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Fic: The Woman's Day (Spoilers for BBC Sherlock 2x01)
Title: The Woman's Day
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Spoilers: For A Scandal In Belgravia, 2x01.
Summary: A typical day in the life of the woman.
Rating: R.
Warning: Mentions of BDSM.
Her alarm-clock rings at 7am. Perfectly manicured fingers quiet it immediately; she has been awake for five minutes already. She turns the radio on instead, listening to the news, in case she missed anything during the night. She slips out of bed, silk sliding off of her skin; it is less about being hedonistic, and more about her identity.
She walks over to her vanity, dressed in a see-through night gown, sits down, and starts brushing her hair. By the time she is done, she knows whether anything important has happened. On her way to the bathroom, she turns the radio off. Her shower is thorough, invigorating, and leaves her looking forward to the day ahead.
Downstairs, she can hear Kate preparing breakfast. There is still the shape of her in her bed, but by the time she is done with her shower, her smell is completely gone from herself, at least. She blowdries her hair, puts it up in its usual bun, pin after pin until she is quite satisfied. She picks out her underwear, hangs up her stockings, then applies her make-up and, finally, slides into a simple black dress. Kate is there just in time to zip her up, which is met with approval. Good timing is such an important quality.
Breakfast is had in silence, as she reads through a few newspapers, then a little time is allotted to her computer. Replying to messages left on her website and her Twitter feed, checking her appointments of the day...
She thinks about texting Sherlock, but it isn't time yet. If she texted him each time she thought about it, they would have easily reached a couple of hundred messages by now. She checks her reflection in the mirror as she walks out to meet her car, ensconced in a perfectly stylish coat, mouth and eyes highlighted by striking, perfect make-up.
She brings some toys with her. Ties, a riding crop (there, she thinks of Sherlock again, of how delicious he looked on the floor), a plug, and a violet wand. This morning's session is an easy one, and he ends up breathless, bound and begging. The three perfect B's. She has done a good morning's work; she moves on without a look back, but after promises of an even better time for their next appointment.
She has lunch in a café near her second appointment's workplace. He thinks that their appointment will start after his lunch break, but he is wrong. When he comes in for lunch with his colleagues, he pales slightly at the sight of her, alone at a table, eating her dessert. She smiles at him; promises need no words. He spends lunch stealing glances at her, fidgetting in his seat, and eventually cuts it short, pretexting a business meeting.
She folds her napkin on the corner of the table, calls the waiter, asks for a coffee, and the bill. Pulls her mobile out, and sends him a text. The hotel round the corner. The room is under your name. Be ready for me.
When she walks into the hotel room, he has managed to work himself into the device, a metallic frame that has captured both his hands and feet, putting him on his knees, arms stretched out backwards. It was no easy feat, and she had barely left him enough time to manage; it shows great motivation on his part. She pats his cheek, and praises him, "Good boy." For the next three hours, he continues to be a good boy.
She goes to the opera that night, courts a few potential new clients. Her designer dress is stunning, and expensive, but she knows what it is that draws them in: the line of her lips, the promise in her eyes, the tone of her voice, the way she carries herself.
In the car, on the way back, she sends a text. Back from the opera. Let's have dinner.
In her room, she steps out of her thousand-pound dress, and it is time for a bit of fun. There is work, and there is fun. Sometimes the two coincide, but with Kate, it is always about the fun. She pays her well, but not well enough that she could afford her rates.
Not that she needs to.
Kate begs so well, and pants so prettily. She has a wicked tongue and a clever mind. She breaks beautifully for her, time after time, and when she comes she seems transfigured. She even likes the taste of her sweat, and she licks it up her neck when she's done, as one of her hands unties the rope around Kate's wrists. She rubs over them, over the marks left there, rubs the burn in until Kate is pressing her legs together, and ready to beg again. They go another round.
When she goes to sleep, she thinks about Sherlock again. All of her hopes pinned on the one man, and the surprise is that he might just be up to the task. Kate is asleep beside her, and she doesn't want to wake her. She slides a hand between her legs, and thinks of dinner.
