4 comments/ 6177 views/ 1 favorites Holmes and The Cad's Diary Ch. 01 By: farfromcd Without taking overly much professional credit, I found my practice particularly quiet in the run up to the Christmas of 18xx as my patients had maintained good health despite the onset of winter. I was therefore thankful to receive a note from my friend Sherlock Holmes one afternoon suggesting I meet him at a charitable society event being held at one of the European embassies that evening to mark the festive season. It struck me as an unlikely event to attract my friend's patronage but a partial explanation came in the final line: 'be sure to bring a warm overcoat and your trusty revolver. SH' My friend was obviously involved in a new investigation and I was, again, to play a part. So it was with excitement and anticipation that I straightened my surgery away for the afternoon and rushed home to explain to my long suffering and ever-patient wife that I would not be at home for the evening and hunt out the pistol that had accompanied me on most of my adventures with Holmes. Holmes arrived in a Hansom promptly and, as he had retained the cab for the night we were able to leave our heavier coats, with my revolver secreted among them, in the cab while we circulated amongst middle-ranking politicians, ambassadors from the smaller European nations and the usual society faces that grace any occasion where the food and drink is acceptable and, more importantly, freely available. It was exactly the sort of occasion that Holmes would do anything to avoid in the normal run of things but, since sharing his adventures, I could recognise the signs that he was on the scent of some intrigue or another and his alert eyes scanned the room above the rim of a champagne flute which, although raised to his lips, had surrendered little of its contents to his mouth. He dismissed attempts at conversation as quickly as possible, not always as politely as he could have done either, and passed most of his would-be interviewers on to me. 'I think you will find that Dr Watson here will furnish you with a much more exciting account of that episode than I could manage,' he would say, 'given as he is to making his reports a touch more colourful than they might be.' And so it was that my conversational skills were under constant test, allowing my friend to continue his surveillance of the party. I had conversed with one ambassador, three ambassador's wives, a Tory member of parliament for a small county seat and a number of over-indulged socialites when Holmes reappeared from one of the other dining rooms and, brushing aside yet another request for conversation with a minor European royal with the respect due to the station, motioned me to follow him with some urgency. When we were safely out of earshot of the merry-makers he turned to me: 'The game is afoot Watson, the prey has been flushed and we must move now to keep up. When we get to the Hansom change into your heavier coat and check that pistol of yours.' We trotted down the front steps of the embassy to find our Hansom waiting for us. 'The carriage you asked me to watch has just left Mr 'Olmes,' said the cabbie as we approached. 'Follow it Jeffers, if you please, but stay back, don't let them know we are following.' 'Righty ho Sir, I know the drill.' We ducked inside the hansom, Jeffers cracked his whip above the horse and we pulled away into the night. As we shrugged out of our dinner jackets and into our trench coats Holmes handed me a silken bandanna for my face and a shuttered lantern. 'We may have to bend the law a little tonight Watson, just a little, but I have been trying to pin down the quarry we are following tonight for some time. The man we are following is possibly the most wanted man in London and yet no-one who knows his name or his face will say who he is. Now, if you will, you will prove your indispensability to me once more by letting me think through our actions as we travel.' And with that he steepled his hands in front of his long nose and drifted off into the mental sphere as I kept my peace beside him. Within half an hour Jeffers rapped on the roof of the Hansom and pulled up the horse. The carriage which we had been following, an enclosed four-wheeler, had paused by the entrance to a gravelled driveway. A man in a top hat and a cape with a large turned up collar had alighted and then the carriage had turned into the driveway, which serviced a middle-sized detached townhouse in an affluent part of town. The man slipped through into the shadows of the garden after the carriage. Jeffers pulled our Hansom up outside the neighbouring house. 'Come Watson, an expeditious approach over the neighbour's wall may be as well, it would not do to be seen by the staff.' I followed Holmes and, when we got to the wall, gave him a leg up, receiving a hand over the wall from him in return. We then moved through the shadows ourselves, the silken face-scarves covering our faces until we were crouched in the bushes at the rear of the house watching the caped man crouching at a set of French windows which led into what appeared to be a large sitting room. 'Are we to avert a burglary Holmes?' I whispered, placing my hand on the butt of my pistol. 