A million thanks to allthebellsinvenice for all her edits and encouragement. I wouldn't be writing this story if it wasn't for her!
Molly lay frozen, the only movement of her body the rise and fall of her chest with heavy breaths. She was still sprawled across the width of the bed, with her upper body towards the door and her feet closer to the intruder. She lifted her head slowly, searching in the dark for the man who sat just beyond her bed.
"Well, little beauty?" his deep voice rumbled, and Molly shivered with fear and arousal. She held her breath and propped herself up on her elbows, peering towards the voice.
"Well?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. He chuckled lightly in response and she felt one long finger trace the instep of her foot, making her giggle and pull it away from his touch quickly, as she hooked her hands against the side of the bed for leverage. He laughed again and reached out, wrapping his huge hand around her ankle. His fingers stoked her skin gently, raising goose bumps on her legs and arms. For a long moment, the only sound in the dark room came from her labored breaths and the occasional rasp of material as his fingers came into contact with the coverlet while they skated around her ankle.
He was warm, feverishly so, and Molly wondered vaguely if he was ill. But there were no other indicators of illness, so she supposed that she was simply cool from being exposed to the night air.
"You have a power," he said suddenly, making Molly jump slightly and look up towards his voice in confusion.
"A power?" she asked, annoyed that all she seemed to be doing was repeating his words.
"Yes," he answered, his voice quiet. "You have a power over me. You say the word and everything will stop. Everything. I will even leave this room and never come to you again, never touch you again if that is what you desire. But you must tell me what you wish."
Molly stopped breathing for a moment, staring towards his voice with her brow furrowed. The man in her room had her completely at his mercy, he could do anything he wanted, and yet he gave her the power to send him away.
She suddenly, desperately wanted him to stay, and the words tumbled from her mouth heedlessly.
"Please, no my prince, don't leave me, don't ever leave me. I'll do as you ask, I'll do anything you say, if only you'll stay with me."
Molly shut herself up by clapping her hands to her mouth as a blush lit up her cheeks with the forwardness of her words.
There was silence then a genuine boyish laugh echoed through the room, and Molly smiled at the sound. Her companion's fingers loosened their grip on her ankle as he laughed and Molly wiggled away.
"Oh my sweet little one, you misunderstand me. I shan't leave if you say your word. I'll only leave if you ask it of me. Your word will keep you safe from me when I forget myself. Do you understand?"
Molly whimpered, nodding her head with a whispered, "yes."
The sound of movement came from off of the bed and she bit her lip, looking up again. Suddenly, she felt her hands, which had returned to above her head as she wiggled away from his touch, grasped in one of his large ones. A strip of material was wrapped around both wrists and pulled tight, but not painfully so. She gasped and tried to pull away from him but his grip was too strong and she struggled in vain for a moment.
"I'm going to restrain you," whispered his voice in her ear, and she shivered again in spite of her annoyance at her immobility.
"Why?" she asked petulantly, her bottom lip moving forward as she pouted.
"Because you'll move too much," he replied simply, as he moved around the bed.
"I won't!" she protested, and he chuckled again.
"Yes, you will," he said and Molly felt his hands around her ankles again.
He pulled her over to where she was laying lengthways on the mattress and quickly tied the material around one of her ankles. She kicked at him, but he was persistent and she was no match for his strength, stilling after a few moments, and laying quietly as he bound her ankles together. She tested her bonds and found that while her wrists were bound tightly together, her ankles were tied with some slack between them. When she tried to draw her legs up however, she realized that he'd looped her bonds around one of the bedposts, and while she could spread her legs about two feet, she could not roll well or move far from her position. She stilled after testing her restraints and listened for him, wondering what he intended to do to her next.
"Now little one, you'll tell me if it's uncomfortable, won't you? I'm going to give you your word, and when I ask for it, you must say it. If you don't say it I'll stop. Likewise, if you need me to stop for any reason, you will say your word and everything will immediately cease, do you understand?"
Molly nodded slowly, even more confused than before, then remembered that it was dark and stuttered out a soft yes.
"Good, now repeat after me, this might be a bit difficult for you. Occhiolino."
Molly frowned. "Occhiolino," she repeated with ease. What did he think she was? Some frivolous, undereducated tavern wench?
"Occhiolino, very good," he praised, and her mouth turned down even more. "It means-"
"It means 'little eye.' It was the first name for the compound microscope, christened by Galileo. Do you think I am a complete idiot?" she snapped, bringing her arms down to her belly in an attempt to cross them, which was a failure considering the binds. There was a long pause and she eventually turned her head towards where his voice had been.
