Dr Watson Examines the Merchandise

Long suffering Dr Watson finally earns his reward.

This must be one of my oldest unpublished stories going back to March 2015. It was intended to be humorous, but it never managed to get there. I'd come back to it from time to time, to have another stab at it, but decided it was worth publishing rather than leave it mouldering forever.

A special thanks to RF-Fast for helping to proofread and ensuring the story is in good shape.

Dr Watson Examines the Merchandise

"Tell me again why we're here, Sherlock?"

"We're here to investigate counterfeit goods, John."

"I know that. What I meant was, why are we actually in this locale?"

"Well, Macclesfield isn't as salubrious as Baker Street, but we need to be close to our client."

"Again, I understand that. What I meant was why we are staying in such a substandard hotel. And more importantly, why are we sharing the same bed?"

"That, my dear Watson, was a bit of a faux pa on my behalf. When I took this case, I neither realised that the town was hosting its annual photocopier sales conference. Or that such events were so well attended."

"Couldn't we have found separate rooms or at least separate beds?"

"Alas, not within easy travelling distance of our client and our suspect pool. Oh, and while I remember, your credit card is maxed out."

"What? Not again? You know it wouldn't be if you didn't keep using it without telling me."

The man was just insufferable at times, taking no account of those around him. It had taken Lestrade's involvement last month to get the peeping Tom charges dropped. I told him the nurses in the flat opposite would not believe he was studying 19th-century iron guttering, outside their bathroom window, for a monograph he was writing. He was even using my telescope. Some considered him a genius, but they didn't have to live with the man.

In the morning, I waited impatiently outside the bathroom sitting on the bed in my pyjamas, bursting to relieve myself. He breezed out, adjusting his scarf.

"Come on, John, the games afoot. No lollygagging." With that, he walked from the room, and I dashed in to relieve myself.

By the time I was done and dressed, without the luxury of a shower or shave, I caught up with him in the lobby. He was chatting with the hotel receptionist, the remnants of a bacon sandwich in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Popping the morsel in his mouth, he sprayed me with crumbs.

"Come along Watson, we have to meet with our client in ten minutes. We must make haste."

Glowering at the back of his head as he left the hotel. I brushed crumbs from my coat and tried to ignore the gurgling of my stomach due to the smells coming from the breakfast buffet.

"Who is our client again?" I asked, as I hurried to catch up.

"I got an email from them a couple of days ago. Manufacturers of certain specialist goods, in business for almost thirty years, but in the last three months, sales have dropped to almost nothing. They investigated their regular customers, surreptitiously of course, and found them stocking. What is the term? They have been buying 'Knock off' products. Cheap copies of their quality wares. Ah, here is our destination."

Chasing after Sherlock with his long stride down drab-looking lanes of old-fashioned brick factories, I'd lost track of where we were or where we were going. The sign above the door states: "Charlie Booker - Adult novelties est. 1985" The logo in the background gives little chance of confusion with paper hats or board games. Some heraldic motifs have crossed swords. This has; let's just say they were sword-shaped.

"Holmes! We can't possibly be going in there. It's a..."

"My prudish Watson! You know my motto, I'll take any client, be it a king or a common streetwalker; if the case interests me."

Following Holmes inside, we trudged up a narrow staircase to a Spartan office. In every available space displayed 'devices' of every conceivable size, shape, and colour. I flatter myself, as a man of the world, but I was agog at some of these items of rubber or latex. Some looked anatomically impossible, and as a medical man, I would have to strongly recommend avoiding some of the largest.

Behind the lone desk sat an attractive woman in her late thirties, although looking a little tired.

"May we speak to Charlie Booker?" Holmes asked.

"Speaking." She replied, smiling. The smile took years off her. "It's Charlene, actually, but it was easier to be Charlie after I took over from my dad a few years back."

She turned her smile on me and, with all these phallic objects filling the room, I blushed. And more so, as her gaze lingered. Despite the surroundings, I got the impression of intelligence and felt she was calculating my net worth to the penny.

"We know the basic details, Ms Booker, using strong-arm tactics to sell inferior knock-off copies of your quality goods. I take it you had a plan in mind before you contacted us?" Holmes asked rather distractedly, eyeing the specimens.

"Of course! I want you two to pose as owners of a new sex shop. Hopefully, you'll be contacted by the scum who are ripping off my patented designs."

"Can you patent these?" I blurted out, gesturing to the array of rubber penis all around.

Holmes gripped a huge purple one at least a foot long and examined it through his magnifying glass.

"Fascinating!" He declared. "There appears to be a tube filled with beads that spiral around the outside."

Charlene looked back to Holmes, still grinning at my discomfort.

"Yes, Mister Holmes. Besides the traditional vibration, this has a tiny motor that pushes them around the tubing. It's extremely effective and I can confirm that personally." Suddenly the thought of her using that toy caused a stiffening in my trousers. Fortunately, and not for the first time, Sherlock missed the sexual overtones.

"I don't see how this plan can work, without more time than I can spare for this case," Holmes said, waving the rubber phallus about.

"Actually, it's already pretty much set up. A friend of my father's is retiring and has sold his old shop to be yet another bloody coffee shop. The new owners don't take possession for a month. And I have the keys."

"So, you expect us to run a sex shop until we get approached to sell these fake, fake; erm..." I asked, aghast.

"No, the shop will be closed for renovation. However, I've had some cards printed." She pushed a small stack of business cards towards me.

I took a proffered card and read. "Strictly Bondage. If it's bondage you need, we'll have you 'All Tied Up.'"

My cock twitched again. I'd told no one of my fantasies about bondage. Not even my wife, before she passed away.

"Well, that might work, I suppose," Holmes said, casually sniffing the sex toy in his hand and then paused to think.

Was that a hint of a blush from Charlene? She covered it by adding.

"My niece isn't long out of university, and she did the cards and has a poster in the shop window already. She'll meet you there shortly. I suggest you contact me through her. It would be better if we aren't seen together. She's a sexy little thing, and she suggested she should play the part of a bimbo shop assistant."

I was in two minds about this, and half tempted to abandon the whole thing and return to London. But Holmes took the proffered keys, the business cards, and left, expecting me to scurry after him yet again. A brisk five-minute walk had us at the address and a short blonde girl in a heavy coat was standing outside, hopping from foot to foot, attempting to keep warm.

"You'd be Mister Holmes and Doctor Watson. My name's Sharon, Charlie's niece."

We bundled inside to get out of the cold and my heart sank at the sight. The shop smelled of mould and as the stained fluorescent lights flicker and buzz into life, they exposed a grim vista. Each wall was lined with cheap fibreboard and wire hangings. Many still contained yellowing boxes of the sort of products we'd just seen at Charlie's place. The entire top shelf still held hundreds and hundreds of men's magazines and, judging from some of the covers, they had been there for years.

