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It was late in the evening when I finally finished with my house calls and was returning home to the rooms I shared with my friend Sherlock Holmes and my wife Mary at Baker Street. Though the chill of winter was still in the air, the days were growing longer and the twilight lasted almost past suppertime. I was looking forward to a quiet night by the fire with my two companions, and my stomach growled at the thought of a warm meal. Mary and I hadn’t seen fit to separate our household from Holmes’s after our marriage, and we lived quite comfortably, the three of us, as boarders of our long-suffering housekeeper.
I called a greeting to that housekeeper as I entered, and she came out of the ground floor apartment to meet me.
“Mr Holmes asked that supper be delayed,” she said. “He said you had a case to discuss at length and you wouldn’t be ready to eat until half past eight. Will that suit?”
I stifled a sigh of disappointment and said, “Yes, I suppose it is as Holmes says. Thank you.”
“He seemed in high spirits,” Mrs Hudson said, patting my hand, “if that makes it easier to bear.”
“It rather does,” I agreed, and mounted the stair.
The sitting room was quiet and the fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. I set my heavy bag down with a thump and divested myself of my overcoat and muffler.
“Mary?” I called. “Holmes?”
No answer. I took another few steps into the sitting room, closing the door to the landing behind me. It was then that I found I could hear the soft but insistent sounds of coitus emanating from behind the equally closed door of Holmes’s bedroom. There was a lady’s genteel giggle, a sigh, and Holmes’s voice compelling his lady to hush, darling, he’s home.
I opened the door unceremoniously. Holmes was sitting on his bed in shirtsleeves and trousers, leaning on a mound of pillows built up against the wall and the headboard, with my wife lying between his thighs. She was facing me, wearing only her shift, and that had been pushed up to above her belly. Her legs were spread wide over Holmes’s lap, and it was only Holmes’s slowly working hand that hid her naked cunny from my sight. She had her arms over her head, wrapped around Holmes’s shoulders, and they both smiled at me as I burst in.
“Mary!” I exclaimed. “Holmes! What is the meaning of this?”
“Hello to you, too,” Holmes said, kissing Mary’s temple and squeezing the breast he held in his other hand. Mary shuddered and sighed, shifting her hips wantonly.
“We wanted to surprise you,” she said. Her hair was coming loose from its twist atop her head and was curling in wisps about her face.
“You don’t mean to tell me this is the great pressing matter that is delaying my supper,” I said, stepping in and closing the door once more behind me.
“Oh, please, John,” Mary said. “Stop thinking with your stomach and come over here.”
I obliged her, crossing the room and lowering myself to kneel beside the bed. The sight of the two of them together had roused my blood, as it always did, and already my prick was stiffening in my trousers. Mary brushed a gentle hand through my hair and cupped my face, and I brought her palm to my lips to kiss it. As I did so she squirmed again, moaning, and I returned my attention to Holmes’s hand between her thighs.
“How long have you been torturing the poor woman?” I asked him, glancing up into his face. He smiled at me, his normally clear grey eyes hazy with lust and smugness.
“You’re late coming home,” he said. “It’s been nearly ten minutes.”
“Has he let you come at all, darling?” I asked Mary. She shook her head, rolling it loosely against Holmes’s shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing rapid, and I knew she had been on edge for some time, the poor thing.
“We didn’t want to get too far along without you,” she replied. “We know how you get so jealous.”
“I do not get jealous,” I protested. There had been one occasion, but it had been related to Mary and a man who was not Holmes. With Holmes, I shared everything. To prove it, I slid my hand up her thigh and slipped my fingers into her cunt. She was so wet and slick that two sank in easily to the knuckle, and she arched eagerly into the pressure.
“Oh!” she said, clutching at my shoulder. “Oh, please John.”
Holmes smirked at me, still rubbing her clitoris slowly, keeping the pressure firm, the way she liked it. Her cunt clenched down on my fingers, signalling an impending crisis if only we would indulge it.
“He’s so hard,” Mary told me, fumbling to unfasten my collar with one hand. “Sherlock wants to fuck me desperately, but he’s been so patient. I can feel his cock against my back.” She squirmed again, deliberately this time, and Holmes moaned. His fingers faltered for a moment, and Mary said, “The devil take you, Sherlock Holmes!”
I had to kiss her, then. I pushed myself up from the floor and put a knee on the bed, leaning over to capture her mouth. She kissed back deeply, pressing her tongue between my lips and holding onto the back of my neck. I pushed my fingers deeper into her body, shoving her against Holmes, and they both shuddered deliciously.
