17 comments/ 19636 views/ 20 favorites Sherlock Holmes and the case of the Virgin Bride By: blin18 Sherlock Holmes and the case of the Virgin Bride "Further observations of 'what', Holmes, not 'whom'," I clarified. "Yes, we have met the players. Is it now not the time to observe the play itself?" Palmerston took a sharp intake of breath. "Dr Watson, surely you cannot mean ..." he met my eye fiercely. "You cannot intend an intrusion upon our bed chamber!" "But that is precisely what I mean, Lord Palmerston," I retorted. "And before you object, remember that I am a physician with service in the army. I assure you that there is no part of the human anatomy, inside or out, that I have not seen before – and nothing that you have not already shown your own doctor." "A doctor, yes. I see your point, Dr Watson, but ..." his eyes shifted briefly to Holmes. "Lord Palmerston, trust me when I say that you are not the first client with a delicate matter who has darkened the door of the great Sherlock Holmes. The only reason that his discretion is not legendary is precisely because he is the very soul of discretion; people are not even aware of the mere existence of the great and embarrassing secrets to which he is privy. "My Lord, you might search the county and not find two more dispassionate or more discreet observers. And as Holmes correctly states, his methods are faultless; the collection of the right data, wherever it lies, will surely lead to the breakthrough you seek." Palmerston appeared to consider the proposition most deeply and finally his eagerness for resolution shone through. "Very well, gentlemen," Palmerston stood and began to take control. "I shall have Victoria's lady's-maid place two chairs in her chamber, after which she will collect you from here and show you hence. For propriety's sake, the room shall be darkened and lit only by the coals in the hearth. You shall be seated in the deepest shadows, and from the moment of Victoria's arrival, you shall remain silent. For all intents and purposes save for the collection of data, you shall not be there." "That strikes me as an adequate arrangement," agreed Holmes. "After ... the act," Palmerston took on a grave countenance. "Assuming a repetition of past failures, we shall retire silently to this room to discuss your observations." "Agreed," we said in unison. "And now gentlemen you must excuse me," Palmerston stood in preparation for departing. "I must explain to my beloved why I have invited our houseguests into her private chamber." He gave us a wry smile. "Wish me luck." Sherlock Holmes and the case of the Virgin Bride "No, Doctor," she replied kindly. "But given its location, I would feel more comfortable if you called me Victoria." I saw that Mona Lisa smile tracing at the corner of her beautiful lips again and wondered if she had any idea the effect it had on me. "Victoria," I said. "I understand that you enjoy riding. Is that true?" "Is is true, Doctor," she smiled fully now, but with her eyes still closed. "Did my husband tell you?" "It was Holmes," I said. "No doubt he saw it in your gait, or a stray horse hair, or any of a dozen other invisible signs that only he can see." "Actually, my dear Watson," Holmes began from his position in the corner. "Hush, Holmes," I commanded quietly, and to my great surprise, he did. "What is her name, Victoria?" I asked. "You horse?" "She is a he, Doctor," she smiled. "A stallion; seventeen hands. He is chestnut with a white blaze and fetlocks." "He sounds most handsome," I said. "He is very handsome, Doctor," she replied. "I call him ... ," she paused and gently bit her lower lip. "What is he called, Victoria?" I felt her tense beneath my touch and tried to keep the conversation moving. "It is embarrassing," she said shyly. "I have read of your adventures with Mr Holmes for long and long and never thought I should meet you. As a colt he was so bold and brave and handsome ... I called him Watson." This time I really could see her colour rising in the firelight; I also felt nervous gooseflesh pricking beneath my palm while her nipples firmed into beautiful peaks. "How flattering," I tried to play down how this admission affected me, but I couldn't avoid shifting in my chair to allow my manhood some more space as it surged with longing for the naked goddess laid out before me. "I'd like you to go for a ride, Victoria," I said. "This adventure will occur in your imagination. You are approaching the stable; how are you dressed?" "Am I to ride alone?" she asked. "Yes, you are all alone," I replied. "With Watson." I tried to suppress the smile in case Palmerston was watching me. "Then I shan't ride side-saddle," she said. "I don't enjoy it. If there are to be no men about then I would be wearing jodhpurs and a riding