'No, Watson, we are, I believe, to observe an invasion of an entirely different type.' A light flickered and flared in the sitting room and a figure, carrying a lamp, appeared at the French doors. The pretty face of a young woman, bright eyed with anticipation, was illuminated by the lamp. She looked cautiously around within the room and then opened the French windows, looking out anxiously. She started back in surprise as the caped man sprang up from his crouched position beside the window and then threw herself at him, kissing him urgently, moving her free hand under the cape and stroking his back. He crushed her to him in a strong embrace, standing to his full height so that her neck craned back to continue the kiss then they broke the clinch and she clasped his hand and pulled him inside, closing the French window behind her. We moved carefully across the lawn to the windows and looked inside. The lamp had been placed on a small table and the couple were hungrily devouring each other, his mouth finding the soft skin at her neck, her head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open. Her hands were ranging all over his back under his cape. Suddenly there was a glint of light as a small, wicked looking, blade appeared in the man's right hand, which was behind her back. Fearing danger I reached for my pistol and made to move but Holmes' strong hand on my shoulder stayed me. With a deft flick of his wrist the man moved the blade under and then up through the lacing at the back of the young woman's dress. She stiffened slightly in shock and a gasp shuddered from her lips then the man broke their embrace and stood back. Without the pressure of his body against hers her dress slipped to the floor, without protest from her and she stood, the material gathered around her calves, in the lamplight as the man's eyes moved, lasciviously over her body. She wore a black corset which made the most of her ample breasts and while she also wore black stockings she wore incongruous vivid blue knickers of the French style, cut high so that the lower curve of her shapely buttocks peeked from beneath. The man stood, taking in her beauty and I realised that I too had moved closer to the glass. It was a still night and the glass was thin so when the man spoke, gruffly and commanding, we could hear him say: 'Unfasten your hair.' The young woman, her blue eyes still flashing expectantly, reached up with both hands and pulled out two pins and her long brunette tresses cascaded over her shoulders and down to her shoulder blades. She pulled at the tresses to loosen them up and then returned her arms to her sides. 'Nice knickers.' There was no warmth in the compliment. 'They are my Husband's favourites.' She cooed. The man advanced and moved his hand to her crotch, pushing the fabric of the knickers between her legs. The young woman wantonly moved her legs apart to allow him more access and he rubbed his fingers back and forth twice, causing her chest to heave and her to bite her bottom lip. Then just as quickly he withdrew his fingers and the small blade was in his other hand once again. She jumped as the cold blade was placed against her thigh then he moved the knife up and with two short movements cut the knickers from her and pulled the fabric up to his nose, presumably inhaling her musk, then tucked both the knife and the knickers into pockets inside his cloak. The woman looked a little concerned. 'Do not worry your pretty head about your Husband's favourite knickers my dear, he will say nothing. I, on the other hand, like that corset very much, I would see you in that again so take it off carefully my dear, I will not cut that.' The young woman looked hesitant for the first time however. 'But my Husband's favourites, he likes to see me in those.' The man reached into his cape and I expected him to come out with the knickers again but instead he produced a small leather pouch, tied with a leather strap. 'Does your husband have this?' The woman's eyes were suddenly fixed upon the pouch to such an extent that I immediately presumed her to be some sort of addict and that the pouch contained the narcotic that ruled her. 'No, no, he doesn't.' She started to chew her bottom lip again and, without once moving her gaze from the pouch, started to unclasp her corset, one clip at a time, slowly. 'Quicker' he said impatiently as he amused himself moving the pouch around in his hand watching her eyes slavishly following it. Her hands moved quickly and soon she reached the lowest fastener, just above her dark patch of pubic hair. My gaze fell on her womanly folds properly for the first time and I was amazed to see that her labia already gleamed with moisture in the lamplight. It also became necessary for me to move my position slightly to alleviate the tightening in my trouser-front, which earned me a whispered rebuke from Holmes. She placed the corset on a nearby chair and stood, naked but for her stockings, in the middle of the room. Goosebumps covered her skin and her nipples were erect. Her eyes never left the pouch. 'Come here, I would have you suck me first I think.' 'But the lotion?' she had an imploring edge to her voice. 'I would be sucked. I could go elsewhere, you know that.' He tucked the pouch back into his cape and turned to leave causing Holmes and I to duck back slightly. 'NO!' The woman dashed to him, stepping out of the discarded garments gathered at her feet. She quickly fell to her knees before him and moved both hands to his fly buttons, opening them and pulling out his semi-flaccid penis which was already looking sizeable. She held it in her hand and looked up into his eyes. 'Go on my dear,' he said encouragingly, 'you know I think you do it so well. You have one of my very favourite mouths.' She looked almost proud at this condescending compliment and leant in to kiss his penis gently on the tip. She rained gossamer-soft kisses along it's length as it stiffened quickly to full hardness, extending, I estimated, to at least nine or ten inches in length. The man stood still, looking down with a neutral look on his face. It is to my shame that I felt like I was deriving more pleasure from her actions than he was. He let her continue with her soft ministrations for a while longer then moved his hand down and grasped a handful of hair at the side of her hand. 