Strawberries and Cream: The Sherlock Holmes Casebook #1 Page 2

  “Ah!” The Sherlock nodded. “An excellent question. Do you know what’s happening on Sunday?”

  “Miss Pandora will presumably be missing church.”

  “That too – but more importantly, it’s the final of the cross-Counties Rugby championship.”

  I blinked. What did that have to do with anything?

  “Before this delightful experiment with Ms. Pandora distracted me,” Holmes explained, “I’d been quite carried away investigating allegations of ‘fixing’ the games. Quite a profitable racket, if you know the correct bookies.”

  I blinked. Holmes explained further.

  “The owner of the Hampshire team had asked me to investigate – and give his team a competitive advantage if the opportunity arose.” Holmes’ lips curled. “They’ll be playing on Saturday.”

  “Against Sussex, no less,” I nodded sagely – talk of sport being enough to distract me momentarily from even Pandora’s deliciousness. “I like the Hampshire team, but they’ll have their work cut out to beat Sussex. They’ve been county champions for five straight years.”

  “Well, behold,” Sherlock Holmes flamboyantly gestured towards Pandora. “Our secret weapon.”

  “Th-this girl? But how?”

  “Elementary, my dear Watson – and quite ingenious too! Have you ever read Doctor Strangeway’s essay “On the Comparative Efficiencies of Electrolytes in Solution?”

  I stroked my moustache thoughtfully.

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, I won’t go into details, but Strangeways concluded that athletes could increase their efficiency in rehydration if they consumed water rich in electrolytes.”

  “Electrolytes?”

  “Salts,” Holmes explained. “Like sweat.”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ve heard of such things. We used to stir some salts into the water in Afghanistan.” I narrowed my eyes. “But I still fail to understand how this affects the girl – or the game.”

  “We can give our boys from the Hampshire team a boost,” Holmes grew exasperated, “if we hydrate them with sweat at half-time, rather than plain water.”

  I blinked. Surely he didn’t mean…

  But apparently he did. As if reading my mind, Holmes continued: “To that end, the Hampshire team shall find this – I mean, her – hanging up in their changing room midway through the game. Like a delicious, strawberry-flavored salt-lick.”

  My eyes widened.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I never joke about my work, my dear Watson,” Holmes snapped. “It’s quite genius, really. Dear Pandora will have been richly hydrated by then.”

  I blinked, listening incredulously.

  Holmes continued: “Pandora will produce quite the moist harvest if properly motivated. I reckon if our team take their fill of her, alongside their orange slices and water, they might just have the added oomph to win that game.”

  I ran a hand through my hair.

  “Sherlock Holmes,” I breathed. “You’re quite, quite mad.”

  “Perhaps,” Holmes shrugged, “but all great minds are a little.” And then a devilish smile curled his lips. “And, besides, I have another more practical suggestion, if my theories on electrolytes aren’t quite effective enough.”

  “Oh?”

  “We’ll simply promise the players that if our team take the cup, they’ll find Miss Pandora still hanging in their changing room when the game is over – and that they can do what they will with her.”

  Pandora moaned wetly at that suggestion.

  And I’ll admit it. My raging hardness throbbed.

  “It’s quite the carrot,” Holmes purred. “A beautiful young girl to despoil in victory. But, if they lose, I’ll cut her down and those frisky boys will have to do without – or with each other, which I hear is quite the fashion with those rugby sorts.”

  I blinked, and turned to look at Holme’ helpless prisoner.

  I looked Pandora’s pale, perfect figure up and down. My mouth watered. She was quite an incentive to perform well. Just the thought of the Hampshire Rugby team ‘doing what they will’ with her was enough to make my erection throb.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t,” Pandora moaned. “Oh, you devil, Sherlock Holmes.”

  “We must all do our part, my child,” Holmes lasciviously stroked one of Pandora’s sweaty cheeks. “And you can hardly make claims of innocence, after confessing to what you and young master Thomson were up to last week.”

  She blushed furiously.

  “Now if you’re a good girl and do as I ask,” Holmes promised, “we’ll avoid letting your father know about your erotic exploits with the Thomson boy… But for that, I’ll require absolute obedience.”