blouse. The fit it close and comfortable but somewhat immodest, so they are not suitable for mixed company. But if I am to be alone with Watson ... ," she left the sentence unfinished; however with the thought of her dressed out as described, I imagined several satisfactory endings that continued to tease the sensitive nerves in my loins. "Do you have a Western saddle?" "Shall I be roping some steers today, Doctor?" she joked, making reference to the horn on the front of such a saddle. "Perhaps," I replied enigmatically, although I had different plans for the Western roping horn on this occasion. "Can you saddle up your horse now, please Victoria." I gave her a few moments to imagine those familiar motions. "Are you ready?" I asked. "I'm ready," she whispered. I felt her stomach muscles fluttering nervously beneath my palm and I believe she intuited what I had planned next. "Then mount up and we shall get going," I advised. She had been lying with her thighs together; the rosebud of her sex hidden between her closed legs. But at my command she slowly opened them and drew her thighs up at an angle to her hips, keeping them flat on the bed as she had done for Palmerston. My breath caught at the sight of the wonderful crease that split the centre of her sex; thinly veiled behind a few blonde wisps that covered the rounded perfection of her lips. I had planned my next move and now I was powerless to stop myself from completing it. Fulfilling my dream of a minute earlier, I slid my hand slowly over her mound, combing her silken curls through my fingers, delighting in the sensation as the sensitive tip of my middle finger traced the secret valley of her slit; down, down, until I cupped my fingers and held her young sex literally in the palm of my hand. Victoria gasped softly and lifted to my touch, arching her back and tilting her chin to the ceiling. "Shhhh, Watson," she soothed, still playing the horse-riding daydream as she closed a hand over the top of mine and slowly pumped her sex into my hand a few times in an erotic parody of soothing a rearing horse. "It's alright, my darling. It's only me. We are going for a grand ride." "Start your mount at a walk, Victoria," I instructed her. "We need to warm his muscles." "Gee-up, Watson," she said in a soft voice, drawing her heels up the bed and squeezing my hand gently between her thighs to urge her mount to a walk. Without any encouragement from me, she began slowly pumping her hips in time to her stallion's gait. Easing my grip, I held my fingers lightly over her sex, allowing the tips to graze over her sensitive lips and glide over the heavenly softness of her crease. With this extra measure of control, Victoria tilted her hips so that my middle finger was low and beyond her entrance, touching the soft pink fold of flesh that lies between that place and her anus. Following her cue, I pressed gently with my fingertip, rolling and circling and massaging, causing her to gasp in delight; her tiny, delightful breasts heaving and peaking and all but begging me to take my tongue to them, to include them in the fantasy. The erotic response of her body to my touch was more than I had dreamed; to have this innocent virgin girl naked and gently thrusting her hips into my hand in an instinctive parody of the sex act she had never yet performed to completion. As I massaged her perineum and brushed her virgin sex beneath my fingers, I delighted to feel the hot, slick juices of her burgeoning lust flowing from her opening and coating my fingertip. I began to glide it in short, sensuous circles; slowly expanding its range until I began to tease apart her lips, dipping closer with every circuit towards the increasingly moist entrance to her womanly core. When I touched that place, I felt it open beneath my finger, beckoning, drawing me inside. I was powerless to resist. Victoria cried out softly as her furnace heat enveloped my probing digit up to the first knuckle and somehow I managed to withdraw, prolonging the moment of insertion and drawing out her anticipation as I toyed around the edges of her womanhood and spread the slick nectar of her sex along the length of her slit, tantalising her as it cooled on her skin. "Do you know how to post the trot, my dear?" I asked, conscious now of the spreading wetness in my drawers where my straining shaft was crying out to replace the role of my fingers in Victoria's steaming core. "Of course I can post the trot, Doctor," Victoria gasped as she continued to 'walk' her stallion with the gentle pumping motion of her hips. "As can every child in their first week of riding." Posting, or 'rising' the trot is a technique used by riders to counter the jouncing action of the trotting horse. It requires the rider to brace in their stirrups and