'Suck now my dear, suck.' She looked up at him, smiling, and then slid her mouth over his penis, taking as much of it in as she could then started moving her head rhythmically back and forth, her cheeks hollowing on her back strokes. This, at last, seemed to have an effect on the man as his chest started heaving with powerful breaths. He reached down and grasped her hair with his other hand and started pulling her back onto his shaft after each back stroke. This had the effect of causing her to take more of his penis into her mouth than seemed comfortable for her and she started to gag occasionally but he did not let up. After a few more minutes he started adding the movement of his hips and soon the woman was accommodating the full length of his shaft on each stroke and despite appearing to be in a little discomfort she continued and even started to moan around his shaft. The whole scene was amazingly erotic and I looked over at Holmes to gauge his reaction but, and I suppose I should not have been surprised at this, he was watching as dispassionately as a scientist might watch for the results of a chemical experiment. My head turned back towards the wanton scene within but my eyes stayed on Holmes for a few more seconds as I wondered just how this could not be affecting him. His eyes sparkled with interest it was true, but it was the same sparkle that I had seen so many times before, present when he was surveying a seemingly empty lawn for clues or even a particularly interesting corpse at a murder scene. Then a loud gurgling gasp from within snapped my attention back into the room to see that the rhythmic movement had stopped. The man's knuckles were white as his balled fists held the woman's head to his crotch, his shaft, hilt deep, in her mouth. She struggled slightly for breath but could not move her head; such was his grasp of her hair. His head was tilted back and his eyes closed. His teeth were gritted and then he bucked his hips three or four times as, presumably, he pumped his seed down the woman's throat. This caused her to gag once more but there was no let up in his grip and she struggled to swallow. There was a few seconds pause and then his hips jerked one more time. She gagged again and he released his grip on her hair. She sank back so that she was now sat back on the floor, coughing and spluttering, a mixture of her saliva and his unswallowed issue dripping from her lips and dolloping down onto her heaving breasts. He took a moment to gather himself, standing before her not bothering to do anything about his glistening and softening penis which still hung outside his trousers, and then looked down on her as a proud teacher may look down on a gifted student. 'You really are a very pleasing mouth my dear, very pleasing. I think you've earned your lotion tonight.' He reached back inside his cape and once again pulled out the leather pouch. Despite the fact that the woman had still not completely recovered her breath she perked up immediately at the sight of the pouch and sat back up onto her knees, jiggling excitedly, her eyes wide once more. The man slowly undid the leather strap and I swear the young woman actually licked her lips. With a flick of his head he indicated a nearby chaise-longue and the young woman scampered over to it and sat back onto it, draping her legs off the sides with no shame, her now visibly engorged and wet vagina wantonly open and waiting for him, hunger in her eyes. I was surprised to see that his member, still hanging from his trousers, was starting to twitch to life once again and, by the time he had moved, slowly, to the chaise-longue, it was almost fully erect once more. He stood over her and opened the pouch. She was now squirming on the seat, her buttocks clenching and unclenching, her thigh muscles quivering. He pulled out a small medicinal jar and unscrewed the lid, pushing in two fingers slowly and deliberately and scooping out a large dollop of a white creamy substance. The young woman squealed and half rose from the seat before falling back again. He placed the jar and the pouch on a nearby table and bent to start rubbing the lotion around the folds of her vagina and she arched her back and opened her mouth, almost orgasmically. Barely suppressed squeals issued from her mouth and as he plunged his fingers into her for the first time she started to writhe. He withdrew his fingers and she moved her hips as if to try and keep them inside her but he pushed her back into the chair and raised the two fingers he had been using on her to her mouth. She opened her eyes as her nose caught their smell and, to my amazement, she hungrily started to lick them like a cat does to cream. She continued to lick his fingers long after any visible traces had gone, working her tongue around every crevice deftly. I could only imagine what feelings that agile muscle had only recently elicited in his once more iron hard member. He withdrew his hand from her mouth and, covering her face with his hand he pushed her once more into the chair and moved so that his caped back was now towards us. From his sudden movement and her loud squeal it was obvious however that he had just plunged his member straight into her waiting sex and her legs, which had been draped from the sides of the chaise longue suddenly straightened out either side of him. He caught them and moved them so that they were over his shoulders and then Holmes and I watched for some minutes as he urgently and ferociously thrust himself into her, pumping with his legs. His animal grunts mixed with the young woman's increasingly fevered squeals which morphed slowly into screams. It was at this point that a strange thought burst into my mind; why were none of the staff rushing to see what the commotion was, but despite the woman's increasingly loud screams, no-one was forthcoming. His thrusting became, impossibly, more urgent and forceful and her screams almost constant, her legs now flailing