All right, you all seem to be on board. Excellent. Please remember my thanks and warnings from chapter one. Things will heat up fast in this one.
I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~
Chapter - 2 - Lapdance (N.E.R.D.)
Three weeks after the wedding Molly had had enough of the silent treatment from the former army doctor. She wanted him back in her life and, more importantly, back in Sherlock's. Making her decision, she went to see him at the clinic where both he and Mary worked. Looking back she really wished she'd listened to the ball of nerves in her stomach just this once, because the 'conversation' was a lot more like a one way shouting match, with Molly on the receiving end.
Evidently, John had heard about their recent union and was none too happy about it. He spewed hurtful names and hateful accusations at her. He claimed that Sherlock was taking advantage of Molly's feelings and that she didn't know what was good for her. That she needed to grow a spine and to quite frankly get as far away from the detective as she could. He confused her by saying something about everyone doing Sherlock's bidding 'simply because he asks' and that he was surrounded by 'crazy, lying women'. Mary blanched at the last part. 'You know what? You two are so fucked up that you deserve each other!' he'd shouted. Mary had finally stepped in and defused the situation, thankfully. In the end, Molly left, completely defeated.
Sherlock was out when Molly got back to 221B. She was actually incredibly grateful for this fact. She wanted to cry, she did, but she just couldn't. The tears wouldn't come. So instead she paced. And paced some more. She was still pacing when Sherlock arrived thirty minutes later. He spoke to her, though she hardly noticed. "I'm sorry?" she asked as he guided to sit down on the settee.
"I said: Mary phoned me. I know about what happened at the clinic. Well some of it," he explained, sitting next to her.
"Mary… phoned you?" she asked distractedly. Something about that statement was important but she couldn't figure out what. She shook it off for the moment though. "I thought you were on a case."
"Solved it. You need to relax, Molly." Sherlock gently placed his hand on her back, causing her to flinch.
"Oh, um, I'll be fine. Just n-need a good night's sleep." She was staring across the room, still going over John's hateful words in her head. He'd been so cruel.
"Yes, you do need sleep but I think you need a fair bit more than that and I can help you, I know what you need. I've been studying you and..."
"You've not been home," she said turning to look at him. There was something different about his eyes, though she couldn't quite place it.
"I've been home enough. The guilt's crushing you, Molly. Though I can't say I understand it, I can help alleviate it."
"How? What... what are you talking about?" He was confusing her. She just wanted to be alone and… cry. She really needed a good cry.
Sherlock's hand moved in slow circles on her back. "Do you trust me, Molly Holmes?"
"Yes," she whispered, goosebumps erupting on her skin. It was the first time he'd said her new name; the first time she'd heard him say it at least. It sounded lovely. Intoxicating. Somewhere, in a very distant part of her mind, warning bells were going off. She ignored them.
"Good. Then allow me to take care of you," he said, still rubbing her back so softly she could barely feel it. "Just trust me."
"Wh-what...?"
"Stand up," he said with an air of authority; one she'd heard many times before, but this time it was slightly different about the tone.
Though she felt like something unreal was happening, Molly stood up on trembling legs.
"Thank you. Now, undress."
She gasped, unable to take her eyes off of Sherlock as his gaze seemed to heat her from the inside. The bells got louder. "I don't…"
"Please, Molly, take off your clothes," Sherlock said as casually as if he were asking her to pass him a pipette.
Why would he…? She tried to wrap her mind around his request; it made no sense. He can't possibly… "Sherlock, I don't understand."
He smiled, softly and soothingly. "I know that you're confused right now but it is important." Reaching up, he took her hand, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles. "I want to help you relieve some tension and give you something else to focus on for the moment."
She was at war with herself. Removing her clothes in front of this man seemed like her greatest fear come to life, but there was something about the way he was looking at her, the way he was holding her hand so gently. It was damn near... sweet.
The warning bells were being drowned out by deep a yearning that she hadn't felt since… Of course...since he left. That realisation alone should have stopped her.
It didn't, however.
Taking a deep breath, Molly looked away, pulling her hand out of his. She closed her eyes, deciding that whatever he had planned, God help her, she'd go along because one, she did trust him and two, the guilt was killing her. Anything was better at this point. Even stripping naked in front of the deductive genius who would surely see every single flaw... Shit. No, I can't do this.
She must have been standing - not undressing - for too long because Sherlock spoke, "I only want to help, Molly."
