sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXVII

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Prompting Part XXXVII

This is the new prompting post for the Sherlock Prompting Meme. Prompts from LJ can still be filled there with links here or filled here in the new overflow post.

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Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

OP: I have no objection whatsoever to the inclusion of more traditional spanking.

Sherlock experiments on John, secretly dosing him with something to make him lactate. John is disturbed by how tender his chest is, made worse by Sherlock touching it and how it seems to be swelling up a bit. He tries to hide it from Sherlock once milk starts coming out, but he produces so much that it proves impossible to hide.

Bonus points for John having a crisis of masculinity due to this whole thing

Awesome! This really intrigues me so I'm going to try and squeeze it into my schedule to write this week :)

Filled this prompt here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/9504215

Sherlock wasn't being glib when he described Mycroft as OCD. Mycroft does have OCD, very carefully managed and controlled OCD...except, since Sherinford he's been having difficulty. Anthea eventually calls on Greg (or Sherlock) for help.

John really likes seeing Sherlock eat the food John provides for him.

(To be clear, John isn't so much into Sherlock gaining weight as the act of him eating, though both are appealing)

Yes!

Slightly inspired by the prompt above.

I prefer just MPreg, but Omegaverse with Alpha!John and Omega!Sherlock is okay, too.

Pregnant, Sherlock wakes up in the middle of the night, wakes John up and demands food. John, despite being tired and sleepy, finds it amusing and wants to please Sherlock. He goes to the kitchen with Sherlock following at his heels.

John starts cooking something delicious while Sherlock is sitting there at the table and watching his every move. John probably teases him with food, too, and Sherlock is sweetly impatient and wants the food cooked ASAP, enjoying the smells and the sight of John cooking.

Trigger Warnings: semi non-con, genital spanking, general dark overtones.

Note: This is my first time filling one of these. It's not finished yet, but I wanted to check with OP to see if this is working for him/her, so I'm putting up what I have presently. Happy to receive concrit, first time ever writing genital spanking. This is set before S4 Ep3.

---------------
The sound of footfalls on the stairs outside 221B reached Sherlock’s ears even as he dozed on the sofa. He knew that pattern of footsteps anywhere—it was Mycroft. The consulting detective opened his bleary eyes, blinking a few times to focus them.

“Sounds like your brother is here,” John said. He took a look at his watch and nodded. “Right on time too.” It was early in Sherlock’s rehabilitation after nearly killing himself to ‘save’ John and everyone was still taking shifts to watch over him. Frankly, he needed it. The cravings were strong again after such heavy use. He rose from his chair by the fireplace and opened the door, giving Mycroft a nod in greeting.

“Thanks for coming on time,” John told the other man sincerely. “Molly has Rosie today and I try not to overtax her. Infants are exhausting.” He looked over the sofa, then back at Mycroft and lowered his voice. “He’s had a rough night. I have some nausea medication in the loo for him, the directions are on it, should he need it. The flat’s clean, I checked it again a few hours ago.” It was an exhausting process, searching the flat inch by inch, but one that needed to be done.

As John filled Mycroft in on the recent developments with his younger brother, he noticed a rather large duffle bag in the elder Holmes’s hand. “What’s that?” he asked, inclining his head at the bag.

“I have cleared my schedule for the next 24 hours to spend some… quality time with my brother,” Mycroft replied. “I’ve informed Miss Hooper and DI Lestrade that they will not be needed for their upcoming shifts as I will be here.”

John’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’m sure they’re thankful for the break. That’s… unexpectedly kind of you.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed. “Do go collect your child, Dr. Watson. I shall call if we require medical advice of some sort, but I doubt that will be necessary.” He stood aside so he was no longer blocking the door; a strong indication that John should leave at once. After saying his goodbyes to Sherlock, John did in fact go. The door was shut and locked behind him before Mycroft addressed his brother.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here for the duration and why this--” He held up the duffel bag. “Is here with me.” Mycroft crossed the room and set the bag on the floor beside the couch. “Budge up Sherlock,” he directed, taking a seat on the couch when Sherlock did so. Immediately he guided Sherlock’s head back to his lap and began to run his fingers through the messy mop of curls. “You’ve been a naughty boy Sherlock. A very, very naughty little boy, haven’t you?” Mycroft was unsurprised when Sherlock chose not to respond. “Scaring your friends that way, scaring Mummy and Dad, putting your life at risk.”

