finalflight | OPEN POST; [ HERLOCK SHOLMES / TGAA ]

[He does knead slightly, though. And even more, truly testing to see if his long fingers could possibly encompass the whole of her backside — but of course they can't. She's quite generous there, too.]

Very much so.

[Palms a little more vigorously.]

I rather like how you touch me, too, Ms Sapione.

[ well, she enjoyed the stillness while it lasted. she will enjoy this, too. in fact, she sighs—dangerously close to contented now that the drug and the desire have flooded her. ]

But you are wanting more.

[Squeezes and squeezes and cups again.]

Do you plan on withholding your affections now?

[That’s a yes, he wants more. He wants to know what she plans to do to him, lasciviously.]

[ it feels good. she squirms indolently down on the thigh she straddles, huffing out a warm breath. ]

No. But I want you to ask.

[ she creeps her fingers up, skating above his waistband, and then down... dipping just beneath. soft navel. so soft... ]

[And he squeezes again, but this time only with one hand — the other travels up to squeeze and play with the base of her tail.]

Ask— ah...

[Oh, soft skin beneath her hands, yes. But tickly there, too, and the muscle beneath ripples slightly.]

Will you touch me more?

[ as with all Victorian women's drawers, there is nothing beneath and through the open crotch besides... well. we shan't say. he can feel the taut muscle of her tail, and the dip of her tailbone turning into her buttocks. ]

I will touch you more.

[ practically a murmur. practically too low to hear. and she reaches deeper into the vee, underneath his underclothes, until her fingers touch—and then curl beneath—the heated arch of his cock. it's like the first time... every time. but for one of them, especially this time. ]

[He is rather familiar with the nature of women’s clothing and their undergarments, though certainly not because of any particularly… intimate reasons. But it just means he knows how to navigate without even looking, through touch alone. And it’s touch that he indulges in idly, particularly interested in the taut formation of muscle right at the base of her tail. She really is a well-built woman, he thinks — admittedly rather dumbly because the opium really doesn’t allow him to analyze much deeper than that.

Anyway. She’s touching him now. Really touching him, and Sholmes stutters a pleased and surprised noise both, arching straight into her hand. His cock twitches excitedly in response. He feels so warm that he might melt in the spot.]

And… with such deft hands, too…

[ wriggles her fingers—deftly. he fills her hand and then some, that open vee stuffed full now that her hand has joined him.

angles her face up to kiss clumsily at his neck. ]

Ahh-h. You are stiff like wood.

[ and all of her is languid, humid, hot. ]

[And he'd feel the same way—does feel the same way—if that sensual anticipation she keeps building up inside of him twist all that laziness up inside, making him both eager and useless at once.]

And whose fault is that, I wonder?

[Palms her again, greedily, fingers flexing in one hand while the other slip down her tail.]

[ laughter, low and slow. he does feel teenage now as he gropes her and pulses in her hand. this could be... over quick.

can't have that. ]

You should be thanking me. [ she closes the ring of her fingers and pumps her hand once. ] Go on. Thank me.

[Oh, he really squeezes when she graces him with that single stroke, and yes… it’s clear that if she’s not careful, this will end perilously soon. He’s teenaged and inexperienced — for Sholmes, anyway, the two are rather synonymous with each other.]

Th-thank you…? [Aaaaaa his brain just defaults to being obedient if it means she’s touching him like that.] Your generosity is boundless, I… can only thank you for it, dear girl.

Mmmhmm.

[ he's so! darling! she understands again why she fell in love with him. reminded again of him on his knees, humping onto her foot while he held her tightly. she thinks she can get him there again. another languid stroke up his length, the best she can while still inside the open vee of his trousers, Sprezzatura kissing at his neck in little plucking smacks. ]

It is so good to make you feel this way.

