Date: Wed, 23 Sep 2015 18:50:19 +0000 (UTC)
From: Tony Williams <tonywill9999@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sherlock and Me

Sherlock and Me

     It's a blistering hot afternoon and at 221B Baker St. Sherlock and I
have stripped down to our underpants in a vain attempt to keep cool.  As
usual, when I see Sherlock's near naked body in all its tall, slender
glory, my cock starts to get hard and of course he notices it and steps
close to me, caressing my member until it perfectly rigid.  Natually, I
return the favour, pulling his stiff dick out of the fly of his underpants.
Before long, we are lying on the couch, head to tail, relishing the feel of
each other's cock in our mouths, as we caress each other balls, buttocks
and just about any other body parts that we can reach.  My arousal is so
intense that within a few minutes, I cum right into his mouth.  He sits up,
smiles at me and swallows, wiping a stray drop of cum from his chin with
his finger and sucking it clean.
     "Thank you, Watson," he says.  "That was quite delightful."
     "You're welcome, Holmes," I reply, "though I'm sorry I came so
suddenly.  I was too excited to restrain myself, but I assure you, I'll
allow you to cum in my mouth as soon as I recover."
     "The girls will be home by then," he points out.
     Ah, yes, the girls.  His daughter, Shirley and my own child, Joan,
live with us.  As they are both eleven years old, at first we had them
share one of the bedrooms while Sherlock and I shared the other, but after
a while, the girls each expressed a desire to sleep with her father, so now
that is the arrangement we have adopted.  Now you may wonder what mischief
an eleven year old girl might get up to in bed with her father, but
propiety prevents me from disclosing what happens. But I will say that,
unlike most children of her age, when I say "Bedtime" she gives me an eager
smile and runs into the bedroom.
     The doorbell rings and we hear Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper, welcome
the girls, then the sound of their laughter precedes them up the stairs and
soon my darling little girl is in my arms, as Sherlock hugs his own sweet
angel.  Mrs. Hudson enters with a tray of lemonade.
     "I thought this would be nicer than a cup of tea, given this heat,
gentlemen," she says.
     "Quite so," says Sherlock, relieving her of the tray and ushering her
out.
     "Why are you both in your underpants?" asks Joan, looking at us.
     "It's far too hot for formal attire," I say, not altogether
untruthfully.  I fail to mention that we've both just enjoyed a homosexual
encounter of the most intense kind.  "I don't know how the women of today
can stand it, with all those layers of clothing and tight corsets.  It must
be hell in this weather."  Both girls are wearing the uniform of the school
they attend, a white blouse, a short, wide, navy blue skirt which only
comes down to just below the knee, and black silk stockings.  In a year or
two, alas, they'll be wearing ankle length skirts.
     "I know," my daughter replies.  "That's why we didn't put our
petticoats on today.  Show them, Shirley."  They both lift up their skirts
as high as they will go, revealing their black stockings, the creamy skin
of their upper thighs and the blinding white cotton of their bloomers.
Sherlock and I stare, entranced.
     Shirley, seeing our interest, says, "We should strip down to our
knickers, right, Joan?  Then we can be cool, too."
     "Absolutely!" Joan replies, letting go of her skirt and fumbling with
the fastening.
     "Wait!" cries Sherlock. "Would you mind, Watson, if I undressed your
daughter?"
     "Not at all, as long as you'll allow me to undress yours."
     "It's a deal," he says with a grin.  "You go first, so I can give you
my full attention."
     "Sit on the couch, Shirley," I say, "so I can take your shoes off."
Both girls sprawl on the couch, their legs spread invitingly, showing off
their bloomers.  I kneel between Shirley's feet and unbutton her short
boots, then cast them aside.  I stand and pull her to her feet, then
unfasten her skirt and let it fall.  I unbutton her blouse, spread it open,
then push if off her shoulders.  Underneath, a white cotton camisole covers
her flat chest, but looking down the front, I can see her perfect pink
nipples, just starting to grow.  I help her take the camisole off over her
head, letting her shake her two pigtails free, then I stand back and look
at her.  "Oh, my God!" I groan, drinking in the sight of an eleven year old
girl in just bloomers and stockings.  My cock, until now decently tucked
into my underpants, starts to get hard again, less than thirty minutes
since I came in her father's mouth.