She looked at him once again to find him staring up at her with an air of nonchalance that didn't fit with tension in the room. "But…"
"I promise I'll do nothing that you don't want; nothing that you won't… enjoy. This is what you need." Sitting forward, elbows on his knees, he said, his voice almost cold, almost detached, "Now, undress."
His voice had started out soft, reassuring but the last sentence was spoken with an authoritative tone that made her belly flip. She knew that this meant danger, but the fear was distant now, somewhere in the back of her mind. With a nod, she faced away from him and started.
She unbuttoned her top with shaking fingers and dropped it to the floor, then quickly removed her socks and trousers before she lost her diminishing nerve. Her eyes flicked to his when she reached behind her back to her bra, and then her bravery fled. Fighting tears - Oh, now I can cry! - she closed her eyes, trying to will herself to continue. Her inner turmoil was halted when she felt Sherlock's hands on her shoulders.
"Shall I assist with these last two garments, wife?"
The way he said 'wife' nearly caused her to moan out loud. Not trusting her voice at all, she nodded her acquiescence. Sherlock ran his hands down her arms, then reached up and took her hair down from her sensible ponytail, carefully combing his fingers through it and draping it over her shoulder. Finally, he unfastened her bra and brushed the straps off, letting it fall as he rubbed the slight indentation they had made in her skin.
"You're trembling, Molly. Are you cold? Nervous?" He brushed his lips across her neck. "Excited?"
What is going on? She swallowed. This can't be happening. "N-not cold."
"I see." His hands traveled down her back until they reached her pants; plain white cotton. She'd had no reason to wear anything fancy, though she did own nicer ones. He hooked his fingers in the elastic band and knelt behind her as she stepped out of them.
"There," he said as he stood back up. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"
Molly shook her head.
"Now, I'm going to sit back down and I want you to lie across my lap, face down. Remember what I said, Molly. You have to trust me."
After a full minute of internal struggle, she slowly turned to face him, frankly terrified of the judgment she was about to see. But she saw none. What she did see nearly stopped her heart. Sherlock looked completely normal like he wasn't looking at a naked woman and had just asked her to lie across his lap. He was sporting an impressive erection, however, Molly couldn't help but notice.
"The- the door?" she asked, pointing in its general direction and trying to buy some time.
"It's locked."
"Your lap, you said?"
He smirked. "Yes. My lap. I promise you'll enjoy this and you'll feel so much better when we're finished."
Molly nodded as she put her knees next to his thighs and placed her body over his legs. "Like this?"
"Yes. Grab that cushion, it will make you more comfortable."
Molly picked up the cushion, one that she'd brought down from her room when she'd taken a nap the day before, and placed it under her chest. She clutched it for dear life.
Sherlock's fingers immediately started playing with her hair. "How's that?" he asked.
"It's fine," she answered. The truth was that his hard cock was pushing into her stomach, though not necessarily causing her pain... it was driving her a bit mad.
His fingers started massaging her scalp, gently, tenderly. Then his other hand touched her ankle, causing her body to jerk involuntarily. "Molly, you must relax. Just give me control. You can't control everything, you know. You can't control John's anger or what's going to happen with the inquest or the fact that your insipid coworkers are gossiping about us."
Molly tried to turn, but Sherlock held her firmly, yet gently in place. "How'd you know...?"
He ignored her question. "You have to let go sometimes. Let me take care of those things. You've spent so much time taking care of me. Just breathe, darling." His hand traveled up her leg until it reached her bottom, then traveled back down the other leg, all the while continuing to rub her head.
Molly sighed in contentment, let her head rest on the cushion. It really was hypnotic. His hands, his voice, the way he said darling. She'd almost forgotten that she was lying naked on a fully clothed Sherlock Holmes, if only for a moment.
"You have a lovely arse, Mrs. Holmes. Has anyone ever told you that?"
"No," she replied absently.
"A shame."
She breathed out deeply, relaxing further under his ministrations.
"Molly, have you ever been spanked before?" he asked in as soft, soothing voice.
She responded without hesitation. "My Aunt Helen spanked me for cutting down her prize-winning roses when I was seven."
He laughed softly, then his hand started to gently massage her bottom. "Well, I was speaking of something a bit more recent and adult in nature."
"Oh..." That's when it all clicked. Of course he'd have deduced her… her predilections. How could she have thought she hide that whilst living with him? He was going to... "Sherlock? Are you going to…?"
"You said you trusted me, Molly. I wouldn't even have suggested it if I didn't think that you needed it." He lightly swatted one arse cheek. It didn't even sting.
"Um, o-okay."