around on his shoulders such that he had to grab her calves with his hands, holding her legs up as he continued to piston into her. I have never, before or since, seen a woman orgasm so strongly as the woman did, her scream reaching a crescendo, her legs stiffening and then she passed out and went completely limp but the man had not finished and continued to use her rag-doll body until he too held himself fully in her and grunted as he spasmed a number of times before dropping her legs and letting her slump, comatose, onto the chaise-longue. He stood back and gathered his breath for some seconds, affording us a look at the young woman, unconscious, lying discarded, her arms and legs draped over the sides. Her hair was drenched with sweat and stuck to her naked skin, which also glistened in the lamp-light and her vagina, pulled open by her hanging legs and looking slack and well-used, dripped copious amounts of the man's semen onto the plush upholstery of the furniture. It was as carnal and lewd as scene as I think I shall ever witness in my life. The young woman was completely and utterly spent. I became aware that my nose was now almost touching the glass as the heat of my breath fogged the window before my eyes. I turned to look at Holmes, my jaw slack in amazement but he remained exactly as he had been at the start of the display, interested but impassionate. I could not but marvel at my companion's self-control. Or possibly at how cold and inhuman he could be. Movement in my peripheral vision compelled me to return my attention to the room and I saw the man move back over to where the woman's dress had been left on the floor. He picked it up and used the material to wipe his still semi-erect penis clean of his seed and her copious vaginal juices. He also rubbed the front of his trousers where her juices had also left their mark. He then dropped the dress again and put his penis back into his trousers and refastened his fly buttons before moving to the table and, after replacing the lid of the jar, put it back into the pouch and replaced it into his cape. When this was done the man pulled a notebook from another pocket in his cape. It was larger than the standard pocket notebook and was fastened with an Indian rubber band. It looked well thumbed and had loose leaves and other scraps in between the pages. Despite all that had taken place beforehand it was only at this point that I noticed that Holmes shifted forward and took extra interest. The man pulled a chair across the room and, after lighting a cigar and taking a couple of heavy puffs, proceeded to carry out the most bizarre actions. He started to sketch in the book, presumably studies of the comatose woman. He bent forward to make the most intimate examinations of her, in a very detached way, moving aside the folds of her vagina with his pencil, or roughly moving parts of her body as he inspected her, pulling her breasts up and moving her arms. Holmes and The Cad's Diary Ch. 01 'Birthmarks!' exclaimed Holmes in a whisper that hinted almost at admiration. Having finished his examination and sketching the man then made some written notes then, after tucking the pencil away in the spine of the book, produced a small pair or scissors that glinted silver in the lamplight and proceeded, with no gentleness to cut a sizeable clump of the woman's pubic hair and place it into the leaf of the notebook onto which he had been writing then closed the book, firmly fastened it with the india rubber and replaced it under his cloak. He sat back and leisurely finished his cigar, sometimes idly surveying the slumped form before him and at other times casually surveying the room. After finishing the cigar, stubbing it out on the side table and leaving the butt there, he stood up with a start that made Holmes and I jump back into the cover of the window frames but to my surprise the man strode confidently towards the door of the sitting room and pulled it open, uncaring of waking the staff. A few moments later we heard activity and loud voices at the front of the house and Holmes set off, skirting the open lawns along the margin of the covering shrubbery to investigate. I turned to follow but was halted by the arrival of a maid-servant in the sitting room, carrying her own lamp. With a gasp she ran over to the woman, whom I presumed to be the lady of the house and, after surveying the distressingly wanton detritus of the preceding events knelt at the woman's side and started to revive her by gently tapping her cheek. She was soon joined by another two women, also staff members by the quality of their night attire, and older in years, who after also pausing to recover their senses at the scene before them, pulled the younger servant away and, one of them producing a vial of smelling salts, made a more concerted effort to revive the woman. Their efforts seemed to start to accomplish their aim as the young woman began to stir, but as a male servant appeared, framed in the doorway, I feared detection and turned to follow Holmes. I caught up with him in time to see the caped man, his high collar still in place, walking casually down the gravelled drive and out into the street beyond. Light from the open front doors spilled across the gravel and a man I assumed to be the Butler of the house, hastily dressed in black trousers and a half fastened dress shirt, was stood, open mouthed in shock, looking after the caped man. 'We must get back to Jeffers and follow the carriage back to this monster's lair Watson and we can't wait for the faithful retainer (he laced that descriptor with irony) to return indoors. Back over the wall.' Holmes whispered. My feet crunched the gravel as we turned which harvested a half-hearted and inconsequential 'who's there' from the Butler but we made our way carefully back through the shrubbery until we reached the point where we had scaled the wall and once over made more urgent haste to the street where we had left Jeffers was waiting for us. It was with no small amount of shock that we discovered that Jeffers had left without us and, hearing the skittering of wheel on cobble we looked down the gas-lit street to see our hansom in the distance, following the caped man's carriage. 