To celebrate the publication of the third volume of Ambrose Horne's memoirs, Xcite Books present a very special and very limited offer... buy the first two Ambrose Horne collections and get the third one absolutely FREE!
Yes! The loin-lunging adventures of Victorian London’s most unconventional detective can be yours for one third off!
Armed with only his relentless curiosity for the darkest recesses of human sexuality, Ambrose Horne is the enterprising eroticist for whom no puzzle is too perplexing, no secret is too scandalous, and no position is too impolite. Now, gathered together for the first time in three volumes, The Erotic Adventures Of Ambrose Horne reveal fifteen tales from the Carnal Casebook of the Idiosyncratic Inquisitor, the Horny Holmes… the man who put the Dick into Private Investigator… the one-and-only Ambrose Horne.
EXCERPT:
THE STRANGE CASE OF THE COAGULATED CONUNDRUM
Sebastian Longfellow… few men have been so accurately named as he… raised himself from between his wife’s luxurious thighs and, in one deft movement, slid his stiff cock between her bountiful breasts. Her hands clasped his as they pushed her tits together so that he might fuck them; then reached around to his buttocks, to push his enormous tool towards her open mouth.
Stella’s jaw strained to accept the throbbing purple head. Not for the first time in their lovemaking, she felt as though tendons would tear before she was able to fully accommodate the object of her desire. But, as her facial muscles relaxed around the hot meat that she so desperately craved, so he felt himself being drawn in, filling her mouth with his brick-hard heat, feeling her sharp teeth grazing his shaft with a myriad delicious sensations.
He would not, could not, seek to enter her wholly. With close to ten thick inches of manhood at his disposal, it would be a skilled fellatrix indeed who could devour him to the root and Stella, though they had been married more than two years, had still to learn that particular secret. But she pleasured him regardless, her twinkling blue eyes gazing lovingly into his as she scanned his face for the first signs of the intense rush of pleasure that warned her to close her lips around the merest tip of his rod, while his thick cum slammed against the barrier of her teeth.
Longfellow, too, watched her intently, conscious from the expression in her eyes that, while she sucked, she also fingered herself, gently at first, but with increasingly urgency as the throbbing of his shaft communicated itself to her nerve-ends, and filled her sex with its own exquisite juices. And, when he finally climaxed, so would she, her body writhing beneath him as her other hand slipped off his cock, to let his semen jet where it would. It was a moment that neither of them had ever experienced with any other lover, a communion of cum that left both sated and exhausted, collapsing tenderly into one another’s arms to whisper the sweet, sweat-soaked nothings of two devoted lovers.
What a contrast that portrait painted to the furious gentleman who now paced around Ambrose Horne’s office, impatiently mumbling while his insurance agent, a tiny weasel of a clerk named Simpkins, conferred with the Great Detective by the dying light of a winter afternoon. “It is not a detective we require,” Longfellow snapped for the third time since the interview began. “It is a policeman, a court room and a hanging judge. What will the detective detect beyond wanton vandalism? And we already know that has taken place. It is the vandal himself to whom we should be attending, so that we might string him up from the highest gallows in the land.”
“So you have said,” Horne spoke up wearily. “But you have brought us no evidence that this vandal actually exists… nor, from the evidence before me, that any act of vandalism has even taken place. We must weigh up all the facts before we rush to any form of judgement.”
Longfellow wheeled angrily across the room, placing his face just inches from Horne’s. “No evidence?” He jabbed at the insurance report that lay on Horne’s desk. “Some of the most valuable postage stamps in the world have been destroyed. The 5c rose of Vancouver Island. The 2c black and rose of British Guiana. A pair of Trinidad’s legendary Lady McLeod imperforates….
“You, Sir,” he jabbed a finger at the wretched Simpkins. “You asked me what is stamp collecting, beyond the accumulation of so many sticky labels from around the world. And you, Mr Horne, seemed more interested in pedantically declaiming the erroneous Greek derivation of the word ‘Philately,’ than acknowledging the seriousness of the crime. But, when the Fellows of the Royal Society hear of this, and some jolly powerful fellows they are, it will not be your scorn upon which you choke, but the very foundations of all that you deem of value in this world.”
“And what do you consider the value of the damaged items?” Horne asked – then blanched as his visitor spoke a number in the thousands of pounds. “Furthermore, I can provide both written and verbal testimony to that fact. But I see I am wasting my time here. Simpkins? Convey to your masters that I revoke all my insurance policies with their company forthwith. And Horne? I will convey your regard to Mr Sherlock Holmes. I am certain he will take this matter somewhat more seriously than you.”
Horne bowed politely. “You must do as you see fit, as I am sure Mr Holmes will. Certainly details of your loss and, indeed, of any similarly valued items that have not been lost, will make a tasty filling for his assistant’s next essay in the popular press, and I am sure you will meet many new acquisitive enthusiasts as a result. I wish you luck. And, should you then require a less voluble detective to assist you in any matters that might ensue from those meetings, I will be as willing to help you on that occasion as I am on this.”
At the thought of the publicity that was, indeed, the inevitable consequence of any dealings with the ubiquitous Holmes and his loquacious biographer, Longfellow paused at the door. “I thought you dismissed my complaint?”
“No. I dismissed your contention that the term ‘Philately’ means what you claim it does – a love, ‘philos,’ for a pre-paid item, ‘telos,’ when in fact the correct construction of those words would be ‘atelophily.’ I do not dismiss the seriousness of your loss; nor, without having seen the items in question, or the room in which they are kept, do I dismiss the possibility that some form of malice has been perpetrated upon your collection. However, if you believe Mr Holmes offers you the best hope of bringing the felon to book, then my duty is to defer to your own convictions.”
Longfellow shook his head. “My carriage is outside, Mr Horne. Perhaps you would care to make your inspection this very day?”
Read the conclusion of this tale in The Erotic Adventures of Ambrose Horne
And then discover even greater thrills in The Erotic Memoirs of Ambrose Horne and The Erotic Return of Ambrose Horne. And if you buy two now, you'll receive the third for free!
Three great books, one great detective!
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