     "Pull her knickers down, Watson," Sherlock commands.  I can only obey.
I fall to my knees and gently tug at her bloomers and they slowly slide
down her body until her perfect little quim comes into sight.  It seems to
be smiling at me.  Then her knickers falls to the floor and she steps out
of them.  Her stockings have become wrinkled and sag a little, so I place
my palms on her calves and smooth them up again, all the way up to the top,
then farther, touching the perfect pale skin of her upper thighs, then
briefly brush my fingertips over her quim.  She shivers with delight.
     "Oh, such perfection," whispers Sherlock, then switches his attention
to Joan and falls to his knees in front of my daughter, who's still
sprawled on the couch, and takes her boots off.  She places her feet on his
shoulders and lifts her skirt as high as it will go.  He leans in, pushing
her knees higher until he's able to place a gently kiss on the front of her
bloomers.  Both girls giggle.  "I adore little girl's knickers," he
whispers.
     "Me, too," I murmur.  "Your lips, Sherlock, are just a fraction of an
inch from heaven."
     "Quite so, and thus we must remove the barrier, but first, my dear,
your upper garments must come off."  Joan stands and her skirt, previously
bunched up round her waist, now falls over his head.  "I say," his muffled
voice says, "how nice it is in her, so dark and warm.  I might just stay
here for the rest of the afternoon."  My daughter giggles.  His hands slide
up her thighs and disappear beneath the skirt so I have no idea what they
might be doing.  The thought that they might be caressing her private parts
is quite thrilling.
     "Come, Sherlock," I call.  "My daughter wishes to be as cool as your
own, so be a good fellow and finish undressing her."  He comes out from
under her skirt, stands and unbuttons her blouse and then her skirt, which
falls to the floor.  She steps out of it.
     "Tell him to take my knickers off, Daddy," Joan pleads, a mischevious
grin on her face.  Sherlock pulls the waist of her bloomers out and peers
down inside.
     "Ah, such treasure," he murmurs, "not a hair in sight."  He looks up
at her.  "When you're older, my dear, and hair starts to grow down there,
you must shave it off.  Am I right, Watson?"
     "Absolutely," I affirm.  "We men like hairless quims."  He tugs her
bloomers down until they fall to the floor, leans back and gazes at her.  I
have to say that although I've seen my little girl often times less than
fully clothed, the fact that she's exposing herself to us in just a
camisole and stockings strikes me as highly erotic.  My cock is getting
hard again.  I sit down in the armchair opposite the couch and invite
Shirley to sit on my knee.  She sits across my thighs, but I manoeuvre her
body so that she's sitting with her back to my chest.  As I lean back in
the chair, she lies back on my chest, then lifts her feet and places them
on the tops of my open thighs.  My rigid cock fits snuggly into the crack
of her bum.  I place one hand on her chest in order to finger her nipples,
and the other on her lower abdomen, sliding it down until my fingers are
caressing the lips of her quim.  She's already quite wet.  I look over her
shoulder to see that my daughter has sat back down on the couch and
Sherlock is kneeling between her thighs.  I can see his head moving as he
goes to work on her little girly slit with his tongue.  We watch,
enthralled for a minute or so, my heart racing with the sound of her little
moans and groans of pleasure.  She gazes down at Sherlock with a look of
adoration on her face.  He comes up for air, turns and looks at us.
     "My God, Watson, you're missing a fine opportunity there."
     "What do you mean?" I ask and instead of replying, he abandons my
daughter and crawls on his knees across the carpet to where we're sprawled,
reaches out his hand and removes mine from Shirley's quim.
     "Lift up, my darling, and move back so that you're sitting on his
tummy.  A little higher, yes, just like that."  With his hand, he pulls my
cock out from under her and gives it a few brisk strokes.  "Though I love
your cock more than just about anything, Watson, I'm going to put it where
it really belongs, but first, I can't resist giving it a little suck."  He
leans in, takes it in his mouth and lets his tongue work on it for a few
seconds.  Joan looks across at us, fascinated.  Then he lifts his head and,
still holding the base of my cock, guides the tip to his daughter's
orifice, that holy of holies that I've wanted to enter for so long.
