"I need to see him, Anthea."
"Of course, Sherlock." She picked up the phone. "Sir, your brother is here to see you."
Mycroft made an effort to withhold the surprise from his voice. "Of course, send him in." Unannounced visits from Sherlock were rare – visits at his office, rarer still.
"Mycroft. I see you've been at the cake again."
Beneath the insult, Sherlock was a tightly wound coil of nervous energy.
What's wrong, brother-mine?
It's too much, My. I need you.
Sherlock's thoughts rushed into Mycroft's head like a wave crashing over jagged rocks. Perhaps this was a conversation better conducted with words.
"Would you like a drink, Sherlock?"
Sherlock let out a long breath. "Yes."
Mycroft rose from his chair and half-filled two crystal glasses with fine scotch.
"Don't you have a country to run or something?"
"She cleared my schedule when you got here." Mycroft took a sip of the scotch and motioned for Sherlock to do the same. "Now, tell me what's wrong."
"This is the first time I've left the flat in three days, Mycroft. Lestrade doesn't have any cases for me. You've terrified every coke dealer in London. I couldn't buy drugs if I tried."
Mycroft smiled. "And did you?" He didn't have to ask – he already knew the answer.
"It's a moot point."
"Perhaps. Anyway, I don't have anything to think about – nothing to focus on. My head is full of noise and I don't know how much longer I can take it. I even tried experimenting on myself."
Mycroft looked at him, alarmed. "How?"
"Yes, yes – I know that." Mycroft's tone was exasperated. "But how?" A number of possibilities ran through his head, none of them good.
Sherlock took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt sleeve. Pulling it up, he held out the inside of his arm for Mycroft to see.
It wasn't the sight Mycroft had expected, and he breathed a sigh of relief. There were a number of small, square, red marks. He looked at Sherlock with curiosity.
"Wooden clothespins. Painful, but they don't break the skin. The marks fade after a day."
Mycroft ran his fingers over the red marks, feeling the slightly raised areas and lingering over them. "Ingenious, dear brother, but you should have come to me sooner. You know I can help you with this. You know I always do."
"I did. I'm here, aren't I? The pain wasn't enough. I need… more."
Mycroft stepped closer to his younger brother. He could hear the swirling panic of Sherlock's mind just as clearly as he could smell the faint odour of his soap.
Of course you need more. Tell me, Sherlock. Tell me what you need.
I need release, My. I need you. I need you like I always need you.
Why do you always wait so long?
Sherlock huffed and smiled, grimly. "To prove that I can."
Mycroft sighed. "Of course. Where would we be without fraternal competition?" The unspoken answer hung between them. In bed together every night.
"Shall we go, Sherlock?"
Sherlock buttoned his cuff, put on his jacket, and feigned indifference. "I suppose." His bored tone failed to mask the desperation seething in his mind.
Closing his office door behind them, Mycroft turned to his assistant. "You know how to reach me, if necessary, but I'm not to be disturbed unless it's of the utmost importance."
"Of course, sir."
What exactly does that mean, Mycroft?
It means either the Queen has a bee in her bonnet about something, or that there's a threat of nuclear annihilation. Anything else is secondary.
Sherlock had the decency to look impressed.
I take your well-being very seriously, brother-mine.
You just want to leave the office for an afternoon fuck, My.
Don't be vulgar, Sherlock. Besides, you're wrong. If that were true, I'd just chain you to the foot of my bed and take you whenever I felt like it.
Sherlock's breathing quickened. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny that the thought excited him. Sherlock dropped his gaze in unconscious submission as they stepped into the waiting car.
Sherlock's thoughts still raced and swirled, filling Mycroft's head with noise.
Sherlock. Enough. I've told you before not to wait this long. It's not good for you. Take off your trousers.
A smile played over Sherlock's lips as Mycroft got a very clear mental image from him – an image of him on his knees in front of Sherlock, sucking him off. Oh, I don't think so, little brother. You'll be lucky if I even let you come. I had something more painful in mind – something to teach you a few manners. He sent back an image of Sherlock, draped over his knee, his arse an angry red.
Sherlock laughed. I came to you on my terms. I'm not letting you spank me in this ridiculously upholstered car.
Really, Sherlock. 'Ridiculously upholstered car?' That was the best insult you could think of?
