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My First Time

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Sherlock's foot tapped out a furious rhythm on the floor as he awaited his newest customer, his eyes focused on the clock on the wall. The man, who had contacted him anonymously but under a personal, named email address (, for God's sake), had told him that it was his first time and he was nervous.

Still, it wasn't wise to keep Sherlock waiting. Especially when you'd booked a BDSM-centric session. One long finger slid down the light flogger in his lap, and a slight smile came to his lips. The anonymous man would regret holding him up.


Settling the flogger onto the armchair he had been sat on, Sherlock started towards the door, flicking off the hall light as he went. After all, atmosphere was important, especially with nervous new customers.


“Come in. Remove your shoes at the door.”

The man was in his mid thirties, and had a slight limp, meaning that he had to walk with a cane, and a neat thatch of porridge coloured hair. He was incredibly unremarkable looking, but seemed clean and was dressed rather adorably – a blue cardigan, mustard slacks and a shirt.


He'd obviously served in a war – Afghanistan or Iraq. He was exceedingly shaky, his arms twitching with either nerves or excitement.

“I'm Sherlock Holmes, you will address me as sir for your time here.”

“Yes, uh...sir.”

Sherlock nodded briefly. “You're late. Why?”

“My limp.” the man indicated his cane. “I didn't realise quite how long a walk it was.”

“Your session will have to run short, then. Come through.”


John Watson generally didn't visit BDSM practitioners, or prostitutes, or men who claimed to have 'a subtle mix of both professions' within their services. He would hesitantly tell his girlfriend after a few months what he was into, and hope for the best. Some of them had accommodated, giving him a few half-hearted slaps or  embarrassing attempts at dominance. Others recoiled, dumped him on the spot.

Sarah had been the latter.

It had been his friend Greg, Greg Lestrade, that had recommended he get involved in the scene. He himself visited a 'minx' called Irene Adler. A brief scour through the web, Incognito window open, had brought up the website of Sherlock Holmes – 'The Science of Pain'. Two emails later, he was booked in.

“What is your safe word?”

John blinked, before sitting down in an empty armchair that the tall, skinny dominant was indicating. “ word?”

Sherlock sighed, pressing his hands together. “A safe word is a word that you say if things are getting too much for you. I stop immediately, and we discuss what was too much. Then, if convenient, we continue.”

John felt uncomfortable out of his depth, but nodded sagely. “Can it be anything?”

Sherlock's eyes rolled almost of their own accord. “Yes. Would you prefer me to select one for you?”

A sigh of relief escaped John's lips. “Yeah.”

“Heartbeat, then. Heartbeat. Don't forget it, it's incredibly tedious when someone forgets their safe word and we have to pause while they try to recall it.”

John nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Right, then, I think we're about ready. We discussed your limits over email, this session will not touch upon your limits. Remove your clothes.”

John blinked. “All of them?”

Sherlock bit back a sarcastic retort, before nodding, his lips pressed together. As John began to slowly unbutton his cardigan, Sherlock seized the flogger in his hand.


John sped up a little, but he was still taking great care, eyeing the flogger as he undid the buttons. It surprised him greatly when the flogger lashed down onto his side, not hurting through layers of clothing but making him jump. Sherlock stepped a little closer, leaning in to John and speaking in a low, breathy voice which made John squirm.

“When I say faster, you get faster.”

John felt the familiar prickle of arousal in his cock, but immediately got faster, tugging off his cardigan and unbuttoning his shirt twice as fast. As soon as his socks were from his feet a minute later, he blushed a little, before internally blushing. There he was, naked, in front of a man who was going to dominate him.

“Go to that wall.”

“Yes, sir.”

John approached the wall, where two leather cuffs hung off of coils of metal. A second later, the flogger lashed down onto his back, making a shiver run through him.

“I don't care if you have a limp, you need to be faster.”

John swallowed. This was better than expected.


When secured in the arm restraints, John was just slightly on his tiptoes. Sherlock took a moment to observe him.

“What first, John? Wax or your beating?”


The flogger lashed down deliciously, leaving thin pink marks on John's back. “Beating, sir.”

“Beating, sir.” John repeated, feeling his cock stir into a semi. Sherlock reached down and traced a finger down John's penis, taking a moment to rub the tip.

“In future, if you contact someone asking for anonymous services, I'd advise not using your normal email, John.”

