charlotteyonge

: charlotteyonge; November 28th, 11:24

Current Location:: Watson's bedroom

Current Mood:: excited

He slowly climbed on top of me, never allowing his lips to come more than an inch from my face as he undressed himself, and then me. My heart pounded as I watched his fingers fly over the buttons of his shirt and wiggle it from his shoulders. He freed me of my cravat and collar, then my waistcost and shirt, fully embracing me for a long, delicious kiss before he reached down to unfasten my trousers. He slid from me just long enough to pull them from my legs and then divest himself of his own. When he again laid on top of me we were both entirely nude. It felt wonderful.

I let my hands drift from his shoulders down his strong back and over the smooth contours of his buttocks. I opened my legs a little wider to accommodate his narrow hips and we gyrated together, neither teasing nor testing, but simply sharing in the first-time sensation of our two bodies joining as one. He kept his lips close to mine, stopping his kisses only now and again to expel a blissful sigh.

I did not think Holmes was capable of such a loving act, nor did I expect he was interested in a prolonged experience. But when I looked into his face tonight, I saw no traces of amusement, scientific scrutiny or prideful gaze. I saw only affection.

He rolled us gently to the side so he could touch me, letting his fingers lightly play over my chest and then my stomach before he ran them down through my hair to reach my arousal. He did not take his usual firm hold, but rather lingered there for a few moments, lovingly tracing my hardness, tapping his fingertips in all the places he knew me to be sensitive, while I rested my hand on his hip, my sighs giving way to short gasps.

When the beads starting forming at my tip he turned me to my other side so I faced away from him. He traced patterns down my back, generating the finest physically calming sensation I’ve ever known, until he questioned my small entrance with delicately swirling fingers. I responded by pushing my buttocks slightly towards him and giving a soft, affirming moan. He briefly pulled his hand away, then returned with two moist fingers which he patiently worked into my tight heat. It felt like he was lighting fire to the bottom of my spine, and I gripped the pillow at first in tension and then in desire, hoping he would take his time and never, ever stop.

I relaxed as his soft lips pulled at my ear lobe, and was soon sufficiently parted below. I gave a small cry when I felt his length slide into me, for the experience was much more visceral than I had expected. He wrapped himself around me, and in the manner of a sacred ritual, we inhaled and exhaled together as we established a comfortable rhythm.

In all my months of fantasizing, I never once pictured this. Nothing could have prepared me for the fullness of his warm soft heat behind me, nor had I imagined the erotic pressure of his thigh gripping me to him, or of his arm across my chest pulling me closer. I had not counted on my primal response to the raw scent of our mingled essence or the recognizable fragments of his speaking voice becoming syllables of lust. And had I ever considered how it would feel to be taken so gently and reverently as this it would have far surpassed the arousing effects of my desire for a rough encounter.

It was with easy confidence that he pulled me onto my back and hooked my leg over his hip so he could remain buried inside me and make love face to face. He once again reached for my cock, this time taking it with more firmness than before, and remained actively still while I rolled my hips between the exquisite sting of his penetration and the flood of pleasure in my groin. I did not doubt that with this act he was claiming me as his own, and I made no attempts to stifle the impassioned cries that I heard escaping my throat.

The experience was so wholly enveloping that I lost the sense that my body was separate from his, and melted into the surreal impression that we were united as a single, pulsing spirit.

At the sign of my approaching climax, he massaged my flesh and thrust into me with more deliberation, his own breathing growing ragged and urgent. Just before I reached the top, I placed my hand over his so we could share my release, and then felt the fire start in deep inside my loins and spread into my stomach, and when the first orgasmic tide swelled up inside me I called his name once, then again, as my issue began bubbling forth. It did not stop there, for there was a second wave and even a third, because Sherlock Holmes knows my sex so well that his ability to bring me to higher realms of ecstasy had taken place among his best and proudest skills.

The resultant clenching around him set off his own climax, for he began to emit more staggered groans and pressed on my pelvis to steady me while he increased the tempo of his movement. When he reached his peak it was every bit as satisfying as my own; he threw his head back with a final cry and I felt the tremors wrack all the muscles in his body as though a strong electric current had taken possession of him, then surged into me. He pressed his mouth into my neck as he died, his hot, shuddering sighs moistening my skin until little by little he relaxed his grasp, unwound his leg and fell limply behind me.

We lay there for a long time, as thoroughly spent as we had ever been, before either of us spoke again. When the haze of aftermath began to clear, I remembered the troubling night we had spent before this. My fear and concern began to resurface and I rolled over towards Holmes, whose warm, soft body next to mine provided immeasurable comfort.

“Holmes,” I whispered, and looked over at him. His eyes were closed and his smile so completely tranquil that I almost did not say it. But I knew he would understand.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. “I cannot forgive you for not taking me into your confidence,” I said.

"Ah," he sighed with the twinkle of discovery that means a theory has been confirmed. He covered my hand with his own.

"That," he whispered, "is precisely why I love you."

I only gazed at him then, and let this rare and glorious sentiment resonate between us. I watched those eyes I've always loved drop slowly into their slumber.

“Do you really think she’s all right?” I asked him once more just before we fell asleep.

“I am counting on it,” he assured me. “But I shall be surprised if we do not hear from Scotland Yard in the morning.”

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Rhyme and Reason

: charlotteyonge; November 27th, 10:38

Current Location:: 221B Baker St.

Current Mood:: angry

“Did you know she was coming to see Milverton tonight?” I asked Holmes in a strained voice when we were safe again at Baker St.

“I was as surprised as you to see her, Watson,” he replied.

“So your client is…?”

“Irene Norton, née Adler. Her husband Godfrey was about to be exposed for having an affair with his partner in law. Mrs. Norton and your wife, as you may have already deduced, have been lovers for months.”

I had assumed Mary was involved with her friend Mrs. Norton, but it never once occurred to me it was the same woman with whom Holmes had tangled years ago on behalf of the hereditary King of Bohemia. I was having some difficulty accounting for the sense of betrayal I felt.

“She’s my wife…” I started to say.

“Your wife whom you left to return to Baker Street for reasons you have already disclosed to me,” Holmes said evenly.

“That does not matter. To have kept me in the dark,” I said, the emotion rising in my voice, “to have been conducting your inquiries behind my back is…its…”

“What, Watson?”

“Unforgivable.”

He gave me a hard, steely glare. “I did not presume you still laid any claims to your wife. I told you I why was trying to protect you from this mess.”

I knew he was right, but I hated knowing that I alone had remained ignorant. I felt like a fool.

“She’s my wife,” I repeated, but instead of trying to argue the point, I shook my head and left the sitting room, slamming the door behind me. I went upstairs to my room and sat on my bed. I had not yet taken off my coat and I still held my hat in my hand.

I sat there for some time, replaying the shocking events that occurred at Milverton’s, fixating on the way Mary had looked right before she killed him, how her face remained so calm even as she pulled the trigger. I imagined Irene Adler Norton and still could not believe it was she who had taken Mary in, who won her heart after I cast it aside.

There was a light knock at the door.

“Come in,” I said when I snapped from my reverie.

Holmes entered the room. He was half-undressed, having removed his collar, cravat and waistcoat, and I surmised he’d had a sudden change of mind in his decision to let me alone. He sat beside me on the bed and said nothing. It was I who eventually spoke first.

“Why did you not tell me, Holmes?” I asked him quietly.

“Honestly, Watson? Because I was afraid that great big heart of yours would move you to commit an indiscretion, however unwittingly.”

I sighed. He gently pried my hat from my hands and leaned over to lay it on the bureau.

“It’s not that she’s taken up with Irene Norton. I understand that, and she’s entirely within her rights to do so. God knows I’m even happy for them. What I most regret is that I was not permitted to help her in this distressing time. Supposing the police find out? What then?”

“You needn’t worry, Watson. Those two have more strength between them than the entire British army.”

There again, I knew he was right.

Holmes brought his hand to my face and turned it towards him. He kissed my lips once, then again.

“Please, Holmes, I haven’t the wherewithal for one of your experiments tonight,” I said, pulling away from him.

He brought my face back to him.

“This is not an experiment,” he said, and kissed me again.

“Well, I certainly do not require your pity,” I said, though I let him kiss me this time.

“Nor is it pity,” he replied, holding my gaze as he touched my lips once more.

“What then?”

He searched my eyes for a moment, then closed his and leaned into me for a longer, deeper kiss. He pushed my coat from my shoulders and lowered me onto the bed.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Night Crimes

: charlotteyonge; November 26th, 9:29

Current Location:: Milverton's Lair

Current Mood:: anxious

We had reached the grounds of Hampstead Heath and were about to climb the tall fence when I asked Holmes what he intended to do about the fact the Milverton was likely home and in the very room we were planning to intrude.