'Damn Jeffers,' exclaimed Holmes, 'Damn him! He's acted on his own initiative and followed the carriage on his own! It's taken me months to get a lead on that fellow and now I've lost him again. We must hope that Jeffers doesn't lose him and we can extract a location from him in the morning.' It was rare for my friend to show such strong emotion during a case, he was usually so in control of himself. I took it as a mark of the importance of the case and felt it best to keep my own counsel. Instead I walked off towards the junction at the end of the road in the hope of securing a passing hansom in the busier road ahead. At this time of night that was no easy prospect and it was indeed nearly an hour before we returned to our rooms at Baker Street. A dark cloud had descended over my friend and he uttered not a word for the whole hour and when we finally arrived in our own familiar sitting-room he flung himself into his favoured chair by the fireplace and generously loaded his pipe with a particularly acrid brand of tobacco. He slumped into the back of the chair and I immediately realised that he would not be sleeping tonight as he worked over his new problems in his head. For my part I decided that the hour was too late now to travel back to my house and ever-understanding wife and settled on staying in my old room upstairs. I guessed that, after the amazing events to which I had been witness to earlier, sleep would not come easily to me either. The next morning I rose late, having had a broken night's sleep peppered with vivid and erotic dreams. I was not going to be able to push the memories of last night's events to the back of my mind for some time, and if I was honest, I wasn't completely sure I wanted to. Despite the wantonness of the episode, the sheer animalistic lust of the scene had been, to my shame, one of the most powerfully arousing sights of my life. I dressed and went to the sitting room, from where the aromas of one of Mrs Hudson's excellent breakfasts was almost completely overpowered by the pungent smoke from Holmes' pipe, despite Mrs Hudson I presumed, having thrown open the windows in an effort to clear the air. It was obvious that my friend had spent the night at his pipe, exercising his mind at the problem at hand. My entry seemed to break the spell and he looked up from the empty grate, flashed a momentary smile and placed his pipe on the small table at his side. 'Watson, dear Watson, you are quite right of course.' He laughed at my questioning look. 'You think I should take some of that excellent breakfast and that staying up all night is bad for me.' 'Well, obviously.' 'Then let us eat Watson, let us eat. There is little to do for a while; good but overly enthusiastic Jeffers will be a-bed after his night-time explorations and we must let him have his rest before we press him for the address that the carriage went to. Our trail may not yet be cold Watson . . . . . . unlike this coffee! ' He picked up the coffee pot and carried it to the door. 'Mrs Hudson! MRS HUDSON! Some fresh coffee please, Watson abhors his coffee cold!' I squirmed under the withering gaze of London's most persecuted housekeeper as she came to snatch the coffee pot back to recharge it with hot coffee and I gave Holmes an admonishing look on his return to the table. 'Are you ready to tell me what last night was all about? I take it we haven't just become the capital's greatest consulting voyeurs?' 'Last night was very instructive Watson.' 'I certainly learned a thing or two.' I replied, but my friend continued without even registering my attempt at humour. 'Have you heard of The Cad's Diary?' Holmes asked as he buttered some toast. 'Most of the Gentlemen in London have I suspect,' I replied, 'but I'd always assumed it was merely a titillating rumour.' 'Unfortunately not Watson; the Cad's Diary is very real, and many of the gentlemen you refer to live in fear of it, men from even the highest echelons it is rumoured. The man known only as the Cad is an unsurpassed seducer of other men's wives and, as I think we witnessed last night, an unparalleled master of the erotic arts.' 'That was him, that was the Cad?!' I exclaimed. 'I believe so Watson. I received a tip-off that the wife of the Minister for European Trade was one of the women in his diary and that, as the Minister is currently abroad on a trade mission, the Cad was planning to renew her acquaintance last night.' 'That was the Minister's wife?! She seems a lot younger than him.' 'She is his second wife Watson, and she is the daughter of a very well-connected and wealthy shipping magnate. It was a useful arrangement for both sides of the bargain.' 'So, that notebook that we saw him writing in, that was the legendary Diary?!' 'The very same Watson, the very same. It is the information and artefacts held within those pages that keeps the Cad safe from reprisals from the husbands of his conquests. If that book were to fall into the wrong hands who can say what scandals would emerge? I even heard tell that the late Charles Augustus Milverton had a standing reward of ten thousand guineas for anyone who could place it in his hands' 'But don't the women know that he is, shall we say, er, profligate with his attentions?' I asked. 