“You didn’t try to stop me,” Sherlock pointed out, his tone somewhat dull. “Even though you were watching.”

The elder Holmes sighed and shook his head. “No, I did not. I’ve learned from experience that you do not listen, especially when it comes to Dr. Watson. I knew what you were doing,” he confirmed. “Your life, however, is a large price to pay to pull John out of his misery. A price that is, quite frankly, unacceptable. What did I say would happen the next time you gave in to your addiction? Do you remember?”

Sherlock’s face burned red as he nodded. “You’d make me the sorriest little boy in the world,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. This wasn’t a new thing, Mycroft making threats and providing consequences for his drug use. It had never been something that Sherlock agreed to, or wanted, but it had evolved out of their relationship growing up. Mycroft had always been the one minding Sherlock and, when he grew too wild for Mum and Dad to handle, Mycroft had taken him in hand. It was humiliating, being spanked by his big brother like a little child, so it had turned out to be an effective measure.

As Sherlock became involved in drugs, he found himself called to the carpet more and more often, each time dreading it and promising to stay away. Whenever he slipped, Mycroft came to find him with that bloody duffel bag. No matter how much he protested, shouted, attempted to flee, and on occasion physically fight Mycroft, Sherlock was always subdued in the end and thoroughly punished. Mycroft never did things by half measure, after all, and if he was putting effort into a spanking, it would be given on every possible spankable surface there was. It was a process guaranteed to make Sherlock very, very sorry and unbelievably sore.

“Please don’t,” Sherlock whimpered. There would be no physical fight or attempt to flee today. He was far too worn out from withdrawal to make such an effort. But the punishment coming his way was not one he consented to, merely one he submitted to.

“I’m not going to take that request seriously,” Mycroft said firmly, giving the curls in his hand a bit of a tug. “You nearly killed yourself, the serial killer’s attempt aside, using so much for so long and did not even make a list of what you took, which you promised me you would always do. Not to mention that you made Mummy cry, a sin worthy of a spanking all on its own. No reprieve Sherlock, to any part of it. If you’re a very good, cooperative little boy for your spanking, I’ll skip the ginger root,” Mycroft offered. “But that is the most leniency you’ll see from me.”

Sherlock whimpered again and turned over on the couch so he could hide his face against Mycroft’s abdomen.

“I know, I know,” Mycroft said gently, running his hands through Sherlock’s curls again. “Take a few minutes to whine and whimper about it, I know you need to. But then it’s time to get started. No delays Sherlock, no diversions or dalliances,” he warned. He then waited patiently as several quiet moments passed while Sherlock resigned himself to the inevitable.

“Alright, that’s enough time for whimpers,” Mycroft finally declared. “Get up young man and strip. Put your clothes away nicely when you’re finished.” When Sherlock rose from the couch, Mycroft did too, and reached for the duffel bag. Inside it were all the implements Mycroft had decided to bring with—it was always good to have variety---as well as a ginger root. That went into the fridge before Mycroft unpacked the items one by one. A thin leather strap, a cane, a wooden spoon, a belt, a paint stirrer type paddle dubbed ‘the naughty stick’ (an implement from their own childhood spankings), and a cock ring to help Sherlock present his genitals for punishment should he struggle with doing so. For now the fabric ties he’d brought with would remain in the bag. If Sherlock struggled to obey and maintain position, they would be used to restrain him.

Putting the duffle bag aside, Mycroft shed his suit jacket and laid it neatly on Sherlock’s chair by the fireplace. He began to roll up his sleeves then, watching Sherlock fold his clothing and take it to his room. His brother then emerged, brilliantly red faced with his hands protectively covering his penis. “Hands at your sides or behind your back Sherlock,” Mycroft said sternly. “Modesty is a privilege, not a right, when you’re in this much trouble.”

An inner battled waged on Sherlock’s face as he struggled with the idea of obeying. A part of him didn’t dare to refuse, but it was difficult to do so. This might be surprising, given his penchant for walking around Baker Street nude or covered only in a sheet, but there was a difference between being naked at his pleasure and being forced to be naked for punishment sake. Finally, as Mycroft gave him a withering gaze, Sherlock put his hands behind his back and hung his head.