“Agatha told me there’s a joke among the servants that it is impossible to wake him. She’s also locked up the beast of a dog to make sure I am not disturbed,” he answered, eying the top of the fence.

“Who’s Agatha?”

“My fiancée.”

“WHAT?”

“Shhh! I shall explain in the fullness of time.”

He was up the fence before I had time to reply, so I made haste to follow him. When we landed behind a tall shrub, we stopped to catch our breath and don our masks.

“Holmes, if you’ve been courting a woman on top of all this…” I started to say as he extracted his tool kit and made several selections.

“I wanted information, Watson. It was a most necessary step, and I learned a great deal from talking with her.” He held a glass cutter up to the moonlight.

“Good heavens, those talks!” he exclaimed with a quiet chuckle and a shake of his head.

“You’ll tell me about them later,” I said dryly.

He smiled mischievously at me as I handed him his mask. We nodded silently to one another and then proceeded to creep through the garden until we reached the greenhouse. Holmes cut a small circle in the glass and unlocked the door from the inside. We tiptoed inside and he led me through several rooms until we reached what was unmistakably Milverton’s private study. There was a strong odour of tobacco smoke and a fire blazed in the fireplace, casting enough light to reveal the layout of the room. A bay window with a curtain in front of it stood between the fireplace and a large, green safe. To the opposite side of the hearth was a door leading to the veranda.

Holmes immediately went to the safe and got to work. I decided it would better I secured our means of escape, and so approached the door to the veranda to unlock it. I was surprised to find it was neither bolted nor locked, a fact which startled Holmes as well when I silently called it to his attention. But we had not long to linger on this puzzling detail.

Holmes turned his most intense focus to opening the safe while I kept a wary eye on the door. As I watched him apply his various instruments to his task, I felt both a thrilling sense of adventure and satisfaction as I considered the breadth of victims that would benefit from our success. The sight of his beautiful hands twisting and flexing in their efforts added an element of arousal to my admiration, which made the next twenty-five minutes very pleasant indeed. I held my breath when I finally heard a click and he swung the door open. He reached in, extracted the letters that lay on top of the pile and attempted to read them by the light of his lantern.

Suddenly, we heard footsteps just outside the study door and the doorknob began to turn.

My heart stopped.

“Quick!” Holmes hissed at me, and we both darted behind the window curtain just before Milverton entered his study.

Holmes grasped my hand and squeezed it reassuringly as we watched Milverton slowly promenade about his room, in deep concentration on a document he held in his hand. My hopes that he would not be in here long were dashed when he exchanged his shoes for his slippers and lit a cigar. At this point I was prepared to ambush the creature, pin him down and let Holmes do with him what he wanted. But we kept still and waited.

Milverton checked his watch and looked impatiently at the door to the veranda. I thought he might have had some idea of our presence until I saw the dark figure of a woman approach and tap on the glass.

“You’re late,” he said with irritation when he opened it.

There was no reply from her as she followed him into his room. She wore a hooded black cloak that kept her face hidden in a shadow.

“So, miss,” he said, “your letter stated you had some letters belonging to the Countess d’Albert. I hope they are worthy of my time as your late visit is going to cost me a restful night.”

She waited.

“Well?” he said in consternation. “Let’s have a look at them.”

With both hands the woman pulled the hood from her head.

It was Mary.

I gasped. Holmes immediately clamped his hand over my mouth.

“I have no letters, Mr. Milverton,” she said with icy calm.

“Then why are you wasting my time and at this hour?” he demanded.

“I am here,” she said with great resolve, “because I love, I have loved, and I am going to love.”

He stared at her incredulously. She held her head high and squared her shoulders.

“This love,” she continued, “is stronger than you, it is bigger than you, and it is far more valuable than twice the lot of your vast riches.”

The conviction in her tone increased with every word.

“Your lack of heart, lack of humanity, lack of soul have rendered you the most hated man in this great city. It is not enough that you have built this frigid prison by creating tragedy for those who have never done you any harm, but that you enjoy bringing about their ruin and still more the cursed rewards. You are not a man. You are a monster.”

He laughed, but there was palpable fear behind it.

“Surely you are mistaken, madam, for I am only running a business that profits on the mistakes of others. They are the creators of their own destruction. I simply capitalize on the remnants,” he said. “Now, if you do not leave the premises this instant, I shall be forced to call on my servants to remove you forcefully.”

She moved closer to him.

“I have seen firsthand the effects of your ‘business,’ and am here to tell you that it is no less than the devil’s hand that guides you.” She drew a small pistol from her cloak and pointed it at his chest, “And you shall harm no more.”

She fired two shots into his massive body. He lunged at her. I took a step forward and was once again restrained by Holmes’s powerful grip.

She calmly stepped backwards as he toppled forward and continued to shoot until her gun was emptied of bullets. She stared down at his gaping, bloody corpse for a moment with her lips pursed in an expression of defiance. She then pulled her hood over her head and hurried to the veranda, opening and closing the door quietly behind her.

As shocked as I was, there was no time to lose, for the sound of servants’ footsteps came loud and clear. Quick as a flash, Holmes slipped out from behind me and ran to the open safe. Together we emptied it of its letters and documents, and threw every last one into the fire.

And then we ran. Never have I run so fast in my life, for the sound of our pursuers was close behind. When we leapt to the fence we had climbed to enter the estate I felt a firm hand grab my foot.

“Now I’ve got you!” said a burly male voice.

Holmes, who had climbed the fence with his usual lightning speed, reached down and pulled me in the opposite direction. I managed to wiggle my foot free of the man’s grip and topple over the fence after Holmes. We did not stop running for nearly a mile when we stopped, listened and heard nothing but silence.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge, mary watson

Best Laid Plans

: charlotteyonge; November 25th, 12:00

Current Location:: 221B Baker St

Current Mood:: devious

It took me half an hour to find in a cab outside the hotel, and when I finally did it seemed the longest ride I’d ever taken to Baker Street. I ran inside, bounded up the seventeen steps and burst into the sitting room. Holmes was seated at the table unpacking several small bags. He calmly looked up as I came crashing in.

“I received your telegram,” I said breathlessly, “and got home as fast as I could.”

“Splendid,” he replied without rising from his chair. “Now if you would be so kind as to hand me the leather case that is lying on the settee.”

I was surprised by this display of stoicism. After our heady midnight tryst I presumed he would at least grant me a handshake. Then I looked over at the settee.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Hudson,” I said. I hoped I didn’t sound overly cognizant of the meaning of her presence. She was tidying the pillows and appeared to be oblivious, but she had some sharp senses of her own.

“Dr. Watson,” she nodded. “Welcome home.” She picked up the leather case and handed it to me, which I in turn handed over to Holmes.

“Thank you,” he said, placing it aside and offering me a meaningful stare. I understood perfectly. I took my suitcase to my room and waited another agonizing twenty minutes until I heard Mrs. Hudson’s footsteps descend the stairs. When I re-entered the sitting room, Holmes was scrutinizing the display of small tools on the table in front of him.

“Welcome back,” he said, offering me a sly glance.

“Quite,” I responded with a grin. “What’s all this?”

“The tools I need to burgle Milverton’s house tonight.”

I was horrified. “Has it really come to that, Holmes? Are you certain this is advisable?”

He sighed and looked up from his task. “It’s my only option at this point, Watson. My client cannot pay him, and he is unwilling to come down in his price. The man’s so-called business is impenetrable unless I can destroy his most precious resource.”

“But think of the consequences!” I exclaimed as visions of the next day’s headlines casting irreparable damage to his career passed before me.

“Believe me, Watson,” he said, as he rose from the table and crossed the room, “I have considered every possible outcome and I am fully confident not only in the risk that I am taking, but that this criminal act is in every way morally justified."

"Besides,” he added, lowering his tone when he stopped in front of me, “it will free up some time to explore another morally justifiable act of criminality I have come to enjoy.” He planted a firm kiss on my lips and granted me a brilliant smile before continuing to his bedroom.

“So it must be,” I said, relishing the blush that spread across my face, “I guess you’d better put me to work.”

“Oh, you are not coming,” he called out from the other room.

“Holmes,” I replied sternly. “I give you my word of honour, which I have never broken in my life, that I will take a cab straight to Scotland Yard and turn you in unless you permit me to join you.”

Silence.

He emerged from his room looking annoyed. He clicked his tongue, but said nothing as I stared him down. He impatiently shifted his weight from leg to leg until he finally gave in.

“Very well,” he said. “Wear dark clothing and your most silent shoes. Have you a mask?”

“I can fashion us a couple from black silk,” I said. That did it, for I believe he then remembered why he so often relies on my assistance, and he smiled and clapped me on the shoulder.

