Edgefield & Sutherland
Copyright© 2026 by Jessica Sloane
Chapter 2: Don’t Fence Me In
Historical Sex Story: Chapter 2: Don’t Fence Me In - Young detective free uses his sexy MILF partner while solving a case.
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Romantic Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Historical Humor Military Mystery Vignettes War Workplace Alternate History Cream Pie Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Voyeurism Big Breasts Politics AI Generated
San Francisco Chronicle | March 2, 1947
HELEN EDGEFIELD DIES; WAR HERO SON TO CARRY ON FAMED DETECTIVE AGENCY
Helen Edgefield, founder of the Edgefield Detective Agency and for twenty years one of the most successful private investigators in the city, died yesterday at her home in Potrero Hill. She was 42.
Ms. Edgefield, who made a citywide name for herself from the small agency she ran from a walk-up on Eddy Street in the Tenderloin, was known along the Embarcadero and at the Hall of Justice for cases the department would not or could not take, and for a method many officers often compared to the legendary Sherlock Holmes: close watching, a clean record, and what Ms. Edgefield herself often called “soft pressure”.
That the city’s ablest independent detective was a woman was a fact she never bothered to advertise. Associates said her true rise to prominence came during the war years, when so many qualified men were in uniform that clients who would never have hired a woman in 1940 had little choice but to do so by 1943.
Ms. Edgefield’s agency, as well as her legacy, will continue under her son, Captain Jon Edgefield, who said last night that he would carry on his mother’s work. Miss Ruby Sutherland, long associated with the Edgefield agency, remains with the firm.
Morning light cut through the blinds of the Edgefield Detective Agency in hard yellow strips that landed right across my face like it had a fucking grudge. My mouth tasted like an ashtray and cheap whiskey. I was on the couch in my shirt, one sock, my belt undone, and my pants twisted halfway down my hip.
I looked I’d lost a fight with the furniture.
I sat up and the room tipped. Nice.
Ruby’s voice came from the desk, calm as ever.
“You’re late, Edgefield ... which is pretty impressive considering that you live where you work.”
I squinted at her. Cream blouse, gray wool skirt, red cardigan inadvertently buttoned wrong at the top like she herself had been moving a bit too fast to get here this morning. Auburn hair pinned back neat. Glasses already sliding down her nose. She was looking at me like I was a problem she’d solved a hundred times before.
“Good morning to you, too, gorgeous,” I said. “What time is it?”
“8:40. We’ve got a client at nine.” She flipped a page in that leather folder of hers without looking up. “An older gentleman. Separate matter from the Hargrove case. He sounded confused on the phone and I told him we’d see him. So ... that gives you 20 minutes to stop looking like you slept in a dumpster.”
I patted my pockets, found the pack, and lit a cigarette. The first drag scraped going down. “Have I ever told you that you’re an absolute vision in the morning, Ruby?”
“Once or twice. But I’m still a vision who has to air this place out before a decent, paying customer even sits down.” She finally looked at me. Those kind, green eyes. That small knowing smile. “And you reek of whisky, young man. Sit up.”
“I am sitting up.”
“You’re tilting.” She came around the desk. Her skirt pulled tight across those wide hips when she bent to pick my other shoe up off the floor. Thick thighs save lives, gentlemen. Soft stomach under the cardigan. Heavy breasts shifting against the blouse. My dick took an immediate interest and she knew it.
“You could be nicer to me,” I said. “I am your boss, you know.”
“You’re hungover ... and you drooled on the good cushion again.” She set the shoe on the coffee table and started gathering yesterday’s papers. “Nicotine isn’t breakfast. Neither am I.”
“Could’ve fooled me last night.”
She shot me a look over the glasses. Playful. Warning. Fond. All at once. “Last night you were useful for about 8 minutes and then you started snoring, Edgefield...”
I grinned around the cigarette. “You like me.”
She sighed. “I tolerate you out of the love I had for your mother ... and because you have a pretty mouth ... when it isn’t running.” She stacked folders, straightened the desk lamp, and cracked the window. Cool air and city noise gently trickled in. “Client. Twenty minutes. Well ... eighteen now. Chop, chop. Put both shoes on and try to look like you run this agency.”
“I do run this agency.”
She sighed playfully. “You just sit in your mother’s old chair with your feet up. I run it.” She plucked an empty glass off the end table.
“And if this client walks in and smells last night on you, he will walk right back out and take his retainer with him.”
I watched her move. Soft ass under the wool. The way her breasts pushed the blouse when she reached...
I crushed the cigarette in the tray.
“Ruby...”
“Don’t.”
I caught her wrist when she passed the couch and tugged. Not hard. Just enough. She made a small, surprised sound and then she was in my lap, skirt hiked up, warm weight settling across my thighs, her cardigan bunched in my hands. Soft. Heavy. Real. She smelled like perfume and coffee and rain.