'They do,' replied Holmes, 'but it is rumoured that he is able to lift them to such heights of ecstasy that he is able to keep them in his thrall to an almost fanatical extent. I think we saw that in the face of that poor young woman last night. And I think, for the first time, we have also gained an insight into how he does it. As well as an above average sized penis I think that the secret must be in that cream that he kept in the jar and applied internally, both orally and via the vagina it seems to enhance the pleasure of orgasm quite spectacularly. The poor girl acted like the worst of opium addicts in its presence Watson.' 'The effects were certainly astounding Holmes, and yet I know of no medical compound that can have such an effect.' 'There are more things in heaven and earth than even our medical science can know Watson and I think we have glimpsed an insight into his legendary power. But wait, I think we must halt this conversation momentarily for friend Lestrade approaches.' My quizzical look prompted more information. 'He customarily retains the services of a particular cabbie, Wilkinson, and I pay Wilkinson a small retainer to use a specific nail in the shoes of his horse to give me warning of Lestrade's approach. Unless I am very much mistaken that is Wilkinson approaching now and so I assume we are about to entertain Lestrade. Pour him a cup of coffee Watson.' Sure enough, a few minutes later, Lestrade was standing in our sitting room with a quizzical look of his own as I handed him a coffee, ready poured to his liking. 'Thank you but no Dr Watson, I'm afraid I'm here on business. There's been a murder.' 'And you wish me to come and inspect the scene with you Inspector?' asked Holmes, standing and reaching for his coat. 'Ah, not exactly Mr Holmes,' replied Lestrade, sheepishly as two constables entered the room behind him, 'I'd like you and Dr Watson to accompany me to the Yard. We have a witness who says that one of you is the murderer!' Holmes and The Cad's Diary Ch. 02 In deference to my friend's unrivalled history of aiding the Yard we were not subjected to the humiliation of handcuffs nor were we taken directly to Scotland Yard, but instead taken to a town house in a once-fashionable area of the city that was now, like the house, looking less than its best. 'This is the scene of the crime?' asked Holmes. 'It is, and I'm breaking all the rules bringing you here Holmes so no funny business else it will be all three of us in the dock.' Replied Lestrade, holding the door of the enclosed four-wheeler open for us. This was no act of respect, although we had not been cuffed, the four wheeler we had been travelling in was fully enclosed and had no handles on the inside of the locked doors. Lestrade had ridden ahead of us in his retained hansom and without outside aid we would not have been able to exit the carriage. 'Well, I haven't been to this part of the city for some time Lestrade, when did the murder occur?' 'The Police Surgeon reckons late last night.' 'Well, we were clear on the other side of the city last night. A cabbie by the name of Jeffers can attest to that.' 'It is Jeffers who says that one of you two may be the murderer. He says that he dropped you off here just before midnight after you asked him to follow a carriage here. One man got out of the carriage and went into the house. You and Watson alighted and followed him in after dismissing Jeffers for the night, paying him a generous tip.' 'That's simply not true. We used Jeffers last night on an investigation but he left us at the House of the Minister for European Trade around eleven o'clock and we had to find another cabbie to take us back to Baker Street. That cabbie was called Harrison and works out of the Carrow yard. He will corroborate our story.' Lestrade turned to one of the constables at his side. 'Check that out, take my Hansom.' The constable nodded and rushed over to Lestrade's waiting cab which clattered off down the street. 'To be fair Holmes, Jeffers did say that it was dark and you and Watson were wearing hats and face masks but he said it sounded like you and the gentlemen were the right height and build.' 'Jeffers is to be excused Lestrade, he saw and heard what he was expecting to see and hear and the two men in the cab played on that. I'm beginning to suspect what may have occurred here last night. May I go in and examine the scene?' 'Against my better judgement Holmes, I think you should. It looks to me like someone is trying to set you up.' Lestrade stood back and with an outstretched hand showed Holmes down the path to the front door, which stood open. 'Your men have down their usual good job of making it look like a large stampede has progressed down the path Lestrade. You have seen many a time how much data can be gleaned from the very off just by carefully examining the path and yet you continue to let them tramp their regulation boots up and down.' 'Go easy Holmes, until we hear from this fellow you are still officially suspects.' Replied Lestrade defensively. 'Very well,' replied Holmes, bending to examine the grass either side of the door, 'and besides, these footprints here are not police issue boots. Several men, perhaps as many as ten, stood here before the morning frost formed, shuffling their feet. They were either cold, or nervous, or both.' Holmes indicated a number of footprints in the trampled down grass. 'That is probably why our two impersonators dismissed Jeffers instead of asking him to wait. It wouldn't do to have him witness the arrival of these other men. It wouldn't suit the story they were weaving, and these men wouldn't want witnesses around. May we?' Holmes indicated inside and Lestrade nodded. 'The body is in the front room just off to your right Holmes. The undertaker hasn't been to collect it yet. We have yet to identify the man so we have no idea of any arrangements he may have made, but also, well, I felt sure there was going to be nothing to this statement from the cabbie and I wanted you to take a look if I'm perfectly honest.' Holmes stopped short momentarily and looked Lestrade in the eye. For the merest glimpse I thought I saw the tiniest flicker of emotion in my friend's face. 