[Sherlock Holmes] purple ribbon, piece of pomegranate (fem! Holmes / fem! Watson)
Title: purple ribbon, piece of pomegranate
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: fem! Holmes / fem!
Watson Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3959 (W)
Written by: P0rn Fest # 4 , prompt leather address book.
Sharlene Holmes closed his eyes, close the pipe gently between thumb and forefinger of his right hand and an outstretched arm over the arm of his chair, surrounded by a cloud of smoke like an idol oriental incense. The robe, which is also a depressing color smoke, but who knows whether by design or by consumption of the dyer, the waterfalls on the nightgown as a miserable lot, wrapping all the creases in the wrong, tobacco-stained front and with more than a frayed seams. I
withdrawn from time to scold on the subject, since I had never made a laugh of scorn, derision and sarcastic and cruel, like the warbling of a picturesque tropical bird. Over time, though not approved, I had resigned outrage that that rag unseemly made day by day on the features of my friend, wrapped in a shapeless mass of fabric and sad. As I drew, however, some small pleasure. It was surprisingly good, for example, to see the profile of an aristocratic foot emerge from under the hem of her nightgown, the elegant curve and immediately swallowed up by the pot-bellied white slipper winter. When a leg was crossed over the other, as in that afternoon, her nightgown retreated to expose the ankle and shin, showing in all its grace one of the most beautiful parts of the body of Holmes.
Or when such luck extended to the owner unaware of his rudeness, until mid-calf, revealing the muscle strong and well-turned, trained by long walks ...
My eyes went up, of their own will, the thin stretch of his belly and that, slightly less dry, breast. I thought take without thinking about the bizarre speech of Holmes in the first month we had known: what was the fundamental lack of breastfeeding for his disguises, he said, and how little would wished that his chest looked like mine, he added. The bandages were too tight, he explained. They hurt, they would leave red lines on the sternum and belly, and still could not hide much of Mother Nature's intentions.
Holmes had small breasts and thin like a girl, but round and pointed, made to fill the hands of small size.
I felt my cheeks warm and resolutely averted gaze. I had to stop thinking about the body of Holmes, and reflected the decision by holding the two halves of my notebook and forcing them to back to win the elasticity of the leather cover. This, as a sign of protest, let out a nasty crunch.
I made a mistake. Holmes opened her eyes a crack and smiled briefly, but the shadow of a ghost, now eaten by the thin straight line of his mouth.
"The inspiration escapes you?" He said, as far as I know without seeing me, but with the air to absorb my every move in the gray pearl that was visible between the eyebrows.
"I thought he did not want to be disturbed for two pipes," I replied, ignoring the question.
"I did not want, but you're a heavy companion."
"I am mortified."
"You should. I'm glad. "
almost burst to laugh at the absurdity of that exchange, but almost, but changed to be the laughter in a puff and I felt the vague resentment, ineffable as the first snow, the endless solitude of my ruminating on the features of my friend, as I was terribly alone, only to watch her when she could not put me in my place with a look, only to rethink the things he told me to read different meanings, alone, finally, to grow hot to the thoughts that were only in my head, while Holmes was still, quiet and above, to devote himself to his puzzle.
But after all, who did evil? It was not my right to recall how many and which images I liked, when and how long I liked it? And why would I be ashamed to remember things that their own proprietary I had freely offered to the view ( the ditch barely visible between the breasts, the tiny neo incisovi the center, the thin flat muscles and snappy like a man ), without worrying that I might shock or disturb, and besides why would he have ( degrade the curved sides of the dense dark down from the laundry in the triangle of the world's most exquisite, personally designed by the finger of God ), unaware that I looked so different from all others ( thighs athletic contracted ), unaware that my view constitute danger ( your butt, oh Lord, the buttocks to kiss and bite ), unaware of what kind of person was asleep upstairs and eat at his table el'avesse touched and touched more times than they could now count on, always with those obscene thoughts in my head, with that terrible proliferation of images and details, and body parts that were running and did not give peace from morning to night, when sleep finally I returned to myself. The address book
creaked painfully in my hands, and I realized that I had twisted again, without realizing, too taken by the madness that was taking place in my mind.
"Watson," Holmes said, with a certain air of controlled exasperation. "I can not tell you how the noise is irritating when you try to think . On the other hand, I do not expect you to be familiar with the practice. "
Oh, I could tell her what was wrong.
"Holmes," I said instead, piccata. "I can not tell you how your rudeness makes you look like an old maid. On the other hand, I do not expect it any way you thong. "
" You're right, "Holmes said, opening his eyes. He put the tip of the long pipe with cherry lips and those beautiful lips terribly masculine, trying to draw but now finding it a shot off. With indolent gesture, threw the bowl on a sheet of paper on the table open, dropping debris pile of burnt tobacco on their own kind, and stretched out his left hand toward the Persian slipper resting on the armrest of the chair. While he filled his pipe, looked in my direction.