Holmes walked briskly around the room as if measuring it with his paces, then slipped through a door.

"So, what do you want to do first?" The girl asked, shrugging out of her coat and my jaw nearly dropped at the sight.

She's far curvier than the coat had hinted at. Wearing ugly Ugg boots topped by black skin-tight yoga pants, showed off her large curvaceous backside beautifully. Her tight pink t-shirt did little to hide the slight bulge of her belly. And nothing to hide the large breasts that even the sturdy bra, clearly visible through the clothing, was struggling to contain. The deep 'v' of the t-shirt showed off her cleavage perfectly. I could feel a stirring in my trousers at this vision of loveliness.

Only as my eyes returned to her face did I realise I'd been caught. But from her grin, it's obvious she's both used to this and doesn't object. However, I looked away, embarrassed. Not only is it not appropriate for a man of my age to be lusting after a girl so young, and also a client. But it's also made worse that her body type matches much of my personal browser history searches.

"It's OK, Dr W. If I didn't want men to look, I'd not dress this way." She moved closer. "I like to be desired by men."

"However, it's not right. Not with us..."

"Working together?"

"I was going to say so different in age."

"I quite like an older guy, actually." She moved in so she's almost pressed against me. "They're so much more appreciative and experienced."

I jumped back just as Holmes returned.

"There's another showroom at the back with some changing cubicles. I believe there is a flat upstairs?" He asked and Sharon replied.

"Through that door." She pointed to it, and he rushed through.

"What are we doing here?" I called after him, poking my head through the door and looking up the stairs. I could hear him moving around.

"There is a cleaning crew arriving shortly, so I suggest we bag up the remaining merchandise and get them out of the way."

"With what?" I called out.

"Catch!" He cried, and I ducked just in time as a roll of bin bags flew past my head.

Muttering under my breath, I turned to see Sharon pick up the bin bags, her yoga pants, clearly showing both cheeks of her large backside. My dick twitched and thickened a little.

As Holmes came skipping lightly down the stairs, I grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

"Look, I don't think it's appropriate for this young girl to be here."

"My dear Watson, I think you'd be surprised. With her family being in the sex toy trade, I think her help will be invaluable. Especially if we want to look convincing in our role as sex toy entrepreneurs." With that, he left, heading towards the back room again.

"Hey, Dr W. Give me a hand?" Sharon called, and I turned to see her struggling to reach the top-shelf wank mags.

My natural response to help someone in need kicked in, and I stepped over. Using my greater height, I took down the magazines. As I feared, they range from the high-end Playboy type to those that reminded me of my worst medical textbooks. Naughty schoolgirls to nasty grannies, they all appear to be here. Some, as I had suspected, were over ten years old.

"It always strikes me as stupid to put them up there like that. Especially in a shop like this..."

She nodded to another rack on the wall containing a strap-on dildo. "Besides, sometimes a girl likes to look at this more interesting stuff as well."

As I look back, she squatted on her haunches at my feet and started putting the magazines into a bin bag. In this position, I could see right down her cleavage and the swell of her pudenda between her open legs.

"Some of those are worth a few quid." She looked up a fraction of a second after I pulled my eyes back to her face. "See that one! It's a collector's piece. Worth close to twenty quid by now. And see that one. My mum's in that one." My mouth dropped open in incredulity. "Nothing tacky, you understand. Just in the reader's wife's section. Topless on holiday, I think it was. My dad had half a dozen copies hidden around the house."

Hurriedly, I passed them down, and she put them in the bags, tying them when full.

Realising I was spending too long silently staring at her body, I tried to start a conversation to hide my embarrassment. "So, what did you study?"

"I got a degree in media studies. Bloody useless degree, but it got me away from home for a few years. Too stuffy at home, no fun."

Before I could stop myself, I asked. "And what's your idea of fun?"

She smirked. "The usual: drinking, parties, dancing and boys." She batted her eyes at me. "I like all of that and I'm really good." I'm sure she was referring to her dancing, but I suspect she was really good with boys. "I supplemented my student loans by dancing in clubs. Sometimes upon a podium and sometimes with a pole."

I'd never met such a forthright woman before. I'd faced serial killers and many deviants. Something about this young woman's primal nature sliced through my usual defences. Despite our decade's age differences, or even my unusual life experience. My professional demeanour evaporated in her presence. I felt like a fumbling teenage boy.

"With a body like yours, you must have been a hit!" I could have kicked myself that I blurted that out.

"Thank you for noticing!" She replied with a big grin. She gripped the bottom of her t-shirt, as if to straighten it, and pulled it down. The effect was to expose more of her perky breasts.

"I thought I should dress the part if we wanted this to work." She said,

I'm a doctor and have examined hundreds and hundreds of breasts, usually in pairs. After the first few dozen, I thought I'd built up a professional barrier. Something about this setting left me uncomfortably erect.

For once, I was glad of the distraction as Holmes returned.

"The flat upstairs is tiny, with one bedroom, kitchenette, and a box room I can barely describe as a lounge. I suggest we take all this stuff back to our hotel room, as a cleaning company will clean the entire place. And it wouldn't do for them to fall over this!" He flourished an inflatable doll.

As the three of us trooped through the hotel reception, I prayed the flimsy bin bags would not burst and embarrass me further.

"This is your room?" Sharon asked, dropping the bag and glancing at the single bed and then at Holmes and me. I couldn't tell if that was a look of disappointment in her eyes.

"Actually, tonight this is John's room. I have to head back to London. I had an urgent call from the King of Bohemia on the way here." He stepped into the bathroom, so I leant towards Sharon.

"That's how he refers to his bookie." She smiled, then replied.

"Do you fancy company tonight?" She asked, sidling closer to me. "We can even talk about the case if you insist..." she added with a smirk.

'The little minx!' I thought. She was playing with me. I was sorely tempted to call her bluff.

However, I declined her offer and watched enviously as Holmes took the train back to London. With nothing else to do. I returned to the hotel only to discover the hotel's internet blocked the type of sites that might help in our search for the counterfeiters.

After a far more comfortable night in the single bed alone and a long, leisurely breakfast, I returned to my room, trying to think about how I could fill in the day. Taking the spare toilet roll from the bathroom, I carefully took apart and cleaned my pipe, leaving the roll on the bedside table.

By lunchtime I was bored. I read the paper cover to cover and was looking through the window. Macclesfield was closed. I noticed a bin bag had split, and as I started to re-stack the magazines. I spotted the one Sharon had mentioned contained her mother's picture.

I have to admit to being curious. Since my wife's passing, my libido has been thoroughly quashed. For some reason, pornography, and masturbation, which we both enjoyed when she was alive, had seemed to become a betrayal to her memory.

