The rooms were flooded with dim red light, casting an alien glow over the partygoers who wandered through the luxurious house. Generic club music pulsed, the slow heavy beat a soundtrack for the couples grinding against each other on sofas and against walls.
Molly Hooper felt as though she’d stepped into another world as Sherlock steered her through the front door, with John Watson trailing just behind. The swinger party required at least one female in every group in order to keep the gender ratios balanced. Couples and threesomes were draped over each other on every available surface, since it was past one a.m already. Sherlock scanned the area, and led them toward an open room at the back of the house.
Molly agreed to attend the party while she was at work in the morgue, after Sherlock informed her he needed assistance with some undercover work.
“I need a woman,” the consulting detective announced as he strode into the cold morgue, causing her to drop a tray of sterilized instruments to the floor. John smothered a laugh, his warm blue eyes crinkling around the corners.
Sherlock stared blandly as her mouth gaped. “Specifically, we need a reasonably attractive young woman who is willing to dress the part and pretend to be my wife.”
“You,” he added as an afterthought, proceeding to explain the plan to infiltrate a swinger play party hosted by a couple believed to the financial backers of an intricate shark finning operation. The American couple had fled suspicion in the States six months before, but their activities continued from abroad. Their crimes were common and dull- that is, until their employees began to turn up dead in very public places. Sherlock was intrigued.
And so he needed Molly.
The leather sofa in the master bedroom was occupied by a woman straddling her lover’s lap and nipping on his throat. The anonymous woman rocked against her lover’s body and moaned as he pinched and tugged on her nipples.
The canopied king-size bed was unoccupied.
Gauzy red material enclosed the wide mattress, forming a cocoon with the thinnest illusion of privacy.
“Sh- um, Lawrence?” Molly asked, cursing herself for almost forgetting Sherlock’s alias that night. The look on reproach on his face told her he’d heard her slip up.
“Yes, love?” He said, turning to take her in his arms.
“What are we doing?”
“Whatever you want to do.” And the seriousness in his piercing light eyes was unmistakable. He cupped her face and waited for her lead.
“Whatever I want?” In the dark redness of the room, Molly felt the possibilities blossom. “Jack?”
Close behind her, John responded to his alias by settling his hands on her hips. He said softly in her ear, “Whatever you want…mistress.” Humor touched his voice and, craning her head around, she saw a ghost of a smile on his lips. He clearly remembered what his role was supposed to be in the evening’s masquerade.
Rebecca, their hostess, watched from the door, joined by her husband, Mark. He was younger than his wife, and muscular in an overblown way that almost suggested assistance in steroid form. He nuzzled her neck and caressed her abdomen. She whispered something soft in his ear, keeping her hungry eyes trained on the threesome standing by the bed.
Uncertain of how to proceed while being watched, Molly hesitated. How could they plant a bug in the master bedroom now?
Having thoughts along the same line, John leaned in, pressing the lightest kiss on her neck as he whispered, “Well? Now what?” He continued kissing his way across the nape of Molly’s neck, onto her bare shoulder.
The skintight black dress made of stretchy fabric covered very little of her body, despite the hem falling to her knees. She’d been forced to leave off her knickers altogether, as the white ones she’d worn to work were completely visible through the sheer material.
Molly found herself unable to think of a coherent reply to John’s question as he grew more interested in the kisses he’d intended only to disguise his whispers to Sherlock. The doctor’s hands squeezed harder into her hips as he tasted the skin of her neck. She felt his cock grow hard in his jeans where he was pressed against her bum. Molly shivered, and moaned in spite of herself.
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Do you like it?” His tone was curiously impartial.
“I…” She hesitated, aware of Rebecca’s eyes on them. “I shouldn’t….”
“But do you?” Sherlock asked again, his head bent forward until his eyes were at the same level as hers. “Do you want more?”
John found a sensitive hollow on her neck and sucked hard on the flesh until she realized she was digging her nails into Sherlock’s shoulders in an effort to stay standing. Her eyes fluttered shut.
“Then you’ll have it.” He closed the little remaining distance between their bodies, and laid his mouth on the opposite side of her neck. With one man kissing her ticklish skin, she’d felt weakened and a bit embarrassed at being turned on by the pleasant doctor whom she’d mostly ignored before. With two men licking and sucking, bringing to life every nerve in her throat, she was writhing between them and she didn’t even care. She wished then she’d worn her stupid white knickers because it was going to be apparent in a moment how soaking wet she was from their ministrations.
Rebecca and Mark stepped inside the room, her hands roaming freely over the bulge in her husband’s trousers. Their eyes remained locked on the trio. The couple on the sofa carried on, unconcerned with the filling room.
