((Sorry that part was too long so had to split into two. Anyway from here be scenes of very graphic rape and torture, so those of a squeamish disposition look away now.))
The same eleven men who'd been privy to his capture at the club earlier were all present, all with the same hateful expressions which Sherlock knew he at least partly had earned directed towards him. The Russian guy, whom he overheard being referred to as 'Sergei' (so nice to put a name to the face), lead him to the bed that took pride and centre of the room, and backed him into it until his knees hit the edge and he was forced to topple over onto the surprisingly soft mattress. He expected tearing hands then, expected to be ganged up on by all and sundry until they got what they clearly wanted.. but nothing happened.
Instead, Sergei held out his hand for the tazer gun his companion had been wielding, and casually leaned back on a desk (the one bearing all manner of objects that Sherlock preferred not to look at directly) as though bored. There was a hungry spark in his eyes that he couldn't quite disguise however, and Sherlock felt a shudder of loathing run up his spine with the knowledge that this man wanted him. He was about to offer some goading remark out of spite, when the thick tones of his least favourite man in the universe cut him off before he could so much as open his mouth.
"We play a game. We ask you to do things for us, and you obey. You perform good and you get certain.. treats. You perform bad and, well.. " He waved the tazer casually in the air. "We make life very, VERY painful. This is phase one punishment, you don't wanna see phase two. Clear so far?"
"Crystal."
"Ah this is good yes. So treats.. I'm feeling I must elaborate. See.. we own you, we can do anything we are wanting to you and nobody will care, but we treating well who treat /us/ well. If you are good we feed you. If you are good we give medicine when you are sick." Here the Russian's cold blue eyes flashed dangerously, and Sherlock knew he wouldn't like what he was about to hear. "If you are good, we don't all dry fuck you till you bleed out on the carpet."
Oh.. no he certainly hadn't liked that at all. He could feel the blood rushing away from his face leaving him white as a sheet, as he realised just how much pain could be inflicted by the use of bodies alone, never mind the instruments he still couldn't quite pretend didn't exist right there on the desk.
"You strip, I will be unlocking handcuffs but don't you be trying to run now. The door behind me is locked and I will be making you regret trying."
Sherlock swallowed hard, flicked his gaze to each man in turn and saw no pity in a single one of them as Sergei unlocked his cuffs as promised, then sat back to watch as the detective nervously fingered the buttons of his shirt. He knew this would all go easier if he would just comply.. he knew he had to remain in control for as long as possible. Pain made it so difficult to concentrate.
Harriet's words of comfort echoed in his mind 'just.. go away in your head.' He tried to pretend he was at home, in the comfort of his own room at 221b Baker Street, just getting changed. Yeah that was all.. he wasn't being watched by a group of other men as he shed his shirt and his jeans quickly, methodically, trying to be as totally UNsexy as possible. Sherlock felt goosebumps rising all over his skin as he sat perched on the very edge of the bed, totally naked, waiting for further instructions. Shame burned as he felt eyes boring into him like lasers, taking in every millimetre and owning it.
Perhaps now was a bad time to remember that the only sexual experiences he'd had so far to date were all involving his own right hand.
"You /are/ pretty.. pretty as a girl everywhere! I bet you even get all wet for us and everything!" He didn't even know who'd said that, he didn't much care, he just wished they would all have a sudden strike of conscience before going through with this.
Re: Complications Part 11
The same eleven men who'd been privy to his capture at the club earlier were all present, all with the same hateful expressions which Sherlock knew he at least partly had earned directed towards him. The Russian guy, whom he overheard being referred to as 'Sergei' (so nice to put a name to the face), lead him to the bed that took pride and centre of the room, and backed him into it until his knees hit the edge and he was forced to topple over onto the surprisingly soft mattress. He expected tearing hands then, expected to be ganged up on by all and sundry until they got what they clearly wanted.. but nothing happened.
Instead, Sergei held out his hand for the tazer gun his companion had been wielding, and casually leaned back on a desk (the one bearing all manner of objects that Sherlock preferred not to look at directly) as though bored. There was a hungry spark in his eyes that he couldn't quite disguise however, and Sherlock felt a shudder of loathing run up his spine with the knowledge that this man wanted him. He was about to offer some goading remark out of spite, when the thick tones of his least favourite man in the universe cut him off before he could so much as open his mouth.
"We play a game. We ask you to do things for us, and you obey. You perform good and you get certain.. treats. You perform bad and, well.. " He waved the tazer casually in the air. "We make life very, VERY painful. This is phase one punishment, you don't wanna see phase two. Clear so far?"
"Crystal."
"Ah this is good yes. So treats.. I'm feeling I must elaborate. See.. we own you, we can do anything we are wanting to you and nobody will care, but we treating well who treat /us/ well. If you are good we feed you. If you are good we give medicine when you are sick." Here the Russian's cold blue eyes flashed dangerously, and Sherlock knew he wouldn't like what he was about to hear. "If you are good, we don't all dry fuck you till you bleed out on the carpet."
Oh.. no he certainly hadn't liked that at all. He could feel the blood rushing away from his face leaving him white as a sheet, as he realised just how much pain could be inflicted by the use of bodies alone, never mind the instruments he still couldn't quite pretend didn't exist right there on the desk.
"You strip, I will be unlocking handcuffs but don't you be trying to run now. The door behind me is locked and I will be making you regret trying."
Sherlock swallowed hard, flicked his gaze to each man in turn and saw no pity in a single one of them as Sergei unlocked his cuffs as promised, then sat back to watch as the detective nervously fingered the buttons of his shirt. He knew this would all go easier if he would just comply.. he knew he had to remain in control for as long as possible. Pain made it so difficult to concentrate.
Harriet's words of comfort echoed in his mind 'just.. go away in your head.' He tried to pretend he was at home, in the comfort of his own room at 221b Baker Street, just getting changed. Yeah that was all.. he wasn't being watched by a group of other men as he shed his shirt and his jeans quickly, methodically, trying to be as totally UNsexy as possible. Sherlock felt goosebumps rising all over his skin as he sat perched on the very edge of the bed, totally naked, waiting for further instructions. Shame burned as he felt eyes boring into him like lasers, taking in every millimetre and owning it.
Perhaps now was a bad time to remember that the only sexual experiences he'd had so far to date were all involving his own right hand.
"You /are/ pretty.. pretty as a girl everywhere! I bet you even get all wet for us and everything!" He didn't even know who'd said that, he didn't much care, he just wished they would all have a sudden strike of conscience before going through with this.