Picking up the magazine to flip through the pages. The models, mostly, were the lower end of the scale. Spots, bruises, and scars, none seem to bother the photographer as long as the girls have big tits.

I cringed at some of the reader's wives until I spotted only one that could be Sharon's mum. A few stretch marks on her stomach, but an attractive woman. Comparing the image before me to the memory of her daughter yesterday forced me to adjust my erection in my underpants.

A tap on the door startled me, and on reflex, I jumped up to answer it, desperate for some distraction.

Sharon was standing there. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to go for a walk. I could give you a tour of the town?"

I hastily turned away so she would not see the bulge. "I'll just grab my coat."

Instead of waiting in the hall, she followed me in, and we both spotted the magazine on the bed. Open at her mother's photo. Then my eyes were drawn to the toilet roll on the bedside cabinet.

'Crap!' I thought to myself.

"See!" she said with a giggle. "I told you; you'd like my mum's picture." With that, she turned towards the door but looked back. "I've been told I'm prettier than her!"

The tour was as depressing as I'd expected, and we soon found ourselves in a bar where Sharon's friends had gathered. I tried to make excuses to leave, but she was having none of it. So, I sat there with a pint of bitter and my empty pipe in front of me. Surrounded by nubile young women getting pissed on super-strength lager. I felt like the pervy uncle, and I was getting the stink eye from several young men eyeing the women covetously.

By the time it was getting dark, Sharon was very much the worse for wear. I had to grip her firmly by the arm to stop her bouncing off walls or parked cars as I walked her back to her flat. The catcalls and lewd suggestions from her friends as we walked away, quite frankly, astounded me.

Fearing she might not make it inside her flat, I guided her up the steep narrow stairs, with her fantastic bottom almost rubbing against my chest. She insisted I come in and I found a small but neat flat.

She headed off to the toilet while I sat on the small settee awaiting her return. When she did, with coffee in hand, she kicked off her shoes and flopped down next to me. Then she does the most extraordinary thing. She took my hand and placed it on her knee. I flinched and tried to take it back.

With a distressed voice, she said. "So, I was right then. You and Holmes are a couple!"

"No!" I object loudly. "We're not a couple and we're not gay. I was married for years."

She turned to face me. "So, I'm not pretty enough for you then!" She declared angrily.

"No! You are astonishingly beautiful. But you're less than half my age." Grasping at straws. "Besides, we only met yesterday." This seems to mollify the girl and calm her down.

She snuggled up against me and closed her eyes. In what seemed like seconds, she was snoring in a most unladylike manner.

I sat there watching our coffees go cold and only the demands of my bladder caused me to struggle free. Sharon seemed to awaken slightly as I left for the bathroom and when I returned, she was stretched out on the settee, head on a cushion, snoring again.

What took my breath away is while I'd been gone, she'd managed to peel off her skin-tight jeans and lay they're bottomless. Her thong left only a little hidden and made me want her even more.

Her arse was perfect in my mind. I hated a bony arse, and the press seems taken with skinny girls with angular bums. The image of peeling back that tiny piece of material, then sinking my hard dick into her, produced a shiver that ran right through me for its intensity. For an instant, I was tempted to do it, but my rational sense somehow took over. At least to some degree.

Grabbing my phone, I had it out, and I was about to take a picture, to savour it. Somehow, I stopped myself. Chiding myself that I'd be taking advantage of a young woman unable to consent. Instead, I grabbed a throw from her bed to drape over her before leaving.

I tossed and turned that night to the memories of the past two days. In the morning, a message from Holmes told me to go to the shop and let in the painters. And I should be expecting some deliveries to set up our deception. I should also move my gear into the flat.

The painters turned up late, as expected, and Sharon turned up at lunchtime with a hangover and a sheepish grin. She was wearing a long and baggy jumper dress that came part way down her thighs, skin-tight jeans and those horrible Uggs again.

"Sorry, Doc. I hope I did nothing inappropriate last night. I always get horny when I get pissed."

"No, my dear, you were fine."

"So," she dragged out the sound. "Why did I wake up to find myself wearing no trousers?"

I blushed. "Don't worry, I'm only teasing. I wasn't that pissed. I would have noticed if we got up to something. Relax; you'll convince no one you can run a sex shop without being less stuck up."

I'll admit, she had a point. "I'll take that under advisement. Anyway, changing the subject, where can I find some bedding? Holmes' instructions are to move my base of operations here."

"As I need to get something for my hangover, I'll head off and get you the basics. Got any money?"

I gave her fifty pounds and headed up to the flat. The paint fumes hung in the air, and I struggled to open all the windows to air it out. When Sharon came back, I left her to watch the painters and went to empty my hotel room. After re-bagging everything, I returned with the first load to the shop.

Only to find Sharon in the shop and the three painters standing around with no sign of any work getting done. I read the painters the riot act, saying they were paid to work, not flirt with Sharon, and they'd stay until they completed work, to my satisfaction. That earned me glares from the men, but I was in the right, and they returned to work.

Turning back to Sharon. Her cheeks are flushed. And I realise it must be a little frightening to discover I'm not the meek and mild follower of Holmes she might have assumed. But I was a former army officer and knew about discipline.

Pointing my finger at Sharon, I gestured for her to go upstairs and, as she scurried up the stairs ahead of me, I noticed something different.

"Have you been a naughty girl?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, turning at the top of the stairs.

"I'm positive you were wearing jeans when I left."

"Well, that's your fault." She replied, walking into the kitchen.

"How?" I replied and dumped the bin bags I was carrying.

"Last night..." As if that's an answer, she flicked on the kettle and turned to face me.

"You're the only guy to have ever turned me down. So, I needed some reassurance that I've not lost all my womanly charms."

After collecting more bin bags and returning to the flat, I found a lukewarm coffee waiting in the kitchen. I guzzled it greedily and walked into the lounge to find Sharon watching an ancient 'fat' TV and playing around on her phone. Glancing out of the window, I turned to see she's changed again.

"You put your jeans back on?"

"Yeah, I thought that's what you wanted. I can take them off again if you want?" She jumped up, pulled up her jumper dress, exposing her jeans, and popped the button. "Unless you want to do it yourself?"

"Behave yourself." I admonish. She really was a force of nature.

"Where would be the fun in that?" She winked at me then slowly, re-fastened her jeans and pulled the dress back into place, then sat.

"About last night. Are you sure you didn't turn me down as I'm too fat?" It's the first time she's sounded less than confident. I suppose even a sexy girl like this can feel insecure.

"As a doctor, carrying too much weight, especially as you get older, is not good for your health. However, you're far from dangerously heavy and have years before you need to worry too much."

"Thanks, I've tried dieting, but I always worry I'll lose the girls..." she grasped her breasts and waved them at me. "I'm too fond of them for that." Then she looked sly.