“You’re a natural, my dear fellow,” he said, and continued about his task of gathering his things for the night’s challenge.

I returned to my room to retrieve the black silk from my bureau, and stopped for a moment to run it through my hands. I thought fondly of the fantasy I had shared with him but had not yet chanced to make a reality. As anxious as I was to keep him from being discovered tonight, I wanted just as badly to bring the case to a close. Two days alone in a hotel room was the most fertile possible context for my imagination, which transposed the breathtaking image of him climaxing into my hand into many, many other scenarios, each more delectable than the last. I had to bring myself off twice during that time, which did little more than satiate me until the next fantasy surfaced and my urges swelled anew.

But there would be time for that later, I told myself and closed the drawer firmly. Right now, we were facing what was quite possibly the most dangerous mission we had ever undertaken.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

A Chat With Aggie

: charlotteyonge; November 24th, 11:34

Current Location:: Hampstead Heath

Current Mood:: mischievous

From where I stood on Milverton's south veranda I had a clear view of the two doors that led into his bedroom and private study. I marked the latter for my ultimate purpose, but breaking directly into those rooms would be too noisy. The greenhouse that opened to the drawing room round the side would be a much more practical entrance. Now to learn of the man’s nighttime habits.

“Miss Agatha!” I called when I heard the childlike singing of my best informant. Her face lit up when she saw me emerge from the garden.

“Oh, Mr. Escott,” she sang when she saw me. “I was lookin’ for you!”

I smiled and doffed my hat. “I am trying to determine where the second drain pipe is routed on Mr. Milverton’s side of the house. You see, I may have to work into the night and I do not wish to wake him.”

“Oh, he’s a sound sleeper, sir. We’ve a joke about it in the servants’ hall, how it’s impossible to wake him.”

“Ah, splendid,” I replied, much encouraged, “and I presume he keeps a guard dog on the property? Such a fortress as this must be well-protected.”

“Yeah, he keeps a dog all right. But I’ll tell you what. I can lock him up for you tonight so he don’t bother you while you’re working. Just don’t tell anyone.” She batted her eyelashes at me. “You still haven’t given me that kiss yet.”

“My dear girl, would you be so forward with someone you met only two days ago?” I said, trying not to sound too absent while I continued to outline a route from the south wall to this side of the house.

“Oh, I’m a real catch. In fact, they say I'm the very best at what I do” she said, brimming with confidence. "Never brought a man off who wasn't beggin' for my mercy at the end of it.”

This could be information worth having.

“Indeed?” I pressed.

“Yep. Been at it for years.”

“And what is your great secret?”

“Now, Mr. Escott, that's not the sort of thing a girl shares with just anyone. I suppose if you kissed me we'd be lovers and it would be more fittin' to tell you about it.”

“How about we get engaged? You can tell me about it now and kiss me when we're married.”

“Oh goody!” she shrieked, clapping her hands and falling to the grass. “Married married married!”

“Then I should know what I'll be looking forward to on our wedding night.”

She bolted to her feet and started talking.

“Do you know Jarvis, the downstairs butler? I took him out here just a few weeks back, and he nearly went out of his mind. ‘Aggie,’' he said, ‘I want you to put your finger up me arse.’ So I did and boy to see him pop off.”

“Is that not painful?" I asked her, a bit startled.

“Well, at first it was a little tight, but it stretched well enough the longer I went at him, till he told me to put up another one. Had to spit on it first, but up it went.”

“And he liked this, did he?”

“Did he ever. And once I hit his bean, oh, he was shoutin' loud enough to rattle the walls.”

“His bean?”

"That's what I call it on account it feels like a kidney bean, but it's where he gets his best jollies."

Ah, the prostate gland. I thought as much.

“So you please him thus and he's off in no time, I presume.”

"Not the way I do it,” she insisted. “I learned a long time ago if you leave off the tip you can tease him a bit longer.”

“Even with all the other activity?"

“Oh, it's even better for him then! I like to do it real slow, just kind of wiggle around in both ends till he starts doin' all the work. Then I just hang on.”

“So why did he not make you his wife?” I asked.

“Oh, he said he might suppose to, but later that week I found him buggering the stable boy in one of the empty corrals,” she sighed, and shook her head. “Never gonna be able to please him that much.”

“Well, that is a shame. Such a talented girl as yourself,” I patted her on the head. She giggled in response.

“Well, now I didn’t tell you yet how I like to have my cun—“

“Oh, let’s not spoil things, my darling!” I cut her off just in time. “Then whatever shall we talk about the next time I see you? I’m off then!”

She clapped her hands and nodded while I sprinted away. As soon as I got back to Baker Street I would send a telegram to Watson and tell him to come home.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Three Dreams

: charlotteyonge; November 23rd, 15:04

Current Location:: Bed at Briony Lodge

Current Mood:: sleepy

A long corridor with elaborately painted walls that depicted a great battle between throngs of sword-bearing women in helmets. When Mary got to the end of the hallway she saw a door. Standing in front of it was John dressed in an usher's uniform.

"Tickets. Tickets, please," he said as though he did not recognize her.

"I gave you the tickets," she responded. "I saw you put them in your coat pocket."

"Then he must have taken them," he said, apologetically. "But I haven't seen him since he started looking for your father."

"My father's dead," Mary told him, but he just shook his head and opened the door. When she passed the threshold there was no theatre, but a crowd of people huddled together in front of a massive wall. She knew they were waiting for her. She pointed upwards and was blinded by the sun.

A large, red and gold hotel lobby with a formidable wrought-iron balcony that girded the second-floor gallery.

Mary walked into the lobby and approached the front desk.

"Welcome to the Milverton Hotel," said the small white-haired woman behind the desk. "May I be expecting you?"

"I came to meet Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, but I can't seem to find him. Where are the others?" Mary asked her.

"Irene, Godfrey and Eduard are all here, madam, but Mr. Holmes checked out three hours ago. I think he found your father," she replied as she removed a box of keys from her sewing kit.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, he was engaged to stop a death," Mary argued, but Mrs. Hudson was already fussing over the box of keys.

"Just sign this card and take your key," she said impatiently. "Rooms are the price of three letters made payable to Mr. Milverton."

A large brown horse grazing in a bright green pasture. Mary sat in the nude upon her new leather saddle, her unclothed lover pressed up behind her. With her left hand Irene caressed Mary's breast, now and again lightly pinching her nipple with fluttering pink fingers, and with her right one she earnestly kneaded Mary's thigh.

Mary's grasp on the horse's reins loosened when she reached up to cup her lover's cheek.

"Wagner wrote an opera about making love on a horse, you know," Irene murmured in Mary's ear.

"You know very well that is not true," Mary scolded teasingly.

"But it is, my love," Irene breathed into her ear. Mary moaned softly, tipped her head back and opened her mouth.

"Godfrey almost heard it," Irene insisted. She dipped a finger inside Mary's mouth and smiled when her lips closed around it.

The saddle was growing slick under her aroused flesh. Irene pressed more tightly to her, her own soft hair moist with desire. Mary rubbed into Irene's heat and gyrated on top of the saddle.

The horse's gait increased to a smooth cantor as their lovemaking picked up in tempo, and they laughed with lusty joy when the hot leather underneath them playfully spanked their swollen flesh. Irene took the opportunity to push Mary on top of the saddle horn, and it thrust inside her with such force that she cried out as ecstatic tremors spiraled through her body.

In her sleep, Mary reached between her thighs and pressed her hand over her vagina. Her body flooded with warm, white snow.

She was suddenly awakened when Irene called out from her nightmare. Her nerves only surfaced in the night when she was fast asleep, and Mary was the only one who saw her crumble under the weight of their worries. She rolled to her lover and gently spooned her.

"Shhh," Mary whispered as she stroked her hair. "I've just had the most wonderful dream..."

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge, irene adler norton, mary watson

Midnight Meeting III

: charlotteyonge; November 22nd, 10:16

Current Location:: same place

Current Mood:: accomplished

“Do you know,” I breathed into his face, “how long these hands have longed to touch your flesh?” I was gratified to hear his breathing had quickened.

“Watson, I have just laid before you what is likely the most important string of facts with which we have ever been concerned, and no more than I could afford a distraction—however satisfying it would be—could you afford to lose your grip on the gravity of the situation.”

His attempts to scold me into submission were failing miserably. His low, husky voice, so unintentionally sensual, the musky and familiar scent of him, the way the soft fabric of his trousers hugged his muscular legs and the clearly aroused state in which he trembled before me would override any attempts at pure reason he tried to enforce.

I gently placed my hands on his hips, and allowed one to casually slip below his waist and unfasten his trousers.