Pleased to see Sherlock obey, Mycroft watched him a moment longer before turning away and going into the kitchen. His brother was undoubtedly going to be shedding many tears today and having a pitcher of cold water available would be handy for helping him replenish those fluids. It took him a few moments digging in the ill organized space to find a pitcher that didn’t look as though it were growing poison. Mycroft promptly filled that with water, put the lid on, and placed it into the fridge.

“Center of the room,” he called to Sherlock as he headed back to the sitting room. “Stand in the center of the room and spread your legs. Do not give me those sad eyes, little boy. Not after you nearly killed yourself in an elaborate, sentiment fueled stunt.”
Swallowing hard, Sherlock moved to the center of the room and spread his legs, keeping his hands behind his back. Immediately his eyes went to the floor as a red flush of embarrassment went over his whole body. As Mycroft approached him, the younger Holmes cringed and tensed in anticipation.

Rather than reach for him roughly, at least for the moment, Mycroft cupped Sherlock’s chin and lifted his head. “I love you Sherlock, and you know that. That is why I do this, and for no other reason. You never have been and never will be allowed to put drugs in your body without consequences. After today I want you to think two, three, even four times before contemplating using again and to make sure that happens, I am going to ensure that you associate drugs with the pain of a most thorough spanking. Is that clear?”

When Sherlock whispered a “yes sir,” Mycroft nodded let go of his chin. “Let’s begin then. I’m sure you remember how this goes, but it’s clearly been too long since the last time.” Mycroft moved to Sherlock’s right side and reached for his limp cock, grasping it with his left hand, pulling it up towards Sherlock’s belly to expose his balls. He gave a warning tap against them with his right hand before drawing it back and delivering a resounding smack to Sherlock’s scrotum.

An intense frisson of pain shot through Sherlock’s body as Mycroft spanked his scrotum. That place was not meant to be spanked and he wheezed through the pain, his eyes bulging a bit. Sherlock thought briefly about trying to move away and avoid further smacks, but Mycroft had a good hold on his cock and it would hurt worse to try and pull it away than it would be take his humiliating punishment.

“Yes, hurts doesn’t it?” Mycroft asked, delivering a second smack. It was followed quickly by a third and fourth as Sherlock trembled beside him, gasping for breath. “You’ve been a very naughty boy,” he continued, emphasizing those words with sharp smacks. The scrotum was turning red and beginning to swell already in response to the spanking. Be continued to apply hard, relatively fast paced smacks to that tender region of Sherlock’s anatomy, completely unsurprised when Sherlock broke down in tears.

“Please, please stop, please!” Sherlock begged, his voice high and tearful. “I’m sorry, please!” His knees shook, making him uncertain that his legs would hold him up much longer. “I’m sorry sir, I’m sorry!”

Mycroft did pause at that, but did not released Sherlock’s penis. “I’m sure you sorry—sorry that you’re being punished. By the time we’re finished today, you’ll be truly sorry. We are far from finished and you are well aware of that,” he said sternly. “And you know precisely how to avoid being punished in the future!” He squeezed Sherlock’s cock tightly, then loosened his grip a bit, before continuing to reign smacks on Sherlock’s balls. The strength behind the smacks made his hand sting and that was why Mycroft brought implements he knew he could use for just such a spanking.

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to sob in earnest and try to dance away from further blows. He had no idea how many times Mycroft had spanked his sac at this point, he merely wanted it to stop and continued to plead for mercy through his tears and wheezing.

After delivering twenty solid smacks to Sherlock’s scrotum, Mycroft released his brother’s cock and gave him a moment to catch his breath. “Put your legs closer together and steady yourself,” he directed. When Sherlock’s breathing resumed a somewhat normal pace, Mycroft knew it was time to go on. “You will stay still or I’ll make you wish you had, little boy,” he warned, giving the limp cock a warning pat. Once more Mycroft raised his hand and brought it down with a smack, full force on Sherlock’s cock.

