The Red-Headed League

"Are you boys having a good time?" she chortled. Then dramatically looking Herlock over, she added "I can see at least one of you is!" She even gave his todger a few tugs which did nothing to alleviate his obvious situation. I thought I was in Hell.

"And what do you do for fun, Dr Wilson?" she teased lunging out towards my trousers leaving Herlock's cock alone for a moment. I stepped back to negate her intentions. With Herlock's arm restraining me I could only lurch sideways to get away from Ms Wilson's designs. This gave me a sudden new vantage over the proceedings. I could now see from our locale in the drawing room directly into the dining room. And in my line of sight was a view so astoundingly horrific that it would serve to change my life forever.

For there in my clear vision was Mrs Huston locked in a tight and passionate embrace with my Mary. Their lips were joined as were their bare breasts. But to my horror it was my Mary, not the promiscuous social media maven who had her arms wrapped tightly around the other's neck and it was she who was clearly orchestrating their behaviour.

"That's... that's..." I stammered. Both of my current companions seemed concerned at the stricken look on my face.

That was until Ms Watson turned around to see the object of my angst. "Oh that," she exclaimed, "those two have been at it like that for ages. You should have seen what they were doing with Herlock's pipe."

"At least they still have their pants on," Sholmes observed, bypassing the irony of his outburst.

"And that is supposed to matter?" I exploded.

"Well, it is something," he tried.

But even that consolation was taken from me. As if my wife had heard Herlock's concession, she released Mrs Huston from her tight hold, slid her lower garments to floor then lay herself back on the dining table and spread her legs to allow Mrs Huston an unobstructed view of herself from her hips down to the tops of her stockings.

Mrs Huston bent forward for a closer look and then moved her face even closer, to apparently lap at her cunny. Precisely what she was doing to my wife was obscured as my Mary grabbed the back of her head with both hands to hold Mrs Huston where she wanted her to be. She certainly did not seem to have any cares as to who may observe her debauched carryings on.

"I... I..." I stammered.

"I know," said Herlock somewhat compassionately, "you're a happily married man."

I guess I was mesmerised by this unbelievable tableau. I could not, hard as I tried, tear my eyes away from my Mary whose head was now thrown back in some display of heightened emotion as Mrs Huston worked her infernal magic on her. I felt a strange stirring in my loins. "Go over and join her," my friend insisted sympathetically. "Trust me, she will be pleased to see you."

Maybe emboldened by the amount of drink consumed, I consented, steadied myself and began the long trudge to the next room. What else, after all, could I do?

Epilogue

The next morning I called upon my friend to further deliberate over our encounter with Ms Watson. And to appraise him of developments with my Mary. Mrs Huston smiled at me in a cheeky, uninhibited manner as she let me in.

"The detective has another interesting visitor," she informed me, running a tender hand along my arm. Chastened by the previous day's experiences, I could hardly stop her as we made our way to his sitting room.

I found Sholmes in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. The visitor had removed his trousers displaying bold tufts of russet tones that matched those on his head. And an appendage of some prominence. I looked enquiringly at Herlock who looked at me with bridled excitement. I could see in his eyes that this case still intrigued him. But Herlock was being his usual detective self. Mrs Huston stepped close, toying coquettishly with the buttons of her blouse. She seemed lasciviously interested in the display in front of us.

"Ce travail ne finit jamais!" I exclaimed. And then I thought of George Sand.