[ it makes her feel like the better version of herself. one who isn't selfish or neglectful. with him, she isn't. ]

[She could probably convince him to do just about anything right now. Inhibitions are low, curiosity is at a high — so is want, which is not rare for him in regards to mental stimulation, but physically? So uncommon is it that he can't help but follow its lead, to see where it might take them.]

Is it so rare? I cannot- [His words stumble on his tongue when she strokes him again, but it's with diligent effort that he continues.] -imagine it is.

[With his future self, he means, that man he might someday become.

Still, he plays with her tail, realizing slowly that her undergarments must be fashioned in a way to allow for it. Both practical and, in this era, a bit scandalous, indeed.]

I want to make you feel the same. Isn't it only fair?

[He wants to excel as she does, and this isn't terribly surprising.]

[ that Victorian open crotch nearly seems made for her, it's true. as though somehow this world had known to one day expect her, and at least in this one way, had prepared. his hands are so close. she can feel the coolness of the room teasing itself between her legs, where she has become damp, where her lips tingle with the desire to be paid attention to. little pleasures straight from her tail to her cunt. it's not a long way to go.

his stutter all but rolls off his lips and across her cheek like a caress; she inhales as though she might taste. this inexperience of his holds deep allure. ]

Go on, then.

[ her hand has fallen still, as though she can't focus on the two things at once. ]

[Her hand halting so soon is torture, but more importantly, further motivation to touch. To explore. To be less cautious, waiting for her permission, and far more exploratory, as he knows he can be. As he knows she must want.]

Very well. Then…

[Quite bold, indeed, is the course he decides upon. His hands abandon both her cheek and her tail, one finding itself resting upon her hip, the other snaking down—through or over or however the material might allow him—to touch, with two exploratory fingers, the wetness of her folds.

As he said, it’s only fair. And it’s just about what imagined it to be.]

…here?

[ i cannot overstate how easy it is for him to get in there. all he need do is venture in, perhaps tuck some of the material to one side, and there it all is. it's as if the Victorians designed women's drawers with her, specifically, in mind. how easy to bare herself to the room. how easy, too, for a young man to play with her cunt for the first time.

the hair at her nape seems to stand on end as she feels the creep of him moving down. then his slender fingers—cool compared to the heat coming off her—settling upon her lips. only now can she feel how wet she's gotten, simply from playing with him like this. she inhales shakily, sharply, prickles of heat and pleasure coursing through her. without meaning to, she lifts her tail. she's an easy woman. ]

Da, good boy.

[Exceptionally easily, almost laughably so. In this one and only instance, a woman's clothing seems far less complicated than a man's, but that is a thought he might revisit another time, another day.

Now, he thinks not of the ease with which he touches her but the sensation that meets his fingertips. She is so very wet and hot, and there's satisfaction in knowing that he has caused a similar physical reaction in her that she did with him, but his mind remains foggy and too-slippery all at once. That thought, too, doesn't linger.

No, Sholmes only wants to feel. And moreover, to learn. To take stock of her reactions, commit them to memory, with a confidence that perhaps seems foolish for how drug-addled he is.]

And... like this...?

[There's no point in being shy now, not with his fingers already pressed against her cunt. He dips down a little lower and slides one long and extended digit through her folds to wet the entire length of his finger, suddenly wishing most direly that he could see as well as feel. How very indecent in a thoroughly exciting way.]

[ oh, just like... before...

the thought seeps in, seeps out. she smiles instinctively in response, a long sigh that sounds like relief, and gently lifts one thigh a little higher to open herself to the touching. invite him in. welcome; stay. ]

Da...

[Even more clearance to explore, though it isn’t as if he was much restrained. The thought makes his heart pump hard in his chest, a feeling so paradoxical to the laziness he otherwise experiences (nearly) everywhere else.

Where his slender finger had slipped up and through, now it slides back down where she’s parted so nicely for him, his touch feeling her out in a way that is both curious and massaging. Once more, he turns his face to bury it in the crook of her neck; and once more, his lips tickle her skin as he speaks.