Letting out a strangled shout, Sherlock dropped to his knees and resumed the sobs that had earlier faded. He hated how much this hurt and how humiliating it was and how it made him bawl like a baby. Sherlock was destined to bawl even more as Mycroft merely knelt beside his brother and continued to dole out devastating strikes to the rapidly reddening member.

Each one was silently counted in Mycroft’s head with a goal of fifteen in total…. Fifteen with his hand that was! A part of Mycroft admired his brother’s strength in not trying to deter him from delivering the punishment despite the pain Sherlock was in. Perhaps he’d learned something last time after all! As Sherlock’s cries became more desperate and high pitched, Mycroft began to count the strokes out loud for him. “Fifteen Sherlock and then you may have a break. Twelve…” Crack. “Thirteen…” Crack. “Fourteen…” Crack. “Fifteen.” Crack.

When Mycroft finally stopped, Sherlock curled up in a ball on the floor and bawled brokenly. He was vaguely aware of Mycroft getting up and washing his hands in the kitchen before returning to his side. Then, a gentle hand was running through his curls as he wailed.

“I don’t like doing this Sherlock,” Mycroft sincerely told him. “You push yourself to this point with the drugs. I’d rather do this a thousand times than lose you to cocaine and god only know what else. The power to avoid this in the future is yours. Resist the temptation Sherlock, no matter what the reasons behind it. For now, take some deep breaths and work through the pain. In a short while, I’m going to put you over my knee and warm that bottom of yours before we move on to other intimate areas.”

Sherlock threw him a terrified look. Surely he couldn’t mean…

“Oh yes,” Mycroft confirmed. “Between your cheeks, your inner thighs, and your anus are all going to be well spanked by the time we finish today. This is meant to be memorable Sherlock, and be a deterrent for the future. It won’t do any good if I fail to make it memorable and incredibly painful. But for now just breathe through the pain. I’m right here.”

For some reason, Sherlock found that comforting, having Mycroft beside him stroking his hair. In truth he had known that Mycroft would come to punish him and in a way it was reassuring. Big brother always set him back on the right path, no matter how many times he fell off of it.

Not OP but I hope more is coming!

I prefer unrequited (or requited but unresolved) or pre-) John/Sherlock.

Sherlock loves Rosie. How can he not when she's John's and he can see John in her? But he hates her and sometimes flinches when he hears her and when she touches him. He even wants her gone some days and feels terrible about it.

He suffers from his own confused feelings, because he loves and hates her; sometimes one of those, sometimes both at the same time.

One day when she starts crying (just normal crying for a toddler), he breaks down and starts crying, too. Maybe it is then when John learns what Sherlock feels.

OP: brilliant! Exactly what I was hoping for. Please do continue!

Seconded!

I really like this.

I have no idea when Anderson became such an adorable nerd, but it happened and it makes me happy :)

For the next twenty minutes or so, Mycroft encouraged his little brother to eat and drink. It was important that Sherlock do so, both for recovery from the drugs and to make sure Sherlock wouldn’t be adversely affected by his punishment—aside from the obvious.

“It’s time to move on now,” Mycroft finally said. “Let’s get up from the floor, shall we?” He looked around the flat, trying to decide where the best place to deliver a spanking across his knee would be. Ultimately he selected John’s chair and sat down. Mycroft didn’t sit all the way back to the backrest, but sat forward, so there was ample room for his gangly little brother to go over his lap.

“Come here little boy,” Mycroft said sternly. He patted his knee and gave Sherlock a stern look. “Bring the spoon with you. I think you’ve been far too naughty for a warm up with my hand. We’ll get straight down to business paddling your bottom soundly.”

With great reluctance, Sherlock rose from the floor and retrieved the wooden spoon from amongst the implements Mycroft had chosen to bring. He shuffled his feet as he crossed the sitting room to where his brother sat, somewhat offended that Mycroft had chosen John’s chair, and handed the spoon to his brother before beginning to bend over his knee.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mycroft said, preventing Sherlock from bending over. “I do believe you’re forgetting something, young man.” He watched as Sherlock’s face bloomed a brilliant red and raised an eyebrow at his silence. “I’m waiting.”

“May I please have my spanking?” the younger man mumbled out. Sherlock yelped as the spoon connected with the back of his thigh.

“Try again,” Mycroft ordered.