“Charles Augustus Milverton,” I quoted in a hoarse whisper, “king of all blackmailers and the worst man in London.” I neatly inserted my hand between his flies and reached my hand past his stiff and swollen member, cupping his warm sac. He gasped.

I leaned my face closer to his ear as my fingers began to play over this treasure.

“I suppose we may call him a genius in his way,” I continued, spreading his legs and reaching for his perineum. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, gripping my arms more tightly.

“…after the appallingly expert fashion in which he drains his victims dry,” I let my lips come back to his mouth, and lightly brushed across them as I spoke. I opened my hand underneath him so each of my fingers could stroke at his sensitive areas, and he shivered on top of them.

“…with a perpetual smile on his disgusting face,” I pressed into his narrow opening, reveling in the uninhibited groan that escaped him.

“He has built,” I murmured, swiping my tongue across his lower lip, “a fortune in the pursuit of others’ secrets…” I felt the involuntary flex of his adductores squeezing my hand between them.

If there is one thing that arouses Sherlock Holmes in every sense, it is the recitation of facts, and I knew he was already far beyond the possibility of restraint. I repeated verbatim his entire speech on the city’s worst criminal, including the conversation that followed, while I thoroughly handled his flesh. I matched the rhythm of the words to that of my hand, so that when I reached the word “deviants” I pulled my hand over his weeping cock, grasped it firmly and began to pull.

He was coming undone. His head lolled from side to side on the wall behind him, his grip on my arms moved to my hips where he was surely leaving bruises and his ragged and lusty breathing increased as beads of sweat emerged on his brow. When he was fully thrusting into my hand, I sped my rhythm and my speech. He pressed his moist forehead to mine and I readied for his finish.

“There are no steps I am unwilling to take to make sure our new arrangement stays between us,” came my last words in a rush. Holmes squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, threw his head back against the wall and convulsed into the little death. His iron grip never loosened, and the warm fluid that rapidly filled my hand poured out in unending stream. I closed my eyes and momentarily lost myself in the tremulous cry that accompanied his long, uneven exhale, certain that I had never before seen such an erotic and profound physical release.

He leant forward again, resting his head on my shoulder as he continued to pant, the last droplets of his issue seeping over my thumb. “Upon my word, Watson,” he gasped, clutching my lapels, “I have never… I have never…” he trailed off, unable to articulate himself.

Holmes would scoff at my stories from time to time, but I would never hear him disparage the most singular skill I had developed as a writer.

I calmly reached into my breastpocket for a handkerchief, which I applied to cleaning us both, and which he barely noticed. The tremors were only beginning to subside, and I remained steady and strong in my stance as my friend trembled against me in sated shock.

When I folded the cloth and returned it to my pocket, I brought my arms around his form and gently pulled him to me. He raised his face and his hot swollen lips locked onto mine once more. I leaned eagerly into the embrace, pushing him once more to the wall where my forearms fell to either side of him. His languid tongue tasted me at length until, with a final sigh, he pulled away and opened his eyes.

“I don’t know whether to thank or thrash you, my dear fellow,” he said in his quiet, serious tone.

“You are perfectly welcome to do both,” I smiled as I planted a tender kiss on his brow.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Midnight Meeting II

: charlotteyonge; November 21st, 8:03

Current Location:: same place

Current Mood:: chipper

“Charles Augustus Milverton,” he announced, extracting a cigarette from his case, “king of all blackmailers and the worst man in London.” He paused to bring a light to the end of his cigarette.

“I suppose we may call him a genius in his way, after the appallingly expert fashion in which he drains his victims dry with a perpetual smile on his disgusting face. He has built a fortune in the pursuit of others’ secrets, and no obstacle or challenge is great enough to deter him from reaping the highest possible reward from the procurement of some damning letter, the contents of which often destroy lives as much as pocketbooks.”

Holmes spoke with more harshness and disdain than I have ever heard him employ to describe even the most detestable criminal in London’s seedy underground.

“I have been engaged by a lady acting on behalf of her husband whose life hangs in the balance, based on the certainty of ruin both financial and social, to try to negotiate with this vile creature. My initial meeting with him yielded little, so I have undertaken the role of a plumber in order to penetrate his fortress. I have made some progress.”

“It sounds like you’ve reason to be optimistic then?” I said hopefully.

“Yes, but for what outcome exactly I cannot yet be sure,” Holmes returned, drawing deeply from his cigarette.

“You have yet to tell me why I cannot come home,” I said.

He sighed and gazed for some time at the floor. “At the risk of betraying the confidence of my client, please believe me when I say that your absence from things to this point has been a protective measure.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” I argued. “Protect me from what?”

“I am afraid that someone you know may be indirectly mired in this mess, and I do not want your name associated with it until I can be sure that you are not in any danger. And you know as well as I do, Watson, that our recent activities at Baker Street have moved us into the realm of sexual deviance, and while I couldn’t care less what society wants to call it, there are no steps I am unwilling to take to make sure our new arrangement stays between us.”

“Jesus,” I exhaled. As alarming and upsetting as it was to hear all this, I have to admit that hearing Holmes broach the subject of our “arrangement” gave me a certain thrill, for it suggested there was to be some permanence to it. And I have always admired his sense of justice, even more so when his dedication to the good of humanity has flouted law and convention. A sexual relationship with Sherlock Holmes was shaping up to be the very pinnacle of adventure.

“So when can I return to Baker Street?” I pressed him.

“I need forty-eight hours to make a few more inquiries, after which I shall promptly send for you,” he replied, and stubbed out his cigarette on the desk.

“Why did you summon me here tonight, then, instead of simply waiting two more days?”

I caught him off guard with this question. I could tell by the way he smiled shyly and quickly dropped his chin to the floor.

“Selfish reasons, I’m afraid, Watson,” he said, and though it was quite dark I could have sworn I saw a blush colouring his cheeks. He turned his gaze upwards and added, “I wanted to see you.”

He pushed himself from the desk and made to retrieve his hat, but I approached him before he could reach it.

“I missed you, too, Holmes,” I said warmly. “And now that you’ve enlightened me, may I show you how delighted I am to see you?”

There was that shy smile again. “I do not think that would be advisable just now. I cannot afford to sacrifice my mental energies.” He backed away from me, but I maintained a steady course until I had him cornered against the wall.

“Please, Watson, for the sake of the case, do not pursue this,” he nearly begged me not to touch him. But that only made me crave him more.

We stood there nose to nose. I sensed unsatisfied sexual longing radiating from his body, and I did not imagine the shadow of arousal below his waistline.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Midnight Meeting

: charlotteyonge; November 20th, 9:18

Current Location:: A dark abandoned London rowhouse

Current Mood:: mischievous

At the stroke of midnight, I exited the hotel and hailed a cab. I spoke the address of my destination just audibly enough for the driver to hear it, and kept a wary eye behind us as we drove through the dark streets of London. When I alit the carriage at the row of empty houses, I paid the driver, crossed the street and ducked into the alley. As there was still no sign of any followers, I determined it was safe enough to enter through the back door.

Once I reached the hallway on the second story, I found the key underneath the railing post, unlocked the door marked #5 and let myself into a small room. It was dank and unlit, but there was enough moonlight streaming through the single window that I was able to make out the outline of a small cot in one end and an empty desk in the other.

For ten minutes or so, I waited in near silence, save for the occasional sound of a distant carriage or small creature scuttling about the gutters.

Then, there was unmistakable sound of footsteps nearing the door. I heard the key turn in the lock and a moment later the door opened. A tall, dark figure entered the room and from where I stood he appeared to be dressed in the shabby clothing of a service man. His face was covered in stubble, and a dark bowler hat was pulled down over his brow.

But his eyes were unmistakably his own. As soon as I saw those two keen, dark orbs shining out of the darkness, I let out a relieved sigh, unaware that I had been holding my breath.

“Who on earth is Stephen Hallingsworth?” I asked him.

“My former roommate at boarding school. A sniveling asthmatic bore. Come here, Watson,” Holmes said, removing his hat and tossing it to the floor.

I crossed the room in two seconds flat. I took his face in my hands and locked my mouth upon his. He brought his hands to my wrists and kissed me back with such vehemence I felt the circulation in my veins increase in speed.

Without another word between us, he pushed me towards the cot and we fell upon it. I made every effort to muffle my cries as he consumed me, laving his tongue over my neck while he hastily opened my trousers. His trembling hands pulled my swollen flesh from between my legs and before I knew what was happening his mouth was over it, sucking and licking and pulling me into a frenzy.

I have often thought that thugs and criminals held the greater advantage under cover of London’s darkness, but tonight I firmly believed that it belonged instead to secret lovers, whose fervent trysts are inflamed by the sense that God looks down from the stars at everyone but them.