"How about as a non-doctor? How about as a regular guy? I struggle to accept you turned me down because of our ages. It doesn't bother me."

Ok, managing fragile egos is something I've had years of practice dealing with Holmes and his clients. Which in this case put me in an uncomfortable position.

"Sharon, I'm of a different generation and not comfortable with casual encounters. In my opinion, your body is..." what word should I use? Perfect, outstanding? I chicken out and settle on 'lovely.'

"Better than nothing, I suppose. Look, I've got to go. My sister needs me to babysit for a couple of hours. I've left you the Wi-Fi password to the Indian restaurant next door and made up your bed. I left a couple of other things as well." The way she said that was a little worrying.

"I'm out tonight with a couple of the girls you met last night. You're more than welcome to join us."

"Thank you, no. At my age, after last night, I need to recuperate."

"Why, you're not fifty for two more days."

"How would you know that?" After a fractional pause, she waved with her phone and made a martial art move.

"I have excellent google-foo." 'Cyber-stalker,' I think to myself.

"So, isn't there anything you've always wanted to do before you get old? A bucket list kind of thing?"

Top of my list at the moment would be her I thought, but I'd never admit that to her.

"There must be something? Tell you what, if you come out tonight, I'm sure I can get my two friends to 'Lezz up' for you."

"Excuse me?" I replied, startled.

"You know, kissing and rubbing up against each other to drive the boys wild." I knew that. It's just I wasn't expecting someone to offer to set up their friends for me.

"An early night would be more sensible."

"How about if I joined in?" She said with a sexy smile, and the image of Sharon with two other girls flooded my mind. Causing my blood to flood to another portion of my anatomy. I stepped up to the back of the settee to hide that.

"Tempting, but still no."

"God, you're hard work. Fine. But I'll call you later to see if you've changed your mind." She grabbed her bag and left.

After she'd gone, I checked the bedroom. The mattress was firm but serviceable. However, on the bedside table was a box of tissues and a tube of KY jelly. Laughing, I picked up the box to find a Polaroid picture underneath.

The picture was of Sharon and looked to be a couple of years old, as she was a few pounds lighter. And I could tell this as she was striking the same pose as her mother in the wank mag and wearing a tiny string bikini.

She may not be topless, but almost as good as. Mentally I adjusted the image, using the memory of her naked backside, to adjust her proportions. Then substituted her mother's nipples for the tiny bikini top. My erection was as hard as I could ever remember it. I was sorely tempted to make use of the lubricant and tissues, but my phone beeped with a message.

"Hope you enjoy my little gift. S xxx." Shaking my head and wondering how she got my number. "Saucy minx," I thought, returning to the lounge to set up my laptop.

I'm uncomfortable stealing the restaurant Wi-Fi. But mollify myself that if I were interested in a takeaway from there this evening, I would be a legitimate customer and entitled to use it. The rest of the afternoon was spent researching manufacturers, suppliers and all the details of the sex toy trade I can manage. Rather eye-opening and kept me semi-hard until the painters called up that they were done.

Slipping on my coat to hide the residual tenting of my trousers, I headed down to inspect their work. If it were my actual shop, I would have insisted on more, but I just wanted them gone without noticing my embarrassment.

It was approaching 7 pm, so once the painters left, I grabbed an Indian takeaway and returned to the flat. Around 8 pm, I got an email from Sharon.

"Sure, I cannot tempt you?" Was the title. Attached was a photo of her and her friends pouting at the camera.

I replied. "No, but thanks for the offer."

In moments, a response. "Go on. I'll make it worth your while!"

My response was still no, and I was cleaning my teeth a couple of minutes later, when another message arrived. I opened my phone to read it but was astounded to see a photograph instead. It was Sharon, taken in the mirror of the ladies' room with her blouse unbuttoned and her skimpy black bra on display.

"Jesus! This girl never gives up." I muttered aloud. "Minx! I'm going to bed," was all I text back.

"Lol, can I come?" was the reply, to which I didn't respond.

I turned off my phone and headed to bed.

An insistent doorbell ringing woke me. I reached out and groggily bash my knuckles on the bedside table. The pain focused my mind on where I was. To distract myself from Sharon and her teasing, I'd walk to a corner off-licence and purchase a half bottle of whisky. I'd drunk too much of it and my alcohol fuelled dreams were blurry in my memory. I knew Sharon played a major part. Although not her clothing.

My phone started ringing, and I snatched it up.

"Come on sleepyhead..." Sharon said brightly. "We're freezing out here. Let go of your dick and let us in."

"Us?" I asked, slipping from the bed.

"We have a van load of stock."

"Ok, give me two minutes."

Stepping into the bathroom to relieve myself, then pulling my clothes on, I headed down and opened the door. Sharon rushed in first, wrapped in her heavy coat. Behind her were two delivery men with boxes in their hands.

"Where do you want this guv?" One asked, and I pointed to the back showroom. As they passed, I noticed a third man unloading a van.

Automatically, I stepped outside and picked up a box, followed the others. As I stepped through the door, the other men returned just as Sharon slipped off her coat. All three of us stopped to stare.

Gone are the horrible Uggs, replaced by plain white trainers. Her skin-tight jeans have returned, but it is the shirt that has our attention. A figure-hugging white t-shirt, exposing an inch or two of the belly and scoop neckline showing the upper slopes of her breasts. It's the obviously unfettered breasts acting as a lodestone for all our male eyes. Areolas and nipples were plainly visible.

Sharon cleared her throat obviously and set her hands on her hips as if in irritation. Which broke the spell, and the delivery men scurry off chagrined. As they went, her stern expression broke into a grin at me.

"Morning Doc." She stepped over, and standing on tiptoes, kissed my cheek. "Oh, someone's not shaved this morning. Nor brushed your teeth."

"Sorry, I'll do it later."

"Well don't forget. You never know when you have to be 'smooch' ready." She took the box from me and left me to wonder if she ever stopped teasing.

The third delivery man stopped in surprise upon seeing Sharon and his colleagues bump into his back, trying to hide their grins.

Half an hour later, the men reluctantly left, and I locked the door behind them.

"How about I make a coffee while you shower and shave?" She asked but did not wait for a reply.

A few minutes later, I heard a tap on the bathroom door.

"Coffee. Want me to bring it in?" Sharon called through the door.

"Leave it in the kitchen." I replied.

"Want someone to scrub your back?"

"Don't you ever give up?"

"Never!" she replied with a laugh.

After my shower, wrapped in a towel, I cautiously poke my head around the door. Then I caught myself. I'm a trained soldier. I killed more than one man, and I'm acting scared of this young girl. Ridiculous, however, I stepped hesitantly into the bedroom and checked if she's hiding in the wardrobe.