“Edgefield—”
I kissed her. She made a noise against my mouth that wasn’t quite protest. I put a hand in her hair and another on that full hip and kissed her like the hangover was her fault. She kissed back for a long moment ... tongue, heat, the soft give of her mouth ... and then she pulled back and put a finger on my lips.
“We seriously don’t have time.”
“I’ll make it quick.”
“You always say that.”
“I’m a man of my word.”
“You’re a cad with a potential client who is on his way as we speak and is going to be sitting on this exact couch in less than 20 minutes.” Her glasses were crooked. Her voice had gone a little breathy. “We are not doing that. Not this morning.”
I nosed along her jaw. “Then meet me halfway. You know you help me think more clearly ... after...”
I playfully smacked her ass and squeezed it gently.
She looked at the clock on the wall. Looked at the door. Looked at me. That familiar calculation. The one where she decided how much of me she needed to take apart so the rest of the day would still work.
“You are impossible,” she murmured.
“That’s not a no.”
Ruby sighed through her nose, the same way she did when a ledger didn’t add up but she already knew how she’d fix it. She slid off my lap and down to her knees on the rug between my thighs. The skirt stretched tight over that big, round ass of hers. She pushed my knees apart like she’d done so many times before and reached for my open belt.
“Shoes stay on,” she said. “Shirt stays on. If he knocks early ... you will just look like a slob ... and not like you just had your cock in my mouth. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t ‘yes ma’am’ me while I’m doing this. It’s unbecoming.”
She freed me from the pants. She bit her lower lip. I was already hard, thick against the cooler air of the office. She wrapped one soft hand around the base ... and just looked at it for a second. Hunger. Then she leaned in and kissed the head ... slow ... lips warm and a little sticky from whatever lipstick she’d put on this morning.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“Quiet. And keep an eye on the door.”
She opened her mouth and took me in. Not all at once. Just the first couple of inches, wet heat, tongue flat along the underside while her lips sealed. She held there and breathed through her nose, glasses bumping my stomach, then sank deeper, slow enough that I felt every inch of her mouth stretching around me. Soft. Hot. Unhurried in a way that made the clock on the wall feel like a real motherfucker.
I dropped my head back against the couch and stared at the familiar water stain on the ceiling. One hand found the pin in her hair and didn’t pull it out. I kept my hand steady there. I just needed something to hold.
She drew off with a wet sound and stroked me with her full hand, thumb rubbing under the head.
“You taste like whiskey,” she said, almost amused. “Classy, Jon.”
“You love it.”
“I would love a clean office and a client who pays.” She licked a slow stripe from the base to the tip and took me back in, deeper this time. Her heavy breasts pressed against the inside of my thighs through her blouse. I felt the weight of them. Felt her soft stomach against my knee. She made a small, contented sound around my cock like this was just another part of opening the shop for the day.
She sucked in a steady rhythm. Down, hold, up, tongue working the shaft. Spit gathered at the corners of her mouth and she didn’t wipe it. One hand stayed wrapped at the base, squeezing when she rose, the other braced on my thigh. Every time she took me deeper her glasses slid a little farther down ... but she didn’t stop to fix them. The wet sound of it filled the quiet office. Street noise came trickling through the cracked window. A horn off in the distance somewhere. The clock ticking like it was definitely not on my side.
“Fuck, Ruby—”
She pulled off again, lips shiny, and pumped me slow. “Language. You need to be a gentleman in this meeting. And don’t you dare come on the couch. I just got the smell out.”
“Oh fuck. Where then?”
She looked up at me over the glasses, mouth swollen, calm as a church. “Where do you think, sweetheart...?”
She went back down and meant it. Took me until her lips met her fist, throat fluttering, eyes watering just enough to catch the morning light. I groaned and my hips jerked. She pinned my hip with that soft hand and kept the pace she wanted, not the one I wanted. Slow. Thorough. The kind of blowjob that felt like I was being ... managed.
I watched her. Dark red hair still mostly pinned. Thick body folded neat between my knees. Blouse pulled tight across those heavy breasts. The wet circle of her mouth sliding on me. She hummed once, low, and the vibration went all the way up my spine.
“Cum for me, Edgefield,” she murmured when she came up for air, voice rough now. “You’re a good boy. I know you just need to get it out. We’ve got this meeting here soon, sweetie. I need you thinking with the correct head.” She licked the tip, kissed it, and took me in again.
Well ... my hangover was gone. There was only her mouth, the clock, and the heat building at the base of my cock. She felt it. Of course she did. She sucked harder, hollowed her cheeks, twisted that soft hand on the downstroke. I gripped the back of the couch and tried not to make a sound a client could hear from the hall.
“Ruby—I’m—”
She didn’t pull off. She took me deep and stayed there, swallowing me whole, and I came hard with a broken groan, pulsing on her tongue. She took it. All of it. Swallowed once, twice, kept me in her mouth through the aftershocks like she was finishing paperwork. Then she drew off slowly, wiped the corner of her lip with her thumb, and swallowed again.