I broke the kiss with my wife to kiss Holmes in turn over her shoulder. His mouth was thin where hers was lush, but he kissed with the same fervour I had come to expect from both of them.
“Do you want my mouth, or my cock?” I asked Mary, drawing reluctantly away from Holmes.
“Your mouth,” she said. “Please, darling. I can’t stand Sherlock’s teasing any longer.”
Holmes obliged her, removing his hand, though she moaned piteously in complaint. He spread his wet hand on her milk-white thigh, and I lowered myself between her legs. Up close I could see the gleam of her juices on her soft, pink lips; how her soft, dark hair was damp; how swollen her clitoris was. She was ripe for orgasm. I pushed her thighs further apart to hear her groan and lowered my mouth to her tender flesh.
The taste of her was sweet with desire and desperation. I lapped it up eagerly, pressing my tongue against her clitoris, and she squirmed against my face, pushing her hips upwards. Holmes groaned as she wriggled, and I held her thighs firmly to try and keep her still. It wouldn’t do to have him come off as well before we were done. If my supper were being delayed, I was going to enjoy this.
I glanced up at them as I worked, eating at Mary’s cunt like I would take to a sweet peach, using lips and tongue. Holmes had untied the top of her shift and was squeezing both her bare, pert breasts in his hands, rolling her nipples between his long, nimble fingers. She was clutching at his hair, disarranging his dark locks, and they were kissing deeply. I could see the flicker of his tongue in her mouth, and he opened his eyes at that moment to meet my lustful gaze. He was following the pattern of my own tongue between my wife’s lower lips to draw her to an even higher state of ecstasy.
Never let it be said that Sherlock Holmes does not know how to take direction.
Mary’s breathing grew harsh and I bent again to my task, parting her folds with my fingers and working the tip of my tongue against her. She began to moan, to gasp our names in warning, and then I felt her muscles tense and her hips lift, and she fairly shouted aloud as she reached her paroxysm.
Holmes and I knew better than to stop our ministrations right away, and we both teased and fondled Mary as she shuddered, spasmed, and relaxed. I licked her until she was squirming again, over-sensitive, and Holmes cradled her breasts gently.
“Now I want you inside me, John,” Mary sighed, stroking a hand through my hair. I lifted my mouth from her cunt and wiped my face on the edge of the bed sheet.
“But Sherlock has been ever so patient,” I said. “Let’s give him a turn, first.”
“Oh, thank you,” Holmes breathed. I took Mary in my arms to give him room to undress, and she rested her cheek on my shoulder and put her hand between my thighs.
My prick was rigid in my trousers, and when she touched me I jolted with pleasure.
“It’d be a shame to waste this, though,” she said.
“Not to worry,” I replied. “I have a plan that may satisfy all of us.”
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but by then Holmes had his trousers off and his prick out. He had indeed been patient: his long, slim cock jutted from the placket of his drawers, its plummy tip wet with his denied desire. His bollocks were tight and full against the base of his prick, too, so I reached under Mary to give them a squeeze and a stroke.
“Oh, lord,” Holmes murmured, wrapping a hand around his cock and beginning to frig himself.
“None of that,” I said, drawing back. “Mary, up on your knees, love.”
She rearranged herself so that she had her knees spread wide with Holmes underneath her. He still reclined on his mountain of pillows, the hedonist, and with a gentle tug she was sitting in his lap, her round arse against his pelvis. His cock poked out between her legs, brushing against her curly hair, and for a moment it was as if my wife had a prick of her own.
She noticed the same thing. “Look, John,” she said, taking hold of it with her lily-white hand, “I could have myself a wank.”
“Jesus,” Holmes said against her shoulder. “You two will be the death of me.”
“And a sweet little death it will be,” I promised. Mary let go of him and I pulled her shift over her head. She paused to take the pins out of her hair, and it fell in a shimmering golden curtain around her shoulders and framed her face in loose waves.
I took the pins from her and ran my hands through her hair as I kissed her again. She rocked in Holmes’s lap, dragging her wet cunt along the length of his prick, and he swore again under his breath. I felt her smile.
“Now, darling,” I told her, and she lifted her hips to take him inside. He sank in to the hilt, groaning, clutching at her waist.
“God,” he said, “oh, God, that’s good.”
