adler.” With that he strode from the room.
Irene sat there, still utterly dazed by his kiss.
“Well played Mr. Holmes,” she whispered breathlessly “Well played.”
The End
Sherlocked: Part One ff/m
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?247690-Sherlocked-Part-One-ff-m
http://youtu.be/HfwFx-PfQJc
Meet the world’s most brilliant asshole! Isn't he a gem?
http://youtu.be/ga9hKt_grUI
Drunk off his Mother f#%cking ass!
http://youtu.be/HAu9JknOheY
“And I will have the duck with your best bottle of red wine.” said Sherlock handing his menu back to the waiter.
“Very good sir.” Replied the waiter as he abruptly turned and left the somewhat sullen couple at their table.
“Oh why the sad face Sherlock? Don’t tell me that you’re still upset over our little coo together last night? That handsome face of yours is still intact; wouldn't want to upset your adoring fans.”
“I don’t bruise easily Miss Adler and I would hardly call kidnap and torture a coo. Sadness is a sentiment of the weak minded. Being royally pissed off fits my current constitution more accurately.”
“You have always been one for dramatics Sherlock.”
“Clearly.” He replied sarcastically.
“Let’s not spoil this lovely occasion. Tell me, how is the detective business going?”
Sherlock stared at her void of any discernible expression.
“How is the dominatrix business going?”
“Touché Mr. Holmes.”
“Why exactly are we here Miss Adler? You have acquired what you came here for so why the need for such…formalities?”
“Because I like your company Mr. Holmes. Danger seems to follow you. I like danger…and detectives.” She said as she slipped her bare foot out of her stiletto and into Sherlock’s lap.
Sherlock jumped and gave her a surprised if somewhat reproachful look. His hands had been neatly folded together at the table but his fingers were curling irately now.
“Kindly remove your…”
“Absolutely not.” She cut him off, slowly rubbing her foot against the outline of his crotch.
Sherlock jumped again and shifted his eyes quickly away from hers. He started to move his arm, his hand clearly making its way beneath the tablecloth.
“Don’t,” she warned. “I’ll make a scene. Wouldn't that be sticky gossip for the tabloids?”
He placed his hand back onto the table top and eyed her viciously.
“Enough of your tricks Miss Adler.”
“Oh, you haven’t seen my best tricks yet Mr. Holmes,” she continued to rub his crotch, causing him to grow hard against her light touch “I’m positively bursting with them.”
She continues to rub him this way, her foot delicately massaging his lap as Sherlock eyes daggers at her for having to endure the sensual torture. Irene managed to unzip him with her toes and Sherlock’s eyes grew round when that clever foot of hers slipped into his trousers. His fists balled up and he exhaled slowly.
“Witch.” He whispered.
“Clearly.” she smiled back.
The waiter returned with their wine and Sherlock startled in surprise and embarrassment.
“Here you are sir and Madame.” said the waiter, pouring them each a glass of wine.
“That will be fine, thank you.” Sherlock snapped, hoping the waiter didn't notice anything amiss.
The waiter hurried away and Sherlock hastily took a large gulp of his wine. He then focused his attention once again on Irene.
“So you like playing games Miss Adler?”
“Most definitely.” She replied digging her foot deeper into his trousers.
Sherlock involuntarily closed his eyes, unable to ignore the delicious sensations.
“It would seem that you do as well.” She taunted him.
Sherlock’s eyes snapped open.
“In that you are most correct.” He replied ominously as he reached down into his trouser pocket to produce from it a small vile. He placed the vile on the table top in clear view of Irene’s eye line.
It was Irene’s turn for her eyes to grow wide and she immediately attempted to remove her foot from Sherlock’s lap. He quickly reached down and snatching her ankle, held it firmly in place. She attempted to dislodge her foot from his grasp.
“Don’t,” he warned “Or I’ll make a scene. The tabloids are sticky business. Wouldn't want your enemies to come round would we?”
She gave him a death stare and then wearily eyed the bottle.
“Where did you get that?”
Sherlock smiled at her very assuredly.
“I confiscated it. It wasn't too difficult a task. Your henchmen are idiots. Well, most people are. Wouldn't want to give them all the credit.”
She knew all too well what the contents in that vile were. It was special oil that she had commissioned. Oil that’s contents included an ingredient which tripled the sensitivity of the skin. She had used it on Sherlock the night before during their little torture session together. It had worked…sufficiently.
“Let us play a little game shall we? It’s called, I torture you and you hand over the disk you stole from me.”
“I don’t think I like this game.” She whispered; her eyes tinted with worry and fear.
Sherlock unscrewed the vile with his free hand and slowly reached underneath the table, pouring its contents onto her captured foot. He rubbed it in deliberately, in a manner which would suggest that he was enjoying himself. She could tell that clearly, he was.
“I cannot imagine what is going on in that shallow little mind of yours,” he began as he continued on with the erotic massage “Worry, fear; the desperate anticipation of it all?”
“Please don’t do this Sherlock,” she pleaded as she warily looked about the room.
“Are you begging already Miss Adler?”
Her eyes snapped back to his.
“Do you want me to beg?”
“Yes.”
“No.” she replied curtly as she attempted to sit up straighter in her chair.