John blinked, but said nothing. It wasn't as if Sherlock could do anything with his name, his attempt at anonymity had been a little pointless anyway.

“I think we'll go for wax, first.”

Against the wall, John couldn't really twist around to see what Sherlock was doing, but his imagination wandered in the few moments he was left with nothing to do, imagining the long, thin candles he had looked at online being set alight and dribbled down his back...

“Ah!” John exclaimed not out of pain, but surprise. The sensation of warm wax falling onto his back and drying within a couple of seconds was not one that he had ever experienced before, but he enjoyed the sensation. A hand suddenly dug into his hair, while a dribble of wax fell onto his lower back, making his heart pump a little harder.

“You will be silent from now on. If you make another noise, I'll gag you.”

John nodded, and the grip on his hair subsided. More dribbles of warm, scentless wax came down, making his semi become a full erection as he leant against the wall. Suddenly, however, a totally different sensation hit him, an icy, wet one.

“Like that?” Sherlock whispered, his finger dancing enticingly over John's penis for just a second, his other hands dragging the icecube over John's back. John let out a very quiet moan in response. Although he knew that he was essentially in control, and could stop the scene at any moment, the thought of losing control was utterly exciting. A particularly hot splash of wax splattered onto his shoulder, but before he could react a hand slid up his inner thigh before reaching through and touching his penis, drawing a finger down it once more. Sherlock's long, delicate fingers, reminiscent of a pianist's, clutched at his cock and a slight blow of air came past John's ear as the candle was set out. Sherlock's clothed body pressed against his naked one, the dominant began to jerk him off, his hand pushing roughly up and down his penis, making him gasp. Suddenly, as he began to edge towards an orgasm, it stopped.

“Stay still. I'm going to uncuff you.”


The bench in front of him was simple, a classy black device with a low pad obviously meant for his knees to rest upon and a higher one for his torso. Leather bonds similar to the ones on the wall awaited his arms and legs.

“Bend over it.”

John obeyed, feeling a twinge in his bad leg but ignoring it. In a moment, he'd be hurting in an entirely different way. After a few seconds, he felt a tap against his buttocks, an unfamiliar tap. He hadn't yet been restrained, and his erection was flying free between the two pads he was resting on, eager to be touched. Whack! Oh, God. A moan escaped his lips and he pressed his face deeply into the leather pad, before peering back. Sherlock stood, shirt sleeves rolled back, a long, thick cane in his hand. A deep, burning sensation ran across his buttocks, making his cock even harder. Another two came down in quick succession, and John moaned again. It hurt, but in an entirely good way. He longed for more, pushing his buttocks up as if presenting them, his dick rock hard. The cane stopped for a moment as Sherlock dipped his finger into something A second later, the finger was pressed against this anus, slowly, slowly entering him. At the same time, Sherlock's other hand travelled down to John's cock, slowly, gently pleasuring it. His buttocks still burning, John moaned more loudly, pushing his anus against Sherlock's fingers. He was sure he'd never been so completely aroused before.


Instantly, Sherlock stopped, pulling his finger roughly from John and releasing his penis. The restraints were quickly secured around John's ankles and wrists, leaving him totally helpless.

“Shut up. You will not disobey me again.”

The cane lashed down twice more, much harder than before, and John moaned again, sure he was going to cum any moment. He was completely under Sherlock's control. Further lashes came down, each one pushing John closer and closer to the edge of arousal. The pain was beginning to build up, too, and just when he began to feel that he might have to say his safe word, it stopped. Sherlock ran a light finger down John's bare, wax-crusted back, teasing him.

“You're a nice little plaything.” he told John, before striking the welted buttocks with his own hand. A loud moan escaped John, and once more he buried his face into the black leather pad. One of Sherlock's hands was around John's dick once more, rubbing up and down slowly, teasingly, while two lubricated fingers slowly entered his anus, curling up to his prostate with medical precision. Suddenly, John came, cum squirting forth from him in a delicious burst, and he collapsed against the bench, completely relaxed and relieved. Sherlock glanced at the clock: the session was just about over. Allowing John a few moments of peace, he slowly undid the restraints, smiling a little to himself as John stayed exactly in position.

“Get up.”

John snapped to attention, scrambling to obey Sherlock.

“I trust you will return?” Sherlock asked, smiling a little as he lead John back through to where his clothes were. John nodded eagerly.

“Most fun I've had in years.”