Mycroft tapped on the dividing glass, and the driver immediately pulled over and stopped the car. Any time you come to me, it's on my terms. You know that. If you've changed your mind about our arrangement, please do us both the favour of leaving. If you stay, I shall take your words as provocation and discipline you accordingly.
Sherlock didn't move.
Mycroft gave him a tight smile. He hadn't expected him to leave. Their shared history practically ensured it. They both needed this. He tapped on the glass, and the car moved smoothly back into the London traffic.
Now, get your trousers off. I have something special in mind for this afternoon, and I want your arse nice and warmed up by the time we get to the flat.
Sherlock removed his trousers and sat there in his pants, smirking. You only said 'trousers.'
And you know what I meant, you little brat. He grabbed Sherlock's wrist and pulled him roughly over his knees. He pulled down his pants until they were around his ankles.
Sherlock squirmed against Mycroft's leg, hoping for some quick stimulation as the first stinging blow landed on his arse.
"And you… know better… than to do… that." Four more hard blows rained down in quick succession. They were the first words either of them had spoken since they'd left the office.
"Ow. Mycroft, that hurts," he whined as he turned his head back to look at his brother.
You seem to be under the misconception that this is all about what you want. It's not. It's about what you need. And right now, you need a good spanking. Mycroft resumed his assault on Sherlock's arse before Sherlock could form a response. He could feel Sherlock's body start to relax into the pain.
Mycroft bent down to whisper in Sherlock's ear, the actual words leaving more of an impression than thoughts. "You needed this, didn't you? Don't even try and deny it, you little pain slut. I can feel your need pressing against my leg – the spanking is only making you harder. And now you're leaking all over my trousers, you filthy little whore. Beg me for it."
"Please, My. More."
"Please, My. I deserve to be spanked. I'm sorry I insulted you. Please continue."
Another stinging blow landed on Sherlock's arse, and after an initial flinch from the pain, he sighed with contentment and relief.
Mycroft continued to spank him until they reached his flat. He gazed at Sherlock's shockingly red arse admiringly. That's going to hurt for a while, brother-mine. Will you tell D.I. Lestrade why you're squirming on that hard wooden office chair the next time you visit him for a case?
And why not?
Because I'm yours, My.
Mycroft smiled. Quite so, little brother. Quite so. He helped him to his feet and Sherlock retrieved his pants and trousers, putting them back on with a wince.
They made their way into the building, taking the private lift to Mycroft's flat. Sherlock was quieter now, both his acid tongue and the turmoil in his mind silenced somewhat by Mycroft's discipline.
"Would you like some water, Sherlock?"
Mycroft retrieved a jug of cold water from the fridge and poured it into a cut crystal glass that was entirely too elegant to have been originally intended as a water glass. He poured another for himself.
Sherlock drank eagerly, only realising how dry his throat had been once the water touched it.
I have a surprise for you, little brother – a new addition to the playroom – I think you'll like it.
Sherlock looked up in anticipation.
Mycroft gave him a vaguely predatory smile. Not yet, though. I have to prepare you first.
Mycroft's smile grew wider. Yes, brother-mine. One day, perhaps, you'll learn to keep that tongue of yours in check.
You like my tongue… That was the problem with telepathy, of course. No sooner thought, than spoken.
Just as I was saying… now, strip. You haven't earned the privilege of clothing.
Sherlock cast his gaze to the floor and started removing his clothes, folding and placing them in a neat pile on the floor beside him. He kept his mind neutral, trying not to provoke Mycroft. The enema would be unpleasant enough. He couldn't actually risk angering him – Mycroft might decide he wasn't interested in participating at all.
Mycroft glanced at his brother and left the room. He returned to find Sherlock naked and kneeling in the centre of the living room, next to his clothes. Mycroft had retrieved a brown leather collar from his bedroom. The soft brown leather bore a silver nameplate with neatly engraved copperplate lettering - 'Property of Mycroft Holmes.'
Sherlock proudly straightened his neck in anticipation of Mycroft's touch. For all their rivalry and bickering, he loved that Mycroft needed him enough to care like this.
Mycroft reached out with the back of his fingers and ran them slowly across Sherlock's neck and down his chest. More compliant now, aren't you? Trying to avoid the enema, no doubt. He fastened the collar snugly around Sherlock's graceful neck. I never break my promises, brother-mine. You only get what you so richly deserve.