  “Maybe I shall tell him myself,” Pandora hissed defiantly.

  “Well,” Holmes smiled wickedly, picking up the riding crop. “Perhaps I shall whip your hide off with this before we send you back to your broken-hearted father.”

  The defiant look vanished from Pandora’s face.

  As she fell silent, Holmes peered up at me expectantly.

  “Well?” He asked. “What do you think of my plan?”

  “Ingenious,” I admitted. “But an admittedly complex plan merely to win a rugby game. As much as I admire your single-mindedness and commitment to science – I have trouble understanding why you’d go to such lengths.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Holmes beamed. “Because I have Mrs. Hudson’s pension fund bet on our team taking home the cup. Given Sussex’s impressive records, the odds are really quite favorable.”

  At this, Woods staggered back.

  “Mrs. Hudson’s savings? Bet? On a rugby game? But that’s despicable.”

  “Oh, indeed.”

  “Abhorrent, Sherlock Holmes! Criminal! Nothing short of wicked!”

  “Oh, I don’t disagree.”

  “But I can’t be a collaborator in this scheme! I have no choice but to report you!”

  Sherlock Holmes’s smile broadened wickedly.

  “Well, that’s not quite true, my dear Watson. You do have a choice – and I’m certain you’ll make the right one.”

  My mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

  “For ten percent of the winnings, of course,” Holmes beamed. “And a taste of young Pandora here.”

  I turned my attention back to the girl hanging from the ceiling. My cock throbbed again. My mouth watered.

  “Have another taste,” Holmes offered. “Feast, in fact.”

  And so, to my shame, I did.

  Chapter Five

  Dropping to my knees, I opened my mouth and run my tongue lasciviously across Pandora’s taut, stretched belly.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned.

  I lapped up a glistening sheen of sweet, strawberry scented sweat as I did so. It literally exploded on my tongue – tart and tasty - and then there was no stopping me.

  As Pandora hung from the rafters, I gorged himself on her. I lapped at her glistening breasts. I ran my tongue up the crevice of her spine – savouring the rich gush of perspiration. Soon, the poor girl was moaning and writhing at the tongue bath I was giving her.

  “Is she drying up?” Holmes demanded with almost fatherly concern. “I’ll squeeze a little more juice out of her.” And then the cruel Investigating Detective scooped up the riding crop and warned me to stand back.

  “Oh God, no!” Pandora’s beautiful eyes widened as she saw what was about to happen. “Please, no!”

  But if Holmes heard her, it didn’t matter.

  Crack!

  A sharp, red line painted itself across her upthrust breasts. She cried, arching her back in a useless attempt to shield herself.

  Crack! Another strike.

  “Oh God! No!”

  Crack!

  With fast, persistent whippings, Sherlock Holmes worked Pandora up with devilish efficiency. Soon the girl’s pale, pert breasts were criss-crossed in red lines and in her efforts to escape the torment, she’d thrashed hersel
f into a panting, sweaty mess.

  I watched her body glisten anew with perspiration. It was more than I could stand.

  Dropping to my knees again, I grasped the sweaty globes of Pandora’s buttocks and drank from the small of her back like she was sweating sweet champagne.

  “Oh,” Pandora wailed, her breasts throbbing, “oh, you beast! You cruel, cruel beast!”

  But Holmes and I were ignoring her. I was slurping away at Pandora’s dripping skin. Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes was watching with approval – a noticeable bulge in the front of his britches.

  “Hmmm,” Holmes mused, adjusting his prominent erection so it sat more comfortably in his clothes. “Perhaps I might take a sip myself.”

  A moment later, Sherlock Holme’s freakishly long tongue was running up the tender red gash on Pandora’s right breast. The salty sensation made her squeal.

  For lingering minutes, not a word was said. The sun-drenched conservatory merely echoed with the insistent slurping of lips and tongues and mouths feasting on Pandora’s flesh – and the helpless girl moaning, squirming, writhing and panting as the sensations overwhelmed her.

  Eventually, I straightened up. My face was glistening and my moustache was dripping. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Delicious,” I purred. “But I was wondering…”

  As if mindreading, Sherlock Holmes straightened himself up.