     "Ooooh, yes." I hear my daughter breathe.  "Put it in, Daddy.  Put it
all the way in."
     "Lower your body, Sweetheart," says Sherlock, and Shirley bends her
knees slightly, allowing my cock to enter her.  She gasps.
     "Am I hurting you?" I ask, anxiously.
     "No, no, not at all.  It feels so incredible!  Oh, Dr. Watson, it's
the most thrilling thing . . ."  Her voice trails off into a gently moan of
pleasure as she lifts her body up and down, causing my cock to pump in and
out of her.
     "That's right, Watson, fuck her!  Fuck my little girl!  Oh, this is so
unbelievable!  Look, Joan, see his cock sliding in and out of her?  I do
believe it's going all the way in.  See how her moisture makes it glisten."
     It's rather fortunate that I came in my friend's mouth less than a
hour ago, otherwise I wouldn't be able to last longer than a few seconds.
The feel of her tight, but soft, immature quim grasping my member, and the
awareness that my friend and my girl can see everything that's happening,
is intensley arousing.
     Sherlock gets to his feet, pulls his underpants off and sits back down
on the couch, next to Joan.  His cock is as rigid as my own and, I have to
confess, considerably longer, though not nearly as thick.  This is why it
fits up my arse so beautifully, but at this moment, my thoughts are far
from queer sex.  I'm delighted to see my daughter kneel on the couch beside
him, lean down and take his cock in her mouth.
     "Oh, yes, suck him, my darling!" I croak, my voice hoarse with lust.
Alas, she can only take about half of his dick in her mouth but she makes a
noble effort (even I have difficulty taking it all in).  His face contorts
with lust as he gazes down at her head bobbing up and down, then at us as
my cock thrusts into Shirley.
     "Oh, you sweet darling little angel," he groans, thrusting his hips up
to meet Joan's bobbing head.  "Oh, do that again with your tongue.  Oh,
yes!  Where did you learn to suck a cock so expertly?"  Where, indeed?
That's our little secret.  "Oh, shit, I think I'm gonna cum!"
     Joan lifts her head and turns sideways to look at us and just at that
moment, Sherlock's orgasm explodes, shooting a long streak of cum that hits
my daughter right on the cheek.  It's followed by a second blob which lands
on her nose and then she takes his cock back in her mouth to received the
remainder of what can only be a huge load of jism into her eager mouth.
Her hand strokes his shaft, milking him until he's spent, then she lifts
her head again and looks at me, her open mouth full of creamy cum, the
taste of which I know so well.  She closes her lips, smiles and swallows,
then wipes a finger full of cum from her cheek and sucks it clean.  The
sight is so arousing that I'm unable to hold back and my own orgasm
errupts, pumping my seed deep inside Sherlock's daughter as she yelps in
delight.  Finally I'm empty and collapse back into the armchair, allowing
Shirley to climb off my wilting cock.  A dribble of my cum runs down her
thigh.
     It takes a minute of so for us to catch our breath, but as soon as he
can utter the words, Sherlock says, "Congratulations, Watson.  You just
took my daughter's maidenhead, though I confess to breaking her hymen some
weeks ago with my fingers."
     "Thank you, Sherlock, and I'm not just being polite when I invite you
to do the same to my little girl."  Joan's face breaks into an enormous
smile.  "I would like to be able to watch when you do," I continue, "but at
the moment, as you might guess, "I'm totally spent.  Nevertheless, if you
wish to take my girl into your bedroom and give her the most exciting gift
she'll ever receive then, by all means, be my guest."
     "In that case," he replies, "might I suggest that we change the
sleeping arrangements so that I sleep with her, and you sleep with my own
little darling?"
     "A capitl idea!" I declare.  "It will have the added benefit of
removing the temptations of incest, saving us from grave sin."  I fail to
mention that I'm already extremely guilty in that regard.
     "Quite so, Watson, quite so, though once in a while, I'd like to spend
the night with you in your bed and let our girls sleep together.  I
wouldn't be upset if they developed that same taste for their own sex that
you and I enjoy."
     "Me neither, Holmes.  Me neither."
     "Come, my dear," he says to my daughter, taking her hand.  "To the
bedroom.  The game is on."

The End.