AN: It's my birthday so you get the present! This is set post-season seven, during the time Emily works for Interpol in London and before A Scandal in Belgravia. It sort of ignores the whole blackmail and treason thing with Irene and focuses just on the fact that she is a dominatrix. This fic has two more chapters and the universe will have two more fics...unless I get a lot of response, I could see expanding it then. Obviously, heavy BDSM themes follow (I admit, I know next to nothing about the subject so I did a crap load of research because I am better than 50 Shades, but in no way am I an expert, so take it with a grain of salt). Enjoy!


Derek was visiting Emily in London one weekend when Irene invited them both over for dinner – Emily should have expected something was going to happen then. Their relationship, unconventional as it was, wasn't the type where they introduced each other to their friends or, indeed, were even seen in public together very often.

She'd mentioned to him that she'd been seeing someone, but the conversation hadn't strayed to the fact that said someone happened to be a dominatrix...a dominatrix she'd seen professionally. It wasn't exactly something she discussed with work friends – even if they were a very good friend.

For his part, he hadn't seemed particularly surprised she was seeing a woman (or, if he had been, he'd hidden it very well). He did seem slightly thrown off balance by the fact that Irene greeted them at the door in a skin-tight black leather dress and thigh-high boots, a slightly more company appropriate approach to her normal dominatrix wear. But he was nothing if not well-trained at schooling his reactions and did a very good job of not letting on his surprise cross his face.

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair. Their rules for company were simple and subtle – she wasn't allowed to sit until her Mistress did and she couldn't take a bite until after her Mistress had taken one. If Derek caught on to their unusual power dynamic – and knowing him, he had – he didn't say anything on the matter.

After dinner, though, Irene started to weave her web...

It started off innocently enough (or it would have been, if it weren't for the decidedly wicked smirk she wore): she 'suggested' that Derek looked tense and Emily should rub his shoulders. Emily had no choice but to obey her Mistress' implied command.

His shoulders tensed up at her touch. He looked at her questioningly over his shoulder, obviously confused and a little concerned with the direction the evening had taken. She just shook her head, silently instructing him to just play along. She hoped her smile said to trust her.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Irene said airily, as if Emily weren't in the room. She openly raked her eyes over Emily's form, eyes lingering on her breasts popping out of her skin-tight dress, one she'd deliberately picked out for Emily to wear whenever they had guests. She liked showing off what was hers.

Emily watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously, discomfort rising. She continued to knead his neck and shoulders, feeling his entire body tense at the implications of the question, the way Irene was visibly undressing her with her eyes.

"Very," he agreed, deliberately keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. When he'd agreed to dinner, he'd had no idea the night would take this direction. To be honest, neither had she.

Irene grinned silkily. "Tell me..." she wondered aloud, training him with an innocently inquisitive expression, "Have you ever wondered what it's like to fuck her?"

Derek seemed to choke at that, coughing and sputtering, unable to form any words. But his eyes were wide in alarm.

Emily too was taken aback. She'd thought that her Mistress intended to dangle her in front of him, showing him what he couldn't have. Things seemed to be taking a decidedly different turn and she wasn't sure she liked it.

"I thought so." Irene's grin was positively predatory.

"I don't... I mean... I haven't..." he stammered. He wiped his sweating palms on his jeans.

"Liar," Irene hissed. She approached him, bending down to meet his gaze, trailing one hand down the side of his face. "Did you know she's a submissive little bitch? Or that she gets off on being beaten?" Irene laughed at the stunned expression on his face, patted his cheek lightly.

From her vantage point, Emily could see that he was getting hard at the visual, surprising her a little. She had no idea he was into that sort of thing. She wondered if it was her that turned him on – the idea of her as a slave – or if it was her Mistress. And, in that case, she found herself a little jealous.

"You'd like your cock in her mouth, wouldn't you?" Irene said conversationally, "Or her sweet little ass? She's such a good little cum slut – trust me, I know all the men that have had her."

Derek was unable to form a reply. He just nodded, crossing his legs to hide his hard-on.

Emily was unsure if she should feel relieved that it was her that was turning him on. She had to wonder if this was something he'd felt for a long time or if it was newly brought on by her Mistress' teasing.

"If you want her, you can have her..."

"What?" Derek said, deadpan.

"What?" Emily yelped simultaneously.

Irene cocked her head to the side and smiled sweetly. She caught Emily's eyes until she diverted her gaze to the floor. "You belong to me and if I'm inclined to share you, you'll serve any master just as you'd serve me, right?"

"Yes, Mistress," Emily mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Yes, Mistress," she repeated, more clearly.

Derek was clearly taken aback by the exchange, eyebrows leaping up his forehead as he witnessed the true nature of their relationship for the first time.

"Do you want her on her hands and knees?" Irene suggested, then snapped her fingers. "Emily, kneel for our guest."

With a silent little sigh, she knelt before him, staring up into his eyes in a pleading way...though she wasn't entirely sure what she was pleading for.

"The poor man has a problem..." Irene said, indicating his hard cock right at Emily's eye level. "Why don't you give him a hand..."

For so long, her Mistress had been taunting her with promises of letting another master use her like the slut she was, letting some man fuck her into oblivion while she watched and, while desperate to please her Mistress by any means possible, she wasn't entirely thrilled by the idea. To be honest, she'd rather thought the threat to be empty...until now. The fact that it ended up being one of her very best friends was a strange combination of comforting and mortifying.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached for the zipper to his jeans, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs. She'd admit to herself (and herself only) to having wondered if the rumours about his endowment were true and was impressed to find that they were. She spit into her palm and trepidatiously wrapped her fingers around his cock, pumping her hand up and down the length of it.

Irene watched with a critical eye and Derek felt awkward and exposed under her intense gaze, but he couldn't help the feeling he got being pleasured by Emily...he'd long wondered what it would be like.