I writhed and bucked and within minutes died a long shuddering death. I gripped his head, squeezed my eyes shut and opened my mouth in a silent scream that gave way to a stifled groan when I reached the end of my release.

As Holmes righted my clothing, I lay motionless in a state of disbelief at how quickly this had transpired. I had managed to last longer than the last time, but once again my state of arousal had been so acute and his grip so powerful that I was near to my finish as soon as he took me into his mouth.

When the aftershocks subsided, I reached again for Holmes, attempting to pull him atop me and grasp his flesh. He resisted.

“No, Watson, I must retain my sharpest faculties for this case,” he sighed, as he pushed himself away from me. He walked over to the other side of the room and perched himself on the old desk, a favorite posture of his when he addressed me with important information.

I was quite disappointed, yet still enjoying the delicious shivers wrought by his lively and flexible tongue. I reluctantly rose to my feet, faced him and waited.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Confrontation

: charlotteyonge; November 19th, 12:38

Current Location:: 221B Baker St

Current Mood:: nervous

I paced the sitting room in more than my usual state of agitation, for I was expecting a visitor whom I very much dreaded to see. Although I designed this interview to take place in Watson’s absence, confound if I did not miss the fellow, for he is always so unwittingly adept at helping to bring calmness and order to my mind, even if I do not outwardly show it.

I suppose I can freely admit that I had been missing him all week, and not simply because of the interesting physical experiments we had undertaken of late. But I was surprised at how often my mind drifted to those singular instances, for I had never seen him so delightfully animated as when I caused him to cry out with pleasure. I was no less intrigued having gotten my first actual taste of him just a few days before he departed for the country, an experience which I was looking forward to repeating, for I was certain that it was one more skill at which I would soon excel. He seemed ever anxious to make a similar attempt on my person, which my instincts were telling me might hold very great rewards indeed.

Unfortunately, there were other matters at hand just now. My heart rate quickened at the rattle of a carriage pulling up to the curb outside. I waited tensely until there was a knock on the door.

“A gentleman to see you, sir,” Mrs. Hudson announced. “Mr. Milverton.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” I replied, “Show him in.”

I braced myself to greet the most despicable man in all of London, a man whose very name incited terror and fear in those who carried a secret in their past, which amounted to most of the London population. I am not known for my habits of social grace, but it is neither often that I recoil from an outstretched hand in a simple sign of greeting. However, when there was a pair of beady, penetrating eyes and a sneering smile at the other end of said hand, my refusal to touch it was borne of an almost visceral reaction.

Milverton was not phased in the least by my show of inhospitality, and he sat his plump self on the settee and regarded me with a challenging glare.

“You are no doubt aware of the letter I have implicating Mr. Godfrey Norton in a scandal of gross indecency?” he barked at me.

“Yes, and I have been engaged by his wife to negotiate the terms,” I replied.

“Seven thousand pounds, sir. I’m afraid I cannot come down in my price,” he said, making a show of casually flicking the tassel on the pillow next to him.

“However,” he added with a sickening grin, “if I find am I able to prove the wife has an indiscretion of her own than I shall be more than happy to raise the sum to ten thousand.”

“The first price is impossible, the second one absurd,” I said brusquely, making some effort not to show my growing anxiety. I tried a different tack altogether.

“What could you possibly hope to gain from such a transaction when Mr. Norton is already quite indisposed by the mere threat?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “This little business of mine is predicated on the publicity of my success, Mr. Holmes. I have a considerable stack of letters in my safe that would nearly double in value once this Norton affair comes out.”

This man was the very devil incarnate.

“And you will not settle for three or four thousand pounds less, and the assurance that the money would be immediately forthcoming?” I tried one last time.

He threw his head back and laughed, a shrill cacophonous ring that held no joy in it. “Your pathetic offer is an insult to us both, Mr. Holmes,” he chortled and rose to leave.

I grabbed his arm. “Supposing poor Mr. Norton dies before the deadline of your terms?” I growled. “What then?”

“Careful, Mr. Holmes,” he smirked back at me. “A man in my position must be armed to the teeth when he enters the public realm,” and he patted his pocket to indicate where his weapon was hid.

“As for your client’s husband, I would certainly be sorry to lose my profit. But I have someone tracking his so-called law partner this very moment, and it has been suggested to me that there is much more to this…situation than meets the eye, so I am not losing hope,” he said behind a twinkling eye. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I have one or two little interviews this evening.”

I dropped his arm and steeled my reserve. I barely had enough self-control to keep from tearing him apart right there in my sitting room, the law be damned. If he would just take his leave I could begin to think, to plan. All I could do now was imagine how his destruction would be hailed as the greatest public service of the century.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Train of Thought

: charlotteyonge; November 18th, 10:41

Current Location:: The 11:15 train from Bristol

I sat back in my seat and watched the scenery fly past my window as the train sped away from the station. I had just spent a week in Bristol ministering to the fragile health of an old army friend whose rheumatism had developed severe complications. Roberts was in much better condition when I left him than when I found him, and that morning I was able to confidently assure his wife that I expected him to make a full recovery.

Before I left, Holmes had received a mysterious letter, the full contents of which he did not wish to disclose. All he told me was that he had been commissioned to act as an intermediary on behalf of someone whose personal and financial well-being hung in precarious balance. He said he thought it best to first proceed alone, but that he expected he would be needing my assistance as the case progressed. Therefore, the summons from Roberts was rather well-timed.

But damned if my last conversation with Holmes wasn’t so stimulating that I nearly abandoned my journey altogether.

“Watson, these activities you so artfully described to bring me to an aroused state—are they something in which you would honestly like to engage?” he had asked me after breakfast.

“I would spend my last penny to try them just once,” I replied wistfully.

When I realized how that sounded, I made haste to apologize, but a broad smile had already spread across his face and he responded with a husky laugh.

“Well, perhaps when you return from Bristol and I bring this case to a close we can set aside some time to further explore these scintillating ideas of yours,” he said, rising from the table and patting me on the arm.

That he was open to any of it was as surprising as it was arousing, and I spent the majority of my train ride to the country allowing my mind to formulate various elaborations on the scenarios I had presented to him. My nether regions had duly thickened at the images of him on his knees, servicing me with his hands tied behind his back, and the way his skin might feel underneath mine were I really to squeeze myself between his thighs. But the thought of taking him, oh God—I pressed my hand into my groin underneath my newspaper in an effort to both tame and stimulate my arousal.

I had a separate fantasy for this, one that had me coming home late one night to find Holmes bent over his desk or his chemistry, hard at work. It is not easy to surprise him, for his animal-like instincts for movement are so finely honed that he can detect a spider on the wall in the next room. But somehow, I would catch him unawares by approaching him silently from behind, reaching around his waist and pulling him roughly to me. I wanted him to be irritated, to protest that I was interrupting his work and to try to wriggle free of my grip. Once I unfastened his trousers and insinuated my hand between his legs, however, he would abandon his project and begin to urge me on.

“I want to see you come again,” I would whisper in his ear, “with me inside of you.”

He would only nod and groan in response as I massaged his cock until it was as hard and erect as it could be, then I would work my way into his hole with moistened fingers. I imagined his expression of acute pleasure clenching into needful tension as I spread him apart determinedly, and then extricated my own flesh which quivered with hunger for his.

I would first slide in and out slowly, then thrust into him so hard as to push him forward onto his desk. His hands would cast about frantically for purchase, scattering papers, spilling ink, pushing paperweights to the floor as I pounded away, heeding his calls to do so harder and faster, begging me to fill him to the hilt and bring my own climax.

“You first,” I would say, tugging wildly at his flesh until he called my name and spent himself in loud cries. I would follow immediately, the clenching sensation around my buried cock igniting my release and launching me into an ecstatic frenzy.

I cannot precisely account for all the reasons I wanted to take him in this particular manner, but I surmise that my own knowledge of his physical and mental strength is what invoked my wish to challenge him sexually. Of course, the fantasy only worked if I felt that he would enjoy the experience as much as I, and in all the myriad variations I managed to come up with he most certainly did.

Needless to say, I spent a restless week in the country when I was not tending my friend’s ailments. I verily ached with anticipation when at last my train pulled into Waterloo station upon my return. I had every hope that I would find Holmes both at home and done with his case.

Such was not to be. As soon as I alit the train, a page boy approached me with a telegram.

“Dr. Watson?” he said.

“I’m Dr. Watson,” I replied. He handed me a telegram and disappeared into the crowd.

I tore it open.

