The continuation – John gets to see the paint.

(I do not own BBC Sherlock, or any of that there)

Full Body Paint II - Home to John

The cab neared Baker Street, but Sherlock stopped the cab in a street lined with shops.

"Stay in the car, Molly, I won't be a minute." He instructed the cabbie to keep the meter running as he popped out of the car.

Molly watched him trot into a pet shop and thought oh, props. I wonder what? She didn't have to wait long before her friend bounded back out of the shop, and the cab was on its way again. Sherlock showed her a long leather dog's lead and two collars. One was fairly simple leather, and the other was pink with rhinestones. Molly tried them both on and they agreed together that the rhinestones were the way to go. Sherlock thought the collar provided an interesting contrast, but wasn't too overwhelming. She left the pink collar on, and Sherlock stowed the lead and other collar in his pockets.

In the flat, Sherlock took her in his arms as gently as he could, then took her face in his hands. He breathed hot and wet against her face, wanting so badly to kiss her, but feeling bound to Molly's conception of the whole endeavour as a surprise for John first. Instead of kissing her, he ran his fingers over her face, and smiled tightly, his erection pressing against her. He pushed the hood down off her head, and released the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He ripped off the protective paper liner, and Molly was naked before him except for the pink rhinestone collar.

Molly smiled and licked her lips. The paint didn't seem to be affected by this, Sherlock noted. But he wouldn't take the chance of wrecking any of her body paint before John's arrival. Molly licked her lips again, then stuck her tongue out at Sherlock, as far as it would go, holding her tongue out at him, her mouth open. The effect of such a primal gesture was potentially a little frightening and shocking, but Sherlock smiled. Carefully, Sherlock sucked her tongue into his mouth, being careful not to touch her lips. After biting her gently, and sucking her tongue for some time, he let her go with a low growl of disappointment and frustration. Molly's eyes shone, and she said nothing. Then she heard a click, and saw that Sherlock had fastened the leash to her collar.

Sherlock watched Molly's eyes flash, and he grinned at her. She pulled the lead with her neck and Sherlock hissed.

"Careful, Molly, darling, don't garrotte yourself, for god's sake, before he even gets here. Take it easy." Her reached to her neck, holding her gently, but she pulled away and pulled on the lead again, never touching the lead with her hands, only yanking with her neck. Then with a smile, she slipped out of Sherlock's arms, and took the lead to the end, watching as Sherlock let out the slack of it, but held tightly to the hand hold at the end.

Molly turned away from Sherlock, and began to meander about the flat, somewhat successfully adopting the manoeuvres a cat might make. Sherlock followed her, giving her plenty of lead on the leash. She went under a table, and around furniture, compelling him to untangle the lead a number of times. Finally they both dissolved into laughter.

Sherlock sat in his chair, and Molly stood before him for a moment and then lay on the floor before him. She let her legs fall open for him, and she just stared at him. He gazed at her for some time, watching as her labia parted slightly, and her pinker folds began to reveal themselves. He saw that she was pulsing her inner muscles and pushing, forcing herself without touching herself to open more fully.

"You're teasing me. You know I won't touch you before John comes. Interesting. I rather like it. Go on."

Molly stopped and sat up, and Sherlock smiled.

"I'll start a fire."

Once he had a couple logs catching on, he fetched a duvet and some pillows from the bedroom and made up a bed by the grate. He moved his chair closer to the nest of duvet and pillows. And took up Molly's lead again. Molly took her place on the floor on the duvet, and Sherlock held the leash. They silently agreed that this would be the pose they'd hold for John's arrival.

"He should be here soon, yes? It's almost 5 o'clock," Sherlock smiled at Molly who beamed at him as she wriggled in her nest. Still teasing, still testing. Still keeping silent. She's a pagan adventurous. He thought.

"I should say, before he gets here, darling, I've loved today, thank you for including me." Sherlock reached his hand to her face, stroking her cheek. "And I don't mean – the obvious - but spending the day with you on your project was - something I'll never forget."

Molly leaned a little away from him and stuck her tongue out again, opening her legs to Sherlock's view, inviting him, begging him.

