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Holmes had gotten several paces ahead of me in the chase. I saw that he had come to a shoddy door made of planks. He lowered his shoulders and ran right into it. The door broke through off the hinges. Holmes stumbled a few paces, but quickly righted himself.
“Blast,” he said, as he looked about the room. “Moriarty isn’t here, he must have gone ahead.”
I caught up to him. We were in a store room with crates and barrels pushed against the walls. There was a heavy dust in the air and a coat of grime on the barrels. Incongruously there was a lovely young woman tied and gagged in a corner.
“Holmes, this must be the Mrs. Ingersoll we’ve been searching for.”
“It is,” he said with his usual, certain tone. “You tend to her, Watson. I’ll go after Moriarty.”
“Be careful,” I shouted as Holmes opened a door on the other side of the room. “Now ma’am I’ll have you out of those binders in a moment,” I said.
I first removed her gag. “Thank you,” she breathed when the gag was removed. I started working on the binds around her wrist. “Are you Dr. Watson the companion of the famed detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
“Why, yes I am.” I replied. It seems that Holmes fame had spread far and wide.
“I’m in most urgent need of a physician. Have you any experience in treating,” she flushed a little and lowered her voice, “Women’s problems.”
This was hardly my forte, but there was such an urgency in her voice that I felt I had to try to be of assistance. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m prone to hysteria and with these binds I can feel my sanity slipping away.”
“I can get you out in a second,” I said. In truth I wasn’t certain that I could, but I wanted to reassure her before she went mad.
“I’m running out of time, please doctor,” she begged.
“I hadn’t thought to bring a vibrator” I replied. I had left my medical bag back at Baker Street.
“Can you use your fingers?” her voice sounded desperate.
“Yes, I suppose that shall have to do.” I had been taught how to do that when I was in medical school, but hadn’t used that technique in years. “If I could get these leg binds off I would have better access,” I said.
“I can’t wait,” she replied. She was squirming around quite a bit. I had her lay on the floor then I raised up her dress and pulled down her pantalets. This gave me a view of her womanhood. Her mound was covered with luxurious black hair. The hairs were even darker than her raven tresses. This pleased me from an aesthetic view, but there wasn’t time to admire her vagina. I worked my fingers over her hairy mound and delicately split her womanly groove. I soon found her sensitive button, and began to massage it. The woman began to thrash about and moan. She was clearly an advanced case. I was certain everyone on the docks could hear her.
“Doctor,” she whimpered after a few minutes. “It feels divine, but I can only reach release with something in me.”
Thought this is uncommon I knew that there were women like that. I dutifully penetrated her vagina with my index finger. I thrust into her with short, sharp motions while my thumb continued to work on her clitoris. Her whole body was trembling like a leaf.
“Oh Doctor,” she babbled, her mind was clearly over excited. “This is wonderful but I need something larger in me in order to reach my climax.”
“But I have nothing else,” I replied.
“Use your masculine organ on me,” she pleaded.
I was shocked at the woman’s words. “Madam, think of your husband.”
“I am thinking of him,” she panted. “He should be miserable if I went to Bedlam.”
I knew she was right and I knew I couldn’t abandon a woman in such distress. I swiftly unbuttoned my trousers. I then propped the woman against one of the crates so she was facing away from me. She strained against her bonds as I lifted her skirts and sent my shaft deep into her soaked tunnel. She was clearly on the verge of madness. My only hope was to hold off until she reached her peak. Fortunately that was not long in coming. She convulsed and cried out in the throes of ecstasy. She grew quiet for a second, but then began to moan again and was soon writhing about with even greater energy than before. I had to keep my hands upon her hips just to keep inside her. It was too much for me, and I had reached the point of climax.
“I must pull out,” I said.
“No, keep it in until you finish,” she ordered, “Else I won’t arrive a second time.”
I had read of such hyper-sensitive females, but never had treated one before. Her orgasm seemed to be swiftly arriving. I grabbed her hips and slammed my organ home, shooting my seed deep within her. She cried out her own excitement.
Penny gasped at that thought. She must have been a little loud for everyone in the library looked up. She made her best librarian scowl and said “Shh!” Everyone returned to their reading. Penny looked back down at her computer.
She had been having that daydream now for a couple weeks, ever since she had read about hysteria and how the Victorians treated it. Having Dr. Watson treat her, in more ways than one, had become her favorite fantasy. She felt flush. At times like this she found that was best to do something physical. There were always shelves that needed stocking.