Watson-
Do not come to Baker Street. Go to the Cadogen Hotel and check in as Mr. Stephen Hallingsworth. I will contact you with further instructions.
Yours,
S.H.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

The Other Letter

: charlotteyonge; November 17th, 11:27

Current Location:: 221B Baker St

Current Mood:: lazy

That Saturday morning Holmes and I were draped languidly across the settee in our nightshirts and dressing gowns. I was leaning against his frame with my legs stretched out beside me, and he was sitting upright with one arm thrown casually around my torso. Mrs. Hudson’s breakfast tray lay untouched on the table; I was far too excited by our newfound physical closeness to abandon it for such a bland routine as eating, and the butterflies in my stomach that resulted from our position had usurped my appetite anyway. Holmes, of course, had no interest in food and for once I was glad of it. The scents of tobacco and his particular musk that he carried with him were even stronger in the mornings, and I had leaned against him as much to breathe him in as to feel his body pressing into mine.

Our sexual encounters had gotten more exciting of late; after he indulged my fantasy to watch him pleasure himself two days ago, he had asked me how I preferred to experience my own release. I was so thoroughly aroused by the display I had just witnessed that the only words I was capable of uttering were, “Use your mouth.” To my very great delight, he wasted no time in tearing open my trousers, pushing me to the settee and placing his lips around my throbbing arousal.

I regret that I was not able to allow him to hone his oral skills that day, for the moment he gripped my buttocks in order to push me further down his throat I climaxed with unprecedented swiftness. I could not and did not want to let go of the provocative image of his hand wringing himself into a stunning orgasm, nor did I wish to silent the echoes of his resultant groans, and for these things I sacrificed the length of my own pleasure. He did not seem to mind that I nearly choked him when I so suddenly spent myself in his mouth. In fact, he was such a gentleman about it, I could not help but laugh after he licked me clean and said, in all sincerity, “Well, now that is going to require some practice. I must apply myself to the task of learning to gauge your reactions with my lips and tongue, which appear to have an entirely different set of sensory receptors than my hands. How interesting.”

I was just beginning to imagine how our next coupling might begin to take shape when Mrs. Hudson knocked on the sitting room door. I rose and crossed the room to open it.

“Yesterday’s posts, sir,” she said, handing me a tray. “Mr. Holmes neglected to pick them up.”

‘Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” I said cheerfully and brought the stack of letters with me back to the settee. I handed them to Holmes and settled against him once more. He opened them one by one, reading each with his usual aloof interest.

“Ah, Mrs. Lennox has found her dog,” he said with a chuckle, “and shan’t require our services.”

I laughed in response and my heart made a little leap when he absently planted a kiss on top of my head.

He next opened the envelope that bore the unmistakable scrawl of a woman’s hand, and began to read. Suddenly, his body tensed and he sat up, slowly removing his arm from me and rising from the settee. I regretted the loss exceedingly.

“Holmes, what is it?” I asked him in alarm, but he did not answer me. He paced the room, reading the letter with a deep scowl on his face. When he finished reading, he went into his bedroom and shut the door.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

The Letter

: charlotteyonge; November 16th, 11:56

Current Location:: London

Current Mood:: distressed

Irene and Mary had spent the day riding horses, an activity that Mary discovered was far more enjoyable in the newfound comforts of a men’s riding uniform. Irene had had one tailor made to match her own, and when Mary first straddled her horse she was delighted with the control afforded her by the new riding posture. Furthermore, the sight of Irene dressed in an outfit that so provocatively hugged her every curve made her wiggle with moist anticipation in her saddle. In fact, she could not wait until they got home before ravishing every inch of her lover.

It was a particularly lovely spring day and the two of them had planned to take a picnic to the horses’ favourite pasture. After they dismounted and tied the animals to a nearby fence, Mary commanded Irene to remove every article of her clothing with the exception of her riding boots. She had her place both hands on the trunk of a tall tree and spread her legs while Mary teased her labia with the leather tongue of her riding crop. Only when Irene was soaking wet and trembling with need did Mary fully insert the blunt end of the crop to bring her to a crashing climax. It was such a thrilling success that the two women spent every day in the pasture for the last week, finding new and creative uses for their riding equipment.

Today, however, as they were preparing to enjoy their post-activity bath together, Irene received a telegram that caused the colour to drain from her face.

“What is it, my darling?” Mary asked in alarm.

“It’s my husband, Godfrey. He and Eduard are back in London and Godfrey has been taken ill. They fear for his life,” Irene said in a strained voice, and she immediately summoned the carriage to take them to Eduard’s west end flat.

When they arrived, they were ushered into a large sitting room where a tall, olive-skinned man with handsome Grecian features was nervously pacing in front of the fireplace.

“Irene!” he cried when he saw her, and Mary was touched by the affection with which they greeted one another.

“How is he, Eduard?” she asked him anxiously.

“Not well,” he replied, “though he was able to take a bit more food today. He’s suffered a terrible shock and, well, I think I’ll let him tell you what has happened.”

He led them into a large bedroom where a Godfrey lay. He was extremely pale and though Mary had never seen him before, she could imagine how his face must have looked before it had grown thin and hollow.

“This must be Mary,” Godfrey said warmly as the two approached his sickbed. “Irene has told me so much about you. You’re just as pretty as she described.” He kissed her hand with thin white lips, and she instinctively squeezed it back in a show of support.

Irene knelt beside him, took his other hand and waited for him to speak.

“You remember Riggs, my old valet?” he asked Irene. She nodded. “The damned scoundrel found a letter I wrote to Eduard two years ago and gave it to a man who is in the business of making money off such things. He wants seven thousand pounds from me by the end of the month or he’s going to expose me to the public. I’ll be ruined, Irene. We both will.”

Both Mary and Irene gasped in horror and stared at one another, then at Godfrey, who looked as though he might not make it to the end of the month.

“Milverton’s his name,” Godfrey continued, fighting for every word. “And he is not one to be trifled with. I do not know that I will survive this, but I want to be sure you and Mary take steps to protect yourselves in the event that he tries to come after you. Eduard is certain he’s being followed and so has reason to believe this fellow wants to dig up more scandal. Please, you have…so much…to live…” and he trailed off, his voice giving way to a nervous spasm.

Irene poured him a glass of water and called Eduard, who came rushing to his side.

“Shh, my love, shhh,” he murmured as he placed a cool cloth on his lover’s forehead.

Mary slowly retreated from the room as the full implications of the situation cast their crushing weight upon her shoulders.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge, irene adler norton, mary watson

By His Own Hand II

: charlotteyonge; November 15th, 10:12

Current Location:: Holmes's writing desk, 221B Baker St

Current Mood:: accomplished

Holmes's left eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.

“You see," I continued, "these hands of yours are so practiced in the art of sensual pleasure, that I cannot help but wonder if other parts of you may be so trained to exact the same reactions. What if, for example, I were to bind your hands with a fine silk scarf and prohibited you from using them in any capacity?”

His lips parted and I heard him inhale.

“If I simply tied your hands behind your back, removed every stitch of my clothing and presented you my full and ready cockstand, what methods might you employ to bring me off as thunderously as in the past?”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Would you kneel before me and take me into your mouth?” The blood was starting to pool in my own groin.

“Or would you prefer I tied you to the bed in order to enable you to wrap your legs about my torso and squeeze me between your thighs until you felt the first drops of the tide to come?”

There was no mistaking the growing bulge in his trousers.

“Then, perhaps, you would run your lips along my length, wind your tongue around my crown like you do so well with your fingers, and wet my entire length so that I might,” I reached across to his groin and slowly began to unfasten his trousers, “access other parts of you more easily.”

I dropped my voice to a husky whisper.

“Can you envision me writhing about inside of you, Sherlock? I cannot promise I would be entirely gentle, for without the use of your hands you would be unable to prevent me from taking you with the heated desire that grows more powerful every day.”

I left off with the last button and watched as he quickly pulled himself free.

I looked down at his palm and saw for the first time his long, lavender phallus, engorged with need, protruding from a bed of dark brown hair. It was as breathtaking a sight as any of his extremities, and I had to bite my lip to hold in a gasp.

With his eyes still closed and his brow knit into a look of severe concentration, he licked his hand and then began to slowly massage his cock. It grew more erect as he let his fingers play over it, spreading them wide to cover its surface before wrapping them around it and pulling at the tip. He leaned his head back and relaxed his face, though kept his eyes closed as his expression flowed into various phases of pleasant discovery.

My own cock was throbbing in anticipation, but I did not allow myself to touch it. Not yet.

Holmes squeezed himself and the first drops of his issue sprang forth and fell lazily to the carpet. A small moan escaped his mouth and it was all I could do to prevent myself from seizing it with mine and assisting him in his task.

He was developing a pattern now, first pumping himself vigorously, then pressing his thumb into his crown to squeeze off the drops that were coming more frequently, rolling his wrist in tiny circles to apply pressure underneath. It was like watching a sculptor work his clay. I was completely entranced.