Sherlock looked up at him to see a wicked gleam in his brother's eyes.
Does your arse still sting, sitting back on your heels like that?
You're not even trying to relieve the pressure, are you? You like the sting of your heels digging into your tender arse. Don't even try to deny it. I should have spanked you harder. I see the pain hasn't lessened your arousal at all.
No, sir. Sherlock hadn't been completely hard when he'd undressed, but Mycroft's greedy stares, the collar around his neck, and his tender buttocks had fixed that. Please, My, let me suck your cock.
Mycroft looked at him with surprise and laughed. "You really don't get it, do you? Come on, my filthy little whore. I assume you didn't prepare yourself, so I suppose I'll have to do it for you." He clipped a leather dog leash to the D-ring on Sherlock's collar and gave it a tug. "Heel."
Sherlock followed him to the well-appointed bathroom adjoining the playroom. He remembered it well – the hard tile floor was hell on his knees. An adjustable IV stand, set low to the ground, held an open-top enema bag and a long coil of tubing with a nozzle already attached. There was a small tube of lubricant and a thermometer sitting on a towel next to the sink.
Mycroft opened a small refrigerator and removed two bottles of chilled water.
Sherlock's eyes widened in horror. No. I can't.
"Oh, I think you can, and you will." Mycroft put a towel on the cold tile floor and motioned for Sherlock to lie down. "On your back, feet apart."
Sherlock lay on the hard tile floor, thankful for the towel.
"Mm. Your arse is still a lovely shade of red from earlier, and your tight little hole looks so eager. Perhaps I should use the larger nozzle." He mused for a second before continuing, "No, there will be plenty of opportunities for that later."
Mycroft ran a teasing hand lightly over Sherlock's erect length. "For someone who claims to dislike this, you're awfully aroused, dear brother."
Mycroft's head was filled with dark mutterings from Sherlock's mind – not denials, exactly – more like a conflicted mixture of arousal and dread.
Mycroft set the clamp on the tubing, preventing the water from flowing. He poured the water into the top of the bag and checked the temperature with the thermometer – 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Sherlock didn't know the bottles were room temperature. He'd only placed them in the refrigerator when he'd retrieved the collar. The water would be cold, but not dangerously so.
He covered the end of the nozzle in lubricant and spread Sherlock's legs wider. He pressed the nozzle against his entrance, and Sherlock tilted his hips toward it, despite himself.
"Oh, greedy. You can't wait to get something up that pretty little arse of yours, can you? Very well." Mycroft shoved the nozzle into Sherlock's arse with more force than he'd originally intended. Sherlock's sphincter gripped tightly around the nozzle, and he moaned at the intrusion.
"You're going to learn some self-control, dear brother. You're going to take every ounce of this and hold it in for as long as I say. If you leak so much as a drop, we'll be starting over from the beginning. We'll keep doing it until you get it right. Understand?"
Mycroft slowly opened the clamp and started the water flowing. Sherlock clenched as the cold water flowed inside him, turning his bowels to ice.
"Breathe, Sherlock. You have to take it all, and there's a lot more to come."
"I can't, My. It's so cold."
"Oh, but you will. Perhaps next time you'll prepare yourself, you filthy little slut."
Sherlock writhed as the cold water filled him, invading his body. His bowels contracted from the temperature change, giving him abdominal cramps. "Please, My," he begged. "I'm sorry. Make it stop."
"Breathe through it, Sherlock. It'll pass." Looking at the anguish on his brother's face, Mycroft thought Sherlock was dangerously close to using his safeword. "You can do this, I know you can." He reached out and closed his long, delicate fingers around Sherlock's leaking cock, stroking it.
The sudden jolt of pleasure distracted Sherlock from the torturous enema. He could hardly ignore the cold water in his belly, but Mycroft was right – the cramps were subsiding, and the pressure on his cock felt amazing.
"See, I knew you could do it, little brother. That's all the water, there's no more. I'm going to take the nozzle out now. You just need to hold the water in there for a little while."
Mycroft removed his hand from his brother's cock as he carefully removed the enema nozzle. Sherlock's sphincter closed tightly to hold every ounce of water. He didn't want to go through it again.
He lay on the floor, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration.
Sherlock, look at me.
Sherlock opened his eyes to find Mycroft's face inches from his own.