'Thank you Lestrade.' Said Holmes, quietly. As soon as it was said he snapped quickly back to the case as if the exchange had never happened and entered the room on the right containing the body. He moved only far enough into the room to allow Lestrade and myself to follow him in and stand beside him as he took in the scene. The room was sparsely furnished with only a single large rug on the floor which left a sizeable margin of bare board around the room. There was a pair of mismatched but expensive chairs at the fire place and two or three fine ornaments on the mantle but the painted walls were unadorned. A side table in the Italian style stood beside one of the chairs and upon it was an opened box of what looked to be assorted fine cigars. There was nothing else in the room - nothing that is but the, obviously dead, body of a man, lying in the middle of the floor. He lay on his back, arms stretched out, and had suffered a number of stab wounds, the consequence of which was that the front of his white dress shirt was now wholly red. A large black stain spread across the rug and still fastened around his throat was a high collared cape. 'The Cad!' I said, quietly. 'Indeed Watson.' Replied Holmes as he proceeded to slowly circle the body, avoiding the large blood stain on the rug, 'What do you make of the stab wounds?' After receiving a nod of permission from Lestrade I advanced on the body and knelt to examine the ragged holes in his shirt. In my adventures with Holmes I had, sadly, come to learn that much can be gleaned about the murderer from the wounds he inflicts on his victim, such as height, strength, which hand he favours and sometimes, even gender. The wounds on the Cad's body however were confusing. They didn't even appear to be made by the same weapon. I struggled for some minutes trying to knit together some pattern or useful data but failed. My confusion must have been evident from my face. 'Yes, Watson, there is no pattern is there? I would even venture to suggest that of the 10 wounds in the chest, two were made with the left hand while the rest were made with the right hand. And the blade used to finally dispatch the fellow with the wound across the throat was wholly different to any used on the chest.' 'I can't help but agree Holmes.' I said as I stood up, realising that I had now discharged my responsibilities in this part of the investigation. 'May I examine the cloak Lestrade.' Holmes asked. 'You may Mr Holmes, although none of your tricks, I want to see anything you find and keep your front to me at all times, just so that I can see everything's in order!' Holmes smiled but followed Lestrade's instructions. First he crouched and lifted one side of the cape and felt inside. After a few seconds he found what he was looking for and removed the small leather pouch, holding it up so that Lestrade could see it clearly. He undid the strap and pulled out the ointment jar, the lid of which was still secured. Holmes opened the lid and sniffed the lotion but no expression crossed his face. He replaced the lid and jar then handed the pouch to Lestrade. 'Keep that safe Inspector.' Lestrade turned the pouch over in his hand and then put it into his deep trenchcoat pocket. Holmes then turned his attention to the other side of the cape but, mindful of Lestrade's request, instead of moving around so that his back would be to the Inspector, he reached across the body and flipped the cape open so that the lining was visible to us all. There was a large pocket sewn into the cape which had been secured with a single button. 'Inspector, would you be so kind as to check that pocket.' Lestrade bent down and put his hand into the pocket. 'It's empty Holmes,' the Inspector replied then checked himself, 'no, wait, there's something at the bottom.' The Inspector withdrew his hand and opened it to us. 'What's this? Looks like hair, perhaps a lock of hair come loose or something. Curly and dark, almost like pubic hair.' Holmes and I shared a look as the Inspector tucked the hair back in the pocket and stood up. 'Have you drawn any conclusions Holmes?' Lestrade asked. 'I have three working hypotheses at present Inspector, though one seems to adhere to the available date more than the other two – may I have a look around the rest of the house?' 'Of course Holmes, but you'll find little of interest. Most of the rooms are empty and a bit derelict, especially upstairs. The room across the hall is set out after the fashion of a bedroom and curiously there is a well tended conservatory out the back with a number of exotic plants. Perhaps this chap was a plant collector and the valuable plants are a motive? The robbers got disturbed before they could load up their treasure and ran off into the night?' 'It is a possibility Lestrade, you have taken all the elements and weaved them into a narrative it is true. But you are on completely the wrong course.' Holmes was merely stating the facts as he saw them, as usual, but Lestrade gritted his teeth at the rebuke nonetheless and followed Holmes on his inspection of the barely furnished house in a slightly darker temper. After making an especially careful examination of the plants in the conservatory Holmes was heading back to the front door of the house when the constable that Lestrade had dispatched in his Hansom returned with a broad smile on his face. 'I tracked down the cabbie Harrison and he confirms that he took Mr Holmes and Dr Watson home last night and the times agree. The records in Carrow's yard also agree.' Lestrade looked somewhat relieved, Holmes merely nodded. 'There is one other thing Mr Holmes,' said the constable, 'Jeffers asked me to give you his apologies for any trouble he has caused you.' 