thrust from the hips, moving back and forth in the saddle while keeping their head stationary. Apart from the presence of clothing and a horse, the action is almost indistinguishable from a vigorous, erotic fucking. "Then see if your mount is ready for some exercise," I said quietly. I leaned closer to her ear and whispered: "You may wish to imagine that Western saddle, now." As Victoria re-arranged her feet for leverage, I moved my finger into place inside her opening and poised my thumb over her clitoris like a Western saddle horn, where she should graze it at the top of each thrust. Victoria gave my hand another quick squeeze with her thighs and clucked her tongue twice. "Come, Watson," she urged, her eyes still shut. "Let's ride, my beautiful boy!" Whether she was toying with my emotions or simply living the riding fantasy I knew not; nor did I have the opportunity to give it further thought because at that moment the diminutive young goddess beneath me lifted, and with a low cry of sexual release she impaled herself on my finger. The heat inside her was incredible and the supple, rippling walls of her vagina sucked and clung to my finger; never before had her virgin sex been made such an offering and now at last, though it was only my finger, it was loath to relinquish its prize. Victoria dropped back down, bouncing her tiny bottom off the soft bed and thrust back up and onto my finger with a quieter gasp as she established the trotting rhythm, the muscles across her tight, flat stomach bunching and the tiny mass of her young breasts lifted and bounced with each movement. She had missed the saddle-horn of my thumb with the first few pumps and when I repositioned it to touch down on her clitoris at the top of her stroke, she cried out in a surprised alto voice – "Oh!" – and then redoubled her efforts, pumping greedily up into my hand. Unleashing mounting vocal cries and driving me deeper and deeper into her core, Victoria experimented with the new discovery of her clitoris, first brushing it against my thumb, then firmly touching, and within the space of a dozen strokes she was grinding into me and finishing the top of each thrust with an erotic twist of her hips that sent a quiver through her breasts and caused her silken sheath to spasm and lock down on my finger. "Oh! Oh! Come on Watson, my lovely!" she cried, her voice rising with the approach of her climax. "Yes, my darling. Go! Run like the wind, my beautiful!" Grasping desperately at my hand with both of hers, she held me deep inside her as she kicked up to a gallop, pumping and grinding her clitoris in a frenzy as she cried out for Watson to run, run; gallop like the Devil himself were on his heels. After a few more moments she was unable to cry out any more; I heard only three sharp intakes of breath as her fingers dug painfully into my hand and her bottom lifted high off the bed, and then suddenly she was carried away by her orgasm. Her thighs locked together, trapping my hand, and she twisted from side to side, writhing on the bed; rolling onto her side, she curled up her knees and thrust out her breasts and shook as if with a fever as she released a guttural, feline growl. Locked inside her furnace embrace with the muscles of her vagina clamped hard and squeezing my finger, I took the opportunity with a sharp thrust of my hand to part her hymen at a moment that she should care least for its loss. I believe she did not even feel it. "Whoa, Watson. Whoa back, my love," she cooed softly in the afterglow of her climax. Slowly she released her thighs to the point that I could remove my hand from her sex, but before I did, I surreptitiously plucked the clean handkerchief from my top pocket and pressed it to her opening, wiping the blood from my finger in the same movement, and then with my hands I silently bid her to take it and stem the flow of her fleeing virginity. Sherlock Holmes and the case of the Virgin Bride She slid her hands up and over my shoulders, taking my shirt along in order to remove it. She allowed it to drop down my arms and a brief look of surprise crossed her face when it caught at my wrists because she had not removed my cufflinks. I was about to assist by unclasping them behind my back, but with another of those enigmatic, Mona Lisa smiles, she quickly grabbed my shirt at both wrists – effectively disabling my hands – and then stood on her toes to kiss my lips; leaning close and bushing the points of her hard nipples through my chest hair. There was no tentative touching of mouths this time; she pressed her open lips to mine and hungrily sought out my tongue, enticing me back into her mouth and gently nibbling at me with her teeth. When I returned the gesture, she moaned with quiet desperation and pressed her breasts into my