The Riverside illegal bahis Library was a palatial; filled with row upon row of hard bound volumes. It had been built in ages past by wealthy donors who thought it was their solemn duty to uplift the community. Perhaps a plateau had been reached where the community could be uplifted no further or perhaps the duties had become less solemn in time, but donations are not what they once were. The staff was small and mostly volunteer most who meant better than they could perform; and now Penny, the head librarian, to her woe and despair, was expected to stack shelves herself.
In the midst of her toils a soft, gloved hand gently touched Penny on the shoulder. She turned and saw a woman with platinum blonde hair and a fine profile. She wore a pale blue dress that was cut short to show her well defined ankles. “Lady Florence?” Penny asked with surprise. Lady Florence Cray was a brainy girl, but hardly one you would expect to find in the public library.
“Oh Lady Penelope, I had heard rumors that you were working here but I simply could not believe it,” she said her voice holding all the pathos of the situation.
Penny sighed, “Mummy says every woman has to have a skill in case her husband proves to be as shiftless and lazy as Daddy.” Her mother was in the habit of giving very frank advice, mostly at the expense of her father.
“Your mother is right,” Lady Penelope agreed.
It was one thing for her mother to dole out advice like this, Penny had heard it all her life, but when another woman agreed with her mother Penelope knew she must be desperately unhappy. “Men trouble?” Penelope asked.
“Stlilton’s left me,” a drop of water began to form in the corner of Lady Florence’s eye.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why do they always run off? Is it me?”
“Of course not,” said Penny as she hugged Florence tightly. “You’re so clever, kind and pretty.”
“Keep that up and I might ask you to marry me,” said Florence, smiling through the window of her tears.
“Would you?” said Penny; she felt daring and gave Florence a quick playful kiss on the lips, “Or will you keep me as you mistress, always promising to marry me but never going through it?”
Florence felt confused as the conversation had traipsed off of the primrose path, as the saying goes. Looking at Penny she felt a strange desire bubbling up as though from a cauldron within her. With an equal daring to her friend she said “You’re too pretty not to marry right away.” She looked about quickly and when she saw that there were no prying eyes through the windows or shelves she kissed Penelope back. Whatever element of play may have been in Penelope’s first kiss quickly vanished as the two women kissed with a deadly earnest endeavor.
Penelope broke the kiss, not without some regret, and whispered, “My office is nearby.” The two women walked hand in hand to the cramped space. Lady Florence again felt a momentary twinge of sorrow at Penny’s circumstances, but as her playmate shut the door and returned to kiss her those thoughts dissolved. The two women quickly returned to their intense embrace. Their fingers roamed across one another’s bodies exploring each other’s bodied through the fabric. They began to undress one another, stripping down to their lingerie. Even in her lingerie Penelope looked like a librarian; it was white, cotton and plain. She seemed so mousy that Florence thought she should worry that a cat would eat Penelope before she got the chance. Florence looked more regal in her bright blue silk covered with a thin pattern of flowers. It was lacy and delicate as if it have been woven by spiders; spiders who wanted to emphasize Lady Florence’s pert breasts and give a peak at her rosy areolas. They looked so appealing that Penelope couldn’t help but lean forward and suck on her friend’s breasts through the thin material.
“Ooh,” moaned Florence, “That feels extraordinary.”
“Your underwear is so beautiful that you look like a flower, said Penelope.
“You look like a librarian,” said Lady Florence. “You’d better take these off,” she nodded at the underwear. Penelope dutifully complied leaving her hairy sex exposed to Florence’s appraising gaze. “Better, but those will have to go,” she took off Penelope’s glasses, “And this,” she said and removed the clips from Penelope’s hair. Penny shook it out and it cascaded down her shoulders. “Now, you are quite the dish,” said Florence with a smile. She moved forward to kiss Penelope, but Penelope moved back.
“Take those silly things off first,” said Penelope.
Florence giggled, realizing that she was still half dressed. She hastily removed her underclothes as she was doing so Penelope found her eyes roving down Florence’s taught legs gazing at her perky little boobs with their rosebud colored areolas. She had a gorgeous womanhood with its sparse blonde hair. Penelope didn’t consider herself an expert on vaginas but, as far as vaginas go, she thought that Lady Florence’s vagina was the snake’s eyebrows. It looked well-trimmed so that there was never a hair out of place. The women resumed their kissing and Florence eased Penelope down upon her desk, and then climbed on top. She positioned herself above Penelope so her love nest was right above Penelope’s face, illegal bahis siteleri while her own was above Penny’s. Florence felt Penny’s tongue work upon her groove and her fingers explore her innermost recesses. It was delightful; and Florence did the same, matching her stroke for stroke. Soon they were exploding in a sea of orgasms as the desk tottered and shook beneath them.