  “…if the pulp tasted as good as the rind,” he finished my sentence. “I assure you, my dear Watson, it does. Plump and juicy like a fresh orange.”

  With a florish, Sherlock Holmes crossed the room and pulled a blanket from a shapeless lump in the corner. Beneath it was a ratty, leather couch.

  A moment later, Sherlock Holmes dragged this chaise-lounge across the attic, with the rawwl of wood-on-floorboards echoing off the slanted ceiling.

  “Let’s pluck her now she’s ripe,” the Sherlock beamed, as he maneuvered the sofa underneath Pandora’s dangling feet. “It’s almost time to stuff her full of strawberries again anyway.”

  With that, the world-famous detective released the coil of rope and Pandora plummeted unceremoniously onto the chaise-lounge. Flump!

  She lay on her belly, spread-eagled and exhausted. Her hips were slung over one edge of the sofa – her round, beautiful bottom sticking up into the air and her bare legs dangling off the armrest. Her face was buried in the cushions.

  Panting, the exhausted made no attempt to struggle up.

  “Oh dear,” I grew concerned. “Is she alright? Did we suck her dry?”

  “Oh, doubtful,” Sherlock Holmes was unbuttoning the front of his britches. “I’ll soon whip some life into her. I need to train her for Saturday, anyway. We can’t have her just lazing about when the boys on the team want to take their reward, can we?”

  But I wasn’t saying anything. I was alarmed and deeply uncomfortable as I witnessed Sherlock Holmes peeling off his shirt and britches, and throwing them carelessly onto the floorboards. Tall, slim and pale, he stood absolutely naked with a raging erection jutting from between his legs.

  I’d lived and worked with Sherlock Holmes for many years. He was my best friend and most trusted confident. Yet he’d never been bare-arsed naked in front of me before.

  Holmes noticed my expression.

  “Oh, come now, Watson. Don’t be prudish. We were born naked, just as our creator intended.”

  “But…”

  “As good as she tastes, dear Doctor,” the Sherlock pointed towards his quivering erection, bobbing up and down between his pale thighs, “I have other appetites that need sating – as I’m sure you do, too.”

  I gulped. Despite gorging myself on Pandora’s sweet body, my mouth suddenly felt dry.

  “I think I need a drink,” I said, to nobody in particular. Fortunately, there was a source of strawberry refreshment lying there, naked, on the couch.

  Chapter Six

  We’d come this far. I might as well be hung as a sheep, than as a lamb.

  So, with that, I shrugged off my coat and began unbuttoning my shirt.

  A moment later, my clothes were on the floor. Dressed in only my trousers and boots, I knelt behind Pandora’s dangling legs and shuffled between her splayed thighs. Roughly, I parted them – until both of her dangling feet were pointed at opposite walls.

  My mouth watered.

  Pandora’s beautiful, curvaceous bottom was just inches from my face.

  Grasping the firm, glistening globes of her arse, I parted them. Pandora’s moist cunt opened like a blossoming flower. It, too, smelt like strawberries.

  I opened my mouth hungrily and engulfed her.

  Face buried in the pillows, Pandora gasped. It was muffled – and more a sound of shock than a protest.

  She squirmed her hips, bucking that beautiful bottom up and down and inadvertently grinding it into my feasting face.

  I literally ate her. My tongue slithered between her moist lips, his mouth locked like a hungry vacuum and my hands clasping her backside tightly enough to leave bruises.

  I drank from Pandora like she was a fountain – feeling her gush moisture as I tongued her most tender spot. She was tart and delicious. My cock strained.

  “Oh God!” Pandora’s muffled voice emerged from the pillows. “Oh God, you’re going to make me…”

  She wailed, biting down on the cushions. Her hips ground into my face, as I thrust my nose eagerly between her buttocks and licked furiously in response.

  And my friend and confident wasn’t idle, either.

  After giving the poor girl a few moments to stop twitching, the naked Sherlock Holmes decided to tackle her front end while I continued admirably tackling her rear.