The radio coming on in the shop downstairs, confirmed she was not under the bed.

Several minutes later, coffee in hand, I walked into the shop's backroom. Sharon has been opening the boxes to discover their contents. In the middle of the floor are discarded packing beads and strips of bubble wrap.

"What do you think?" she said, brandishing what looks like a riding crop.

"I'd not realised we had branched out into equestrian supplies?" I asked, feigning innocence. She grinned and swished the crop through the air.

Trying to ignore the images of her in Jodhpur or black rubber Basque, I stepped closer and looked into the nearest open box. A handle that reminded me of a cricket bat but pulling it out reveals not the expected willow bat, but a stiff leather strop. Several inches wide, the two pieces of leather tightly stitched to form a slightly flexible flogger.

Lifting it to examine it closely, the workmanship is impressive. However, dozens of holes are punched through the blade.

"What are holes for?" I pondered aloud.

"They reduce wind resistance." Sharon replied and l looked over to see a slight flush on her cheeks and strikingly hard nipples. "It lets you hit harder." Without thought, I swing it through the air. The whooshing sound brought me back to my senses.

"Sorry." I muttered, thrusting it back into the box.

"No need to apologise. I doubt if there is anything in these boxes that I've not used." Taking a pull of my coffee to cover my surprise, I found that rather remarkable. There must be eighteen boxes containing, I know not what, types of deviant devices here.

"Tell you what, you empty the boxes, and I'll put them on display. Just remember, you're supposed to know all about this in your cover identity. We're both grown-ups, we know what this stuff is, so just relax and call it by its proper name."

She had a point; I'd hate to disappoint Holmes or our client for my misplaced old-fashioned prudishness. After I finished most of my coffee, I opened my first box.

"Blow up ladies." I say, but Sharon cuts me off with a belly laugh.

"Hardly ladies! Not given what the perverts who use them do. Harlots or hookers would be a better term. Trying to ignore the pleasant jiggling of her belly and breasts, I joined in her laughter. Then added.

"I suppose masturbatory aid is hardly any better?" She laughed harder. "Hardly, at least three-quarters of what we have here, are those."

Eventually, she wiped a tear from her eyes.

"See, you can be funny when you take that stick out from up your bottom."

Adopting an alarmed look and glancing surreptitiously around whilst holding up a finger over my lips for silence.

"Don't say that around here. Someone might try it." Sharon collapsed onto the ground breathless with laughter.

"Enough! Please." She wheezed. "I'm going to clean up." She rolled onto her hands and knees, giving me the opportunity to appreciate the wonderful curve of her backside. She headed upstairs.

Returning to my task, I discover dildos, vibrators, artificial vaginas and so on. Floggers, whips, and handcuffs. Old-fashioned wooden canes like those used in old movies by headmasters in gowns. Then in another box, the gowns and mortarboard cap to match.

Eventually, Sharon returned with a bacon sandwich.

"Lovely!" I exclaim.

"I put tomato sauce on it. Is that ok? Well tough if it isn't, you have nothing else." The giant mouthful I tear off confirms my acceptance.

"How do you want to display the vibrators? By size, colour, cost or by 'special features'." She air quoted the last, and I spluttered and choked. Sharon started slapping my back hard, and I snatched up the dregs of my cold coffee to clear my throat.

"I don't think I've ever considered being involved in a conversation like this. It's bizarre."

"That's true but look at it this way. Everything we sell here is to give nothing but pleasure."

Sharon moved around efficiently stocking the displays as I ate the sandwich with careful smaller bites. As I finish, I'm reluctant to return to work as I was enjoying watching Sharon move around. She knew I'm watching and made a little show of bending, pushing her large backside or bust at me. Moving into the front of the shop to put the empty plate on the counter, I returned, wiping my fingertips on my handkerchief.

"Wow, look at this." Sharon calls and I look over to see her holding a plain brown cardboard box. Inside are a bundle of leather straps about three-quarters of an inch wide. There are also buckles and several large metal rings.

"It looks like a horse's bridle. Are we back to the horsey theme?"

"You silly! Look."

She pulled the contents out and tossed the box aside. Now I could see two long leather loops attached by several smaller ones. Sharon twisted it around and held it up and I realised what it was. The metal rings would go over the breasts, although in Sharon's case I suspect only a portion of her breasts would fit. It would leave her nipples free to play with. Each strap would go over a shoulder and between her legs. Leaving the best parts exposed. The other straps would be at the hip, waist and one above and below her breasts.

"What do you think?" Looking up, trying to quash the mental image of Sharon wearing it. She was grinning.

"You don't have to answer, your reaction is all I need." She nodded down at my crotch, and I know it's pointless to hide the tented bulge in my trousers.

"Sorry..." I muttered.

"Why? It's what all this stuff is for. I want to try it on."

"Seriously? Shouldn't we be working, not playing with the stock?"

"It is work. If someone asks about it, we should know what we're doing. Although, I will need your help. I've only had one experience with a donkey..." Without meaning to, I chuckle.

"OK, that came out wrong. I meant as a girl on a donkey ride on Blackpool beach."

"Fine, I know my way around horses, so this shouldn't be too difficult." Trying to set aside the sexual element, I think of the logistics of how to apply this item. It couldn't be considered clothing in my mind.

"I think the rings over your breasts are the key. Step into the loops and hold them in place."

Turning her back she steps into the loops, but it's obvious one of the loops is too short to go over her shoulder.

"Wait a second, step out of it and I'll adjust the strap."

"It's OK, you can do it while I'm wearing it." She twisted to look at me. "I know that will mean you have to touch me. It's OK, in fact, I think it's compulsory. We're both grown-ups here."

Kneeling behind her I unfastened a buckle and adjusted its length. I fastened the buckle.

"Wait, a second I think it's twisted." She leans forward, pulling the strap from my hands and they fall apart.

"How do you expect me to do this with you fidgeting around? Stand still." I ordered.

"OK, mister bossy. Or should that be 'headmaster?'"

"Don't give me any ideas. There are more than enough ways to punish you here."

"OK, I'll be good. Although with a bum as big as mine, it attracts a lot of attention of that sort. And I do kinda like it." She wiggled her bum a little in my face and without thinking I slapped it.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, and I snatched my hand back as if it's burnt.

"Do it again."

"Sharon, please! It's hard enough as it is."

"I noticed." She replied giggling.

"OK, I deserve that. But I'm not made of stone." She let that one go.

"OK, let's get back to business. How about this..."

She moved to stand with one foot on a box. I can see the other end of the hanging strap through her legs. As I shuffle forward and reach through her thighs, I note no signs of panty lines. Trying to set that thought aside I grabbed the strap and drew it through her leg and held it in place. Assuming, the straps were to sit either side of her vagina.

"It's twisted." She comments.