chest, releasing my shirt to explore the muscles of my back with searching, desperate fingers. Still bound at the wrists, I was unable to reciprocate, although I could reach just far enough to cup her tiny buttocks; each one the perfect size to fit into one open hand. I gave her a long, firm squeeze and she responded by clenching muscles that spoke of long miles on horseback, bringing to mind an entrancing fantasy of Victoria naked upon her chestnut stallion, posting the trot with indescribably erotic, rhythmic thrusts of her blonde sex into the pommel of her saddle. Victoria's hands fumbled at my belt while we kissed, impatience beginning to show in her ragged breathing and trembling fingers. Reluctantly releasing her bottom, I quickly slipped out of my shirt and used my now free hands to trace the sensuous curves of her body from bottom to top. Burying my fingers in her silken hair, I gently cupped her head from behind to soothe her, trying to slow her passion and desperation as we kissed. She finally unbuttoned my trousers and allowed them to drop to the floor and then immediately leaned away from the kiss to admire her work. I stepped out of my trouser legs and was vaguely embarrassed by my socks – I think a man looks somewhat ridiculous in drawers, socks and garters – but it was too late and too awkward to do anything about it. I doubt that Victoria even noticed, she was staring with rapt attention at the tented front of my drawers, now damp with a spreading stain that betrayed the heightened degree of my arousal. Looking at me with nervous apprehension, I could tell she was asking permission to go further, unsure whether this degree of undressing was within the bounds of behaviour for a respectable woman. With the barest nod of encouragement from me, she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband and with one last nervous look into my eyes, she licked her lips and peeked inside. Victoria gasped; with delight it seemed, rather than horror. I knew from earlier that I am considerably longer and thicker than Palmerston, and it was logical that Victoria would have no other point of comparison. She looked back up at me with sparkling eyes and a greedy smile. "It seems, Doctor," she whispered, "that you and Watson share more in common than just a name." Which is lovely flattery that any man would like to hear, although I recalled the tight embrace of her vagina from before with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. I knew that her sex would be the most exquisitely tight sheath ... but only if I could push my cock past her tiny entrance. She eased the laces, reached inside and closed her small hand around my shaft, feeling its girth and giving me a firm squeeze, trying to make her finger and thumb touch. Her grip was soft and tight and utterly sublime. My cock jerked in her hand, surprising a gasp from her lips as she flinched back, pulling the sheath of skin up my shaft a few inches. "Oh my!" she whispered in awe, pulling my waistband open further for a better look. Maintaining her tight grip, she stroked back down to the base of my cock and then to my great delight, she repeated the move, staring in wide-eyed wonder as the skin around by groin and testicles stretched and contracted while the rest flowed with liquid ease over the hard bulges and veins beneath her hand. "Is that what it does inside me?" she asked in a mixture of curiosity and naked desire. "No," I told her. "It doesn't need to. When you are ready, you will secrete a natural lubrication that makes it slide." I touched my finger to her sex – I was surprised that she didn't flinch – and stroked through the wet warmth of her slit. "See?" I massaged a nipple with her glistening juices, delighting as the hard nub slipped and danced beneath my teasing fingers. "I think I'm ready already," she whispered nervously, casting her eyes up at me again while she continued to slowly masturbate my cock. I slipped out of my drawers and then we were both naked (apart from my blasted socks and garters), standing close with Victoria's nipples brushing my chest hair and my cock leaving shiny trails of pre-cum across her stomach as she continued to stroke and squeeze me with rapidly developing expertise. Cupping her bottom again in my hands, I pressed our bodies together and kissed, slow and deep and less frenzied now that she held her prize in her hand. Victoria voiced a small yelp of surprise as I lifted her off the bear-skin and then she released my cock to wrap her arms and legs around me, gripping my hips and locking her heels behind my backside. She wriggled her hips to position her open slit against my shaft, gasping as her exposed clitoris ground against my hardness. With slow, synchronised movements, I lifted and lowered her bottom