  Grabbing a fistful of Pandora’s luxurious brown hair, Holmes lifted her face out of the pillows and presented his erection to her.

  “I’ve been feasting on you all afternoon, my dear,” he purred. “Perhaps it’s time for you to have your turn.”

  Pandora’s beautiful eyes peered up defiantly.

  “I will not,” she gasped, trying to sound proud and haughty despite her post-orgasmic gasping. “That’s disgusting. It’s sodomy.”

  “It most certainly is not,” Holmes snapped back, grasping the base of his erection and giving her a ‘slap’ across her cheek with his hardness. “If you want a demonstration of sodomy, I’m sure the boys in the Rugby team would be more than happy to give you one on Sunday. What I’m asking for is fellatio.”

  “Mmmm,mmm!” Pandora shook her head, her lips tightly pursed.

  Holmes tugged her head up higher, using her hair. Bright, glistening tears burst from Pandora’s eyes. I absently wondered if they tasted like strawberries too.

  “Your punishment for your indiscretion involves total obedience,” Holmes snapped at the defiant girl. “If you are not willing to be obedient to me, Pandora – how on Earth can you be expected to be obedient to your poor father? Or your future husband?”

  “But my husband would never ask me to do anything so disgusting,” Pandora pouted.

  “You clearly don’t know men very well,” Holmes chuckled. “He’ll ask you, and you’ll acquiesce if you know what’s good for you. After all, a wife’s duty is to obey, without question.”

  “Will not.”

  Dismissively, Sherlock Holmes released Pandora’s hair and her face flumped back into the cushions.

  “Good Doctor?” He demanded. “Doctor Watson?”

  With my face buried between Pandora’s beautiful buttocks – and her thighs closed tightly around my ears – I almost couldn’t hear a word. I kept on snuffling away like a pig searching for truffles.

  “Doctor Watson!” Holmes barked.

  I’d heard that, and reluctantly pulled my face from between Pandora’s thighs. It was glistening.

  “Yes?” I demanded impatiently.

  “I hate to interrupt you mid-feast,” Holmes said apologetically, “but I’m afraid I must give this wicked, wanton girl a little discipline.” He was holding
the riding crop again, and slapped it menacingly into the palm of his hand.

  Chapter Seven

  Crack! The leather impacted with Sherlock’s palm.

  Pandora winced when she heard the noise – her whole body tensing.

  “Very well,” clambering to his feet, I reluctantly stepped out from between the helpless girl’s splayed thighs. “Take long, will it?”

  “You could help, in fact.” Holmes pointed to the pile of tousled brown hair that was all of Pandora’s head that could be seen. She had buried her face deeply into the cushions. “Yank her face out. Hold her by the hair – that’s it…”

  With a groan, Pandora’s head was wrenched up again – her back arching into a high ‘C’ shape.

  “Hold her there,” Sherlock Holmes pulled back the crop. “Look her in the eyes.”

  Crack!

  The crop came down hard across Pandora’s pristine, pearlescent backside. A red welt burned brightly, neatly bisecting each plump cheek.

  “Aiee!” Her cry was like music. “Oh God, God!”

  “Don’t appeal to God, my child,” Holmes grinned wickedly, pulling back his arm. “It’s me you should be appealing to.”

  Crack!

  Another strike left an incriminating red brand, and made her pale buttocks jiggle with the force of the blow.

  Crack!

  A third line quickly followed.

  “Oh God, no!” Pandora wailed. “Stop! Please! I’ll do anything!”

  Crack!

  Crack!

  Crack!

  “For pity’s sake! Please! Anything!”

  Holmes paused: “Anything?”

  “Anything!” Pandora wailed. “Please, please stop…”

  “Watson!” Holmes purred. “Unbutton your trousers.”

  I nearly dropped Pandora’s head I was so shocked.

  “Wh-what?”

  “Oh come now, my dear Watson. This is no time for modesty. Even if it was, it’s quite clear you’ve got quite an impressive stiffness in there.”

  I blushed furiously – but nevertheless, used my free hand to unbutton my flies. A moment later my sturdy erection – as thick and hard as English oak – burst out and nearly struck Pandora right across her pretty face.