"No, little one. You are far from an idiot," he said quietly. Molly waited for what seemed to be an eternity before she felt his fingers dancing on her skin once more. She jumped slightly at the sudden contact as he grasped her wrists and pulled them back above her head.
"Keep them here," he ordered, his voice authoritative but still subdued in a way. She nodded to the darkness.
"Are you ready my little beauty?" he asked, and she bit her lip, debating if it would be better to call it off to tell him to leave and never return to her room to touch her. She frowned at the feeling of loss the thought welled within her and dismissed it. She would walk this road, and find out where it led.
"I am ready," she said as she leaned back and closed her eyes.
Sherlock stared down at the object of his lust as she relaxed beneath him, closing her eyes in anticipation of his touch. He was painfully aroused, but knew that he would have to be careful not to frighten her on their first encounter.
He smiled down at her, grateful once more than he could see so much better than she could in the dark.
His fingers ghosted across her hair, playing with the long locks, testing their weight and texture. He smiled as he caressed the honey-colored tresses, remembering how fascinated he'd been with them during the day. His vision was enhanced beyond simply better vision in the night. During the day, Sherlock could see so many more colors than a normal human. He'd hypothesized that animals could see more than puny men but as there was no evidence to support his theory, it remained just that.
He looked down at the soft hair between his fingers and remembered the gorgeous complexity in it as the sun fell on her. Brown could not describe its beauty. There were golds and reds, chesnuts and mahogany, chocolates and coppers, all woven within her long tresses. He was mesmerized by it, and yet, the complexity of her hair did nothing to rival her eyes.
Her gorgeous eyes. He described them as brown, but they were no more brown than her hair. Sherlock had gotten lost in them more than once throughout their day together, deciphering the flecks of color that danced within them. There were spots of amber and gold, and a light green color that had no name, none that man knew anyway. The sun reflected in them, lighting up her whole face just as her smile did.
When she gave in to his demands, when she became his queen, Sherlock would fashion a crown for her of gold with sinhalite and axilite stones interspersed with rubies to set off the complexities of her gorgeous hair and eyes.
Sherlock realized that he had stilled, and was merely staring down at the bound girl before him. He wondered how long he'd been caught up in his fantasy. It couldn't have been too long, because she was still quietly laying before him, eyes closed, waiting for his touch.
He brought his hands to her wrists, barely making contact with her skin as his fingertips swept over her flesh, savoring the sensation as her arms prickled with chills. Working his way down, Sherlock moved slowly and deliberately to her shoulders, where he couldn't resist leaning forward to plant light kisses on her long, slender neck.
She was breathing heavier, squirming under his ministrations, and Sherlock was glad he'd had the foresight to tie her, though he'd bring something more suitable for the next encounter. He fingered the open top of her simple nightdress and sighed against her skin.
"You should be dressed in the finest silks and satins, and have luxurious oils to pour in your bath and rub into that soft skin. I'll see to it." He measured her with his hands, committing her dimensions to memory as she writhed beneath him.
"No, please," she protested softly, "my own things are fine."
He stopped and pulled back, looking down at her. She, who had never known wealth, was objecting to his desire to shower her with luxury. He would not stand for it and lowered his voice to a dangerous growl.
"Are you defying me, little one?"
She paused, and bit her lip, obviously trying to decide if she would attempt to resist him further. She elected not to, and slowly shook her head.
"No," she answered quietly and he pinched her hip, making her jump and stammer "my prince," quickly.
Sherlock smiled at the sound of those words falling from her sweet little mouth. A mouth he intended to use for his pleasure in the near future. For now however, he resumed his light touches on her exposed skin.
Sherlock swept the coarse pads of his fingers across her soft skin, seeking out the more callused areas that gave proof to the nature of her work with her father. She'd not had an easy life, he could see that, but her spirit was strong and he valued her for it.
He pressed his lips to her exposed collarbone, delighting in her small rebellion against propriety as he fingered the loosened ties at her neck. Soon, he would order her to leave it off in anticipation of his arrival in her chambers. Soon, but not tonight.
Sherlock pressed harder to her skin, massaging her calves and thighs as he worked his way back up her body from her tiny feet. She was lightly moaning in pleasure as he worked the kinks out of her taut muscles, and the sound went straight to his cock, making him twitch with want. He moved gently against the side of her bed, giving in to his need to thrust against something.
He slipped his hands under her nightdress, which was still rucked up around waist from his pulling her across the bed. She gasped and shivered, the skin of her soft belly cool beneath his feverish touch. He'd known that his body temperature was warmer than that of a normal human now, but had never experienced the difference so intimately. He recalled her cool fingers on his body and wondered how they would feel wrapped around his prick as he traced lazy designs into her abdomen. His fingers made pictures and scientific symbols and words. Sherlock shook his head as he realized he'd traced the word "princess" onto her ribs at least four times.
