A/N: Written for Sherlolly Appreciation Week (SAW) 2019. Enjoy this very M rated little foray into dom/sublock with a Domme Molly :)
"We'll start with the riding crop."
Sherlock looked up at Molly, quirking an eyebrow. "So, bad day, was it?"
"Bedroom, Sherlock. Now," she barked, shedding clothing as she stalked past him, heading for the room in question.
He rose to his feet in an instant, already hard and practically squirming with anticipation. Molly generally preferred that he take the dominant role in their sexual relations, but when she was in the mood to domme him, oh, it was delicious! Far too delicious for him to even think about disobeying.
By the time he reached the bedroom door, arms laden with her discarded clothing, Molly was entirely naked and taken her hair down from the elastic holding it in place. "Strip," she snapped, then sat down at the chair in front of her vanity, hands folded in her lap as she waited.
He didn't make her wait for long, just long enough to carefully lay her clothing on the other chair and maneuver himself so that he was behind her. Letting her watch in the mirror as he removed his dressing gown, the white button-up he wore beneath it, his bespoke charcoal grey trousers and silky black boxers, folding them carefully and laying them atop her own neatly folded pile of clothes.
Once naked, he reached over her shoulder, fingers resting questioningly on the back of her hairbrush. With a curt nod to indicate her permission, he lifted it and began stroking carefully through the cinnamon tresses of her long, soft hair.
Five minutes later, with her temper somewhat soothed by the grooming ritual, found Sherlock eagerly lying on his stomach on their bed, arms and legs in a spreadeagle position. No need for bindings; he wouldn't budge an inch until she was finished with him. As the riding crop came down on the fleshiest parts of his buttocks he let out a low groan of arousal. His Molly was a master at eliciting just the right amount of pain to bring his pleasure to its fullest peak.
Two more blows to his buttocks and he heard the thump of the crop dropping to the floor. "Get up."
Moving carefully, he did as commanded, turning to see that she'd braced herself against the door, both hands at shoulder height, legs parted. She wore nothing but the pair of black Louboutins he'd gotten her for Christmas, the ones that added a full three inches to her height - and made it so, so much easier for him to fuck her the way she liked it best when in this kind of a mood. The kind of mood that demanded release that only he could give her - and very happy he was to do so.
"Fuck me hard, Sherlock," she said, but her voice had softened to more of a plea than a demand.
Either way, he was happy to comply; moving somewhat gingerly due to the still-painful muscles of his gluteus maximus, he came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled at her throat. He cupped her breasts, tweaking the nipples with just enough pressure to bring a moan of pleasure from her lips, then slid his fingers down to her hips so he could anchor himself as he thrust into her sweet, warm pussy.
As he fucked them both to completion, as he fucked away the cares and trials of the day, Sherlock had only one thought: one thing about Molly's bad days was that they almost always led to very, very good nights for the two of them.