"So," he said, lighting it, consonants deformed by cherry torch between his teeth. "Since I've distracted, you might as well tell me."
"What can I say?"
exhaled Holmes, stretching his long legs over the head of the bearskin and crossing her ankles. "Oh, for me it makes no difference. Although the completeness is always preferable. Start from where you think fit, my dear, and do not neglect the details. You know I love them. "
seemed to me that one of the longest perfect hands of Holmes I went through the flesh and was close to mo 'claw around my stomach. I felt a surge of fear as bile acid and then, in order, a shudder and a hint of nausea. I felt an arch of teeth slide on the other with a squeal.
"I do not understand," I said with all the calm I could muster.
Holmes smiled, tilting her head to one side. She had long, beautiful hair that she hated blacks because, in its say, too uncomfortable. We would have liked wearing shorts as a boy, and tell those who asked him coming out of a long illness, but would have been unrealistic in society, and Mrs. Hudson would not have frowned upon. Not being able to cut them, carried them rolled up in a bunch of luck and fixed at the center of the neck with a pencil or pen or any other necessary arrangements. I had searched for hours, my favorite pen, a fountain pen that was my father's first surprise of the glitter in her hair Holmes.
"Come here," said my roommate now, clapping his hand on the armrest of the chair.
I got up before thinking that I should suspect. The woman with whom I shared rooms Baker Street was, after all, supremely intelligent, and when he wanted, until the pure cruelty. He could get me to pieces with an eye and control my every desire with the touch of a finger. I should be wary, of course, would be the right thing to do. But I got up and joined her without a moment's hesitation, lifting their skirts with their hands against the edge of the armrest, not just sitting, not quite standing.
"It is fortunate that the last pipe is no longer necessary," Holmes said, extending his right arm behind my back and brushing gesture in the lower back.
"Then why did you on?" I replied, rigid.
"We bother?"
I shook my head. The tobacco Holmes gave off a pungent odor and dense that clung to clothes and hair and sometimes I had to redo the bathroom just to take off. But I never complained.
"Ah, Watson, Watson," Holmes muttered. He leaned toward me, resting her head on my legs, a gesture so sudden and unusual that I did not have the slightest chance to predict nor to defend. I felt the warmth of his breath as a relic of the sinking of my crinoline skirt and sink like a punch in my legs, thought no doubt, but no less shocking.
"Holmes ... Sh-Sharlene, "I stammered, his name never used that, who knows where, I went up to the hours I stumbled on the mouth and tongue.
"Do not tell. I hate, "he said. "It's so coy."
"Not true," I replied instinctively.
"Jean," he continued, slowly raising his head to rub his face against my stomach, like a cat as a pet of course, as a diabolical creature sent to lose. 'So clear. Martial. One syllable. No frills, no complications. It would be John, is not it? You'd be a wonderful man, a beautiful John. "
The pain His words caused me blinded me. I took her face in her hands, to stop its rapid ascent over the protective armor of the corset, feeling that even an inch and I would be totally lost, I would not have survived her mouth between my breasts, not even a hundred thousand fabrics in the middle .
"I know it would be better," I muttered, feeling the agony to die. "It would be all right, then."
"What a fool," Holmes said, trying to get closer, but kept my hands. "What am I supposed to do a man? Would hear me, man? Accompany me when I needed? For he would never have anything more than a cow riding? "
Startled that expression
horrible, and Holmes noticed it, because now softened the severe bending of the mouth. "You're so delightfully out of the Puritan," he smiled, "that a poor consultant investigator no less than five months to see what burns inside. You're a horrible person. I would have hated for what you made me suffer. "
" I-I? You? I made you suffer ? "I replied, letting go for the surprise, promptly repaid by the pressure of his lips on my burning throat.
"Be my lady," said Holmes, stepping back to look in my eyes. "You want a man to follow. A man to be protected. A man who absorbs all your energy and your attention. I can be that man. I will not be kind and do not hold you by the hand and will not tell you that the stars pale in the splendor of your eyes, but I can swear to me you'll never be an animal for riding. "
My head was spinning, I rested my hands on his shoulders to keep in touch with reality, and went immediately to his gird up your loins, strong and possessive as male hands, but infinitely more delicate.
"I do not want a man," I said, misinterpreted what I said, thinking to reassure her, and instead I saw his eyes and felt her veil be taken slowly.