He could feel her body tense as his hands slowly traveled farther up her body, pushing her nightdress up to her ribs. Sherlock paused, making sure that she understood his intent and did not want him to stop.
"Give me my word, little beauty or I shan't touch you further," he growled, smiling when she quickly stuttered the Italian word.
So my little one isn't as innocent as she seems.
Gently, Sherlock pushed her night clothes up farther, exposing her small breasts to the chilly night air. She shivered violently, eyes squeezed closed, and her dusky pink nipples puckered as the coolness hit them. Sherlock paused, fighting down the wave of hunger that passed through him at the sight of her tied down and exposed to him. He would not take her now, but that didn't mean he couldn't bring her pleasure.
His clever fingers brushed lightly over her sensitive buds, and she gasped again, arching her back under his attentions, pushing her small but perfectly formed breasts into his large hands. She bit her lip, and Sherlock stopped, looking down at her.
"Don't think," he said, knowing that she was wondering if what she was doing was wrong. She relaxed again, taking his words to heart, and Sherlock rolled one of her nipples between his long fingers. The girl was moaning low in her throat and he was once again struck with the thought of how she would sound when he was inside of her.
He amused himself with teasing her nipples a bit longer before letting one of his hands trail down her body rubbing gently at the slight protrusions of her ribs and hipbone.
Molly froze as the man's hands skated down her frame again. The tingling in her body was something she'd never felt before, even in those dark nights when she'd tentatively tried to sate the need that rose up within her with her own fingers. Her knickers were wet with her arousal and her eyes popped open in shock as the man inhaled deeply, his face hovering over her hip. He was so close that she could feel his hot breaths on her skin, and noticed that he was breathing fast, even faster than she was.
His hands left her for a moment, and she let out a needy whine, her brow furrowing as she chided herself internally for being a wanton whore, no better than the tavern wenches she'd been offended to be compared to earlier. No, but this was different. They were both captives, at the mercy of the Beast, companions in misery, could they not also be companions in ecstasy?
Ecstasy. She let her eyes flutter closed again as she imagined how his voice would sound in the throes of pleasure. She had no comparison, no real example, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wanted to commit that sound, his sound, to memory. She wished she could move, at least her hands, so she could touch him as he touched her.
His fingers traced the top hem of her knickers, barely dipping below the material. Molly stiffened, at once excited and afraid of what was happening. She'd never put much stock in innocence, in virginity, though she still had hers. She had no wish to become a mother at her age, and none of the men in her town had interested her enough anyway. They were all idiots, concerned with nothing more than who killed the largest animal or conquered the prettiest girl. They were stupid, and what's more, they were weak. Not one of them could command her attention like the man currently rubbing his fingertips across her abdomen. She didn't even know what he looked like really, and yet she was fascinated by him, longing to puzzle out who he was and how his mind worked.
A shiver of pleasure overtook her as his deft hands moved closer to the junction of her thighs, skating across her knickers so lightly. Without any real warning, his large hand settled on her sex, cupping her through the material. Molly moaned, shifting slightly, trying to get some traction with her feet so she could lift her hips and push her pussy into his hand.
He chuckled, and traced the edge of her knickers where it met her inner thigh with one finger, before slipping his hand inside. Molly sucked in a startled breath, the obscene sound of his finger running through her slit, feeling her arousal, met her ears and she was sure that it was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard. His hand withdrew and she groaned in protest, but quickly stopped when she heard a sucking noise. She blushed scarlet when she realized that the man had tasted of her juices, and suddenly it felt as if she was on fire, a warmth spreading out from her sex to her whole body, making every nerve ending sing with arousal.
His finger pressed against her lips and she opened her mouth, letting him slip the digit inside, closing her lips around it. She tentatively sucked, earning a needy groan from the man. She smiled and sucked harder, eagerly tasting herself and his mouth mingled. It was a heady combination, at once too much and not enough. Too soon he withdrew his finger, and she pouted until she felt his hands once again slipping inside her knickers.
He ran his finger gently between her lips, putting the slightest pressure on the swollen nub above her opening. Her back arched and her hands came down automatically, scrabbling at his hands in a vain attempt to anchor herself to something. He withdrew, and she felt the breeze as he rose from his spot beside her bed.
Turning her head towards the spot where he was, Molly tried to control her breathing, which had become erratic without her realizing it. The ache between her legs drove her to squeeze her thighs together in search of relief, though none was to be found that way.
"Prince?" she panted, "my prince, where have you gone?"
"I am here," came his deep voice in answer. "But I told you not to move, and you did."
