We did indeed carry on. Lady M-had in any case clearly not heard his half-swallowed remarks. She was absolutely absorbed in our joint venture. Throughout our whole fuck she concentrated entirely on her pleasure and mine. Without any sense of artifice or unnatural effort, she both responded to my needs and attended to her own. She was of that admirable school of thought that holds that fucking is an activity for two. There was no mindless surrender to her own desires at the expense of my own. Nor was there any watchful deference to my will or possible demands such as is found in some of the more professional ladies that I have encountered.
So we fucked for a considerable time, locked together as one. Yet gradually the intensity of our activities increased. Each renewed level in tempo took us one step towards the final climax. From an easy canter, the pace was raised to a full yet sustainable gallop. I wondered at my own stamina. I was dimly aware that outside dusk must be falling as Holmes, with the thoughtful man's true patience, continued with his own intellectual efforts but allowed Mrs. Sayers into the room to move softly about, lighting the gas and attending to the fire.
Then the rate of our striking increased still further as I drove in and out of my ever-responsive companion. Somewhere in the hallway I was aware of a clock chiming. At that moment I felt the first pulsation as my balls began to release what was to prove a veritable tidal wave of cum. As it began to flood unstoppably down my cock, I sensed that she also had reached that same point of abandonment to our bodily demands. It was as though she widened, opening out to receive my libations as they jetted time and time again into her. She did not cry out but moaned softly, then suddenly caught her breath. She matched my every surge as though she also was discharging her cum into me. But still there was no sense of desperation but rather a feeling of inevitability as tide met tide and mingled in one rush and whirlpool of coming. So completely taken up was I by our climax that I swear the house could have burnt down without my noticing. Each jet felt now as though it must surely be the last, yet time and time again I felt one further eruption churning inside me. I was panting and shuddering as though I was emptying my entire being into her.
Then, imperceptibly, the pace began to slacken. Amazingly, we did not stop. There was no final exhausted thrust. No sudden collapse. Smoothly but inevitably we slowed, both breathing deeply, relaxing gently, still responding each to the other. Both of us began to be more aware of our surroundings. She turned her head to one side, a look of complete satisfaction and fulfilment spreading over her face.
'Stay inside me,' she said quietly, 'I can still feel you.' Then she hugged me to her, tucking her head into my shoulder. A last quiver of mixed emotion and cum flowed from me and we held each other silently.
'Forty-seven minutes,' said Holmes, fishing out a half hunter from his waistcoat pocket. 'A remarkable performance. I suggest a brandy, when you have disentangled yourselves.'
'I did not realise that we were being timed,' I said, a little put out by his attentions.
'Purely in the interests of Science,' said Holmes. 'The scientific measurement of all manifestations of human activity is one of my particular areas of intellectual endeavour. Alas, there has been as yet little published statistical evidence of the duration range of human sexual congress. A lack that I hope to remedy in a paper that I am preparing for private circulation within the next eighteen months. The evidence that I have collected so far is most interesting. One minute is the shortest time I have recorded. Yours was one of the more prolonged encounters I have been able to witness. However explorers in the East claim that four hours or more of coitus uninterruptus is regularly achieved among the adepts of some of the mystic sects of Tibet.'
'An indoor record, I imagine,' I said.
'A record but not necessarily indoors,' he replied. 'Well over two hours in a snow drift in the foothills of the Himalayas has been observed.'
'Both parties being well wrapped up?' said Lady M-, beginning to take an interest in the conversation.
'Stark naked, in fact,' said Holmes. 'Both of them.'
'Who was on top?' asked Lady M-.
'They changed positions several times,' said Holmes. 'The most fascinating fact is that none of the snow melted. It seems that through long training, they were able to retain all their body heat and concentrate exclusively on their exertions.'
'Amazing!' I said.
'On the contrary,' said Holmes. 'Through life-long spiritual immersion in the arts of Yoga, the swamis, as they are called, can attain complete control of all their bodily functions.'
'Like those pictures of old men with long beards, sitting on beds of nails and feeling no pain,' I said.
'But do they ever fuck on beds of nails?' asked Lady M-.
'Only the most advanced initiates,' said Holmes. 'There are dangers of course.'
'I shall stick to beds and sofas and carpets,' said Lady M-.
'And carriages,' I added, remembering the long session that Holmes at least had viewed from the window.
'I have tried it on a croquet lawn,' she went on. 'But we bent two of the hoops in our efforts.'
'But the hoops at croquet are set some considerable distance apart,' said Holmes thoughtfully, 'I must consult the rules for the correct spacing.'
'It was a rolling fuck,' said Lady M-. 'We did do some damage to the turf as I recall.'
'There was not a game actually in progress at the time, I assume?' I said.
'At the beginning,' said Lady M-. 'I have a distinct recollection of being struck by a croquet ball quite early on in our encounter, but then the other parties fell to fucking as well, except for the bishop.'
'A bishop!' I exclaimed.
'I remember looking up and seeing a pair of clerical gaiters at my head, and above them a large pectoral cross dangling over a purple-clad paunch.'
'And was nothing said?' I asked.
'Nothing at the time,' she said. 'Although I recall afterwards that there was something of an atmosphere over tea. Meaningful looks exchanged over the scones. That sort of thing. Of course the silly man should have joined in instead of trying to play on and ending up losing his balls in the shrubbery.'
'What!' I said.
'Well, nearly,' said Lady M r-. 'He became entangled in a snare that had been set by one of the keepers.'
'Shooting and sex,' said Holmes. 'The preoccupations of the Landed Gentry through the ages. However, we must return to the subject of your visit, Lady M-. A plan is beginning to form in my mind.'
I should at this point explain the rather unusual circumstances that had led to my acting as the temporary assistant to Mr. Porlock Holmes who readers will recognise as being the greatest amateur detective of our age.
Mrs. P-, the widow in whose house I lodged in Bayswater, had as I have previously mentioned in my memoirs, a considerable interest in certain aspects of the Classical and Oriental Arts. She was, for instance, one of a small group of cognoscenti who had long been urging Mr. Richard Burton, the noted explorer, to translate into English such eastern texts as the Perfumed Garden and the Karma Sutra. She engaged in frequent and detailed correspondence with a learned circle of scholars of the erotic. In addition one of her daughters, Hannah, was an artist and potter of growing repute as well as being, along with her sister, a frequent partner of mine in the amatory arts. She was particularly interested in recreating the styles and techniques of some of the more unrestrained early Greek ceramic artists.
It happened one evening, just as I was looking forward to one of our regular postprandial entertainments of a sexual nature, involving Hannah, her sister Becky and in all probability several of their friends, that Mrs. P- announced towards the end of dinner that her friend Mr. Porlock Holmes was interested in commissioning from Hannah a substantial vase, to be decorated with some scene from Greek mythology.
'What subject does he have in mind?' asked Hannah.
'He is as yet undecided,' her mother answered, indeed he is prepared to be guided by you in the matter. He did though mention various subjects including Europa and the Bull and Prometheus Condemned to Eternal Punishment.'
'What about Leda and the Swan?' suggested Hannah.
'My grounding in the Greek myths is, I regret, uncertain,' I said.
'A constant theme,' said Mrs. P — , 'is that of one of the Gods, in most cases Zeus, descending in various guises and surprising some hapless nymph or sprite and then leaping on her with great gusto. The unfortunate Leda was one such unwilling object of his attentions.'