It wasn’t until her thigh brushed against the curtain that Molly realized they were by the bed. Sherlock must’ve nudged them backward until they were there, she thought distantly as he detached his mouth from her neck. He parted the material around the bed and lifted it. John noticed, and crawled onto the bed after kicking off his shoes. Sherlock held the curtain open, and raised one eyebrow at Molly.
The invitation was clear.
She stepped inside and joined them on the bed.
She wiggled herself into a comfortable position between Sherlock’s legs, her dress riding up to her lap, her bum nestled against his groin, her thighs parted and braced against his. His hands covered hers where they rested, on the nylon of her stockings, just above the knees. Dim light through the sheer scarlet canopy cast a faint red glow over their bodies, as they settled into one another.
She stroked John’s bristly, fresh-cut hair as he crawled between her knees and laid a gentle kiss on the exposed skin just beyond her stocking, on her inner thigh. Leaning in on his elbows, the doctor slid his hands under her legs, lifting. His lips grazed against the flesh further up on her thigh and his blue eyes focused on the damp curls between her legs. Molly sucked in her breath. John looked up at her, smiling in his usual sunny fashion but there was a dark certainty she never thought she would see in his eyes: the knowledge that she was open and ready for him.
She swallowed hard.
Were they really going to do this? Molly tensed, a sudden stab of doubt piercing her. Sherlock’s hands tightened around hers, his thumbs caressing her wrists. She tilted her head up toward him, and saw his face was as cold and dispassionate as ever. Only the hardness against her body again told her he was interested at all in the tableaux spread before him.
He released her hands and dragged his fingers across her thighs, massaging the tightness away. She bit her lip and felt herself grow wetter as his elegant hands crossed the span of her legs and journeyed back to her core. His curly head bent forward and his lips brushed her right ear. Molly shivered, and he spoke quietly.
“We can stop anytime. I do feel it’s only fair to warn you that when he’s done tasting you, I’m going to have you on your knees.” He traced a long line down the curve of her labia and slipped a fingertip into her wetness. “Would that be acceptable?”
“Oh god yes,” Molly rushed out, as his finger slid up to rub against her clitoris. She laughed and took a calming slow breath. “I mean- yes, please. More.” John grinned from his comfortable place between her legs, watching his friend’s hand tease her into readiness. With Molly’s consent given, Sherlock relaxed against the headboard and replaced his hands over hers on her thighs. He squeezed and tightened his grasp on her limbs, using the pressure to widen the distance between them.
The murmurs of the onlookers in the room faded out of existence. Nothing mattered but the heat from Sherlock’s body cradling hers and the ash-haired man leaning in to kiss the pink skin above the chestnut curls on her mound. John peered up at Molly and kept his eyes on hers as his mouth moved down to her damp folds.
It took only a minute for Molly to understand why the doctor never lacked for girlfriends, despite his erratic working hours and interfering flatmate. He was bloody miraculous with his tongue.
I wouldn’t care about a few broken dates if I had this all the time, Molly thought deliriously. Her belly tensed, and Sherlock reached down to pull her thin dress further up. He nudged her forward slightly to grant him. access to her back, in order to tug the garment over her head. He tossed it on the floor, and hauled Molly back against him firmly.
Sherlock’s arms wound around her again, his long fingers cupping her breasts and toying idly with her nipples while John’s mouth made her ache.
Molly arched as he smoothed a thumb over her clit while he explored the landscape of her body with tongue and fingertips. His hands were callused and strong- more like a mechanic’s than a physician’s, she thought. She dragged John’s head tighter to her core, pleading without words. His eyes filled with mirth, and he used his hands to lift her thighs higher. His mouth moved over her folds, licking and sucking, until his deft tongue found her clit.
She gasped, and pushed away the passing thought that this was John Watson making her shiver and moan. She could worry about awkward subsequent meetings some other time, when he wasn’t turning her into a wet mess. The tremors in her belly increased and her stomach and thigh muscles tensed as the shivers pushed her toward her peak. Feeling herself race toward it, Molly reached one arm up and behind to anchor herself with her hand wrapped around Sherlock’s neck.
He surprised her by capturing her face in his large hand and tipping her face toward him. He bent his head forward, his dark curls brushing her forehead.
“Me,” he demanded, his eyes burning into hers. “Look at me when you come.”
His mouth hovered over Molly’s, just out of reach. She moaned and yelped and her breathing grew faster with John’s face buried in her lap, driving her to orgasm. Sherlock held her face securely as her eyes widened and her face twisted in agonized pleasure. She pumped her hips hard and rode John’s face as she cried out. Sherlock finally covered her mouth with his then, swallowing her screams and holding her down while the waves flowed through her lower body.