Very good, little brother. You're doing so well. Mycroft leant down and took his brother's mouth in a gentle kiss. He leaned back and started to stroke Sherlock back to full hardness. He knew that the more aroused Sherlock became, the harder it would be to hold the water inside. He lowered his head again, this time to tease and flick at one of Sherlock's nipples with his tongue. With his other hand, he gave his other nipple a firm squeeze.
Sherlock moaned. The overwhelming sensations from his nipples and his cock were making it hard to concentrate on holding the water in his arse. Please, My. Stop.
Really, Sherlock? You want me to stop doing this? He teased the head of Sherlock's cock mercilessly, rubbing his finger across the leaking slit and slowly circling the corona.
No. Yes. No. I can't…
Mycroft smiled at the torrent of overwhelmed thoughts gushing from his brother's mind. Reaching one hand between Sherlock's legs, he cupped his balls and used one finger to rub against his perineum.
Oh god, no…
Mycroft saw a single drop of water leak from Sherlock's arse. No one could be expected to withstand that amount of pleasure, not really. He smiled, although his voice was harsh. "I told you, you're going to learn some self-control. Go and empty yourself."
Sherlock got awkwardly to his feet and went to the toilet, evacuating his bowels with a sigh of relief. He let himself enjoy the feeling of emptiness for a few seconds, dreading the knowledge that he would have to repeat the procedure.
Mycroft had prepared the second enema. He'd filled the bag with warm, filtered water from the taps. The thermometer read 103 degrees Fahrenheit. Sherlock didn't realise it, but this one would be far more pleasant than the last.
"Face down – on your knees, chest to the floor, arse in the air."
Sherlock hurried to comply.
Mycroft couldn't resist a few slaps to Sherlock's arse before they started again.
Sherlock moaned as the stinging pain sublimated to warm, buzzing pleasure. "Thank you, My."
Mycroft rubbed on the outside of Sherlock's tight hole. "Look at you, on display like a wanton little slut. You're going to get it right this time, aren't you?"
"I'll try, My. I tried so hard last time, but I couldn't. I'm sorry."
Mycroft pushed the nozzle into Sherlock's arse and slowly released the clamp.
Sherlock sighed with relief as the warm water flooded his bowels. He'd been so prepared for the brutal iciness of the previous enema that it took him completely by surprise. "Thank you, My. Thank you."
Mycroft rubbed his hand gently across one reddened arse cheek, smiling. There was a warm fondness in his voice. "You did well, Sherlock. This is your reward."
After all the water had been emptied from the bag, Mycroft removed the nozzle. The downward position made it much easier for Sherlock to hold the water without much effort. Mycroft rubbed his back soothingly as he waited for the water to do its work. "Very good, Sherlock. You're done – you may empty yourself."
As Sherlock used the toilet, Mycroft settled into a comfortably upholstered chair and waited. Without a word, Sherlock gathered up the enema supplies and took them to the sink to clean them. Mycroft smiled. Good boy.
Once Sherlock was done, Mycroft walked to the large glass shower and turned the water on to a steamy blast. "Would you like a shower?"
"Thank you, My." Sherlock beamed at him, genuinely happy. Mycroft removed his collar and placed it on a small table. He smiled. All the previous traces of insolence and sarcasm were gone from Sherlock's manner.
After a leisurely shower, Sherlock stepped out onto the bath mat, his pale skin glowing pink from the hot, steamy water. The expression on his face was one of utter serenity, and for the first time all afternoon, his mind was not assaulting Mycroft with its roar of noise and panic. Mycroft knew the primary reason for Sherlock's visit had been dealt with, but he desperately hoped Sherlock wouldn't want to leave.
As Sherlock stood there, naked and dripping on the plush bath mat, Mycroft handed him a huge, fluffy towel. He watched as Sherlock dried himself off – time and the shower had eased his erection somewhat, but that would change soon enough. Sherlock knelt on the mat, waiting for Mycroft to refasten the collar around his neck.
Mycroft fastened the buckle and Sherlock followed him silently from the bathroom back out into the playroom. Mycroft stopped in front of a medical examination table. It was longer and wider than a regular table and was covered in padded, black leather. Adjustable metal stirrups for the feet and knees protruded from the end, and there was a metal attachment in between the two stirrups. The table height and inclination were adjustable using electronic foot pedals. Padded leather restraining straps were situated at various key locations along the table – across the knees, low across the hips, the waist, the chest, and above the head. Even these were adjustable; the straps were anchored to a steel rod that ran around the perimeter of the table. The smooth rod had adjustable stops that allowed the user to position the straps precisely.