while she rocked her hips into me, her slick labia parted and nestled around the sensitive underside of my cock, sliding deliciously up and down and coating my full length with the sweet nectar of her sex. Victoria was unstoppable; even when I held her in place at the base of my cock, she kept slowly pumping and rolling her hips, erotically grinding her clitoris against my shaft as the soft lips of her opening kissed wetly against my balls. Victoria tipped her head back and voiced a low moan. I could feel the tips of her long, swaying hair play over my hands on her bottom, and I realised that I could not last much longer with this erotic, blonde vision pleasuring herself on me. Foreplay was necessarily at an end. I lifted her once again until her open sex was positioned over the tip of my cock. Victoria was still rhythmically pumping her hips into me, so rather than freeing a hand to guide myself into her, I positioned her so that she might catch my cock-head in her entrance, which – with a surprised gasp – eventually she did. Her eyes shot open and she stopped kissing; she stared at me with a mixture of desire and apprehension, with my knob seated a inch inside her opening, she knew that in a few short moments she would feel a man inside her for the very first time. Remembering my stated purpose for this exercise, I needed to demonstrate lovemaking techniques that Palmerston could replicate and I realised that our current standing position would end in disaster if left in his bumbling hands. Their predicament was not without some irony; although a virgin, Victoria was highly sexual and extremely erotic; if Palmerston had simply allowed her to control their coitus then surely Holmes and I would not be here. Not without some difficulty, I lowered to one knee, allowing Victoria to stand without disengaging from my cock. Then, while she held me around the chest, I lowered myself back into the soft splendour of the bear-skin with Victoria's lithe, girlish body poised above me. She swept her hair around one shoulder, allowing it to fall to the floor beside my head; a silver backdrop that reflected the firelight back onto her face, softening the shadows and making her excited eyes sparkle with a feral light. "I think that you have our positions reversed, Doctor," she smiled down at me. "You be the rider, my dear," I whispered. "Your mount does not know the trail, nor how fast you wish to travel." Clearly enamoured by another riding metaphor, Victoria sat up straight in the saddle and perched on my thighs; my cock head still nestled in her wet entrance and her hands braced on my chest. Rising to her knees and easing slowly forwards, she pushed down onto my cock-head, stretching, slipping me fractionally deeper, and then rocked back onto my thighs with a sigh. "I don't think it will fit," she whispered, her voice filled with concern. "It will," I replied softly, desperately hoping that I was right. "Just keep pushing. Stop when it hurts and then try again." She did as I asked; hands on my chest, her arms bearing her slender body while with eyes shut, she gently rode the first inch of my cock, stopping on each downstroke and bearing down on the ridge where the softness of my cock-head thickens and hardens into the shaft. Leaning over me with her arms propped close, they pushed her lovely breasts together in a heavenly display that I strained upwards to kiss while the juices from her soaking entrance flowed down my manhood to coat my balls. Pressing and releasing, softly moaning and gasping, Victoria gradually worked another half an inch into the constricting sheath of her sex, her breasts now glowing with a thin sheen of perspiration from her efforts. She now had me deep enough that she no longer had to hold herself off me and she straightened her body upright, straddling my hips with my thick cock trapped two inches inside the furnace of her womanhood. With her head laid back and cords standing out on her neck, she slowly pumped her hips in a circular motion, stirring me inside her and stretching her opening while her hair tickled my balls and the tops of my thighs. I could feel the iron clamp of her sex begin to loosen as she twisted herself onto the thickest and most sensitive part of my cock, about two inches from the tip. And then with a throaty and ululating, but utterly feminine cry, she sank inexorably onto my shaft; now fully stretched and soaking wet, her steaming sex enveloped my cock inch by wonderful inch; her inner muscles quivering, fluttering nervously as they parted, welcoming the first visitor into their lonely paradise. Victoria fed me all the way into her slick tunnel until, with a series of whooping gasps, she touched me down firmly against her cervix, causing her to ease back up to relieve the