“Good, yes, that’s right,” I whispered, to which he responded by leaning back and undulating his hips.

As he neared his climax, he brought his chin down, opened his mouth and started breathing in gasps. His hand became a blur and his body rocked back and forth in an effort to bring about his release.

“Show me,” I breathed into his ear, “how hard you can come.”

All at once, he threw his head back, groaned towards the heavens and relaxed his posture as thick white semen burst from the tip of his cock. A grand, peaceful smile spread across his face, deep guttural sighs matching the long strokes of his hand while he steadied himself on the desk with the other.

He sighed to his completion and I, barely able to maintain my composure, handed him a handkerchief. With flushed cheeks, he polished his member, wiped his hands and reassembled his clothing. When he finally looked at me, it was with sated relief.

“Now then, Watson,” he said briskly, “what shall we do with you?”

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

By His Own Hand

: charlotteyonge; November 14th, 9:35

Current Location:: 221B Baker St

Current Mood:: enthralled

“No, Holmes. This will not do.”

“What?” His still did not understand.

“This,” I said, gesturing towards his hand and my groin, “does not go far in satisfying my deeper yearnings.”

I was beginning to feel like one of his subjects, though I was not immune to the keen interest with which he studied my face as he squeezed and stroked and rubbed me, for he did seem to enjoy the act as one enjoys performing a hat trick before a captive audience, but I was growing tired of this routine and more than frustrated that I had not yet been permitted to touch him.

“Is there something else I can do to assist you, my dear friend? You have simply to name it.”

I smiled at the innocence of his question because, truly, Sherlock Holmes was no more experienced in love than the average pre-pubescent child. His experiments in the sexual gratification of others were so strictly clinical as to be practically chaste.

“Holmes, how many men did you service when you conducted your research in college?” I asked him.

“Thirty-seven.”

“And how many of them attempted to return the favor?”

He paused a moment before answering, “Some.”

“More than half?”

“I fail to see what difference this could possibly make to you, Watson.”

I ignored his obstinance and continued to press him.

“Did you grant any of them the privilege?”

“Of course not.”

“And did you ever test any theories on your own person?”

“Obviously not, Watson. That would not have been germane to my study.”

“What if it were germane to my study?”

He stared at me. “Your study? Of what?”

“The way you look when you’re ensconced in sexual activity.”

“Watson, what are you asking me?”

“I’m asking you nothing. I’m telling you that I want you to pleasure yourself while I watch you do it.”

He was so startled that he nearly stumbled backwards.

“I’m afraid that is quite out of the question, Watson.”

“Why?”

“I am not currently in an aroused state.”

“Supposing I get you to one.”

“Watson, this really is not what I had in mind when I—“

“Oh, but it is exactly what I had in mind. In fact, it’s been in my mind for quite some time now.”

His steely glare pierced right through me, but I held my ground.

“Very well,” he said. “Where and when do you want me to do this?” he asked. Never had I seen him so unsure of himself. It was quite intoxicating.

“Here. Now. Against your desk.” I moved aside the chair and a pile of papers. He narrowed his eyes at me, then turned and perched himself hesitantly on the edge of the desk. He gripped the edge and waited tensely.

“Relax, Holmes. After a while you won’t even notice I’m here,” I said with a teasing smile. “Now, I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

He did so, and I took a moment to relish the look of him preparing to focus his brilliant mind.

I went to his side and leaned in close. I barely touched him, though I made certain that the front of my trousers aligned with his right hand so I could graze it at the appropriate moments. I brought my lips to his ear so my moustache would tickle his earlobe as I spoke.

“It is true, my dear Holmes, that I have long imagined the myriad ways in which your exquisite hands could be used to bring me pleasure, and far beyond that which you have already done,” I murmured, and I was delighted at the shiver that traveled through his body.

“But other ideas have crossed my mind of late, things which I am quite sure would shock even the most…salacious imaginations.”

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Reunion

: charlotteyonge; November 13th, 11:50

Current Location:: Briony Lodge and the Royal Opera House

Current Mood:: happy

Current Music:: Schubert, Mignon ("Kennst du das Land?") song for voice & piano

Irene was only in Paris for three nights, but in her absence Mary’s heart grew ever fonder. She loved Irene’s bold and adventurous spirit, her refined grace and sharp mind and the kindness and generosity with which she treated others. Irene was equally taken with Mary’s modest beauty, her quiet intelligence and the pride and strength with which she carried herself.

The women’s reunion at Briony Lodge was a heady one; their warm embrace quickly gave way to feverish kisses and before long they were in Irene’s bedroom divesting each other of their frocks and falling in entwined passion onto the bed.

Irene dragged her voluptuous lips down Mary’s neck and onto her chest, pausing to flick her tongue around her nipples until they puckered and hardened. She reached up and pinched the left one as she continued a loving trail down her stomach and then disappeared into a soft, light carpet of hair. Mary spread her legs and arched her back with a trembling sigh as two delicate fingers gently parted her swollen labia, and she gasped at the exquisite sensation of a wet mouth taking full possession of her.

Irene’s name floated from Mary’s lips in sighs while she undulated her hips slowly and deliberately to the rhythm of her lover’s tongue dancing inside her. When she entered into her climax it was with her entire being, her body and soul uniting in the triumph of womanhood, her soft cries reverberating like the refrain of an ancient tribal chant.

She was nearly asleep when Irene gently pulled herself from her arms to rise, wash and dress for her performance that evening. Tonight, she was making her much-anticipated return to the London stage, and though she had never suffered stage fright, she was nervously aware that Mary would be in the audience. There was no one she wanted to please more.

When Mary arrived at the theatre that evening, she was escorted to the highest and most luxurious box in the house, the one usually reserved for royalty and visiting artists. Her heart skipped a beat as the usher pulled back the curtain to reveal a cushioned, double-wide seat and a small table with a bottle of champagne, a crystal flute and a single red rose. She recognized Irene’s artistic scrawl on the envelope that read “For Mary,” and opened it with trembling hands:

My dearest Mary-

There is but one member of the audience tonight to whom I shall raise my voice—every note I sing tonight belongs to you, dear heart, in whose arms I feel at home and whose name rings like its own song upon my lips. I thank our Creator every day for leading me to you, for granting me the wisdom and the power to love your beautiful spirit in more ways than I ever thought possible.

Ever yours,

Irene

The lights soon went down, the curtain went up, and Mary closed her eyes, inhaled the scent of rose and basked in the dulcet tones of her beloved’s voice.

It was her twenty-eighth birthday.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge, irene adler norton, mary watson

The Orange

: charlotteyonge; November 12th, 13:41

Current Location:: 221B Baker Street

Current Mood:: contemplative

Holmes was seated at the table testing the reactions of certain dyes with a series of alkaline powders. I sat across from him on the settee reading my medical journal, every now and then indulging in the sight of him working over his task with swiftness and grace.

“I am nearly at the end of this, Watson, and then I shall be happy to oblige you,” he said when he finally caught my gaze.

“Oblige me?” I asked, offering him a questioning look.

He simply smiled and continued to work. I returned to my journal.

Several minutes later, he rose from the table, crossed the room and sat next to me. When I caught the hint of seduction behind his eyes, I understood what he intended.

Holmes had pleasured me three times since I had been back at Baker Street, and each time I had been impressed anew at the tremendous amount of skill he brought to the activity. After the second time, he told me exactly where and how he honed this skill, and after the third it occurred to me that his knowledge of physical love began and ended there. When he reached for me on this fourth occasion, I backed away.

“What are you doing, Holmes?”

He looked up in surprise.

“My dear fellow, do you think I have been oblivious to your gazes this afternoon? I am merely putting actions to the thoughts that have been crossing your mind,” he replied, and reached for me again.

I caught his hand before he touched me.

“Pray, tell me what thoughts have been crossing my mind,” I challenged him.

He raised his chin and squinted into my face. “I saw you staring at my hands, Watson, with that singular look of desire that comes over you when you’re in need of another release.”

I blushed slightly. “I was feeling that, yes, but I was not thinking of a release. I was remembering the orange.”

“The orange,” he repeated blankly.

I gazed down at his hand with loving affection as I slowly turned it over in my own.

“Shortly after we first took lodgings at Baker Street together, I was still convalescing from my war wounds. It was getting on towards Christmas, and you received a crate of oranges from a grateful American client who hailed from Florida. I was not entirely enlightened as to how you earned your living in those days, and as you had no cases currently occupying you and I was laid up on the settee, you took the opportunity to tell me.”

I traced his palm, then the back of his hand, now lost in the memory.