Sherlock gazed at it in appreciation. "You had this built." It wasn't a question.
"Completely custom. Do you like it?"
Sherlock nodded, at a loss for words.
"Since you seem to be unable to manage your own body or mind without my intervention, I felt it would be appropriate to conduct a medical examination. How long has it been since your last orgasm?"
"The last time I was with you. Seventeen days, thirteen hours ago." Sherlock was still looking at the table.
Mycroft gave him a withering look. "And you wonder why your mind screams like it does? On the table, legs in the stirrups."
Sherlock climbed onto the table, slid down until his arse was at the edge of it, put his knees over the supports and placed his feet in the stirrups. This isn't so bad. He'd expected to feel far more exposed.
Mycroft just grinned and adjusted the stirrups so they jutted out from the table at a forty-five degree angle.
Oh, god. Now he was ridiculously exposed. His arse cheeks were spread so wide he could feel his tight hole being stretched open and begging to be filled. His breathing started to quicken in anticipation of what was to come.
"Hands above your head." Sherlock complied, and Mycroft started strapping him down, beginning with his knees. The next strap was low on Sherlock's hips, underneath his once-again hard cock. Another around his waist and one at his chest ensured the immobility of his torso. Mycroft retrieved a pair of fleece-lined cuffs from the toy cupboard and secured them around Sherlock's wrists. He attached these with a snap hook to a D-ring at the top of the examination table.
Mycroft stepped back to admire his handiwork. Sherlock lay there, stretched out and tightly bound in front of him. The contrast of the black leather made his pale skin seem to glow in the dimly lit room.
Is that it, My? Are you just going to stand there and look at me?
Now you're just begging to be punished, Sherlock.
Yes, I am, and I'll beg more if I have to. I can't help but notice that both my mouth and my arse are empty. So, either you're just going to stand there and look at me, or you haven't started yet. And I sincerely hope it's the latter.
Mycroft whispered in his ear, "Oh, don't worry little brother; I haven't even started with you yet. You're such a little cock slut, aren't you? You can't wait to have all your greedy little holes stuffed. Seventeen days, eh? I'm surprised you made it that long." He nipped at Sherlock's ear and ran his tongue around the edge of it. "Beg for it, dear brother."
"Please, Mycroft. Don't make me say it out loud. You know I need this."
"I like hearing you say it."
He leaned over Sherlock and looked at his lust-blown eyes.
Please, My. I need it rough. I want you to shove your thick cock in my mouth until I can't breathe. I want you to fuck my greedy tight hole until I can't stand it any longer, and then I want you to keep going until I scream. Take whatever you want. I expect nothing in return. Please, My. Let me serve you.
"Out loud, Sherlock."
"Please, My. Anything you want. Whatever you think I need. Please."
Close enough. Mycroft gave his brother a genuine, open smile and kissed him chastely on the mouth. "It will be my utmost pleasure, brother-mine." With that, he walked away, leaving Sherlock moaning on the examination table, craning his neck to see where Mycroft had gone. He was at the toy cupboard, selecting a dildo – a particularly thick silicone dildo with a flared base – hollowed out at the centre for a vibrating egg.
"I don't know if you saw the extra attachment, Sherlock. It's an additional… restraint."
Sherlock's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh…" His whole groin tingled at the prospect. Being fucked with a dildo was one thing, but being restrained – no, impaled – by one, was another entirely. The leather straps were holding him tightly to the table. He wouldn't be able to squirm away from it, adjust himself on it – wouldn't be able to do anything except lie there and take it. It would be pinning him to the examination table in the most intimate of ways.
Mycroft saw his expression and grinned. "Not yet, little brother, but soon." He placed the dildo in a hidden drawer in the table and stood between Sherlock's outstretched legs. He ran his hand down Sherlock's inner thigh, feeling the muscles tense as his fingers played over the smooth skin. Well-manicured fingernails scratched the tender flesh of his thighs, eliciting a moan of pleasure. His warm, hot tongue followed their wake. Mycroft bent down and licked a long wet stripe over Sherlock's entrance and along the centre of his balls.