Before he could reach his climax, Irene commanded, "Stop." Emily withdrew her hand like she'd been burned. He shuddered. "Now, fuck her."

Emily and Derek both whipped their heads around to look at Irene whose face was completely impassive.

"If you want her, you can have her," Irene repeated in a way that was more order than suggestion.

Emily wriggled out of her dress – she wasn't wearing anything underneath, as Irene had a rule that she not wear underwear in public. Fully exposed to Derek's hungry eyes, she got down on her hands and knees, opening herself up for him.

"Em?" Derek rasped, voice hoarse.

"It's okay," she whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at him with what she hoped was a reassuring expression and attempted a smile. She trusted him.

It seemed to work because he stripped out of his pants, taking himself in his hand and stroking. "I don't...have any..." he stammered.

Irene grinned like the cat that got the cream. "Perfect." She seated herself across from them so that she could watch.

"You want me to..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards his hard cock.

"It's okay," Emily said again. She'd already figured out where her Mistress was going with this...

One of her Mistress' rules was that she keep a journal that she periodically was to read aloud, forcing her to expose all her deepest secrets. Perhaps the secret she'd been most reluctant to admit to her was her yearning for a baby; for the most part, she'd given up on the dream and had learned to be okay with it, but there was still a part of her that ached for it.

Apparently, Irene had decided to give that to her.

Not literally, of course, but she was making it happen.

Emily could see in his eyes the exact moment he worked out what Irene had planned. His gaze held hers, surprised and alarmed, silently asking questions he didn't dare voice.

"You're starting to bore me," Irene said with an airy wave of her hand. "I've offered you a gift, it would be rude of you not to accept."

Derek stared helplessly into Emily's eyes and she smiled softly. "Do you trust me?" she whispered.

He did. Explicitly. He nodded.

"I want this," she assured him. And she did. There was no one she felt safer with, no one she trusted more.

He nodded once and, with one hand, guided himself into her, groaning and tipping his head back at the feel of her hot and tight around him. Slowly, tentatively, he started moving against her.

"Don't treat the whore like she's made of glass," Irene instructed, "She likes it rough."

Derek had almost – almost – forgotten she was there, watching. He seemed reluctant to take her word for it; he was no stranger to rough sex – in fact, whenever he imagined Emily in bed, it was always a little kinky. Not that he liked to make a habit of masturbating to thoughts of fucking his best friend...

"Tell him, Emily," Irene demanded.

"I like it rough," she echoed in a raspy trembling voice. "Fuck me harder." She knew what her Mistress wanted to hear.

He swallowed thickly, sinking himself into her until he was flush against her ass, producing a hiss of pleasure/pain from her.

He wanted to ask her if this was okay, if she was okay, but that seemed to toe the line of what this was: a show of control, of power...an act for Irene's voyeuristic pleasure.

He got his answer, anyway, when Emily roughly pushed her hips back against him, urging him on.

He withdrew almost all the way, then pushed himself in again and Emily keened, head lolling forwards, raven hair falling in a curtain, hiding her face from view. He repeated the motion, decidedly shutting off his brain and letting animal instinct take over.

"Yes," he panted, driving into her with intensity, "Yes..." He pressed a hand against the small of her back, the other curling around the ridge of her hip, fingers pressing firmly into her flesh, hard enough to bruise.

Emily dared to meet her Mistress' eyes and found her pupils wide with arousal, her lips slightly parted, sliver of pink tongue darting out to moisten her bottom lip. She would have laughed, if she'd had the wherewithal to think properly. When Irene caught her looking, a wicked smirk crossed her lips.

"Such a pity you're all the way over there..." she said, almost apropos of nothing. She stuck two fingers into her mouth, pulling them out slick with saliva, then guiding her hand under her skirt to fuck herself while Emily watched.

Emily whimpered, wishing it were her hand inside her Mistress. Her pussy clenched at the sight and she sunk her teeth into her lip.

Derek grunted as she tightened around him. "Fuck, Em...you feel so good," he rasped.

"Does he feel good, Emily?" Irene asked, keenly aware of Emily's eyes fixed on the way her fingers were pumping in and out of her cunt. "Tell him how good he feels..."

"Morgan," she started, then felt a little impersonal using last names when he was inside her. "D-Derek," she stammered, "God, you feel..." She struggled to form words, too overwhelmed by the feel of his thick cock pounding mercilessly into her, the sound of his balls slapping against her ass. "Fffffuck, yes, you feel good. Harder, please..."

She felt his cock twitch inside her as she begged; he didn't need to be asked twice, his thrusts increasing in intensity. His hand slid along her sweat-slick back to knot itself in her hair, pulling it taut like she liked. He was as good a fuck as the rumours said and she almost wished she'd thought to find out years ago.

"I'm gonna come," she panted, not sure whether it was him or the sight of her Mistress fucking herself that had brought her to the edge so quickly and not particularly caring, so long as her Mistress let her come. She didn't think she could stand being edged, not tonight, not when he was stretching her and filling her so good.

"Fuck," he grunted, one calloused finger finding her clit and rubbing it furiously.

Her back arched sharply as her climax hit her, leaving her trembling and out of breath, with barely enough time to return to awareness before she felt him spilling hotly inside her with a guttural cry.

After a moment, he pulled out with a wet pop and she could feel his cum dribbling out of her. "Damn, girl," he whispered, trailing a finger through her creamy pussy, making her sensitive cunt clench again.

Emily kept her eyes shut, enjoying the feeling, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. Irene moved to kneel down in front of her, running her fingers soothingly through her sweaty tangle of hair. "Good girl," she purred, before leaning in to kiss her.

Three weeks later, Emily had a positive pregnancy test in her hand.