pressure. "You're inside me," she breathed, looking down at me with a smile filled with girlish glee. "How does it feel?" I asked. "Mother says it is painful. Unpleasant," she said. "And what do you say?" From the look on her face, it didn't seem unpleasant. "I once rode Watson bareback, with a just a bridle and my heels dug into his flanks," she said. "We galloped with my hair loose and my skirts billowing out behind us. It was the most wonderful and exciting thing I have ever felt." She smoothed her palms over my chest hair, consuming me with her eyes. "Until now." She squeezed me experimentally with her virgin muscles, the heat and pressure of her sex sent shivers of ecstasy through me, causing my breath to catch and my eyes to roll back as for a moment I thought she would tip me over the edge. "Are you unwell, Doctor?" she whispered with concern, leaning over me and changing the angle of my cock inside her with delightful friction. "I am well," I confirmed, a little breathlessly. "Just try not to do that again until you are ready to finish." "This?" She asked, with a mischievous grin; giving a brief squeeze, not so long or deep as before. "Yes, that," I smiled, straining my balls to retain control and realising I was completely at her mercy. It was not a predicament that I regretted at all; to have such a beautiful woman using me so, discovering her sexuality with passion and wonder as each new sensation is revealed. "Doctor Watson?" she breathed, leaning closer still to my ear. "I fear I don't know what to do next." "Now you move," I said softy, cupping her bottom again and guiding her up and then back down on my cock. "Slowly at first, and then faster when you feel the need." She began to move again without my guidance, pumping my cock into her silken sheath, building up a slow rhythm and expelling a soft gasp in my ear as my cock-head probed her cervix with each thrust. With her nipples brushing my chest, she kissed me again, seeking out my tongue while she moved just her hips, fucking me with that erotically sensual circular motion that I had never before experienced. With each pump of her hips, the base of my shaft brushed against the hard nub of her clitoris; and each time she released a soft cry of passion into our kiss. Raising the tempo, she pulled away from my lips, sucking in air as she drove more firmly onto my cock, pushing my knob harder and harder against her cervix until she had me all the way inside and the soft, swollen lips of her sex were pressed up against my pubic bone, gliding wetly in the slick juices that had run down my cock and pooled there. As she gasped and cried out, pumping faster and faster, so I began to lose my own measure of control. There is nothing that strikes me as more erotic than a sexual woman in the throes of an orgasm, and Victoria's mounting climax was surely going to bring me to my own. I only hoped for her sake that she got there before me. Closing my hands around her trim waist, I thrust upwards to meet her, driving into her furnace depths and using the thick base of my cock to pleasure her clitoris and she ground into me and rubbed my cock-head against her cervix with whimpering desperation. Harder and faster she pounded down, losing control of her breathing with each rising cry of passion. "Oh, yes," she cried, her voice thick with emotion. "It's happening again." Three more pumps and she drove down hard one last time, writhing and twisting her hips. "Oh, dear Lord," she gasped through her teeth in a tiny voice, then her legs convulsed and she held me tight in her arms as the orgasm swept her away. Those wonderful muscles of her womanhood gripped me again inside her silky depths and squeezed. I was so close to the edge, it was all I needed. I felt a tickle of blissful sensation in my balls as they gathered, building pressure up and up, and then they released with a rush and I was pumping, jetting my seed inside her, bucking into her tender lips to get deeper. Victoria cried out again with the new feeling of hot cum pouring deep into her sex, filling her more completely than my cock alone, and then spilling thickly from her opening to coat the junction of our coupling. Arching back again as her orgasm slowly retreated, she ground her cervix against my softening knob, squeezing me with her secret muscles, and milking the last of my seed into her yearning core. When the last of her spasms were finished, she lay forwards and rested her cheek on my chest, leaving my cock to soften inside her, occasionally squeezing it, perhaps in the vain hope that it would harden again. "Well, Doctor," she whispered, softly kissing my chest. "I believe I am cured." "My dear," I replied in an equally hushed tone intended just for her. "I don't believe you were every truly ailed."