Molly floated for a moment, her eyes closed, before realizing warm, full lips were pressed against hers still. Her heartbeat slowed to near-normal, and her mouth curved into a smile. She kissed Sherlock lightly, and pulled back. Without looking, she reached down and tugged John up.
The shorter man’s hair was wild and sticking up from her hands frantically digging into his head. His face shone with her juices, and his cocky grin made Molly smile even wider.
“C’mere, you,” she said, drawing him into a kiss, loving the taste of her musk on his lips. John leaned against her, Molly’s soft body pressed between the two men now. She reached down, unzipped John’s jeans and slid a hand inside.
“You don’t have to,” he began, but was cut off with another kiss.
“Hush. Take them off.” Molly pushed the trousers down halfway, and the doctor did the rest of the work, kicking them over the side of the bed before reclining back on the mattress. He unbuttoned his shirt but didn’t discard it, perhaps self-conscious about the scars on his shoulder.
Still clad only in stockings, Molly crawled forward and looked back at Sherlock, who observed them as coolly as he had since the beginning. His lips twisted into a crooked smile, and he pulled himself onto his knees and shrugged off his jacket.
“On your knees, Molly.”
She obeyed, moving forward on her hands and knees until she was between John’s legs. He stroked her face, his eyes warm and appreciative of her nude form.
Curious, Molly reached for his reddening cock, tickling the wet head of it with one finger. She gave it an experimental lick and he hissed inward, his eyes darkening with want. Wrapping her hand around his thickness, she manipulated the foreskin, sliding up and down until he was even harder. Pleased with the results, Molly grinned happily and looked up to find him gazing at her with stark need. John sunk his hands into her hair and pulled her close.
She kissed the glans softly, and looked back at Sherlock. He was still watching, but he’d shifted his position so that he was kneeling with only a few inches of space between her bare arse and his exposed cock. Molly’s eyes grew wide as he tore open a foil packet and quickly rolled the condom on.
She wanted Sherlock so much, had fantasized about him taking her for years, in so many positions, but she’d never considered that Sherlock Holmes would fuck her while she went down on his best friend. But now, in the moment, she couldn’t think of anything better. His eyes were bright, a rings of cool green-blue around blown pupils, as he took in the sight before him.
He caressed the smooth skin of Molly’s arse and slid a hand between her legs. “On with it,” he said impatiently, two fingers slipping inside her.
Molly turned back around, and allowed John’s hands to guide her head back down to his groin. She sucked the head of his cock into her mouth, soaking him and teasing the hypersensitive skin with flicks of her tongue, while working his shaft with her hands. Molly had begun sinking down more, working him into her throat, when she felt Sherlock’s hands on her hips and felt his thick cock shove into her.
She rocked forward and then stilled her lower body, adjusting to his girth and the distraction of him riding her when she had a mouthful. She shifted her knees, widening her stance, allowing Sherlock to penetrate her more. She tucked her lips around her teeth carefully and set to work again sliding John in and out of her mouth.
The doctor groaned gratefully, his fair skin flushed from head to toe. He squeezed his eyes shut and spread his thighs further apart, dragging Molly’s head onto his dick tighter. She bobbed and sucked, finding a rhythm that drove John to moaning curse words within minutes. Sherlock moved inside her, letting Molly set a pace that would allow her to balance the action, his cock pushing her forward and harder onto John.
Molly was lost, mindless with the pleasure of being filled by both men. The three of them moved as one, their bodies synched into a fluid motion.
It couldn’t last though. John’s breath grew faster and he pumped into Molly’s mouth as she had into his, begging to come. She obliged him, stroking him with her tongue and sucking until his fist was curled into her hair and he was gritting his teeth. John came with a loud groan followed by a heavy sigh, and his clasp on Molly relaxed as her mouth filled with his saltiness.
She swallowed, partly from not wanting to leave a mess on someone else’s bed, but also…she wanted to know what he tasted like. She wondered how Sherlock’s would taste, too.
The other man continued thrusting inside her pussy, more ruthlessly now that John was no longer between her teeth.
John laid back and watched his best friend, who was still dressed, ride Molly’s slender form so full of interesting curves out of her loose work clothes. Sherlock’s black clothing contrasted sharply with the pale, pinkish hues of her body, naked above her thigh-highs. Her small breasts moved as he drove into her, his long fingers digging into her hips, leaving indents with his fingernails. Sherlock’s eyes were half-open, the detective’s apathetic demeanor dissolved completely as he fucked her and Molly cried out.
She rocked her arse back against Sherlock, uncaring who was watching or how loud she was being. She whimpered and was on the verge of shouting out his name, when John saw the syllables of the word forming on her lips. He dove forward and covered her mouth with his, realizing even in his post-orgasmic glow the potential disaster of their hosts learning Sherlock’s real name.