Leaning forward, until my nose is inches from her backside. Reaching through her legs and reaching up. My fingers find the strap above her waist.

"Where is it twisted?" I ask.

"A little lower."

Gripping the leather lightly between finger and thumb, drawing them down and back through her legs. My fingertips passed millimetres from her pussy, and I swear I can feel the extra heat there. Setting the strap up tight at the junction of thigh and crotch, I do up the buckle and repeat it with the other strap.

"Is that ok?" I ask, sitting back.

"I think it should be a little tighter. Although, it kinda feels like I'm getting a wedgie." Adjusting the buckles, a little tighter.

"If we were doing this for real, I think the straps would be between your buttocks. Possibly holding them open a little." I reply, pondering if her anus would be visible.

"I can take the jeans off if you want?"

"Behave!"

"Where's the fun in that?" She turned and held out the lowest straps for me to fasten.

It seems I have to finish what I started. With the lowest strap across her hips, the triangle created between the two vertical straps and the horizontal just seems to emphasise her pussy, barely hidden by her jeans.

As I do the strap at her waist, I let my eyes drift up to her breasts. As suspected, only a portion of her breasts bulge enticingly through the metal rings.

"There's no polite way to ask, but are your nipples pierced?"

"Yeah, do you like it?" She leans forward a little, and it seems like the straps over her shoulders lift her breasts as she moves. "Oh!" She exclaimed.

"You, ok?"

"More than ok. Chop chop." She finished quickly, her cheeks a little flushed.

The straps above and below her breasts, causing them to strain almost obscenely against the metal rings. Stepping behind her to admire my handy work.

"I think that's it. What are these for?" I ask giving the leather loops in the small of her back a tug.

Sharon showed me by pushing her wrists through them.

"There's a box in the corner, over there..." she nodded her head in the direction, and I stepped over to investigate. Inside are lengths of rope in plastic bags. Taking one, I tear it open. The rope is thick and amazingly soft and smooth.

I did some sailing as a youth, and as I set four loops around each wrist. I wonder what my old sailing instructor would say using those skills in this way. With her wrists securely bound, I sit back on my heels.

"That feels great. Is there much rope left?"

"Some, why?"

"Do my elbows."

Using the tail end of the ropes I pull her elbows a little closer.

"That's as tight as I'm prepared to go." I told Sharon, not wanting to cause genuine discomfort.

"You do not know how good this feels..." She's right, and I've no desire to try it myself. "Being so vulnerable, you could do anything you wanted to me now." It sounds almost like a request instead of a simple observation.

"True, and as tempting as you are, I think we should get back to work."

"In a minute, have you got your phone?"

"It's upstairs, why?"

"I want you to take some pictures. I want to see how you did the rope, and I can't exactly see it myself."

Pausing at the top of the stairs to rearrange my erection in my trousers, what am I doing? Lusting after a girl less than half my age. I don't know what scares me more, that if I gave in and touched her and she objected or if I did and she didn't. At the moment I am not sure if I started, I could stop.

Returning with the camera to find Sharon pressing her face against the door came to the back room.

"Got an inch you cannot scratch?" I was amused.

"You have no idea! However, the big one you don't seem inclined to scratch it." Looking down I notice she's rubbing on her nipples against the corner of the door jamb. As well as scratching her nose.

Stepping past, I take pictures of the rope and the knots. She insisted on many more of her entire get up. Including where I'm lying on the floor and she's standing over me. It's an odd combination of dominance and submission. She's the one who is bound, but she seems in control.

"I've some thigh-high black leather boots that would go perfect with this outfit. Platform soles and spiked stiletto heels." She lets out a puff of air.

"I'm so fucking horny right now. If I don't cum in the next five minutes, I'll lose my mind."

I want to grab the thin cloth of her t-shirt, tear it to expose the nipples that have been tormenting me. Force my hand down her jeans and finger her hot pussy until she begs me to stop. However, decades of denial and discipline kick in, and I untie her.

She quickly unbuckled the straps and dropped them to the floor, then grasped and rubbed her breasts.

"That's weird. I've never had pins and needles in my breasts before."

She looks at me seriously.

"I'm going upstairs now and I'm going to strip off and play with myself on your bed. Until I cum several times. You're more than welcome to watch or join in. I know you must be turned on by this." Her hand brushes the bulge in my trousers and on reflex I step away.

"Ok, it's your loss." She rushed upstairs, and I stood immobile, kicking myself that I'm too rigid in my upbringing. Speaking of rigid, I grasped my dick, and I cannot remember the last time I was this hard for this long.

A vibration from my pocket startled me and I pulled out my phone to see Holmes was calling.

"John, how are things going?"

"Fine, Sharon and I are unpacking and stocking the shelves."

"So, you two are hitting off?"

"She's certainly a handful..."

"Be realistic John, her tits alone are more than a handful." I'm rather surprised by that, he hardly ever appears to notice such things.

"I meant she's a force to be reckoned with. Hardly stopped teasing me the whole time."

"Well, I figured we'd need a strong-willed woman to pull this off. The deception of being shopkeepers that is."

We talked for several minutes about various things until he ended with an ominous warning. A few months previously we'd been involved in a case that locked up a large, but fairly minor drug gang. I'd done all the work, but he claimed the credit. Which in this case seemed to have paid off, as according to Lestrade the gang had put a contract out for Holmes. Not to kill him, but a professional beating and Holmes had let slip in a blog we were in Macclesfield. So, I was to lie low and keep sharp.

When Sharon returned, she looked so much more relaxed.

"Better?" I asked.

"Much. Oh, but you might want to wipe down your pipe." She walked past me.

"You..." I stuttered.

"Kidding." She laughed, then added. "Or am I?"

I wonder if I should pass on the warning to Sharon but figure it might scare the girl unnecessarily. Sharon stocks the shelves again and I open one of the largest boxes to be flummoxed by the contents. The box is about two-foot square and a little over three tall, but the content appeared to be one red PVC block filling the box. Tipping it over it slowly slides from the box to reveal it's actually two wedges of some dense foam covered in PVC.

"That looks like something orthopaedic to help people sit up in bed."

"You could use it like that, but more often it's like this." She took one of the wedges, putting the longest side on the floor. Then knelt next to the shortest side and leaned over until she's lying over the other side.

"See?" She says looking over her shoulder at me. "I've always wanted one of these, but they'd take up too much space in my flat. She wiggled her bum at me and slid her knees further apart exposing her crotch with a slightly darker patch from her earlier excitement. My mouth went dry and after a few moments clambered back to her feet.

"Actually, there is one thing here I'd love to have. Apart from you, Dr W. It's this."

It's another unlabelled box, and she pulls out yet more leather straps. This time there are yards and yards of them.