"Ah, ah. Oh, god, you're lovely. But, we'd better wait for John, hmmm?" He regarded her. "But do feel free to tease me some more, it's absolutely enchanting."

Molly hopped to her feet and stood to the side of Sherlock's chair, her sex at his eye level, only inches away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Paint was all he could scent, however. It was still fresh enough to overpower her own natural perfumes. He smiled up at her, and reached out to stroke her, running his fingers through her dark curls, stroking her hip.

"I can tease you back, you know. You must be aching for me to touch you, Hmm? Press into you?"

He stroked her between the legs, only lightly caressing the outside of her cleft. She tried to press herself against his fingers, tried to force him to penetrate her, but he lifted his hand away.

"Oh, I could put my mouth on you, shall, I darling?"

He leaned to her sex and breathed on her, blowing on her, then actually running his closed lips and cheek against her skin and hair. He leaned away again, smiling into her face, as soon as she tried to press herself harder against him.

"Or I could grab you, push you over a chair and have you right here."

Molly knelt on her duvet, her head down, wagging her backside at him, opening her legs wider, pulsing her hips back toward him.

"Mmm, lovely. Very lovely. I can hardly wait."

Molly humphed and settled into her nest by the fire, pulling fretfully at her collar with her neck, with a bit too much play acting, Sherlock thought.

"Five o'clock" Sherlock frowned, looking at the clock. "He's usually very prompt."

Exactly on cue, the door downstairs opened, and John's familiar step on the stair was heard by them both. They assumed their poses, and Sherlock dangled the end of the lead off one finger, which was still attached to Molly's rhinestone collar. Molly lay on her side, her uppermost knee open, allowing an ample view of her front and between her legs. She moved slightly, swaying from side to side. John opened the door to the flat and came in.

"Hey, I -." John's thought was stopped dead as he took in the scene before him. He dropped his Tesco bags on the desk as he slowly approached Sherlock's chair and the nest before the fireplace, trying to make sense in his mind of what was clearly before his eyes.

Sherlock rose from his chair and put the lead in John's hand, who accepted it, but was immediately drawn back to look at Molly on the duvet.

"What have you done to my wife?" John grinned. "Molly, is it really you?"

Molly rose and walked around, keeping her eyes on John. She meandered again, a bit like a lazy cat, trying to let him see her at every angle. She raised her arms and stretched, as John approached her to touch her. She smiled, but jerked away from him before he could lay a hand on her. He shortened her lead, reaching out again, but she jerked away, and then jerked at the lead with her neck. He had no choice but to let out the lead so she couldn't pull against it, not wanting to hurt her. But she went to the end of the lead again and yanked at it with her neck, then she skittered into the darkened section of the flat with the slack that John kept providing as he followed her. Sherlock watched the game as it progressed, smiling at his friends as they discovered the rules, setting them as they went, laughing.

"Molly, what are you doing, come here, just come here a moment, will you?" John begged.

"I think she wants to be captured, John," Sherlock said.

"I don't want to ruin the paint. Molly? before I get a chance to look at it."

"Molly, darling, let him look first," Sherlock coaxed.

John was peering at her as she squatted under the desk. It was hard to register that she was wholly his wife, she looked so completely transformed, and spoke not a word and was acting the part.

"Let me look at you Molly, ok? Then we can play. We'll play whatever you like." John held out his hand, and she took it, then licked his hand, smiling. Then she crept slowly out of the desk's knee hole. She put her arms around John's neck, kissing and licking at his mouth and face. John laughed, holding the lead just at the collar, controlling her a little, but he quickly let go, concerned about snapping her neck. He could feel his erection coming on as she squirmed in his arms, pressing against him alternately affectionate, then trying to escape.

"Come into the light, love, let me look at you, Molly." John led her to the fireplace, and turned on a lamp near the fire.

"Oh my god, - it's amazing, are you? – Yes, she's completely naked, isn't she? Sherlock, did you do this?"

"No, no, a professional artist. I merely accompanied her."

"Hmm, a third party did this while you watched? Jesus."

"Molly was concerned that you might not approve."

"So she asked you to go with her. Ahaha. I don't know. It's much too hot to not approve of, though, I must say. You'll have to tell me all about it, yeah? This is – god!" John leaned in looking at their wild cat.