Sherlock gave a low groan and squirmed underneath the leather restraints.
"Show some fortitude, Sherlock." The smile was evident in Mycroft's voice.
He knelt in front of the examination table, happy to be on his knees in this capacity. His tongue went back to Sherlock's arse, circling his tight pucker. "Tell me what you want, Sherlock."
"Your tongue… inside me. Please."
"Like this?" Stiffening his tongue, he thrust it into the tight ring of muscle.
"God… yes." Sherlock gave a choked cry. "More, My… please."
The stirrups were working well – they kept Sherlock spread so wide that Mycroft didn't need to use his hands. With one hand, he massaged Sherlock's sphincter, relaxing him further. His tongue made slow, lazy circles, occasionally thrusting deeper into the silky smoothness. He felt Sherlock's moans reverberate throughout his body, urging him on. Reaching up with his other hand, he started stroking Sherlock, teasing him. He had no intention of finishing him – not like this.
When Sherlock started begging incoherently, Mycroft stood. Sherlock wailed in protest at the loss of his brother's mouth and touch. Mycroft slicked up his fingers and thrust in two fingers at once. "Is this what you want, Sherlock?"
Sherlock bucked against his restraints. "Oh, god yes. More."
"I don't think you deserve more. Not yet." He slowed his fingers, dragging them over Sherlock's prostate as he pulled them out. "Do you?"
"No, sir. I just want to be filled up and used."
"Mm. That's what I thought." He fucked him with two fingers until Sherlock was positively moaning. Then, he roughly added another finger and twisted them, brushing across his prostate again. "I'm not sure you can be trusted with your own pleasure, little brother. This is far more satisfying than your own hand, isn't it? I think I need to oversee your sexual needs – make sure they're filled on a more regular basis. It'll clear your mind – I'm sure The Work will benefit. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, My. Please. Give me more. I need this."
"Oh, I know you do, Sherlock, but not yet." Mycroft extricated himself and stepped back.
Opening the drawer in the exam table, Mycroft pulled out the large silicone toy and placed the vibrating egg inside it. Removing the custom attachment from the table, he secured the toy firmly to it. The thick dildo was attached at a right angle to a very sturdy metal pole.
He brought it up to the head of the table so Sherlock could see it. "You've never been restrained like this before, have you? I don't think you'll want to escape this one. Well, not at first, anyway." Mycroft felt Sherlock's thoughts, a mixture of lust and dread, enter his mind. "It's big, isn't it? Bigger than you're used to. It's going to make you nice and ready for the brutal fucking I'm going to give you later. That's what you want isn't it? For me to take you nice and rough? God, you're insatiable – such a little cock slut."
Sherlock was beyond words and moaned his assent.
Mycroft leaned over and claimed his mouth, his tongue forcing its way in and his teeth nipping at Sherlock's full lips. "You're mine, you know." He tugged on the collar by way of a reminder. "You've been very good tonight, which is why I'm letting you have this. He ran his fingernails down the insides of Sherlock's bound arms, leaving red marks. "You can't get enough, can you?"
Sherlock shook his head.
Mycroft moved lower. He sucked at a spot on his neck until a bruise formed and then bit him, hard. Sherlock bucked against his restraints. "Ah, see – that's why we need this– you're moving around far too much."
He moved back between Sherlock's legs and placed the slicked-up head of the massive toy at Sherlock's entrance, using just enough pressure to tease him. He pushed a little harder; it was nowhere near breaching him.
"Oh, Sherlock. It's so big. This is going to stretch your tight little hole so nicely. You're always saying you want more, and now you're going to get it. And you're going to take every huge inch of it, little brother. You're such a greedy little cock slut. I think I should just force this inside you all in one go."
Mycroft took that as a 'yes.' It took a considerable amount of force just to get the head of it past Sherlock's tight ring of muscle, even with the stretching he'd given it earlier.
Sherlock howled at the initial intrusion. Even with the lubrication, the pressure and sensations were overwhelming.
"Come on, little brother. Take it. Take it all. This is what you wanted. This is what it would feel like with two cocks in your arse at once. Perhaps I'll find someone else I can trust and we can both fill your hole at the same time. Fill your tight pretty arse with come. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You're a little whore. All you want is cock." Mycroft kept pushing steadily until the toy was buried deep in Sherlock's arse.