"Then it's over, because I can not change. If this disappoints you ... "
" No, no. Please, no, "I hastened, stealing her face in my hands and kissed her, desperate to lose it, you have ruined everything. "I love you, love your body. You are right, they are such a hypocrite ...! Do not say that it's over, please do not say that. "
Holmes grabbed my hands, he found that trembled and shook in her to hurt me, until the thin bones of the fingers do not overlap and the pain becomes confused the fear in my brain, but now both were washed away when Holmes left me to unbutton my blouse and kiss me between the breasts from tight bodice, touching the small central groove with the tip of the tongue.
Holmes moved sideways in the seat of the chair is too wide and I will I fell in on the slippery fabric of her skirt, her arms, tobacco and intoxicating smell of his body. Tobacco still felt bitter with his tongue in my mouth, and then eager hands surrounded me to get under her blouse and be right laces of her bodice, pulling them by forcing them, trying to open them in any way. Holmes grunted half triumph in my mouth, and the constriction around the chest is released abruptly, leaving me to take a deep breath. A hand, emerging from the corner of my dark back and seat of the chair, undid the buttons on the front and between the two wings of the folded fabric bodice tamed, leaving it out ill-treated by a breast corset.
"My God," gasped when her mouth closed around you, when the rough surface of the tongue rubbed mercilessly over and over again, against the tip of the nipple, and I had to press a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Fighting the crowd of colors that clouded my eyes, grabbed the hem of her gown of Holmes and torsos over his shoulder, enjoying the sharp sound of the tear and then the slip of cloth. Then, wearing only her nightgown as ever I had seen, Holmes seemed terribly funny, and I think I laughed, caught his eye question.
"Take it away," commanded, drunk with the power that gave me to be wanted by this creature of all, the feeling of his rough fingers clutching her breasts that I wake up to impress reddish. "Take off everything, like the time stands naked."
The contemplated, half sunk in his chair, pointing his elbow against the arm to lift me in his direction. Holmes performed without words, without looking, without a tremor, as beautiful as I remembered it without the multiple layers that disfigured. Theses hands to pick it up, amazed at his waist so thin, her buttocks so thin, more than I imagined. I kissed her belly and navel and Holmes sighed and opened her legs, put your fingers in your hair and pulling away furiously all the chopsticks until the mass dense and heavy I fell on my shoulders.
laid my cheek on the soft triangle at the end of its basin, savoring the smooth texture and bristling at the same time, but when approached his lips to the little fold of flesh between the groin and thigh, Holmes took me away. Her eyes were open, slightly grainy, which the sun was bright and dull, almost a gray pearl.
I rode him, Holmes, thin and nervous as a hunting dog, rustling of my clothes rustle of a foreign cloth on skin, skin on cloth. He grabbed a handful of skirts and lifted, pointing below the knee, and drove a cool hand against another of my bundle of linen, with mastery by dissolving all the tapes that I shook him. With both hands under her skirt, now, knickers pulled down, leaving them trapped me naked ankles and knee, and offered to the naked eye, bare breasted and a carousel of fabric around the belly. Instinctively, I brought a hand to his right thigh, to cover the horrible scars of shrapnel that had compromised my health forever.
Holmes clicked his tongue against the palate in an obscene gesture, which made me blush.
"Jean, Jean," he murmured, by attacking the throat and face with kisses with an enthusiasm that really reminds me of that of a predator. "I did not even show him who you are." I pushed the hand and raised it to his mouth before disappearing with rapid momentum behind the screen of my skirts. The accartocciai by hand to follow his movements, to prepare to his intentions, but his mouth reached my most secret while the fabrics I resisted and sharply Startled, colliding with her, the fresh tip of his nose.
His hands went to unlock the legs, snapping one on the other arm on her shoulder. So open, I was relieved from his seat and pressed my back against the hard core of the chair under the padding.
Never, not even in my wildest fantasies, those relegated to the secret of my bed, I imagined that it could be. I had wanted Holmes - Sharlene, in my dreams - in every way, with the fantasy I had folded my every wish, every practice I'd suggest that memory and imagination, but if this was no exception, on the other hand not I had never dared to compose a scene so deeply, exquisitely obscene. With the mouth of Holmes under my skirts, dream scenes and fragments of reality are mixed in my mind, intertwined with shock of pleasure and thick liquid that burned me between her thighs. The language of Sharlene - Holmes - cruelly struck once, twice, five times before going to own and do it again, deaf to pleading yelps that I trembled in his throat without finding strength to get out, curling the tip inside me for not leaving a corner it was inviolate. A spasm had to close my legs, another soon to reopen, but they will not let me move Holmes, had his fingers cut into the pit of the knee, the nail short of thumb I was digging the meat on the back of the thigh. His mouth went up and imprisoned me in his mouth, sucking noise with obscene and fingers were not working to keep me strong I penetrated, two and then three, until it touches the soul. I gave up
off against her, forcing me to muster the strength to remove him, to ward off the stimulation had become unbearable. I was trembling all over, jerky, my body turned into a single nerve fiber that I traveled from his forehead sweaty fingers curled toes. I saw that I had a flat sock with the toe, and as always after the pleasure I felt ashamed to mount a wave of blinding.