Mary held onto my shoulders and began to raise and lower herself on Holmes’s cock, slowly, as though she had all evening. She was biting her lower lip, though, a sure sign that she was not as steady as she hoped she was. I cupped her breasts in my hands, circled my fingers slowly around her plump, tender nipples, and she sighed against my throat.
“Lean back,” I said, urging her back onto Holmes’s lap again. She lay against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her middle, and though they made a pretty picture it meant that he couldn’t move deeply inside her. He certainly tried, though, digging his heels into the bed and thrusting, his cock slipping shallowly in and out. I licked my fingers and touched the place they were joined, feeling the wet slide of his prick and meeting his eyes over Mary’s bare shoulder.
He swallowed hard. He knew I had something devious in mind.
“Mary,” I asked, “are you quite relaxed?”
“Very comfortable, darling,” she replied with a sigh. She reached up again to card her hands through Holmes’s silky hair once more. He opened his mouth against her throat.
I stood up to divest myself of my clothes, left them in an untidy heap on the floor, and rejoined my lovers on Holmes’s bed. It was a wider bed than might be usual for a single man, but then again, he was not precisely a bachelor. The three of us fit snugly and never slept there all together– if we slept three together it was done in Mary’s and my room upstairs, where an unusually large bed had on one occasion been carried and then left for good, its original owners having come to their senses. Holmes slept less than we did, often working late into the night, and anyway for appearances he kept his room intact. It meant a profusion of comfortable surfaces upon which we could engage in various acts of debauchery.
Now there was room for me between Mary’s legs, and I crawled as close as Holmes’s spread thighs would let me. It was close enough– I leaned forwards, taking my prick in hand and guiding it to my wife’s cunny, where Holmes was unashamedly rocking in and out of her.
“Oh, John,” she said, catching on, “are you sure?”
“Only if you are,” I replied. “Shall we try it?”
She bit her lip rosy, her eyes wide, and then she smiled. “Why not?” she said. “I am in safe hands, after all.”
Holmes groaned at the touch of my cock against his, and his movements slowed. He had both arms around Mary’s waist now, and with one hand he reached for me, put his palm on my stomach, and stared up at me, amazed.
I slid my hand over his, clasped it, and let go.
I positioned myself at her occupied entrance, and began, with great care, to ease myself inside. It was a tight fit, but Holmes held very still and Mary breathed deeply, and soon I was inching my prick in alongside Holmes's, my wife's glorious cunt stretching to accommodate the both of us. The muscles in my legs jumped and trembled as I restrained myself. She was soaking wet and hot as a furnace, and Holmes, dear God, Holmes was fairly vibrating with excitement. He had his eyes squeezed shut, his angular face pinched in concentration.
I stilled, halfway in, and they both opened their eyes.
"How is that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Pleasure thudded like the beat of a drum in my pelvis and up my spine. I could feel the sweat beading at my temples and prickling under my arms. Mary let go of Holmes to lay her hands on my waist.
"Exquisite," she breathed. "It's so much, oh, my darling."
"Holmes?" I asked.
He was chewing his lip, relying on the pain to keep control of himself. His eyes were wild. "I feel as though if I move, I shall explode," he said.
I grinned at him and inched my hips forwards once more, revelling in the spasm that took them both. Holmes said, "Oh, John," and Mary cried, "Yes!" as I pressed myself deeper. They were both at my mercy like this, and it was delicious.
I leaned down to steal a kiss from Mary's parted lips. She sighed, giving my sides a squeeze, and let go to spread her arms wide once more, to hold onto Holmes's shoulders. Holmes took her breasts in hand again, pressing them together, and I moaned at the sight.
"Come on," Holmes challenged. "Finish what you started, old boy."
In a few moments I was sheathed completely, my prick squeezed tight against Holmes's. I imagined I could feel his pulse throbbing in his cock. He moved suddenly, sliding his hands under Mary's knees, and then he was lifting her against me. She cried out, clutching at him, and her cunt squeezed around us both.
"Mary!" I said, suddenly afraid that it was too much.
Her hand shot out to grasp my shoulder, stopping me from pulling away. She opened her eyes, and they were wild with lust. "Don't go," she begged. "It's incredible."