Molly kissed him back, their tongues touching as Sherlock’s thrusting sped him toward climax. His curls bounced over his forehead as he moved, and sweat gathered on his brow. He winced, pumped inside her again, and then a ragged cry tore from the detective’s throat. He squeezed her hips once more, and then the shaking between them ended. His fingertips smoothed over the red marks on her flesh. He forced his breathing to slow, and his eyes opened fully.
His gaze met John’s, and both men laughed. Molly looked up, in despair.
Sherlock removed the condom and disposed of it in the tiny bin by the side of the bed.
“I was close again,” she grumbled, flipping over, hazy with frustrated lust. “John, could you…?”
With a smug grin, the doctor went to move between her legs again but Sherlock waved him off, annoyance on his face. His friend smirked and shrugged, and sat back on his heels.
Sherlock knelt between her thighs and looked down at Molly. Her brown eyes sparkled in the way they did only for him. Not questioning why he altered his initial plan of performing oral sex on her, he covered her body with his and kissed her lips instead. His hand caressed its way over her breasts and down to her wetness again, his clever fingers finding her clitoris.
Their lips melded together, the kisses growing gradually more intense. She pressed her mouth against his, ground her clit against his hand and finally came a second time with a hoarse cry. Molly shook and whimpered against his mouth, holding desperately onto his silky shirt.
They stayed wrapped around each other, kissing lightly, until a cleared throat interrupted their reverie. Molly’s eyes flew open to see Sherlock smiling wryly down at her. John, the source of the throat-clearing, tilted his head toward the other people in the room beyond the sheer red curtain. Mark and Rebecca were standing quietly, watching the trio inside untangle themselves from each other. Molly and John grabbed for their discarded clothing.
“Gorgeous. Especially this one,” Rebecca murmured, eyeing John. She linked arms with her husband, who nodded in agreement. “Perhaps you’d like to join us next week for our play party at the summer place? A little more private…a little more fun. Bigger beds too, room for more.” A sly grin grew on her full lips, and her shining eyes skimmed over their bodies.
Sherlock hopped off the mattress, donned his jacket, and smoothed out the wrinkles. “Delighted. Forward us the details.” He drew a business card out of his pocket, opened the curtain and passed it to Rebecca. As he handed it over, Molly saw the card had the false name he’d given at the door and an unfamiliar email address.
“We’ll do that,” Rebecca replied.
Molly drew her dress back on quickly and slipped her heels on. Her stockings had acquired several runs in them during their vigorous activities.
His clothes back on, John stood just behind Molly and Sherlock, resuming his pose as the submissive lover in the threesome.
The three made a quick exit, and Molly found herself wondering if Sherlock had even remembered to plant the bug in the master bedroom.
The detective hurried her into the passenger seat, and John jumped into the back seat of their rental car.
Sherlock drove in silence for a few minutes before Molly began to feel insecurity creeping in. What they had done…they hadn’t discussed it going in. Sex changed relationships irrevocably, didn’t it? Had it been a mistake brought on by a sexualized atmosphere, the freedom of a false identity, and the heady rush of having two handsome men to pleasure her?
Molly looked out the window, noticing how the stars faded out the further into London they drove, and mulled over the strange evening.
Sherlock finally broke the silence.
“I realize that it’s your habit to question yourself incessantly to the point of tedium, but it’s quite unnecessary in this instance. Did you have fun?”
“Yes,” she said, glad the dark hid her blush, and her grin. “When did you plant the bug? I never saw you do it.”
“Immediately. On the back of the headboard. You were…distracted.” She saw faint amusement in his face. “Their financial records are kept in the coastal home. Now that we’ve secured an invitation and she’s quite taken with John, we could go without you.” His face was unreadable now in the dim light of passing street lamps.
“What are you saying? Do you…would you rather I not help next week?”
“You were perfect.” He glanced at her finally, and she saw the fire in his eyes that she’d seen when he was inside her, before he turned his eyes back to the road. “I want you to come next week. But you don’t have if you don’t want to. It’s your choice.” He paused, and his voice was less confident. “Do you?”
Warmth spread through Molly. “Oh yes! Yes, I want to.” She lay her hand over his where it rested on his thigh. “I want to go with you and John.”
Satisfaction filled his eyes, and his angular features softened as he relaxed. Tension she hadn’t realized was there slid away from his form.
“Then it’s settled. You’ll come with us.”
Pleased, Molly nodded. “If you planted the bug right away, and she had eyes for John, which you wouldn’t have missed…you didn’t have to do anything else. We could have left ages ago.”
Sherlock laughed, and John joined in from the back seat.
“Molly Hooper, wherever would the fun in that be?” He squeezed her thigh and then resumed driving with both hands on the steering wheel. “Next week then?”
She beamed. “Next week.”