"You're tensing again. Just relax." He slapped her again in the same spot, this time a bit harder. It was amazing. She felt the slight sting to her flesh, but also she felt it in her centre. "You liked that, didn't you?"
Molly nodded.
"Answer me, Molly or I won't do it again."
"Yes."
As soon as she said it Sherlock brought his hand down on the other cheek, just as hard as he had before. "Another?" he asked.
"Yes."
Again, this time two precise slaps in a row, each harder than the last. "Yes!" Molly said before he even asked this time. But she felt nothing.
"Say it; ask me," Sherlock demanded.
Molly had been thinking about this moment for a very long time. Surprisingly, not all of her fantasies centered around Sherlock. Most of them were of nameless, faceless people, tying her up, spanking her bottom red and ordering her to come on command. Before talking to Tom, she had read a half dozen books, visited websites and even chatted with other like minded people, using the anonymity of the internet to hide behind to ask her questions and gather information. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. She'd deal with the surprise and the consequences that it was Sherlock Holmes' lap she was lying across later.
"Please spank my bottom, Sherlock," she said clearly, with a hint of desperation, because she did not want him to stop. As vulnerable as she felt… as exposed - less about her nakedness than her secret - she not only wanted this, she needed it.
His hand squeezed first her right buttock, then her left. "Such a good girl," he crooned. "So sweet." His words contradicted his actions as four consecutive smacks rained down on Molly's arse, much harder than before. She was far beyond turned on. Between his words of praise and the intensity of the spanking, she was gasping and clawing at the cushion, grinding herself on Sherlock's cock. "Molly... you have to…!" He grunted and gasped, trying to still her hips in a tight hold. "Fuck! Don't!."
Suddenly, he slapped her even harder and lower, finding the sensitive skin of her upper thighs. "Be still or I'll stop!" he said, his voice louder but more controlled.
Molly froze and tried to make her body behave. Her mind, however, was not her own at the moment. All she could think about was Sherlock's hand and what he was going to do next. Drawing a deep breath, she realised that tears were pouring out of her eyes.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.
"Say it; ask for more."
"Spank me!" she managed. "Please!"
Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.
She felt herself getting wetter and wetter with each strike.
He rubbed her hot, sore bottom then slipped a finger between her wet folds. "Is this what you want... wife?"
Molly moaned, unable to speak. His finger toyed with her outer lips, never breaching her entrance.
When she didn't reply, he pulled back. "Molly..."
"Yes, please!" was her breathy reply.
He returned his finger, gently toying with her pussy. His other hand, the one that had been rubbing her head, traveled down her back and over her arse. "Oh, if you could see yourself right now, such a lovely shade of pink I've made you. Nearly red, but not quite. My hand prints covering you luscious little bottom." He continued to play with her folds, ever so slowly - never breaching her, never touching her needy clit. "How do you feel? Right now, Molly Holmes, tell me what you feel?"
Molly's mind was blissfully awash with a thousand sensations and yet none at all. She didn't quite know how to describe it to this man who held her literally in the palm of his hand. Finally, one word came to her blissed-out mind. "Free," she whispered not even wondering if Sherlock had heard her.
Sherlock sighed and said, "Perfect. You're completely perfect like this, Molly, did you know that?"
She hummed her response.
"Would you like to come now?" he asked, dipping his finger just inside her opening.
"Please."
"You've been so good. Always so incredibly good," he whispered.
Suddenly his pace changed. He drove one finger... two? how many Molly didn't know into her with a force he'd not yet used. His thumb brushed her clit for the first time and she felt her orgasm building quicker and stronger than anything she'd ever experienced in her life. She wanted to warn him - tell him what was happening - for some reason, but all she could manage was to shout incoherently into the cushion beneath her.
As she came back to earth she realised she was alone on the sofa, briefly wondering if Sherlock had gone out for another case. She suddenly felt something warm and wet between her legs. Then it was gone and her bottom was being rubbed with some kind of oil, it was soothing - comforting. She felt silky fabric being draped over her shoulders, then she was lifted and sat upon Sherlock's lap. She could do nothing but melt into his embrace.
"Here, drink this," he said, bringing a glass to her lips.
She obediently did as he asked, taking the glass from him and drinking the cool, slightly sweet, liquid greedily.
Sherlock brushed his lips across her forehead as he took the glass from her hand then gently wiped her face with a dry piece of cloth. "How are you feeling now, Molly?"
"Like I could sleep for a month," she answered and Sherlock chuckled.
"Well then, let's get you to bed."
Oh...my! That escalated quickly. Please, tell me what you think. Reviews/comments make my day. Thanks so much for reading ~Lil~