With the new angle afforded by Holmes's strength, I was able to thrust slowly, making each of us moan in turn. I pressed my hands over Holmes's under Mary's thighs, and the movement of our bodies increased in urgency until we were rocking together, my cock and Holmes's both plunging in and out of Mary's body. Our lovemaking was unmistakable in its fervour, shifting the bed on its iron feet, and sometimes I wondered that Mrs Hudson didn't throw us out for such deviant behaviour. But my heart was full of the sight and sound and smell and sensation of my two loves, and in moments such as this— when we were joined in pleasure and lost in one another— I prayed to be allowed to keep them both.
Holmes's rhythm faltered, and his face was flushed with effort and sex. His humanity was always a beautiful sight. "John," he breathed. "It's too good, I'm—"
Mary reached back to comfort him, grasping the back of his neck and pressing her cheek against his. "Do it," she urged. "Let go, I want to feel you."
Holmes shut his eyes again, still resisting his body's urges. I could feel him coming apart, the trembling in his hands, the restless shifting of his legs. He was still rocking up to meet me, our hips coming together against Mary's body with a slow, wet sound, and his breathing was ragged.
"Oh, G—" he started, and shook his head hard.
Mary let go of him to slip her hand between her thighs, and as she began to stimulate herself her body tightened around us. I continued to move within her, my own pleasure mounting. Holmes cried out, his grip on her legs slipping, and I felt as his arousal peaked and he reached the point of no return. He shuddered, his back arched, and I felt the hot pulse of his cock against mine as he spilled himself within my wife. She moaned, clutching at his shoulder, and I began to fuck them both more vigorously, the sharp smell of Holmes's spending filling my nose.
But shortly Holmes began to wince, Mary pushed on my hip, and I reluctantly slowed my pace until I pulled out altogether. My prick gleamed with the juice from her cunny and his emission, and I groaned with my denied relief. I ached to come. My pulse pounded in my ears.
Mary pushed me backwards until I lay with my head towards the foot of the bed. Holmes, behind her, lay panting on the pillows. She climbed astride my hips and sank down once more onto my cock. We began to rock together, grasping at one another in our desperation, and I stared up at her in awe. Her lips were parted, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled with joy and lust. Her hands on my shoulders were strong, pinning me to the bed as she rode me. She tossed her head, flicking her long hair over one shoulder, and her breasts bounced enticingly. I cupped one in my hand, and she paused to grind herself down against my pubic bone with a little cry of pleasure.
Holmes rose up behind her, having recovered himself, and fit himself against her spine. She leaned back into him once more, baring her tender shoulder to his mouth. We all wore our collars high to hide the marks we left on one another. Holmes in particular loved to leave us covered in his bites; I suspected it was his way of staking his claim where a third wedding band would not suffice.
Mary tucked her fingers between her legs again and worked herself furiously, pinned between my hips and Holmes's sharp teeth. I was beyond words, grunting like an animal in heat as she took me, and my climax was approaching fast. My cock swelled, ready to burst. Sweat gleamed on Mary's chest and ran between her breasts. She was going to come again. She was squirming on my cock, trying to fill herself with my meagre offering after we had both been inside her.
I reached my crisis with shocking intensity at the thought, the pleasure in my body suddenly coalescing between my thighs and pulsing through me. I shouted, my fingers going tight on Mary's thighs, and she went over with me, her chest heaving and her eyes shut tight. She was so full of our seed that it dripped out of her, becoming smeared across my pelvis and thighs as she writhed, her climax shaking her to the core. Mine took my breath away, and it was a few long, trembling moments before I recovered my senses.
Holmes held Mary tenderly, cradling her against his chest and kissing her neck and shoulder, and she let herself be lifted off my hips and poured gently into the bedclothes beside me. Then he got up and crossed the room to the wash basin, and came back with a cool, wet cloth.
When we were at least marginally cleaned off, Holmes threw the cloth back in the direction of the basin and climbed into bed again between us. Mary rolled to slide an arm over his hip, pressing her breasts against his back, and he lifted her hand to his lips. They both gazed at me until I squirmed under their scrutiny.
"That," Holmes said, "was ingenious."
"Quite unusual," Mary agreed.
"I don't see how," I protested, embarrassed and pleased.
"How did you know we would fit?" Holmes asked.
"Really, Sherlock," I said, and lifted myself onto my elbows. "Are you aware that a small human being can pass through that glorious canal? It was only a matter of careful persistence to achieve to opposite, complimentary effect."
Holmes looked vaguely put out that I'd come to that conclusion before he had, and Mary laughed.
"I shall be sore for days," she said with a sigh. "How utterly magnificent."