Sherlock scowled darkly at his big brother. God, how he hated being forced to utter such humiliating words. His scowl had no effect thought, this was Mycroft after all, so Sherlock huffed and complied. “Please sir, may I have my spanking to teach me to be a good little boy?”

“You may.” Mycroft spread his legs wide, then allowed Sherlock to bend over them. Given that Sherlock’s cock must be hurting like the devil and had more punishment to come, there was no reason to make Sherlock lie on it against his lap. He wasn’t a sadist, after all, and did have compassion for his wayward brother.

Spoon in hand, Mycroft tapped it against Sherlock’s bottom in warning before bringing it down in a crushing blow against the white skin. A rounded pink splotch rose in the wake of that smack. Not one to do things by half measure, Mycroft began peppering Sherlock’s bottom- far too white at this point- with hearty, solid smacks at a quick pace. The pink oval splotches soon melded into a solid color across both globes, then turned redder as the spanking continued on.

For a few minutes at least, Sherlock tried to take his spanking with whatever dignity he could muster. It wasn’t easy, given the fast pace and the incredible sting the spoon wielded. Though he didn’t cry out, Sherlock was soon squirming over his brother’s lap, moving his hips from side to side and pounding his toes on the floor.

“You’re allowed to cry you know,” Mycroft commented. His tone was so easy and conversational, as if he didn’t have a squirming man over his lap whose arse he was walloping. “I won’t think less of you just because it’s a spanking. It’s meant to hurt and make you very sorry. You may cry and howl as needed. You’re turning such a pretty rosy red back here.”

Sherlock grunted and growled at his brother’s words. He would cry if he wanted to, or not cry if he wanted to! His purpose in this was to submit and learn, not to cry on demand! Though tears were, in all honesty, not far off. His skin was on fire as the spoon fell again and again in a painful dance all over his cheeks. From crest to sit spots and every area in between, the skin fairly glowed, a visual indicator of how much it burned and ached. Then, the spoon seemed to pause.

Right before it landed with a mighty crack on his right sit spot.

Sherlock howled and immediately kicked in response. The spoon focused solely on that sit spot, turning it pink, then red, then crimson as it fell repeatedly. A dozen spanks to that tender area drove Sherlock to tears. Not quiet, dignified tears, but tears of distress. It bloody hurt! It was nearly a relief when Mycroft moved to the left sit spot to follow that same pattern, and his tears rose in response.

“For now we’ll leave your thighs be. The naughty stick will paint them a hot red later on, all the way down to your knees and the cane will stripe them. Dear me, I do see some white areas left. That won’t do,” Mycroft commented. He had no idea if his brother could hear him over his tears, but the scolding and humiliating rhetoric was part of the punishment.

With surprising ease, Mycroft moved Sherlock over his lap to where he was straddling Mycroft’s left knee, facing backwards. This position opened the cleft much more than the traditional over the knee position and those inner cheeks would need to be well spanked too.

“No, no, no, please,” Sherlock wept. “It’s going to hurt so much, please don’t Mycroft!” He reached for the pillow that sat in the chair and hugged it to his chest, knowing Mycroft would not be the least bit moved by his pleas. He could feel his big brother’s hand on his hot, hot cheek, pulling it back a bit to expose the skin of the cleft.

“Hold steady now Sherlock,” Mycroft warned. “Your perineum is quite exposed in this position and I’m not above smacking it if you cannot behave. You will take your spanking, all of it, like a good little boy. There are consequences if you chose not to be a good boy.”

Once more he tapped the spoon against Sherlock’s skin before bringing the rounded head of it down with a terrific smack. It smacked that tender skin repeatedly, moving up and down the left side of the cleft. Given the sensitive nature of that area, Mycroft tried to avoid bruising, at least for the present. Right now, sizzling and throbbing skin was the goal.

Sherlock struggled to stay over Mycroft’s lap and not make an escape attempt. He buried his face in the pillow, howling and sobbing into it. This was exquisitely painful and tantamount to torture, Sherlock was certain of it. Moving his hips and kicking his legs, he wasn’t surprised to feel Mycroft use his right leg to trap Sherlock’s kicking one.