Options of what to do next. Sholmes decides to slip his digit up again, languidly slow, but angled in such a way that he’s sure he glides across the bud of her clit as he does so. It must be — he can only go off of what he feels, but he’s certain.]

You feel nearly as eager as I am.

[ it is. the tension which ripples through her can only confirm. hot flashes up her back; pools of liquid heat settling in her low spots. he has buried his face close enough that she couldn't disguise her tiny gasp even if she wished to. and she doesn't wish to.

better it drive him insane. ]

Ha—ahh-hh. Mmn. I love being touched like this.

[ she murmurs, warm, into his hair behind his ear. tries to curl closer where she's laid out on top of him. finally she remembers to move her own hand, wrapped gently around his stiff length, and tugs it once, twice, three times, generously and firmly. at the head, she rubs over him so the dampness beading there smears into the creases of her palm. ]

Good boy....

[The noises he makes when she smears her palm over his cockhead would be embarrassing were he more lucid. Now, they escape him practically without his knowledge, a low, long moan that rumbles against her neck. He'll ruck up once against her again, seeking more, greedily wanting a release but also wishing for its delay.]

Aha... [Don't worry, she has no issue thus far driving him insane.] I do like it when you praise me in such a libertine way, Ms Sapione...

[Now, that finger of his finds itself between her folds again, and lower, teasing its tip at her entrance.]

Will you part for me?

[...He doesn't wait for a reply. With ease, given how wet she is, Sholmes will indeed just slip that finger inside of her.]

[ she parts warm and so soft, a little purring sigh in her throat. she tries to spread her thighs wider, push her backside into the air, and the hand cradled at the back of his neck tightens and holds him near.

he should moan like this for her all the time (forgetting that he often does). he should compliment her even more than he has—"libertine" sends a giddy thrill straight down to the cool slip of his finger just inside. ]

Oh... lapochka...

[ thinking hazily: two fingers would be better. two fingers nice and seated. maybe three? or... more...

she is not thinking of him much at all when she moves her hand from his cock, leaving him bereft, and worms it from beneath his trousers and underwear, and reaches behind herself to take his wrist and guide him deeper. ]

["Libertine" is only ever a compliment in a context like this one. This is something Sholmes is learning on this day; lucky him.

Instructionless, he would have left that single finger inside of her, angling it to feel her soft insides, thoughts wandering in even lewder directions as he wonders what it must feel like to properly fuck her — his future self would know, wouldn't he? But suddenly, he's bereft of her touch. Or rather, it moves away from his cock and loops around his wrist, instead, urging him deeper. He makes another little noise, somewhat of a complaint that he's no longer being tended to, but not enough to... not allow his finger to sink in ever deeper into her.

Right up to his knuckle, hugged all around. Still just the one finger, though.]

I couldn't have imagined... [He trails off, dumbly. That she'd be so soft, so warm, that the very notion would make his body react this way?

Experimentally crooks his finger from within.]

[ hushed laughter beneath his ear: isn't he so sweet man. couldn't have imagined—coming from Herlock Sholmes, the man who is always imagining. ]

I have room for you. [ for more than just a single finger. ] Are you unhappy with me? Your poor, stiff cock.

[ the words are easy and brazen, no bashfulness. no; she likes to speak boldly and earn a reaction. the idea entertains of rising up and parting her drawers for him so he can see where he plays, but she can't... get up... ]

[Romance is so far-flung a notion that, no, he could not imagine it. He had been starkly in the camp that it was simply never to be his forte; even an adult Sholmes, that day they met in Reverie, believed the same, only not so staunchly. Just that it was an airy truth that had no reason to meld itself into anything different, until it did.

Is she trying to get up? Or just thinking about it?]

I cannot imagine I look particularly unhappy.

[Again, his moves his finger, a slight twist to his wrist to simply feel at a different angle, scant of a difference it might make.]

Another finger?

[Room for him, she said. His brain is slush. Help him.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject