bakerstreet | Sexting

was there a reason you were probing someone in an elevator looking for parasites?

I'm a Dominatrix by trade.

You know, I knew that, but still I wanted to know. Serves me right.

In my defense, she was dying, and I was sure it was lyme, but no one had found the tick. Life advice? Don't live in a bubble. Figurative and literal.

now I'm thinking about vaginal ticks, and I think I could have gone the rest of my life without ever putting those two words together.

And I still want to fuck you.

That you can think about that after what I just told you is quite the compliment. I would happily let you if you want to.

where can we meet? I know a club with a lovely little exam room set up if you really want to go for it.

What kind of club? Gimp leg, remember. Hard for me to get around really active ones.

it's a fetish club, the rental rooms have private entrances, it would just be the two of us.

That, I could handle. If my apartment is to personal for you, anyway.

You're the one with the power fetish. What's your call? I just need somewhere easy to get to.

I was just offering somewhere to set the scene. We could always go back to your place. If you think you could go twice in one night

I could probably be convinced, if I get a chance to catch my breath, anyway.

Gotta say, I'm a little insulted by that. I'm not *that* old.

it wasn't a comment on your age. There are thirty year old men who can't get it up twice

The text that follows is an address.

If that's the case, I'd seriously question their sexuality. Seriously, have you seen you?

A few minutes pass

I'll get a cab. Should I schedule a time or should I head over now?

thank you, I'm flattered.

I've got the room booked, I can meet you there in about 30 minutes?

I think I can manage that. Assuming you can navigate New Jersey traffic okay.

I have a hired driver. I will see you soon, Doctor House.

Irene will be waiting outside of the address, in a sleekly tailored black dress and heels. She's left her hair down, letting it fall in waves around her shoulders.

Just outside his projected time window, his cab pulls up to the club, and after paying the driver, he steps out, trying not to look too pleased with seeing her there.

"Shouldn't have tipped that Taxi so much. I wanted him to hurry getting here. Guess I misjudged my timing."

He's not dressed particularly nicely, but he is at least dressed at all. He smiles at her and nods toward the door, steeping up to her and offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

Irene doesn't mind a little wait, not when she's waiting for someone who actually interests her.

"I'll remember punctuality is not your strong suit." She gives a bit of a smirk as she slips her arm into his. She leads them through the main door then to the right where a corridor lays with several doora, each a deep rich red.

"We're number three" the door when open reveals what could believably be an exam room in any medical facility, just with a bit more kink. Along with standard equipment there are a few crops and floggers, and the table has bondage straps attached.

House follows along beside her, doing his best to keep pace with her. The look of the place certainly has an air of finery about it, or at least a seedy place that doesn't lend itself to trouble. A rarity in such an arena.

He's surprised at the accuracy to which the "exam room" is detailed. Still, he probably should have supposed it, considering the intricacies of some peoples' obsessions. There were absolutely a few tools out of place, but he wasn't about to criticize them, just in case one of them wanted them to be used.

"Take a seat, Ms. Adler," he said in his most professional voice. "Make yourself comfortable." He let her do what she liked while he checked drawers and jars to see what it was he had to work with. Obviously, there were depressors, latex gloves, cotton balls, bottles of alcohol, and even syringes and needles. He couldn't imagine using those in any context, not unless there were some serious planning ahead of time, but still, there were ideas.

"Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

It wouldn't do to have a medical room that didn't look rather accurate. The place was used for photo shoots and the like. Irene watches him, curious as to what he thinks about the place.

When he says to make herself comfortable, she undoes the zip on her dress to step out of it and carefully hang it up.

"I am past due for a breast exam it seems." She moves to hop up on the table. Her bra and panties are matching scraps of fine lace that give tantalizing glimpses of the skin they attempt to cover.

There's little that House can do but to watch when he hears the zip on her dress as it undoes itself. It's nice to watch her undress, and he almost forgets his professional candor... but then remembers that this is hardly a professional setting. The scenery is just that convincing.

"Well, we've got machines for that," he starts, but as her undergarments come off of her, he recants his line of thinking. Perhaps it's harder to separate the two than he thought. It even takes him a moment to recalibrate his mind from watching the lacy fabric slide off of her milky curves.

"But there's very few substutions for a physical exam." Despite his best thoughts about the matter, after all. If she really had concerns, there'd be so many more avenues to explore, but she'd have to be patient with what he had to offer. After all, this wasn't a professional consultation on his part, anyway.

He waved a hand toward the examination table and nodded toward it. "Might be best for you to hop up. Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

She keeps herself in excellent shape and does actually have a GP that she visits. This is just something she's always wanted to have a go at. Irene is so rarely the submissive party that it takes someone who holds an actual power position to be able to take control.

She hops up on the edge of the table, the white paper crinkling as she does so. It feels authentic, save for the little things; the way he lets his gaze carry over her body, or the lack of a gown.

"I know this sort of thing isn't exactly your specialty. You'd be wasted as a general practitioner." Not to mention the terrible bedside manner. Every description of him is basically the same; utterly brilliant, and an asshole.

Her breasts are practically perfect, if on the smaller side. She had always wondered if it would be worth the change, but she's no mere hooker, she almost never gets her breasts out for clients anyway. Irene Adler is about the tease and the control.

"General medicine bores me," he mutters out, but taking a casual glance over her, there's a small tug at the corner of his mouth that resembles a smile. "But I think I can make an exception now and then."

She's not wrong about his demeanor and his reputation, but that's something he generally counts on when it concerns his practice.

He takes his time in slipping on a pair of latex gloves before he hovers himself over her, his palms filling themselves with her breasts, fingertips probing deep and massaging them before he even dares approach the sensitive nipples. He loves how they feel in his hands, and how they move and jostle under his touch. It's hardly coincidence that the pad of his thumb brushes over the bud of her nipples, however, daring to be cautious over the more delicate parts of her breasts.

Irene does have a type when it comes to men; aloof, arrogant, geniuses.

She watches his hands, the practiced ease of putting on gloves, she knows he's slown it down for show. Elegant, long fingers that look like they could play piano.

Her eyes stay on his hands until they are on her breasts, then she looks to his face; her eyes already a bit darkened with desire. Her pupils are dialated and her breath comes out in a quiet sigh.

"Seems to feel rather lovely on my end."

Sexting

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