“Good boy,” she said softly.
I sat there wrecked, pants open, heart going a mile a minute like I’d just run down to the docks and back. She stood up with a little wince for her knees, smoothed her skirt, fixed her glasses, and tucked a loose piece of hair back into the pins.
“Two minutes,” she said. She poured water in the sink in the corner and rinsed her mouth, then came back with my other shoe and dropped it in my lap. “Belt. Face. Cigarette if you must, but out the window. I will talk. You will look like you understand things.”
I fastened the belt with clumsy fingers. “What case is this.”
“A missing wife. Maybe. Or a husband who doesn’t want her to be found. He was vague on the phone. I could almost hear your mother’s voice in my ear. ‘He’s either lying or terrified, Ruby’.” Ruby then opened the folder to a clean page, all business again, mouth still a little red. “Different animal from Hargrove. Remember that. Do not mix them up in front of this client.”
A knock at the door. Right on time.
Ruby glanced at me, then at the couch. A faint wet shine still on her lower lip that only I could see.
“Sit up straight, Edgefield,” she said. “It’s time to get to work.”
She crossed over to the door, hips swaying under that gray wool like nothing in the world had happened between the two of us just a few moments ago.
I sat up straight. Lit my cigarette.
The morning had started in earnest.
The knock came again, sharper.
Ruby opened the door with the same calm she used on her ledgers and on me.
An old man shuffled in. Seventy if he was a day. Thin as a coat hanger in a good navy blue suit that had surely fit him better in another decade. Liver spots on his hands. A hat he forgot to take off until Ruby gently lifted it off his head and set it on the stand.
“Mr. Bramble,” she said. “Good morning, sir. Please come in.”
Walter Bramble. That was the name in her book. He smelled like mothballs and fucking peppermints. He looked at the couch like it might bite him, then at me like I might be in charge ... which was rich.
I stood up, still tasting Ruby on my lips, and put on the same smile my mom used to use when the men from the papers were watching.
“Mr. Bramble. Please, sir. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.” I shook his hand. It felt like dry paper. “I’m Jon Edgefield. This is my partner, Ruby Sutherland. I believe you two have already spoken on the telephone, but I just want to assure you that anything you say in this office stays in this office. Have a seat. Tell us how we can help.”
Dismissing the couch, he sat on the very edge of the client chair, knees together, both hands on the brim of the hat in his lap ... even though said hat was already on said stand. Ruby took the chair beside the desk. I sat on the corner of it like I owned the wood. The clock ticked. My belt was fastened. I was a professional.
“You look young, boy,” Mr. Bramble began. “You serve?”
“Yes, sir. Had to lie a little on the paperwork to Uncle Sam about my age, of course, but the Army didn’t turn me away.”
He looked skeptical. “What outfit?”
“32nd Division. Red Arrow. Luzon.”
Mr. Bramble raised his bushy eyebrows.
I tried not to make a big deal about it. “Replacements. Villa Verde. Got there after Manila was already over.”
Ruby smiled and proudly stepped in. “Our Captain Edgefield here was a replacement on the Villa Verde Trail, Mr. Bramble. His sergeant went down and he bravely ran the ridge twice under fire to get two men out. They gave him the Bronze Star. He is too modest to say that, so I am saying it for him. He’s just like his mother that way. We’re all so proud.”
Mr. Bramble nodded. “Thank you for you service, son. Helen Edgefield was a legend in this town. Such a looker, too. Like a movie star! And so, so clever. I was truly very sorry to hear about your mom, kid.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Me, too.”
Ruby and I exchanged a look. She reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze of support.
There was a pause. “It’s my wife,” he finally said. Voice small and certain. “Beverly. She’s ... she’s been stepping out on me again.”
Ruby’s pen hovered. She was listening intently.
“I see,” I said. “That’s an ugly thing to carry, sir. How long have you suspected?”
“Years.” He nodded hard, like the word needed help standing up. “She started coming home later and later. And now it’s just ... not at all. And she won’t look me in the eye at breakfast...”
“Does she say where she’s been?” Ruby asked.
“She doesn’t say much to me, Miss Sutherland.” He gave a little laugh that had no joke in it. “Beverly always did keep her own counsel, though. Even when we were first married. I was never enough man for her. 1912. June. She wore white and her father hated me.”
“1912,” I repeated. “That’s a long time to keep a secret, Mr. Bramble.”
“She’s clever.” He leaned in. The smell. Fuck, I hate peppermint. “I think it’s a man from the bank this time. Or the one who used to deliver the ice. She always liked a man with strong arms, my Beverly...”
Ruby wrote something that was probably not “the ice man cometh”. Because that sounds more like something I would have written. Because it’s hilarious.
“When did you last see her at the house, Mr. Bramble? Together. Same room.” I asked.
He frowned at the question like it had been poorly built. “She has the good bedroom. I leave the lamp on so she won’t stumble. She hates the dark. Always has.”
“Sure. And she sleeps there?”