She felt the familiar warming and pleasant tingling against her bare foot as the oil began to activate. She gave him a scathing look and Sherlock threw back at her an all too knowing grin.
As she was about to say something, he grazed his thumb nail against her big toe. Her words were lost as her mouth snapped shut and she jumped in her chair. He continued to gently flick his thumb nail, randomly switching which toe he tormented next. She squirmed with each assault.
“I am going to murder you for this!” she hissed.
“I highly doubt that.” he replied as he continued to play this little piggy with her toes.
Turning her foot gently to the side, Sherlock skittered his fingers within the elegant arch of her instep making her jump and accidently knock over her glass of wine. A few people at their surrounding tables looked over to see what the commotion was about. Sherlock offered them an apologetic smile and they continued on with their dining.
“Clean that up.” He ordered, still playing his fingers along her instep.
Irene begrudgingly reached for her napkin, dropped it when he had hit a particularly sensitive spot, gave off a little yelp but was barely able to sop up the spilled wine. Sherlock stilled his hand in order for her to complete the task.
“Be reasonable about this Sherlock,” she tried convincing him “I need that information to save my life.”
“And what about the lives of all those innocent people that would be irrecoverably endangered should that information fall into the wrong hands? Always a one track mind Miss Adler. You’re positively besotted with yourself. Now” he continued “back to the game shall we?”
He didn't give her a chance to respond as he drew two fingers against her slippery heel. Her hands flew to her mouth to muffle the sounds that began to escape.
“Is that the spot?” he taunted and tested his theory again. She erupted into muffled giggles and embarrassing squeals. “Yes I dare say it is.” He happily announced.
Irene shook her head and with eyes tightly squeezed shut, squirmed and wiggled cutely in her dinner chair. Sherlock was amused to see the classic beauty so highly un-composed.
“Stop!” she gasped through her trembling fingers “I can’t stand it!”
“Obviously.” He replied nonchalantly “Only you can end this.”
“No!” she exclaimed a little too loudly, momentarily drawing a few more eyes to their table.
He started to tickle the delicate pad of her foot and she flounced forward, her hands grabbing furiously at the tablecloth. His wine glass precariously wobbled but did not spill over. She desperately tried to control her breathing but it only made her concentrate on the horrible sensations, making it even worse.
“Ass!” she hissed wishing she could reach across the table and slap him.
“I've been called far worse, " he yawned " Boring.”
She tugged against his grasp, attempting to twist out of it. This only made him rake the length of her entire sole with his fingernails. She let out a string of giggles and an unattractive hiccup.
“Here we are Sir, Madame,” the waiter startled them as he stood there with their dinner plates in hand. He eyed Irene suspiciously who now had her head down on the table giggling maniacally.
“Em, by all means.” Sherlock replied to the waiter. He raised his hand and made a motion as if he were knocking back a glass of wine and then indicated the motion towards Irene, giving the waiter a knowing wink. The waiter smiled awkwardly but understood his meaning and left them abruptly after setting their food down. Irene’s head was still down and she was gulping in oxygen during her momentary reprieve.
Sherlock calmly picked up his dinner fork and his hand disappeared with it under the tablecloth.
“I will ask you one more time Miss Adler,” he warned “where is the disk?”
He received only but silence so he carefully and meticulously ran the dinner fork down the length of her sole. Irene’s head shot up off of the table and she panicked. The feeling was incredible and unimaginable; utterly and absolutely horrible. He gently raked the prongs of the fork back up and then down, doing this over and over again in one nonstop motion.
“Stop it! I can’t stand it please!” she begged him.
Irene began to shake uncontrollably. She furiously bit down on her tongue to stop herself from laughing. She had been tortured before but this was of the absolutely worst kind. She was at a public venue, surrounded by dozens of people and in the company of a notably famous person. Her life literally depended on not giving herself away. And Sherlock had known all of this. The prick had known it, planned it and delivered it to her by the spoon full; or in this instance, by fork full! She could take it no longer.
“I destroyed the disk!” she confessed. “But I transferred all of the data onto my phone, now for god’s sake stop!”
Sherlock stilled his hand as she grappled in her purse and handed over her phone.
“The pass-code?” he demanded.
“It’s unlocked.” She replied, her voice lightly shaking and her body visibly trembling.
Sherlock grabbed the phone and quickly pocketed it. He surprised her by abruptly standing up.
“If I find that you are lying to me, I will track you down and your deserved misery will be far, far worse Miss Adler, make no mistake.”
“What?! Are you leaving me here then?”
“I have no reason to stay. I have what I came here for.”
He took out his bill fold and threw a couple hundred’s down on the table.
“This should amply cover the evening,” he began; his voice laced with distaste “I advise you to disappear if you value your life.”
“Still such the gentleman I gather.” She huffed.
Sherlock rumpled his hair and popped the collar on his trench coat.
“I’d call you a lady but we both know better.” He bent down and taking her head into both his hands, proceeded to give her a most passionate kiss that thrilled her to her very toes.
“Good bye Miss Adler.” With that he strode from the room.
Irene sat there, still utterly dazed by his kiss.
“Well played Mr. Holmes,” she whispered breathlessly “Well played.”
The End
Sherlocked: Part One ff/m
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?247690-Sherlocked-Part-One-ff-m
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