Penelope gasped and found herself back at the library with a pile of books before her. She saw “Jeeves in the Morning” on the top of the pile. She smiled, remembering reading all Wodehouse’s books when she was in high school. Psmith, Bingo Little, Bertie Wooster; all those men were twits, but the women, those husband hunting dragons, were marvelous. They didn’t need a husband at all; what they needed was one vivid orgasm. On that subject, Penelope thought, a trip to the ladies room was in order. She kept a personal massager at her desk for just such an occasion. Lesbian fantasies, she smiled to herself, how naughty. She almost never had those. Sometimes she’d imagine Sappho seducing her by singing praises of her beauty. How delightful it must have been to be loved by a poet, Penelope thought. One must feel intoxicatingly sexy all the time.
The day dragged after that. Her shift ended at four. She went out into the late day crowd and took the bus home surrounded by strangers who never looked at her. It was raining by the time she got off the bus. She got off and ran to her apartment.
Her apartment always had the slight scent of a lemon blossom; Penny had been fond of the scent since she was a little girl and placed a generous touch of lemon peel in the potpourri. She enjoyed it most because the fragrance was an immediate shock in the cold northern clime, as if now one was entering a sunny southern port. In the darkest days of winter Penny would stare out the windows and dream of a soft southern clime. She had the walls painted in bright tones to make the place seem cheerful, and even radiant. Upon entering she saw that her radiant love, Marcel, was waiting for her standing in his banker grey coat and top hat. Despite the apartment’s warmth, but Marcel hadn’t removed any layers, he even still held his ebony walking stick tucked under his arm. He hastily shut his pocket watch and tucked it into his vest coat when the door opened. His face had the distant look, his blue-grey eyes looked like a distant storm, one drawing closer; soon it would break into a scowl. Penelope knew that there would be a scene and that she would be required to play her part; Marcel would be satisfied with nothing less. She gave him her prettiest smile and asked him if he had been waiting long.
“Long?” that seemed to be the moment of explosion when the crisis would best the both of them, but he suddenly regained his composure in a second of reflection. “Well yes,” he continued offhandedly, “Where have you been? Spending my money I imagine.”
So that was the issue at hand, a tiny trace of a smile played upon Penelope’s lips. She should have guessed that infidelity, jealousy and suspicion wouldn’t prey on Marcel’s mind; not like the Francs would. Marcel had wanted a love nest on the fashionable part of the city; expected her to dress well so that men would stare at him in jealousy when they were out and certainly made no objection to the garters, teddies and stocking when she paraded in those before him; but when the bill arrived he would become an ogre.
“Stop,” she said and put a gloved finger upon his lips and slowly drew it down before him.
“But these bills…” he objected, with a determination to chastise her.
“Stop,” she repeated in a more commanding tone of voice. “Don’t be angry, Marcel, I want to look good for you and that costs. Don’t you like the way I look?”
“Well, yes, but…” he sounded a little more flustered.
“I appreciate you’ve been good to me. Shall I show you my gratitude?” Penny said and gave a devilish smile then she got down upon her knees and deftly unbuttoned his trousers. Even in all his rage Marcel was already growing hard, much to Penny’s delight, for his storms did nothing to dampen his lusts. In its hardened glory Marcel’s penis was a delight, thick and veined; she eagerly took it into her mouth and gleefully began to suck on him.