Sherlock took deep, shuddering breaths. "Fuck…"
"You like it, don't you." It wasn't a question.
Mycroft reattached the pole, firmly securing the toy in place and pinning Sherlock to the table. It was time to test the new restraint.
Mycroft started teasing Sherlock's left nipple, gently at first, licking and blowing on it – making it more sensitive. Without warning, he bit down on it, hard. Sherlock bucked against the restraints, and the toy in his arse sent delicious sensations through his body. It reminded him, far more than the leather straps, just how much he was at Mycroft's mercy, and the knowledge of that submission only made him more aroused.
Satisfied with his test, Mycroft opened the drawer in the table and pulled out a cock ring. "Now, little brother, I don't want you coming before I do. That wouldn't be polite now, would it?" He rolled the tight rubber ring down to the base of Sherlock's raging erection. "This should help you remember your manners."
Sherlock shot Mycroft a look; he clearly thought he didn't need the device. His face changed to one of surprise and lust when Mycroft turned on the vibrating egg nestled inside the toy.
The toy was so huge that even in this position, the vibrations were transmitted directly to his prostate. Under normal circumstances, and after seventeen days of celibacy, Sherlock would have come almost immediately, but the tight cock ring prevented it.
Sherlock was lost in a sea of sensation as Mycroft finally started undressing. Sherlock writhed on the table, alternately trying to focus the vibrations on his prostate, and then trying to avoid them when they got to be too overwhelming. Mycroft's own composure was rapidly disintegrating. He'd been painfully hard for ages now. Watching Sherlock take the enema had stirred his lust, and he marvelled that he'd been able to keep from fucking Sherlock into oblivion for this long.
Fully naked, he climbed onto the table on his hands and knees, his legs straddling Sherlock's chest and his hands above Sherlock's head. He'd had this table custom-made longer than usual for a reason. "You're making too much noise, brother-mine." Without further preamble, he used one hand to pull his thick cock from against his stomach and forced it into Sherlock's mouth.
Sherlock had known what was coming as soon as Mycroft had climbed onto the table. He'd licked his lips in anticipation, knowing it would probably be his last chance for a while. With his hands bound, he wouldn't have any control over this – not that he wanted it. The submission of Mycroft fucking his mouth like this always made him soar.
Mycroft gasped as the rounded head of his cock breached the tight circle of Sherlock's lips. The wet heat of it was exquisite. He thrust his hips, giving Sherlock no time to adjust. He felt his cock hit the back of Sherlock's throat and held it there for a few seconds, cutting off his brother's air supply. When he drew back, Sherlock sucked in air through his nose before Mycroft started fucking his mouth at a brutal pace.
After his initial assault, he pulled back to let Sherlock impress him with his tongue. He was rewarded with slow, teasing circles around the head of his cock and playful flicks against his fraenulum. When Sherlock started tonguing his leaking slit, he couldn't stand it any longer and thrust deep into his throat. Sherlock took everything he gave him without gagging. Even by Mycroft's obscenely high standards, Sherlock was ridiculously good at this.
Mycroft felt the beginnings of orgasm and had to pull out of Sherlock's mouth, grasping his own cock tightly at the base to drive it away. He wasn't done yet.
He climbed off the table and used the foot pedals to tilt the back of it upwards. "I want you to see every second of the brutal fucking I'm going to give you, Sherlock."
The vibrating toy continued its assault on Sherlock's prostate unabated. The second his mouth was empty, Sherlock's pleas filled the room. "God, My, it's too much. I can't take it any longer. I have to come. Please, turn it off. Please." It had been almost tolerable when he'd been able to concentrate on Mycroft's cock in his mouth, but now it was unbearable.
As hard and desperate as he was, Mycroft couldn't resist a little more teasing at Sherlock's expense. He pulled up a Queen Anne chair, calmly placed a towel on it, and sat down. "Perhaps I'll just leave you like this, Sherlock. Your hands are bound and the cock ring should prevent your orgasm no matter how much the toy stimulates your prostate. How much longer can you stand it? Ten minutes? An hour? When would the pleasure turn to pain? Would you get off on that, too?"
Sherlock looked at him with a mixture of horror and fascination. He clearly thought Mycroft was serious.