“You’re being difficult brother mine,” Mycroft warned as he switched sides. The right side of Sherlock’s cleft was readily set on fire to match the left as Sherlock squirmed and sobbed with abandon. When both sides were crimson in color, he tapped the spoon against Sherlock’s perineum. He had, after all, warned him. Kicking to the point of needing restraint was not acceptable. The spoon fell with a sharp smack against that area and Sherlock nearly flew off the chair. “I told you Sherlock, and you chose to be naughty,” Mycroft said sternly.

Slowly and methodically he smacked that tender area between scrotum and anus, mentally counting the swats. Even with Sherlock’s head buried in the pillow, Mycroft could tell he was screaming in response.

After a dozen good smacks, Mycroft stopped to inspect the perineum. It was a dark, dark red and looked to be rapidly swelling. Hopefully it would induce Sherlock to be cooperative, or ask to be restrained, going forward.

“Alright now, we’ll put the spoon down,” Mycroft decided. He began to gently rub the small of Sherlock’s back as his little brother struggled to calm down. “You need to breathe Sherlock, remember to breathe. There’s no other way to deal with the pain but to breathe through it. Even if you haven’t been entirely cooperative, you’re being brave and I do see that.” A little praise wouldn’t hurt.

“By the time this is all over, you’re going to be good as gold, aren’t you? Be my very good boy and take better care of yourself, won’t you? Should we perhaps visit the issue of maintenance spankings for a while? Make certain the lesson lasts?”

Unsurprisingly, Sherlock vehemently shook his head no. “For now, we’ll leave that as an option available to us, if I find you need it. Might do you a lot of good, being turned over my knee once a week for a good paddling. Probably make you rather easier to work with too. Your people skills are by and large deplorable. I’ll think on it, but for now we won’t plan on it.”

He fell silent then, continuing to rub Sherlock’s back for several minutes, until the younger man began to quiet. “Alright Sherlock, up you get,” he said firmly. “Go stand in the corner please, hands on your head. I’m going to make tea and after I’ve had a cuppa, we’ll go on. You should have some too. No rubbing little boy,” Mycroft reminded Sherlock as he shuffled over to the nearest empty corner.

As Mycroft went into the kitchen to make tea, Sherlock continued to cry quietly in the corner. Why was he so stupid to use again?! It seemed such a simple thing to say no to, particularly when reprisal from Mycroft was sure to be stern and swift. It hadn’t been that simple though, not this time. This time he had to save John Watson and he was willing to do whatever was necessary to do so. Sherlock hadn’t stopped to think about the damage he was doing to his body or the long recovery process from withdrawal and kidney failure. Oh, he’s been aware of those things of course, but such issues paled in comparison to John drowning in his sorrow if he failed to act. If he had it all to do over again, Sherlock was certain he would make the same choice. He would do anything for John Watson.

When the tea was ready, Mycroft called his brother from the corner. They drank the tea in silence, their minds occupied by other thoughts than holding a conversation. Sherlock worried about what was coming next. Mycroft was analyzing his brother’s mental and physical state and pondering which portion of the punishment to move on to next. It had been some time since the initial cock spanking. Perhaps it was time to revisit Sherlock’s member and spank his inner thighs.

“Is it time?”

Sherlock’s voice broke Mycroft out of his reverie. His brother’s cup was empty and he looked anxious, standing there naked with his tea cup. “Yes, it is,” Mycroft agreed. He put their cups into the sink before returning to the sitting room and looking over the items he’d brought with, ultimately selecting the naughty stick. Bringing it to Sherlock’s desk, he moved several items away from the edge of it, then crooked his finger at Sherlock. “Come here little boy. Put your cock on the desk for a good smacking.”

Hanging his head, hands protectively covering his genitals, Sherlock did as he was told. Standing beside the desk, his limp cock rested on the top of it, presenting itself for punishment. “I don’t… I’m not…Brother, please…” Sherlock struggled to get out what he was trying to say, but luckily for him, Mycroft understood.

“Of course,” Mycroft murmured. He retrieved a fabric tie from the duffel bag and tied Sherlock’s hands together at the wrist behind his back. “Good boy,” he praised. “Hold steady now, plant your feet well on the floor.” He took hold of Sherlock’s arm with his left hand, hoping to help keep Sherlock on his feet, and swung the naughty stick down to connect with the well positioned dick.

