… … …

It wasn't long before the drugs began to make their presence known. Holmes waited for their effects to kick in, silently watching my breathing turn heavy, my cheeks flush with wine. The blood flow to my cock increased tremendously, making my head spin slightly as I struggled to stand. But I would not lay down like some beaten dog.

I could do nothing to hide my growing erection as I wore only my torn white shirt which still hung open, but my remaining pride held Sherlock's eyes. My legs trembled weakly beneath me, but I stood my ground as he moved closer, his lust threatening to break free with every step.

"I know how fond you are of gambling, doctor," Holmes brushed aside the hanging fabric of my shirt. "Let's say you and I make a little wager, hm? You win, and I won't lay another finger on you."

I knew Sherlock—he never placed a bet on something he wasn't sure he could win. Whatever the game, I could be sure he had the upper hand. But as I felt my heartbeat speed up and my legs shake with the effort to stand, I knew that I had no choice. Whether I played his game or not, he would get what he wanted in the end.

"And if I lose…?" I gulped, but my cockhead was dripping from the thought of what he might do to me if I lost.

Sherlock's arm shot out and he gripped my balls painfully. "Then you have to surrender everything to me," he growled, a sound that sent a visible tremor through my body.

I told myself that it was the drug-induced haze that had me wanting to play Sherlock's twisted game, that wanted to lose, if only a little. "What are the rules?"

Holmes looked pleased with himself as he rustled my hair in praise like a pet. "Simple. Just do as I say and don't ask me to release you until I'm done."

I was confused by his meaning at first, but then he pulled a red satin ribbon from his coat on the ground and tied it in a tight bow around the base of my cock. The resulting image was humiliating, with me looking like some present under the tree at Christmas. I knew then what he meant by 'release.'

The game was designed to get me to beg for it. And I wanted to play.

"Are you ready?" I could practically see the tip of his tail twitch back and forth in anticipation as the housecat prepared to pounce. Against the railing cries of my better judgment, I nodded in consent.

"Against the wall, Watson." I backed into the dusty cellar wall and Sherlock clicked his tongue at me with disapproval. "Back to me, hands above your head." I scrambled into position and he kicked my legs out farther, spreading me open. "Now stick out your ass for me…there's a good lad."

I saw the moon-cast shadow of his raised hand as he whispered in my ear: "Count it, John."

Before the words sank in, I felt the first sting as he struck my cheek with his open palm. I cried out, but no numbers were intelligible. He swung again, hitting the exact same spot but with more force. "Giving up on our bet so soon? I expected more from you." He pelted my ass with a few more strokes before I began my count.

Sherlock struck with the precision of a surgeon and the force of a bludgeon. I could barely choke out the numbers in between my sounds of pain. The stinging of my backside did nothing to hinder the erection between my legs.

We were up to forty-seven before I begged for him to stop. The supposed pain pills were doing nothing to ease my suffering, and the pain only served to increase my arousal.

"Stop? Why would I do that, when your cock is getting harder with every blow?" As if to demonstrate, he swatted roughly at my hanging cock, and laughed as it bobbed heavily below me. "I know what you want, John. Fight it all you like, but a man can't escape his nature. You like to be dominated. Such a good, strong soldier—you've been begrudgingly taking orders from me since we met." He leaned forward to emphasize his last words: "You may squeal like a piglet Watson, but you come to slaughter all the same."

I felt too weak to respond to this latest insult. And what could I say, standing on my own two feet, willingly submitting to his ministrations? True, I had no means of escape and was drunk and drugged, but if I loathed his touch so much, why wasn't I fighting anymore?

Sherlock gave me a few more swipes and then pulled away from me. My cock throbbed painfully and my balls ached for another release. But like a good soldier, I held my position and awaited my orders.

"You've done well, Watson." Looking behind me, I saw him pull a bottle from his satchel. He poured the liquid into his hands, rubbing them together when he sat down the bottle. "Let me reward you."

I felt the cold liquid drip down my lower back and down my cheeks and his skilled hands began massaging the ointment into the welts blooming there. I wondered if there was any real medical value to this treatment, but the salve felt so soothing, I didn't dare voice my concerns.

His strong fingers pressed into my skin, knowing just where to go and what to do to make my member stiffen and swell to its full potential. The mirrored movements of his hands sent tremors through me and the drug was in full swing—I moaned shamelessly, tossing my head from side to side like a frustrated stallion. A coated finger prodded my entrance, tracing tiny circles around it with the now-tingling liquid.

"Tell me how you're feeling, doctor. Has the drug taken effect yet?"

I couldn't lie, not with his hands working on me like that. "Yes. I can…I can feel it."

"Good, good. Now imagine how I would feel inside of you. Warm, hard. Filling you up." My muscles clenched as the words became images in my mind. No, no that's not what I want…that's not… "Imagine I'm moving inside of you, heating you up from within, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust…" No, don't think about it, don't give in to him… "Tell me what you want, Watson, and I'll give it to you."

Only a strangled moan fell from my lips as an answer. Sherlock tutted at me, once again grabbing something I could not see. "Can't admit it yet, eh? That's fine. I can see you are thirsty, old boy. Would you like another drink?" I shook my head to signal 'no,' but soon felt the cold circle of the lip of a wine bottle against my skin.