"What is it? A two-person version of what you were wearing earlier?"

"No silly, it's a sex swing. But you need something solid to hang it from. Like that." She nods at the ceiling. A large solid looking ring bolt protruded, and I could kick myself. I'd not noticed it earlier.

Sharon grabbed a chair and put it under the bolt, but when she stood on the chair, she was still too short.

"Damn! Do you think there's a ladder anywhere?"

"Here let me try." We switched places and I can just reach it and attach the straps.

There are four long loops that hang almost to the floor and once I get down and move the chair away, Sharon steps up and starts adjusting them. From the speed and skill, it's obvious she didn't really need my help with the last straps and buckles.

In no time, she turned to face me and hopped up on to one of the straps like it's a regular swing. She leant back and another short strap supported her torso with the strap under her arms. She lifted her legs up towards me and I got the message. Hooking her ankles into the remaining straps.

Taking me by surprise she hooked her ankles around my waist and pulled me into her crotch.

"What do you think?"

"It's erm..." I stammered, feeling my erection stirring again.

However, her phone started ringing, and I realised I'd been saved by the bell as she let me go. She jumped down and picked up her phone.

"Damn it! It's my sister, she needs me to babysit tonight. Shit! I'd better go."

"It's OK, I'll finish up here."

After she went, I unhook the swing and set it aside. Holmes told me he would return tomorrow or the day after, so there was no great rush to get the rest of the shop set up. So, I headed upstairs, the bedroom door was open, and my pipe was sitting in the middle of the bed. Had she? Picking it up I sniff it. She had the little harlot. She'd rubbed her pussy juice all over the stem.

After a moment's hesitation, I put it in my mouth. I may never get the chance to sample her first hand, so this is second best I suppose. Then I reached for my pipe cleaners. I doubt if it tastes the same with a pipe lit.

Taking Holmes' warning to heart I ordered a takeaway from the Indian next door that night and ate it whilst watching the TV. For some reason I'm a little jumpy, sounds from the street give rise to images of pick-handle wielding thugs outside.

I fell asleep in front of the TV but woke up as my phone vibrated across the coffee table. As I picked it up, I noticed blearily it's a little after midnight.

"Hello."

"John, I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Well, it is past midnight. Most normal people are asleep then."

"True, however when my mind is burning bright, I prefer to set such mundane things like bedtimes aside..."

"Have you got a point?" I asked, knowing he could ramble on.

"Yes, I just wanted to check if you were OK. Oh, and happy birthday John." He rang off before I could ask why. Even with my wife I kept my birthday low key. He was blind to most things like birthdays.

Turning off the TV I heard a sound from downstairs.

Had I not locked the shop up properly? Was it a simple burglar or a gang looking to bash Holmes skull in? If so, they'd regret tangling with me. Stepping silently into the bedroom I took my father's old service revolver from on top of the wardrobe and crept downstairs.

There was definitely a sound of movement in the back room. At the bottom of the stairs, I wonder if I should dive in wielding my gun or take a glance to see what I'm up against. I decided on the latter and what I saw was not what I was expecting.

It's Sharon, and I could see rather a lot of her. She was standing on a box on top of the chair with her back to me. She's wearing the thigh-high black leather boots she'd suggested earlier and the leather strappy thing, and that's it.

Carefully I place my gun on the stairs and step into the room as she hooks the last strap on the swing into place. As she does, she loses her balance and twists and falls toward me. I leap to catch her, and I caught her in my arms with my hands grasping her naked buttocks.

"Oops, not very ladylike." She muttered.

"What are you doing here?" I was torn between arousal and annoyance.

"I'm your birthday present." She replied, as if that was an answer.

"Excuse me?" I replied, stepping back and taking in the view.

A thin chain is stretched between the studs through her nipples. Her breasts strained against the metal rings, her rounded stomach leading to a completely nude pussy.

"I know you like what you see, so don't pretend." My phone buzzed and automatically I knew it would be Holmes.

"Is this you're doing?" I ask.

"Of course. Have you unwrapped your present yet?" he asked mischievously.

"There's not a lot of wrapping." I replied and Sharon grinned and struck a glamour pose.

"John, in all seriousness here. Before Mary passed away, she instructed me to look out for you. She knew you'd take it hard, and she wanted you to be happy and move on. I've waited patiently for you to do that, but instead, you've dug yourself deeper and deeper into repressing your needs. So, I pulled in a few favours and found a willing girl who meets your particular tastes..."

"How do you know what my tastes are?"

"John, I am a detective, and your password for your laptop isn't hard to guess. Now I've set you up in a sex shop with a nymphomaniac who'll do anything you desire. I think the rest is up to you, don't you? Enjoy." He hung up before I could say anything else.

"So..." I said struggling for words.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, to pretty much anything you fancy. Anything short of drawing blood that is."

"Really?" She nodded excitedly.

"I wasn't lying about having used all this stuff. So, if you want to fuck my face or my tight little pussy. Force your big dick up my bum, I'm game. I love it and I love an older gentleman who can take charge. When you took charge with the painters like that the other day, I nearly creamed myself."

There is self-control and there is stupidity. And for once I knew what I wanted.

Hooking a finger under the chain, I draw her closer, tugging on her distended nipples. She smiled genuinely now she knew I was committed. I know this was a transaction for her, but that doesn't seem important right now.

I leant in and kissed her, and our tongues fought each other for dominance. Gripping her hair, I pull her head back a little.

"You know you're going to pay for all that teasing you've put me through?" She nodded, excitement mingling with uncertainty in her eyes.

"Get on that damn swing!" In seconds, my clothes hit the floor, and I was pleased to see her look on with approval. I don't think I've ever been this hard.

I pulled the chair aside after she climbed on, and I'm between her thighs before she could put her feet up. I don't care. Reaching under her legs, I gripped the straps and nudged my dick at her crotch. She reached down to guide me, and I felt the tip slip into her molten core.

She moved a little in the swing and suddenly the angle was perfect to slide all the way home. I'm not the largest man out there, but every woman I've bedded has come away satisfied. Or perhaps that should be 'cum away.' From the expression on Sharon's face as my crotch mashed against hers, it looked like she was enjoying this as much as me.

In the same way, the harmonics of a bed's mattress restricted the speed of fucking, the swing turned out to be the same. Long slow deep strokes seemed to work best, and I was rather pleased with myself. After a fairly brief time Sharon's eyes almost rolled up in her head and she climaxed hard on my cock.

I'm not stopping and after a minute she recovered enough to wrap her leg around me, using her heels against my arse as a jockey might on his steed.

"Fuck me!" She panted, her face flushed all the way down to the pale flesh of her breasts, which bounced with each impact of our bodies. "Fuck me harder!"

Whatever the lady wanted I thought and pushed into overdrive.