“You plucked an orange from the crate and first held it in your palm, tossing it easily from hand to hand, gesturing with it as you spoke to me of all the 'little problems' that routinely plague the people of London. You handled it so fluidly it seemed to become an extension of yourself until, with a rather artistic flourish, you pierced the rind with your index finger. I watched in amazement as the fruit spiraled effortlessly in your grip until it was nothing more than a naked yellow sphere. You had removed the rind as a single unit and without ever losing the tempo of your speech. I had been thinking the whole time that this was by far the most beautiful pair of hands I had ever seen.”

I paused to look up at his face. His dark grey eyes were glinting with amused interest and when I traced his elegant fingers one by one, his lips parted in a soft little sigh.

“You finished your little magic trick and kindly presented it to me. Before I pulled it apart to eat, I wondered momentarily what would happen to me were you to peel away my exterior and expose the fruits that lay at my core. It was not until years later that I found my answer, and when I did, I realized that my rind was long gone. The fact is you had already begun the process in our sitting room so many Christmases ago.”

I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed it earnestly. I looked into his face just long enough to register his astonishment, and then I scooped the back of his head, pulled him to me and pressed my lips onto his.

I felt his sharp intake of breath, and I did not have to see his face to know that his eyebrows had jumped to his forehead in surprise. But I, too, was surprised by the feel of his warm, soft mouth yielding to mine.

After I released him, I rose and left the sitting room as he stared silently after me.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Release

: charlotteyonge; November 11th, 12:33

Current Location:: The Watson home

Current Mood:: touched

There was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Mary?”

“What is it, John?” she replied crossly from inside.

“We need to have a talk.”

“It can wait, can it not?” she called out hopefully.

“I’d just as soon have it out, if you don’t mind. Are you not feeling well?”

Mary sighed and relaxed her hand. She had been seconds away from a breathtaking orgasm after having spent the last half hour lying in bed picturing Irene’s porcelain skin, luxuriant auburn hair and exotic hooded eyes.

“I’ve a bit of a headache is all,” came her reply. “What is this regarding?”

“It’s about our house, Mary, and what we shall do with it now that we’re no longer…that is to say…” he tried to explain, but it was awkward with the closed door between them.

Mary sighed again. There would be no recovering her fantasy, so she made a mental note to take up with the image of bouncing lilywhite breasts and solid pink nipples playfully teasing hers when she next found a spare moment alone.

Mary rose and went to the door. She opened it to reveal John’s sad and concerned face, and regretted speaking sharply to him.

“I presume you’re planning to move back to Baker Street?” she asked him.

“Yes, but I want you to know that I shall do my best to keep this roof over your head for as long as you wish,” he offered kindly.

“I appreciate that,” Mary said with a smile, “but it won’t be necessary. I will be staying with Mrs. Norton after she returns from Paris.”

“Are you certain you don’t want a little more security for the long term?” he asked.

“I can take care of myself, John,” she said with quiet resolve.

John placed one hand on Mary’s shoulder and cupped her cheek with the other.

“I know you can, Mary. And you deserve the fullest measure of happiness that the world has to offer.”

The couple gazed for a long moment into each other’s eyes, acknowledging what had passed between them and existed no longer. They joined in a final embrace and allowed themselves a moment to share in the sadness of ill-fated love.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge, irene adler norton, mary watson

Reckoning II

: charlotteyonge; November 10th, 11:27

Current Location:: 221B sitting room just after supper

Current Mood:: optimistic

Of course, I was delighted to see Watson, for the months I had spent taking on cases by myself had been decidedly less satisfying without my friend and colleague. I am more than capable of solving crime on my own, of course, but his lamentable decision to marry and commit himself to domestic life bereft me of the only person in London with whom I shared such companionable habits.

His sudden reappearance was not unwelcome, but it was immediately obvious that something had gone amiss in his marriage. I presumed he would indulge me when it best suited him, but after precisely one week, Watson’s pained side-glances in my direction suggested it had something to do with me. Unnerved and curious in equal measure, I finally asked him outright what had wrought his return.

I nearly fell off my chair when he told me he was in love with me. The poor fellow became so apologetic, however, that I retained my composure in the exercise of trying to assuage him. I was confounded as to why he felt he had done me such a wrong turn when it was his wife to whom he owed the explanation. Apparently, she had been more sympathetic than surprised, and I was at least glad to know that I had been right in my estimation of her character as she wished him no harm.

Watson had not the slightest idea as to how to proceed with someone such as myself, and while it is true that I am not renowned for the warmth of my affections, I can appreciate them in others. Moreover, I am no stranger to the mechanics of male sexuality, having spent several months of my studies at university occupied with the task of finding out whether a man can die from the results of an orgasmic fit. Such seemed to be the case with a former professor who had died under mysterious circumstances, and so I solicited the efforts of dozens of volunteers to aid me in the careful study of the muscular tics and facial features which are singular to that state.

At first, I simply bade these men to pleasure themselves in my presence until I was compelled to lend my own hand, so to speak, in order to prolong the experience as long as possible. After about two weeks, I had become quite adept at regulating the rhythms and releases of sexual climax based on the subtle muscular changes I both saw and felt in my subjects. Once word got out that I possessed such a skill, I soon had far more volunteers than the study required, even after I had long since solved the case and moved on to other things. I spent the next year turning men of all types of sexual inclinations away from my door.

Until Watson’s confession, I had never considered applying this skill to anything other than the scientific study of strangers, but I recognized that constrained look on his face well enough to know he had not experienced a fulfilling release in some time. I put my arms about his shoulders to offer reassurance, and led him into my bedroom. I surprised him when I opened his trousers and placed an authoritative hand around his genitals, but he raised no objections, and in fact soon seemed rather pleased with the activity.

As I expertly worked his flesh, I couldn’t help noting that he would have made an excellent subject for my study, for not only was his impressive manhood exceptionally responsive, but his facial expressions were so widely varied as to be downright alluring. I held him at the brink for a deliciously long moment and watched his lips alternately purse and open as he gasped for air, then led him to a long, shuddering release which lasted well over a full minute. It was a beautiful sight to behold when he closed his eyes and smiled with such felicity as I had never seen upon him. When he had fully spent himself, he collapsed into my arms murmuring cries of affection and gratitude.

Tags: holmes/watson slash, i_mop porn challenge

Reckoning

: charlotteyonge; November 9th, 11:15

Current Location:: the aftermath

Current Mood:: embarrassed

It took me several days to recover myself before I could speak to Mary about what had happened during our last moments of intimacy. I was shocked when she calmly suggested we invite Mr. Holmes into the bedroom with us, not merely for the fact that she was willing to accommodate my proclivities but because the thought of presenting this to Holmes was so laughably absurd. I had never, in fact, committed any such acts with him, and my unwitting revelation was a result of months of elaborate fantasies conjured in the privacy of my study.

Holmes himself had so often accused me of being overly fanciful in my retelling of his cases, and I daresay the habit was fast becoming my undoing, for the assistance of a tallow candle and the advanced technical use of my hand I could nearly imagine he was really there and loving me in the rigorous manner I had described for Mary.

I felt terrible, of course, mortified and guilty, even when I assured my wife that I had been unfaithful only in heart and not in deed. But Mary is no fool, nor is she given to hysterics, and when she told me that she’d rather we both be happy, I was so singularly grateful I almost forgot the hurdle that lay ahead. She was never coarse or angry about my gross indiscretion; in fact, during the past four weeks she had been spending so much time with her friend Mrs. Norton that she, too, seemed to undergo a kind of transformation. The two of them had become inseparable, having tea every day, performing charity work around the city, attending parlor concerts together, and she was emerging as a stronger, prouder version of herself.

I hoped I would fare half as well, for when I contacted Holmes and offered my assistance to him again, he was ever his brisk and business-like self. He did seem genuinely pleased to hear from me, and my return to the familiar comforts of our sitting room was met with a warm handshake and heartfelt smile. So happy was I to be in his company again that I decided to let him broach the subject of my sudden reappearance in order that I might enjoy the assurance of his friendship just a while longer. In the meantime, I continued to imagine how he would look sodding me blind. For better or worse, this lasted precisely one week.

“Watson,” he said, “your hat has not been brushed for five days, you have taken seventeen of Mrs. Hudson’s last twenty-one meals and the suitcase that sits in your old bedroom has a curious air of permanence about it. While it pains to pry into your domestic affairs, I do feel entitled to ask what has caused you to reclaim a bachelor’s habits.”

Slowly, and with a few stops and starts, I told him I was in love with someone else.

“Ah,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “and the name of this very fortunate lady is…?”

I looked him straight in the eye. “His name is Sherlock Holmes.”

Tags: angst, holmes/watson slash, mary watson

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