"You could've avoided this, John. It could've been so much easier for you, if you had not struggled against me."
"Sherlock, the first day we met you told me that you don't do relationships. How could this be any easier even if you didn't rape me?"
Smack. Sherlock's hand was too quick for John to grimace. Sherlock's hand could be silk if felt gently, but upon impact, it was like being hit with a putter across the face.
"Actually, contrary to popular belief, I am actually quite skilled in the art of sex. If you hadn't resisted so much, this might have been quite pleasurable. I don't have any toys about me though, so I wasn't very sure I could warm you up," he held out his hand and wiggled his fingers, "with these."
"You're sick, you do know that, correct?"
"So I've been told." A grim smile appeared on his face. He lifted himself off the bed John was restrained to, if you could even call it that. It was more of a wide operating table stained with splotches of semen and blood. Sherlock started putting his clothes back on incredibly slowly, as if to give John a show.
"Sherlock, where are we?"
"A seventy-three year old manufacturing warehouse. It's been on the market since 2005, but no one has really wanted to actually revive and furnish the place. So I've made this my den, of sorts." He chuckled to himself, "I think you'll enjoy this place also, John." He then walked up to John, who was wincing from fear, and laid his hand on his cheek. "I think you'll really enjoy this place."
He then moved behind John; out of his view of vision. John heard the clanging of metal, and felt Sherlock moving the handcuffs attached to the table leg.
"Come John. Get dressed. There's no reason to lose your dignity over nudity," he said with a smirk. "Your clothes are in a pile over in that corner."
He made his way over to his own clothes, back to Sherlock, so he can get a view of the room. He looked through the window and quickly found out that they were on a second story building.
Shit. No outlet there.
He reached for his clothes, but they were different from the clothes he had before he was kidnapped. These weren't even John's clothes, they're not something he would buy. He doesn't wear all black. Or leather. He held them up in the moonlight to get a better view of them.
"Sherlock, what in God's name are these," he said turning around.
"Yes, that is the piece you'll be wearing from now on. It's a black leather vest complete with a collar to attach a leash to, along with a leather jockstrap for not only easy access, but also for show. You'll be quite the eyecatch, John."
"What the hell do you mean by eyecatch? What are you planning to do? Sell me?"
"No John, I'm not that cruel. I meant eyecatch for the occasional guest that just so happens to come by. And for myself, of course. You eat with your eyes, John, not your mouth."
"I'm not wearing these."
"Yes John, you are. Put them on, now."
"No. I'll look like one of those men you see in the top shelf magazines you see in the market. Absolutely not."
Smack. Sherlock was too quick for John to dodge the blow to his face.
"Ow ow! Alright Sherlock, I'll wear it, goddammit!"
"Good, John. Very good," Sherlock said with a pleased smile.
John put the vest on first, his head sliding through the collar that was connected by chains to the vest itself. It was very tight fitting, but not so much so it became uncomfortable. The vest hugged his body tightly. He felt like he was a bit too big for his britches at that moment, but he soon got used to the snug feeling.
He then turned away from Sherlock to pull on the leather jockstrap. It had a bright blue stripe down the middle of the support patch, for contrast against the black.
"Did you get these a size too small on purpose, Sherlock?"
"Yes. Turn around."
"Damn you."
Sherlock's pupils dilated once he saw the image of John in front of him. The vest was so tight, his nipples indented the front, and Sherlock saw the blond dusting of hair over John's pectorals. They were a side-effect of his military service. He walked over to John, slid his hands over his full chest, and grabbed the red leather laces connected to the vest. He started tying them through the metal loopholes of the vest in a corset fashion.
"So fucking gorgeous, John."
There was no reply, only shallow, almost empty breaths of air from John. Sherlock stepped back a bit, to return to the full view that he had before. He let his eyes travel the now tied corset to the main… attraction.
The support patch was more than snug around John's cock. It clung tightly to it, to the point where you could tell exactly what his cock looked like without the undergarment. Sherlock could feel himself hardening now, he liked seeing John like this, vulnerable, hurt, in leather.
"You look spectacular."
"Go away," John muttered.
"What was that," his voice impending punishment, "John, am I going to have to inform you, yet again, that I am your superior?"
"Go away!" He shouted this time, but he quickly regretted it. He flinched for a few seconds, just to be prepared for what may come next, but instead of pain on his face, he heard chuckling. Sherlock was laughing at him.
"John, I - We can both clearly see that you don't want me to go away."
"What the hell do you mean?"
"Look down, love."
Oh, God. John's cock was half hard, leaning to the side because of the restriction on his genitals.
"That means nothing Sherlock. I am not attracted to you in any way. It's a natural reaction to an adrenaline rush, which is a natural reaction to the position I was put in only a few minutes ago, you twat."
Sherlock reached behind him and pulled a large riding crop out of his back pocket.
"You're quite resistant to my charms, John, But I know that I can train you to be the best fucking slut in all of Britain, goddamnit. I mean, you've already shown potential to me, of course," he chuckled to himself. "Come here John."