“Uuuunnnhhh gaaaahhh,” Sherlock gasped and groaned. Tears filled his eyes as his dick throbbed painfully and his knees shook in response to the pain. It was a good thing he’d been restrained otherwise he’d be pulling away and covering himself. Instead, he stayed there, as steady as possible, while Mycroft landed blow after blow with the naughty stick. It was thin, about the size of a paint stirrer, making it perfect for spanking genitals without causing serious damage; only considerable pain and, if used long and hard enough, bruises.

Mycroft kept up a somewhat brisk pace of strokes, landing them about thirty seconds apart. It gave Sherlock enough time to keep from falling over, but not enough time to become adjusted to the pain. Once more he mentally counted the strokes, noting the way Sherlock’s penis jerked every so often in response to the pain. It wasn’t arousal, simply overstimulation. The earlier redness had faded, but was quickly resurrected under the stinging slaps of the naughty stick.

It only took a few slaps for Sherlock to break down in tears again. His already sensitive member was again being assaulted, making it throb, ache and burn with a fierceness that was more than a little alarming.

“Ahhhh! Mycroft please! P-p-p-please stop-p-p-p-p! Please, god, please!” Sherlock wheezed, struggling to make sense through his tears. Loud tears quickly overrode his ability to plead, becoming shoulder shaking sobs. Each slap created a sharp pain that ran from his dick and up and down his body like a jolt of electricity.

“I hope you’re beginning to regret your choices Sherlock,” Mycroft commented as he spanked. “And that you’ll make better ones in the future. You will never be too old for big brother to thoroughly punish you and make you a sorry little boy. I will always take care of you Sherlock.”

He dealt the final two smacks, bringing it to an even dozen. Mycroft set the implement aside, for the moment, and untied Sherlock’s wrists. “No break this time. Go lie down on the couch on your back and raise your legs. Time to paint those thighs a painful red. Go on little boy.” He gave Sherlock a sharp smack on the bum to propel him on his way.

I am absolutely loving this and can't wait for you to continue.

Thank you so much!

Guys I saw a post going around Tumblr about how Sherlock enjoys shopping at Lush (the natural cosmethics shop), but what if he worked there? He's the best, cause he can tell just by looking at you what product will suit you and he can deduce people's tastes and he loves all the smells and the softness...Just give me Sherlock working at Lush <3
Johnlock is super appreciated but not necessary!

Interesting and unusual! +1

Sherlock and John have been dancing round each other for ages and Moriarty is fed up, especially since it's distracting Sherlock from The Game, so it's up to him to get them together.
Cue Moriarty kidnapping them both and forcing them to act out dating scenarios all while directing them on how to act e.g. telling Sherlock to hold out John's chair at dinner, telling John to take Sherlock's hand etc. Along with a whole lot of WTF, John and Sherlock reluctantly start enjoying the 'dates'.
Bonus points if Moriarty gets carried away playing with his real life Sims, and by the time Mycroft/Scotland Yard come to the rescue he's got them engaged to be married and looking for a house with extra bedrooms for future babies (don't know how that would work, making John wear a fake belly maybe? Or straight up mpreg it is a kinkmeme after all)

Looking for a story where Sherlock goes to someone he trusts and asks for a severe spanking to absolve him of the guilt about Mary's death. Any sort of spanking is fine, no preference on implements or anything, you can run with it! Just a long, hard spanking that leads to relief of guilt.

Bonus: It's not the first time Sherlock has asked this person to do this.
Bonus2: If it's Lestrade that Sherlock turns to.

Good old Moriarty. Love it.

John sees a tiger that no one else can see following Sherlock around. It doesn't seem violent or threatening, but what is it?

Before he and Sherlock met, John was cursed with obedience. He hides it pretty well, not a lot of people actually order him around and when they do he is able to pass it off as him being polite or sarcastic depending on the context.
Still Mycroft is aware and it is the only reason he let John anywhere near Sherlock. He orders John not only to report Sherlock's doings back to him, but to protect Sherlock.
Meanwhile, Sherlock gives a dreadful amount of orders, and by all means John should regret ever laying eyes on him, but somehow he can't.

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