Sometimes you wish for things. Things like being young again. At this moment, the only thing I could think of was to wish I'd spent longer at the gym.

The slapping of our sweaty flesh together and the occasional grunt filled the room. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes, but I'd not stop.

Then I feel it, the tell-tale tingle in the balls. My rhythm changed and I could tell Sharon noticed.

"That's it, cum for me. Cum in my tiny pussy."

And that's all it took. After so long going without, it almost seemed like I couldn't stop cumming. At least five squirts fire from my gun and Sharon shuddered with each ejaculation.

Panting, I wiped the sweat from my eyes and looked down to see the awe on the girl's face.

"Jesus, do you always cum like that?"

"It has been a while, so there was a little more than usual."

"It's not that, it's the pressure. Do you realise I climaxed each time you squirted inside me? All I can say is wow, and when can we do it again?"

"Sorry, but it takes a while to recuperate."

"That's OK, we have all the time in the world and many things to play with in the meantime."

While I might have enjoyed a sit-down and a rest, I felt invigorated and more alive than I had felt in years. It felt a little like Christmas for a small child, opening many boxes and then wondering where the batteries were. The difference here is the pleasure was being given to another.

Sharon lay back as I used all of a half dozen vibrators of varying sorts on her. The one she seemed to like the most was egg-shaped and slipped inside her pussy.

I was running out of ideas, so stopped to ask if she had any preferences.

"Oh yes!" She replied doing the Churchill insurance dog impression.

She climbed from the swing and grabbed a handful of floggers from the wall.

"Really?" I asked, and she nodded. "How about we start with just my hand?" She nodded again and adjusted the swing so she could stand and lean on to it.

She's right about her large round backside just begging to be spanked. My first blows are rather tentative, but she insisted I do it harder.

Varying the position, alternating between cheeks with each blow, or hitting the same cheek twice in rapid succession. After perhaps two dozen slaps, her backside is almost glowing red and amazingly warm. My hand was tiring, so I caressed her flesh and my medical training clicks in. Ideally, I should apply arnica or something to reduce any chance of bruising or discomfort. I had to settle for some water-based lube, and she squealed as the cold gel squirted onto her bum.

Her backside is big and wobbles and feels just wonderful as my slicked-up hands slide easily over her flesh. As it's a large surface area, I keep applying more and more lube. Until a large dollop oozes slowly between her buttocks and on reflex, I slip my fingers there to stop it falling on the floor.

It seems Sharon thinks I've done it for another reason, as she pushed back harder.

"That's it, put your fingers up my arse." Again, if it's what the lady wanted.

Kneeling I pull a cheek aside and see my target. Coating a finger in gel, I pressed at the entrance usually only used as an exit. It slipped inside easily and if anything is hotter than the outside of the recently spanked bottom. One finger became two and Sharon shuddered in orgasm.

It felt good on my fingers, then I suddenly realise not only am I hard again, but she's also already offered to let me fuck her there.

Sharon moaned in complaint as I pulled my fingers out, but as she realised what I'm about to replace them with she just asked me to hurry.

Lubed up I pressed at her chocolate starfish and gradually it expanded to let me in. My dick was certainly larger than a pair of fingers and it's slow going. It took a lot of self-control not to just fuck her and ignore her needs.

With my pubes nestled up against her soft smooth buttocks we fuck, but this time the swing seems to get in the way. We don't seem to be able to get the rhythm right.

"Hang on a second lover boy." She called, and I dismounted. She lifted herself out of the swing and went over to the discarded PVC wedge.

"How about this?" This time when she lay down, she reached back and pulled her bum cheeks apart and exposed my target. Still gaping open a little.

In a second, I'm down behind her and feeding my dick into her hungry hole.

Now in this position with solid leverage we're fucking furiously, and I know I won't be long to cum again. But Sharon stopped me.

"Just a second." She called out, and I felt something touch my balls, then something pressed against my dick inside her. A moment later the tell-tale buzzing fills the air and the vibration from the egg goes right to the nerve ending on my dick. Now neither of us will last long and it's a race to see which one of us cums first.

It's definitely Sharon, but I'm not too far behind.

"Bravo Watson." Holmes's voice sounded from the other part of the shop. I look around to see him sitting with a clear view of what we've been up to. "I have to admire your stamina for a man your age."

"Hey, Sherlock!" Sharon called out a little breathlessly, but seemingly unconcerned at our audience.

"And bravo to you, Sharon. Such dedication to your work."

"It helps if you love what you do." She squeezed my dick with her muscles.

"How long have you been there?" I asked and realised it's pointless to cover up now. Pulling out of Sharon's arse, she shuddered a little and some of my cum trickled out.

"Just long enough for the finale. I had no intention of interrupting, but it is a chilly night, and I honestly thought you'd be finished long before now."

Sharon stood and bent down to kiss me.

"I just need the loo." And with that, she walked effectively naked from the room passing Holmes and heading upstairs.

Grabbing my trousers, I turned my back to Holmes to put them on and put my softening dick carefully away.

"So, this was all a setup? There was no case, and you drag me all the way to Macclesfield and hire me a prostitute?"

"Hardly, Sharon is merely a gifted amateur. I think she's retraining as a sexologist or is it a sex therapist. And there was a case, but I figured that out months ago in Baker Street."

Sharon reappeared, this time wearing one of my shirts, and it looked far better on her than me. A single button held it closed at her waist.

"So, what about that first night in the hotel, where we had to share a bed?"

"Well, this setup wasn't exactly free."

"So, I've paid for this 'gift'? Keys." Holmes looked confused, then handed over the shop keys.

Taking him by the arm I walked him to the door and pushed him outside.

"John, what are you doing?" He asked, confused.

"I'm not done for tonight. You find a hotel or simply walk the street." I closed and locked the door, then turned to Sharon.

"Now, I'm going to take a quick shower and then I'm dragging you to bed. It may take a while, but after a quick nap, I will take you at least once more."

"I can wait for that cock."

Chasing her upstairs, her naked backside visible beneath the shirt. She giggled as I dragged her into the shower with me.

"You'll get your shirt wet."

"I don't care."

Despite the tiny space, the combination of her soapy breasts pressed against my chest. The quick blowjob to check she'd got all the soap off my dick; I was ready for action far quicker than expected.

This time I crawled between her legs on the bed, and we made love, not just fucking. Afterwards, we lay side by side staring at the moonlit ceiling. Suddenly she rolled onto her side to face me.

"You know I get down to London every couple of months. I could pay a visit?"

"That would be nice." Then I smiled.

"What?"

"I was just thinking if Mrs Hudson would allow me to fit an eye bolt to my ceiling."

The End

[As always, I politely request my readers to spend a moment to comment and vote. It only seems a minor thing on your part, for the hours I spend writing just for you.]