Molly remained silent, smiling, reclining at the end of the lead. She rolled onto her back on the duvet, and John crouched beside her, reaching out to touch her again. She stretched a foot out to him, and he caught hold of her ankle, but she snatched it away and rolled on her back. She bent her knees up to her chest, then spread her legs away from her body, leaving herself completely open and exposed for John. Sherlock stood a little apart, letting John enjoy his wife.

"It's amazing." John knelt at Molly's side, stroking her carefully, caressing her thigh and then the hair between her legs.

"Astonishing. When she's just standing in front of you one's eye goes to the sort of costume, the paint, rather than the fact that she's naked. And the face, her eyes."

"Yes." Sherlock agreed. "It's a very interesting demonstration."

John manoeuvred himself between Molly's legs, which she kept spread and bent at the knee,. He leaned down carefully, and brushed her lips with his.

"What have you done for me, Molly? Molly, darling, hmm?" He thought of his clothes for only an instant and then pressed down onto her, kissing her, and stroking her breasts. He pressed and thrust against her a few times, kissing her experimentally, then checking her face to see if he'd damaged the paint around her mouth. Then he pulled up and away from her.

"Have I ruined it?" he asked, looking down, still stroking Molly's breasts, and abdomen.

"Well, it's not meant to last forever." Sherlock offered.

John was breathing harder now, looking at Molly, then looked to Sherlock who registered John's sudden heightened need and smiled.

"It doesn't really seem to be harmed at all. There's a bit of paint on your trousers, John, you should probably take them off."

John smiled and nodded, but first the two men inspected Molly's paint, John on one side of her, Sherlock on the other. Molly practically swooned from the pleasure of it as four hands smoothed over her naked body, inspecting her and she growled and purred in appreciation.

"A little here, a little rubbing off her leg, here," said Sherlock.

"Doesn't seem to be much damage at all," John marvelled, wondering how much longer he could delay his satisfaction.

"Molly, show him your back."

Molly rolled over quickly, presenting her backside high and offering it as best she could with her arms flat on the floor before her, spreading her knees wide. Sherlock explained to John how they'd had to paint Molly's skin between her buttocks, and John chuckled.

"That sounds a little humiliating, Molly? Hmm? How long did Sherlock have to hold you open? For the painter? Did you like that? Did that make you break out in a sweat, hmm? I wish I could have been there."

"You must go with her, John, you really must take her again in a couple months or so."

Molly purred as John ran his hands over her back and bottom, humming as she pressed herself against his touch. Sliding a finger down her cleft, John gently opened her to look at the paint between her cheeks and at her puckered hole which had been left unpainted. He leaned in and tenderly tongued her there, then blew on the wet spot. Molly pressed her bottom against his tongue when she felt him, but he quickly pulled away smiling. Then he traced his fingers further down her cleft.

Molly spread her legs wide, and anchored her arms low on the ground. Please, please please put your fingers in me for gods sake, for god's sake, put your fingers in me and pump me, put something in me I can't stand it, I can't stand another moment of this, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, she thought, but spoke not a word. She wagged her backside back and forth vigorously. John was no longer able to resist her and he gently pushed a finger inside her which elicited a loud moan from Molly. He quickly added another finger and then another and started thrusting and Molly found herself thrusting backward and as hard as she could against his hand.

"Jesus, she's so wet." John licked his lips, and moved to grip Molly by the waist to support her as he thrust harder into her.

Molly noticed that both Sherlock and John had lapsed into referring to her in the third person, totally objectifying her, which she found incredibly arousing, she couldn't help it. When John's fingers entered her and he starting pushing harder and harder, she knew that she was already very close to release, but could hardly believe the speed with which she was now reaching her plateau. She pumped hard against his hand, urgently whining and moaning, desperately seeking release from a tension that she now realized had been mounting for hours.

"John, perhaps -." Sherlock involuntarily voiced the obvious.

"No, she's too close. Come for me, Molly, sweetheart, go ahead and let it happen, come on, darling, come on, come on, that's it come on my hand, I've got you."

