Changes

When he had suggested they try something new, he hadn't meant this. He had intended for her to buy a new corset, or maybe introduce restraints. This was something entirely different.

Standing in front of him was his beloved doctor, or at least a quality imitation. Irene had certainly put effort into changing herself into Watson. They were definitely his clothes, Holmes could tell from an ink stain on the suit sleeve. He smelled Watson's pipe, along with the peculiar scented shaving soap his dear doctor favored.

While the clothes didn't fit the way that he was used to, the effect was all the same. The same make of tweed, the same cut of pants. He could even make out the outline of Watson's pocket watch in the vest pocket. Irene must have been planning this for weeks, and on second thought, Holmes remembered detecting a hint of her lavender perfume in the hallway some time ago.

"What do you think?" Spoke the remarkable imitation of his friend. The lilting tone was still present, but it was gruffer and ingrained with a British accent.

Her breasts had been bound, and Holmes suspected Irene had stuffed Watson's shoes with newspaper in order to make them fit. Her hat hung at a crooked angle, and the mustache that she had affixed to her face bristled.

Overall, the affect was comical, but also inexplicably arousing. Protests sprung to mind in order to make himself seem less the deviant then he was, but somehow none passed his lips.

"Ah, Irene," Holmes began, intent on stopping this before it went too far.

"Watson," she corrected him. "I am Watson." She said it with utter devotion sounding every bit like his friend.

"Irene," he began again. There was no way Holmes could go through with this. But before he could explain the various flaws in her plan, Irene hobbled over to him. Her imitation of Watson's limp broke his resolve. Holmes took comfort in Watson's gait, and somehow he fell headfirst into the fantasy.

Irene crushed her lips to his, standing on her tiptoes to mimic the doctor's height. She did not kiss like a woman; so much so that Holmes had to remind himself that she was indeed Irene.

Her lips were no longer smooth, but chapped like Watson's. She kissed him hungrily and demanding. He struggled for dominance against her, his hands gripping the familiar fabric of Watson's suit jacket. She growled against him, her hands twining in his hair.

All semblance of Holmes' self-restraint flew out the window when he felt the bristle of the mustache irritate his upper lip. She tasted like Watson's favorite brandy, and her hands were everywhere at once.

He was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of strength Irene used. She'd commandeered their kiss, and had somehow managed to rid him of his shirt. Her hands deftly undid the buttons of his pants as her lips made their way to his neck. She tweaked his nipple hard, earning a ragged gasp from him. He lost himself in the imagining that Watson was here doing this to him somehow.

Holmes couldn't help but inhale suddenly as she grasped his manhood and tugged. Jesus, her hands seemed rougher somehow. She stroked him slowly, but urgently as he dreamt Watson would. As he came close to nearing the edge, she stopped her movements. Holmes groaned in frustration, and he was seized with the urge to show Watson how he felt.

He grabbed her waist roughly and turned her around. Irene's hands went to the bed stand in front of her, and she gripped it roughly as Holmes' hands curved up her back. He nuzzled her neck while relieving her of her jacket and vest. He smelt Watson's scent, which only encouraged him to move faster.

Holmes removed her suspenders, and busied himself with the fly of her pants. He pulled her trousers down traced the curve of her backside. He could feel her arch beneath him and he pressed himself against Irene, desperate to maker her his Watson.

"I've prepared myself," she said, her voice ragged with desire. She had known that prolonged exposure would ruin the illusion, and she needed this.

Holmes slowly inserted himself into her, gasping at the sensation. He began to thrust tentatively at first, but encouraged by her groans. He sped up the pace fully aware that he would not last long, and that Watson wouldn't mind.

Irene keened against him, allowing Holmes to ravage her thoroughly. She allowed him to push and pull her to his heart's content, because she was enjoying this to. He thrust twice before draping himself over her as he burst into a million pieces. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, and she was surprised to find herself panting heavily. Irene licked her lip and tasted blood, no doubt a result of their savage kissing.

"Well, three guesses what hits the spot." Holmes could practically hear the smile in her voice.