Holmes emerged from the sea of skirts with an air of safe, lips, chin, cheeks shining with humor, brutally wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and contemplating what he had deposited with detached curiosity. I dreaded the moment where his eyes would meet mine, and maybe she had to draw some concern, because it seemed to me delay it until the last, first committing to gently caress a breast swelling and bending down to kiss each other. Then, when silence had made ice cream around us, looked up slowly, with unusual timidity.
Oh, it was so beautiful, so outrageous, so beautiful. Why did he want me, I was not at all?
"I would take her to bed in her arms," he murmured, kissing me with awe the veins of the wrist. "But you have to work together, I'm afraid." He said with an air of regret, with the air of hate himself for his weakness. "This chair has made a ditch a foot."
Then, for the first time I saw her fragile, I saw her vulnerable, and I felt myself drowning in a sea of sweetness. The stroked his cheek and mouth moist folded into a bitter grimace, trying to erase it with your thumb and not succeeding.
"You'd make a great man," I whispered. "But not so good. You insult me for saying so? I'd be your own though, I know, I feel. "
" What a fool, "he muttered in my hand, his voice broke for a moment and immediately reassembled. "You're a fool with a head full of romantic fantasies, Jean Watson. I do not know why you hate. "
"I know. I love you, "I pleaded.
"I know you love me. You are a fool, I told you. "
" If you do not love me you must not fool me. I do not deserve. "
He raised his head. "I've never cheated."
"So tell me. Just this once. "
" My God, I have grown so badly? If I could go back I'd be already regretting. "
The rested a hand on her neck, twisting my hair and pulled me to kiss her. "But you can not, you can not, I knew, I was right," I muttered, delirious with happiness. "Kiss me. If you are my man, Say you love me and kiss me. "
" How silly, stupid, "he said instead, but - yes - I kissed passionately. "Do not you ever tell. Now bring the facts to bed and fuck like a good wife. You look like a slut, "he murmured with soft voice, running his finger in a caress on her knees open, shoulders bare, her cheeks burning.
not really know how I agreed to strip me of everything and then bring her up, naked as the Lord had me on the stairs leading to my private bedroom. Holmes deposited me on the bed with the infinite care of a husband and locked the door with ease, leaning against my back.
"What's your name?" I asked out of bed, wiping a trickle of sticky inside thigh. His eyes followed the movement off without a moment. "Da man. I know you've thought it. "
Sharlene raised a finger to his mouth, absently stroking his lips. "It would be a bad name, but not as bad as mine, who knows how to lace and meringues. No, it would always be ugly, but not smooth. It would be hard as a snap and a man would think of all the bones and muscles, too tall, too thin, with an ugly nose. "
" Your nose is beautiful and gives you tremendously, "speak, but I ignored it.
"Sherlock. Horrible, is not it? It seems the usurer jew of Shakespeare. "
" Sherlock, "I repeated. I found it ugly, ugly, just as she had intended, and just the way she had thought, but also found that, like his nose, might give him terribly. Half-closed eyelids, imagining a man named Sherlock, and the vividness of the image struck me.
"Sherlock," I said again. "And you still want me, fuck me, yes, just like I said, I discovered," if I were a man and a woman? "
Holmes left the door, advancing slowly in my direction. I kept my eyes half closed and I saw a male belly, a flat chest, sides carved in the rock. "Yes," replied a deep voice, a single syllable choked.
"I would be a veteran and a doctor," I muttered, taking his hand to take her breast. "Stupid as all men, but I take a hundred bullets in my heart for you."
"Oh, my God, what have I got in bed," Holmes gasped, mounted on. "What is obscene and perverse you are, Jean Watson."
"It's my bed," I found yet to be replicated, raising his revenge in the form of a light bite and shoulder pain. "I could write to us," he added, at the ceiling, running his hands possession on your back. "I'm good. I could write about Sherlock Holmes, the man better and wiser and with the worst character in the world, and John Watson who would kill for him. "
" Only a stupid and saccharine little woman like you could write a crap like that, "Holmes muttered. "Now shut up, will you? I can not give you what you deserve if you're always talking. "
obeyed, because I like John Watson asks nothing better than to be controlled and owned by my man. I told her not, therefore, that as was his masculine jaw, as alive and wonderful vision of her as a man, what my senses were wiped his scent of a woman, the perfect combination of edgy and soft all its angles, and vibrant high notes of his voice. If she were a man, I'm sure I would have found other items that sacrifice of reason, but it had not, and I'm not complaining.
With these thoughts in mind, I embraced my wife and kissed her for an infinite time, until my ears are muffled and began to vibrate with a light tinkle.
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