"I am sorry, please," she gasped out, throwing her hands above her head again, spreading her legs as wide as she could. "Please, I'll do as you ask."
"I should punish you," said the darkness, and Molly felt him shift to lean on the edge of the bed as she shivered, her brow furrowing as she confusedly wondered if she was afraid or aroused by the thought of punishment. His hand on her cunt drove the thought from her mind however, and she arched into him, a moan escaping her.
"Not tonight," he said, his lips suddenly close to her, his warm breath leaving moisture on the shell of ear. Molly nodded slightly, her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried not to cry out.
His fingers toyed with her, dipping ever so slightly into her entrance, circling around the epicenter of her pleasure.
"Landica," he murmured, and Molly blushed, having heard the term on several occasions as one of the women in the tavern was frequented by a Roman traveler on his visits to town. He'd taught her some words in his language and Molly had been foolish enough to ask the meaning of them. She recalled how her face had burned as the woman had laughingly explained to her the rude words.
Her body must have stiffened, as he paused, and she heard confusion in his voice.
"You know this word?" he asked, in the tone of a statement. She nodded, then affirmed quietly.
"Yes," she said, her face bright with shame. Her partner was silent for a moment then leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear.
"You are a wonderful mystery, my little beauty," he said, making her shiver. His hand resumed its former occupation in her knickers, before her slipped a single finger into her channel, and Molly froze, her muscles tightening in response to his questing digit.
"Relax," he murmured soothingly. Molly had a conscious effort to loosen her muscles, and was rewarded by his finger delving a bit further into her. His thumb was rubbing against her raised button that he'd so rudely named, and she could feel a tightness building deep in her belly. He pulled back and slowly worked another finger into her, and Molly realized that she was grinding her hips down against his hand, a sheen of sweat gathering on her brow and between her breasts.
Almost as if she'd said the word, his other hand came back to her breasts, squeezing and rolling the nipples between his fingers, making her cry out in bliss. She was gasping for breath now, her own pants loud in her ears. She could smell the sweet scent of her arousal hanging heavy in the darkness, blanketing them in a cloak of sex and sin.
He was higher now, as if he'd stood, or sat up on his knees, and Molly's bed rocked beneath her. When she understood that he was mindlessly thrusting against her mattress in time to his fingers inside her, Molly let out a moan of pure need. She wanted him, she wanted to feel him, but she was bound and powerless to do anything but writhe in ecstasy as his fingers made her forget everything she'd ever known.
His fingers curled within her and a white hot shot of pleasure ran up her spine, exploding behind her eyes as she arched up, screaming incoherent words of ecstasy into the night. Her eyes were screwed tightly closed, but even so, she saw the sudden flash of light from the fixture on the ceiling, and heard the curse from the man beside her. It was brief, no more than a second, and darkness returned, leaving red spots dancing behind her closed lids. His hands remained firmly in place as she rode out her climax, but withdrew as she slumped down to the bed, greedily sucking in cool oxygen into her starved lungs, painfully aware of the wetness of her knickers, cool against her overheated flesh.
After calming herself, she turned towards the edge of her bed, bringing her bound hands down to feel for the man. Her hands found only empty air and she sat up, the bindings around her ankles dragging her farther down the bed as she moved upright.
"My prince," she whispered, peering into the dark, searching for movement, anything. Molly found nothing and flopped back down on the bed, silent tears forming in her eyes.
Was she dreaming? Was it real? She tested her bonds, groaning in frustration as they did not loosen. Her tears turned to full sobs as she rolled over, planting her face into the pillow, tugging vainly on the ropes at her feet. She turned back, unable to sleep on her belly with her feet bound in such a way, and cried herself to sleep gazing up into the darkness.
Sherlock sat with his back against the wardrobe, watching the girl struggle vainly against her bonds, tears welling in her eyes. He looked down at his hands, sticky with her juices and his own. He glared up at the light above the girl's bed, frowning in annoyance.
He'd been so involved in her, wrapped up in the sight and sound and smell of her pleasure, he'd forgotten to maintain a hold on his own emotions. When she'd gasped and cried out, muscles tightening around his fingers, Sherlock had lost control and come, his emissions coating his belly and thighs, and the side of her bed. At the moment of his pleasure, the room reacted to him, the light flashing a brilliant white before the cloak of darkness returned. He'd have to be more careful in the future if he wanted to keep his little one from catching a glimpse of him.
He sat, pondering his reaction to her, watching as she cried herself to sleep, and quietly slipped back to the bed to untie her, not wanting her to hurt herself in her slumber. He stared down at her still form, tear tracks down her cheeks, eyes swollen and red, and his heart clenched.
What have I done?
I love reading your comments! This story takes a lot out of me and reading what you think about it encourages me!