Growling and shrieking her release Molly continued grinding her hips against John's hand and finally collapsed onto her arms, her forehead against them. John gently held her around the waist, stroking her, murmuring her name, as he felt the tension go out of her, and then he gently lowered her hips to the side, where she reclined. She felt John stretch out beside her, and Molly opened her eyes rewarded with John's smiling face. She stroked his cheek.

Then Sherlock was rolling her hips so that she was lying on her back again. He pressed her knees against her chest.

"There's only a bit of damage to the paint here, it's amazing."

"Oh, sod, the fucking paint, Sherlock."

"Yes, of course."

Sherlock gently pulled open the painted outer folds of Molly's sex and exposed the pink glistening wet folds inside which were in stark contrast to the oranges and yellows that the artist had applied. He breathed in her fragrance.

"May I – may I taste her, John?"

"Of course, of course, I'm sure she's dying for it." said John as he smiled into Molly's eyes. John gripped her chin, watching her face and knew when Sherlock's mouth made contact with Molly's sex, when her eyes glazed over. Then she bit her lower lip and moaned with abandon, wrenching her hips around in a circle. John looked down at Sherlock who was trying to keep up with Molly's movements with some degree of success, though he lost contact with her once or twice as she bucked and thrashed against his face. John chuckled and leaned away from Molly who hardly noticed his absence.

John stripped quickly and was naked by the time Molly had had her second climax, moaning lowly, and affecting a kind of growl he'd never heard her do before. Never too late to learn new vocabulary, John thought smiling. Sherlock moved away from her, and John hauled Molly to her hands and knees and entered her from behind.

Molly's orgasm was still pulsing through her when she felt John's arms around her waist. Well, she thought, no rest for the wicked as he entered her swiftly, his only preamble to splay a hand at the small of her back. Then she felt him part her bottom cheeks, and run his fingers along her skin there. Then he gripped her hips and ground into her a little roughly. She groaned loudly and John chuckled, caressing her arse.

"Shhh, remember Mrs. Hudson, darling, hmm? I think she's beginning to suspect us for the deviants that we are."

Molly whined and whimpered as he started pounding into her mercilessly, not bothering to help her to her pleasure, only seeking his own and as quickly as possible. She loved it when he did this, when he abandoned the rules of etiquette and just went straight for his own completion. He was always the perfect gentleman in bed, always solicitous, putting her needs above his own. She tried to steer him away from this strict adherence with little success, so it was gratifying for her to see that he was able to let go tonight. She threw herself against him with all her force, and came again just before he did, and together they made more noise than Molly had when John had hushed her.

John released Molly, and gently laid her down onto the duvet, but she still didn't get a moment to recover before Sherlock was pulling her knees up and spreading her on her back before him. He pressed into her even faster than John had, and with as much force. But Molly was exhausted and the best she could do was put her arms around Sherlock's neck and hang on for dear life as he grabbed her bottom and fucked her into the duvet.

"That's right, just hold on, god knows it won't take very long." Sherlock smiled to himself at the long day of sexual denial he had experienced. Molly leaned up and kissed him even so, forcing his mouth open, sucking his tongue. Sherlock wondered if perhaps she wasn't as worn out as she certainly had every right to be. He ran a hand down between their bodies and placed a thumb on her clit, experimentally. She turned her face to the side, but he wouldn't be denied so easily, and pressed down with his thumb as he slowed his thrusting, circling his thumb easily, gently. Then balancing a little painfully on an elbow, he put the fingers of his other hand into her mouth. She sucked him dutifully but looked at him with questions in her eyes. Sherlock smiled and then reached around Molly's hip and plunged a wet finger into her tighter opening. When he thought she could take it, he added another. She shouted and moaned but now she was bucking and thrusting against him the way he liked her. He smiled down at her, his wild cat, as he stroked hard into her. His climax was loud and long but he couldn't keep a smile off his face as the waves of his orgasm coursed through him, and finally tapered off.

Sherlock rolled off Molly at last and looked up to see John reclining on the sofa, almost like a cat himself.

"To what do I owe this incredible – I don't know –bacchanalia?" John wondered.

"I really don't know, John, you'll have to ask Molly. She said she conceived of it as a surprise for you."