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Spoilers: For A Scandal In Belgravia, 2x01.
Summary: A typical day in the life of the woman.
Rating: R.
Warning: Mentions of BDSM.
Her alarm-clock rings at 7am. Perfectly manicured fingers quiet it immediately; she has been awake for five minutes already. She turns the radio on instead, listening to the news, in case she missed anything during the night. She slips out of bed, silk sliding off of her skin; it is less about being hedonistic, and more about her identity.
She walks over to her vanity, dressed in a see-through night gown, sits down, and starts brushing her hair. By the time she is done, she knows whether anything important has happened. On her way to the bathroom, she turns the radio off. Her shower is thorough, invigorating, and leaves her looking forward to the day ahead.
Downstairs, she can hear Kate preparing breakfast. There is still the shape of her in her bed, but by the time she is done with her shower, her smell is completely gone from herself, at least. She blowdries her hair, puts it up in its usual bun, pin after pin until she is quite satisfied. She picks out her underwear, hangs up her stockings, then applies her make-up and, finally, slides into a simple black dress. Kate is there just in time to zip her up, which is met with approval. Good timing is such an important quality.
Breakfast is had in silence, as she reads through a few newspapers, then a little time is allotted to her computer. Replying to messages left on her website and her Twitter feed, checking her appointments of the day...
She thinks about texting Sherlock, but it isn't time yet. If she texted him each time she thought about it, they would have easily reached a couple of hundred messages by now. She checks her reflection in the mirror as she walks out to meet her car, ensconced in a perfectly stylish coat, mouth and eyes highlighted by striking, perfect make-up.
She brings some toys with her. Ties, a riding crop (there, she thinks of Sherlock again, of how delicious he looked on the floor), a plug, and a violet wand. This morning's session is an easy one, and he ends up breathless, bound and begging. The three perfect B's. She has done a good morning's work; she moves on without a look back, but after promises of an even better time for their next appointment.
She has lunch in a café near her second appointment's workplace. He thinks that their appointment will start after his lunch break, but he is wrong. When he comes in for lunch with his colleagues, he pales slightly at the sight of her, alone at a table, eating her dessert. She smiles at him; promises need no words. He spends lunch stealing glances at her, fidgetting in his seat, and eventually cuts it short, pretexting a business meeting.
She folds her napkin on the corner of the table, calls the waiter, asks for a coffee, and the bill. Pulls her mobile out, and sends him a text. The hotel round the corner. The room is under your name. Be ready for me.
When she walks into the hotel room, he has managed to work himself into the device, a metallic frame that has captured both his hands and feet, putting him on his knees, arms stretched out backwards. It was no easy feat, and she had barely left him enough time to manage; it shows great motivation on his part. She pats his cheek, and praises him, "Good boy." For the next three hours, he continues to be a good boy.
She goes to the opera that night, courts a few potential new clients. Her designer dress is stunning, and expensive, but she knows what it is that draws them in: the line of her lips, the promise in her eyes, the tone of her voice, the way she carries herself.
In the car, on the way back, she sends a text. Back from the opera. Let's have dinner.
In her room, she steps out of her thousand-pound dress, and it is time for a bit of fun. There is work, and there is fun. Sometimes the two coincide, but with Kate, it is always about the fun. She pays her well, but not well enough that she could afford her rates.
Not that she needs to.
Kate begs so well, and pants so prettily. She has a wicked tongue and a clever mind. She breaks beautifully for her, time after time, and when she comes she seems transfigured. She even likes the taste of her sweat, and she licks it up her neck when she's done, as one of her hands unties the rope around Kate's wrists. She rubs over them, over the marks left there, rubs the burn in until Kate is pressing her legs together, and ready to beg again. They go another round.
When she goes to sleep, she thinks about Sherlock again. All of her hopes pinned on the one man, and the surprise is that he might just be up to the task. Kate is asleep beside her, and she doesn't want to wake her. She slides a hand between her legs, and thinks of dinner.