The heavy, masculine taste of Marcel’s penis made Penelope think of the first cock she had sucked. It seemed so many years ago when her Latin professor, Monsieur Vendon had made love to her. All the girls in her finishing school were in love with him; with his piercing black eyes and his broad chest everyone paid rapt attention to his lectures. How bitterly jealous they became when he started to give Penelope attention. She heard their whispers in the halls and her few friends told her the most vicious rumors; all of them amounted to the same that she was a slut who had seduced her Monsieur Vendon and any number of other teachers. The rumors hurt her very much at the time, but not so much that Penny would ever reject one of his advances, he was simply too handsome and too confident. She, for her part, was one in a long line of his special students; some who later became erring wives, but most who became fils-de-joie. He had a knack for finding girls who were unsuited for either the convent canlı bahis siteleri or for a domestic life, but were more than willing to please a man. He would take Penny walking in the fields after church with her parent’s full blessing, for a teacher was a proper guardian. How they would have turned violet with rage and with shame if they had seen the way they had kissed once they were out of her parent’s sight. They found a secluded spot in the park where Monsieur Vendon began fondling Penny’s heaving breasts. Penny felt that she should have objected, that anyone could have stumbled into their hedgerow and seen them at their most voluptuous game, but Monsieur Vendon silenced all of Penny’s objections with a kiss before she had a chance to even express them to herself. He had stripped her down to her pantalets; Penelope again became nervous; fearful of removing that last remnant of her modesty. Monsieur Vendon seemed to sense her fears and asked her to pleasure him with her mouth. It was an obscene request, or so she had been taught, but snuggled against his muscular chest, she felt completely under his spell. She got on her knees, unfastened his breeches and gasped with delight upon seeing the male organ up close for the first time. How the other girls had whispered and giggled about it; and how livid they would have been if they knew she had seen a real penis, and Monsieur Vendon’s penis at that. He taught Penny how to kiss it, how to play with his balls, how to suck and most importantly to so swallow all his seed. While she had forgotten most of her coursework in time; those lessons proved to be among the most important of her education as Marcel was clearly enjoying them.
“Oh dear,” Marcel breathed in rapture as he reached his climax.
“You see how silly you were,” Penelope said, as she stood up and kissed Marcel. “Oral sex makes everything worthwhile.”
“No doubt you would want some yourself.”
“No doubt,” Penny replied to no one but the cats. Her husband wouldn’t be home for a few hours. She had nothing to do but get started on dinner. She was making a Moroccan dish called pastille. There were spices, figs, lemons and all sorts of exotic ingredients in the dish. Her husband came home and she served him wine and food. Then, while he ate, she began to tell him a story as was her custom.
“Hercules was the mightiest warrior in the world. His fame had spread to Tespae, where a terrible lion had plagued the country for years. King Thespius dispatched a messenger to ask Hercules to kill the beast. Hercules came to the land and hunted. This lion was wily. Hercules spent 50 days hunting him down. When he had cornered the lion Hercules picked up a club and battered the beast’s brain in. It was a mighty battle but Hercules prevailed.
The king held a feast in his honor. King Thespius had a large court with many lords; but what he was most known for were his fifty daughters. The king had many wives but, as was the will of the gods, had no sons. His daughters were comely, with raven hair and olive complexions.
“Such a marvelous battle,” said the king. He stood up and announced to the court, “For a reward you may sleep with my daughters, as a man sleeps with his wife.” All his daughters looked down and blushed with maidenly modesty for none of them had ever known a man, but there was a secret smile that played upon their lips.
“All of them?” said Hercules. He was astounded. “Shall I stay for 50 days?”
“Oh no, you must have relations with them all tonight.”
“But that would be an impossible task,” he said.
“The poets say you have done many impossible tasks. Surely one involving just woman would be of no challenge to one who has faced Cerberus.
“There are more dangers in one woman than in all of hades; much more so 50 women.”
“You must not disappoint them; as you can see my daughters all squirming with anticipation.” The girls blushed deeper, mortified that their father had noted their excitement.
Such is the fate of a god. Hercules took Antippe as a man takes a woman. Antippe got up to fetch Antiope to perform the same task. Upon her completion Antiope fetched Argele who fetches Asopis who fetched Calmatis and so on through the night. Each sister would enter, a little nervous, and leave with a sly smile to fetch her next sister for this most pleasurable of tasks. As dawn was nearing the last sister, Xanthia, came in. She was a beauty, with ebony hair, smoky eyes and voluptuous curves. Even so after forty nine women Hercules was spent. His poor manhood looked in terrible shape. Demigod though he was and one faced with a most delectable beauty, he still could not rise. Xanthis realized his problem. “Do not worry, my lord, for my mother has told me the secret of making a man grow to his full length. It is one that many a Greek boy has used,” she said. She put her mouth over his manhood tasting his masculinity mixed with the womanly essence of her sisters. It felt so wonderful that Hercules grew hard much to his own astonishment. Xanthia, delighted in her triumph. She mounted him and impaled herself on Hercules’s glorious manhood. She eased herself down and felt his manhood stretch out her insides. It was difficult at first, but soon she found her task enjoyable. Having a demigod beneath her, pinned by her thighs was indescribably erotic. She joyously ran her hands through her hair and twisted her hips as she rammed herself down on that fierce member. Soon she was shrieking out her ecstasy as her womanly climax ran through her.
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