Molly smiled and rose from the duvet, stretching. A stream of ejaculate and her own moistures running half way down her thigh glimmered in the dim light. She wandered toward the kitchen, the lead still attached to her collar, dragging along the floor, making a rasping sound. She was silent.

"It's not my birthday or anything. Still mute, Molly?"

"She told me that if it had been your birthday it wouldn't be much of a surprise."

"Ahaha."

"That's what I said."

"No you didn't."

"No, of course not. I'm thoroughly exhausted. I suppose I'm just trying to be agreeable."

Molly came out of the kitchen sipping a bottle of water. She slowly re-entered the sitting room, swinging her hips. Her paint job was somewhat damaged. The spots and basecoat were a little rubbed off at her pelvis, while the paint on her breasts and chest were relatively untouched. But the damage didn't at all ruin the effect of her transformation. She faced John, then turned around and bent over, giving him a view of the cleft between her cheeks.

"Show him the cloak, Molly."

Molly's eyes lit up, and she scampered over to where the cloak had dropped. She flourished it and it settled on her shoulders. Then she walked toward John at a brisk pace, the cape fluttering about her.

"But surely it shows everything as you walk along. Did you - god, did she walk around the city like that?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Only from the studio to the car, briefly on the street in Hackney." Molly sat on the sofa next to John, drawing her legs up under her.

"In Hackney? Jesus. Molly? Still not talking? When will you talk to us again, hmm?"

Molly was silent, smiling down at John. John took the lead in his hand, and gripped one of her legs. He pulled her leg toward him, forcing her open again, and she splashed a bit of water on herself from her bottle. John hauled himself up to her sex, touching her again. She opened for him and reclined, smiling. Yes, please, she thought, suck me off again, so I can fall straight to sleep when we go to bed.

"I can't keep my hands off her," John said, and dipped his fingers inside her again. She was dripping and full of ejaculate, but he pressed his face into her nonetheless, kissing and tonguing her. So that's what Sherlock tastes like, he thought. Now I know. John dipped his tongue deeply in her, trying to taste what he could find there. I really must get over my reluctance with him, he's right, it's silly. The way I've been acting with him is counter to our whole arrangement. And he's completely amazing in bed. What would he be like if we – oh my god what am I thinking?

Molly purred and thrashed about as John found her clit and lashed his tongue at it, pumping inside her again with his fingers, gripping a hip for support. It took some time, but Molly finally came again quietly, easily without much fuss. As she reclined against the arm of the sofa, recovering, John sat up almost immediately, stretching his neck, having held himself in a rather uncomfortable position for quite a while. He looked up as he rubbed the back of his neck, and saw Sherlock smiling at him rather wickedly.

"Did she taste good, John?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes, I think I did taste you on her." John admitted, guessing his friend's meaning. He reddened slightly, wondering what other thoughts he'd had that Sherlock was able to read.

"I asked you a question, though. Did she taste good? It seemed to me, as I watched you, that she tasted good to you."

"Yes." John smiled, but looked away.

"Still shy. No, no, it's all right. It's quite charming. And I must say, I'm enjoying it more and more." Sherlock cleared his throat. "My dear John and my dear lovely Molly, it's very late." Sherlock rose with the duvet draped about him. "Come, on. Come to my bed. It's getting cold and the morning is going to be utterly exhausting."

"Ahaha." John imagined the scenes to come in the morning as they woke to find Molly still in her body paint.

"Come on, darling," John coaxed Molly up, "Beddie bye, hmm?" She took his hand, and followed him.

Sherlock led the way to his bed, and the three curled up under the duvet, with Molly in the middle.

Not sure if there will be a Part III. You'll have to tell me if you want it, 'k?

Thanks, Earthlings from all over, for stopping by my pages to have a look!

I would love to hear from you in a PM (private message) or in a review!

Hope it was at least half as fun for you as it was for me –

For me it's a huge blast! Thanks to Gatts & Moffs (et alia at BBC Sher) for that!

There are at least four or five more chapters in the pipeline after this.

All continuing as sort of separate episodes, you know the deal.

Only a couple days 'til the next instalment!