"I wonder what would happen to your mind. I'll bet that would silence it for a while. You do look delectable like this, brother-mine – writhing around on that table with that huge toy up your arse. I'd be happy to sit here and bring myself off just watching you."
Mycroft waited for him to use his safeword. It didn't happen. Interesting. He wants to see how far he can push himself.
"Would you like me to turn the toy off, Sherlock? Would you like me to fuck you into the table instead?"
Tenderness stabbed at Mycroft's heart. Not 'need to come,' but 'need you.'
He immediately got out of the chair and turned off the vibrating egg. Sherlock sighed with relief, almost in tears.
"Thank you, My. Thank you. It was so much. I tried so hard but I couldn't take it."
Mycroft caressed Sherlock's face and made soft soothing noises. "You did very well, Sherlock. I'm so proud of you." He leant in and kissed him, slowly at first, but it soon turned passionate and needy on both sides.
Mycroft pulled back and looked at his brother stretched tightly along the table, legs open wide for him. His remaining self-control cracked and a harsh moan escaped his throat. He roughly scratched his fingernails across Sherlock's pale chest as he bit down hard on his shoulder. Sherlock let out a cry that could have been pain or pleasure. It was hard to tell.
Mycroft moved between Sherlock's legs and undid the quick release on the attachment. He pulled the toy out in one swift movement, and Sherlock gasped at the sudden emptiness.
Mycroft smiled briefly at the sight of Sherlock's gaping hole before thrusting into his brother, hard and deep.
"Oh… god. My…"
Even after being stretched so much, Sherlock still felt amazingly tight and slick around his cock. He grasped Sherlock's hips as he drove into him relentlessly, the restraints holding Sherlock in place against the force of his thrusts. He locked eyes with Sherlock as they fucked, his pleasure feeding off the need and lust he saw there.
Mycroft pounded into him so hard his own thighs took a beating against the edge of the table, but he didn't even notice. His whole world was reduced to a single point of sensation as his cock slid deep in his brother's arse.
Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed from the pleasure.
"Look at me."
They flew open, meeting Mycroft's gaze once more.
The expression of rapt pleasure on Sherlock's face – the lust in his eyes, his mouth open and panting in need – was enough to send Mycroft over the edge. He gripped his brother's cock at the base and rolled the cock ring off in one smooth motion. Mycroft felt the tight coil in his belly unwind and he came deep inside his brother's arse. Sherlock reached orgasm almost instantaneously with a guttural scream of pleasure, his head flying back and his entire body convulsing against his restraints. His semen spattered thickly against his chest and stomach, and he fell back against the table, gasping.
Mycroft lay half-draped over his brother for a few minutes, recovering. Sherlock reclined bonelessly on the table with a slack look of bliss on his striking features. When Mycroft moved, Sherlock expected to be released from his bonds and was surprised to feel a wet tongue delicately lapping at his arse. Mycroft collected the hot semen dripping from Sherlock's hole on his tongue and moved up to kiss his brother.
Sherlock grinned and leaned in eagerly for the kiss, savouring the taste of his brother. It was tender and languorous, both of their minds clear and quiet.
Mycroft eventually pulled away with a smile and a light touch to Sherlock's cheek. As he undid the restraints, he gently massaged the feeling back into his limbs and body. Sherlock climbed down from the table into Mycroft's embrace, strong arms holding him up. Mycroft gently set him in the chair and covered him with a blanket.
"Don't go, My."
"I'm not. I'm just getting some towels."
He returned, moments later, with warm towels, a plush dressing gown, and a cold glass of water. Sherlock gulped the water greedily as Mycroft gently cleaned his brother clean of sweat and semen and bundled him into the dressing gown.
I'm exhausted, My.
As am I. We should sleep for a bit; we can eat later.
They made their way to Mycroft's bedroom, and Mycroft pulled back the covers on the luxurious bed. Sherlock climbed onto it and sighed as his head sunk into the down pillows. Mycroft crawled in beside him, happy to be close to him like this.
Love you, My.
I love you too, Sherlock.
Can I stay? For a while, I mean. My mind… I haven't felt this good in a long time.
Of course, brother-mine.
Mycroft didn't really expect it to last – he knew Sherlock would grow tired of the arrangement and they'd go back to their competitive ways, but he was thrilled to have it for as long as it lasted.