'A mere trifle,' replied Holmes, 'if my thinking is correct in so far as what lies behind this unhappy situation then he was understandably misdirected by a concerted effort to conceal the actual crime that is taking place as we speak.' 'Taking place Holmes? The man is already dead, are you saying more lives are in danger. Constable, get everyone from the house and get the drivers ready to move.' 'No Lestrade, no, there is no need to prepare a raiding party. Well, not yet anyway. If I am correct this murder was merely a necessary part of a larger and more insidious plot, but there is little we can do now, we will have to wait for circumstances to conspire to give us another opening. For now Lestrade, if you have no objection, may Dr Watson and I return to Baker Street?' 'Of course Holmes, Dr Watson, you are officially no longer suspects in the case, and please, use my Hansom with my apologies.' 'A kind offer Lestrade but I think we would enjoy the walk Watson, eh? ' said Holmes as he walked up the path, with me trailing behind, 'Besides, it makes a strange noise.' We walked to Baker Street enjoying the heatless winter sunlight and leaving Lestrade looking somewhat perplexed. Spring was weaving its restorative miracle on the great city of London and, although the full erotic power of the events we had witnessed at the house of the Minister for European Trade just before Christmas was still seared deeply on my mind, Holmes and I had discussed little of the events and his conclusions around the murder of the Cad, in which we had been implicated. If I tried to raise the issue in conversation he would bat it away with a wave of his hand or merely go as far as to say that the trail was cold and that nothing could be done until more data came to light. Lestrade's efforts at identifying either killer or victim had gone unrewarded and the man had been buried in an unmarked grave in an unfashionable cemetery. There had been no mourners. A number of trifling cases had passed through the cluttered sitting room of 221B Baker Street during the early months of the New Year, none of which either taxed or entertained Holmes. He spent many of the days surveying the newspapers in his ever-present quest for his treasured data, often clipping articles out and filing them in his impenetrable system of books and folders, and then spent as many of the days merely sitting and smoking or scraping on his violin, conserving, he would say, his mental energy for when it was needed the most. For my part, the good health that my patients had enjoyed before Christmas had obviously gone the way of the snow and ice of winter and, bizarrely, now that the weather was improving, so their health was failing and my practice kept me away from Baker Street for long stretches. One particularly fine morning I found myself calling on a patient within walking distance of Baker Street so, eschewing a cab ride, I decided to call on my friend for some of Mrs Hudson's excellent coffee. After exchanging pleasantries with my former landlady I entered the sitting room on the first floor to find Holmes sat, once more, in his favoured chair, carefully examining a sheet of paper. 'Morning Holmes.' He didn't reply but handed me the sheet of paper and proceeded to prepare his pipe. The paper appeared to be a page torn from a large notebook. There was a crude sketch of a woman at the top, annotated with descriptions of notable features, almost like autopsy notes. Two birthmarks on her left arm, a mole under her right breast and prominent labia. In neat handwriting below the sketch were the following notes. 'The Lady Fraserburgh Pleasantly chubby with ponderous hanging breasts which I have coached her to use to quite spectacular effect when encasing my cock. Those fleshy pillows are her most obvious and entertaining feature. She seems to find me splashing them with my seed amusing and has taken to rubbing it in to her skin, commenting that it is her most favourite skin preparation. She has a willing but unskilled mouth, despite my attempts at improving her skills. I let her suck me off now and again but only because she begs to and never for very long. I'm more interested at getting at those titties myself. At her age her fanny is getting a little slack, but then I might have had something to do with that! I doubt her husband derives much pleasure from it these days, she says he isn't exactly blessed in the cock stakes. I have forbidden her to entertain him with her titty skills, those are for me only. As she gets older I will use her less and less but she has been generous in the past and when younger sport is unavailable she is a warm, grateful and comfortable 'bed' for the night.' Underneath, in looser writing, was a later addendum: 'Died, September 18xx, left me a pocket watch. Raised a disappointing amount at auction.' 'The Cad's diary?' I asked 'A page of it, yes. Lord and Lady Fraserburgh are both dead, leaving distant heirs, so that page is of little power now. It's merely an example, proof of ownership as it were.' 'You have the diary?!' 'Unfortunately not, it is proof of ownership sent to me this morning by private messenger. A number of messengers actually; I managed to trace back three of them before the trail went cold.' 'Why now? Months after it was stolen?' 'Because it has taken me this long to work out where it is, who has it, and what they are planning to do with it, and they are trying to warn me off.' He stood up from his chair and walked over to the table where I was sitting with my coffee, his eyes once again glinting as they only do when, as he puts it, the game is afoot, and reclaimed the page from me. He walked back to the fireplace, folding the page in four and stowing it in his waistcoat pocket. 'Are you ready to enlighten me now then Holmes?' I asked. 'I think it only fair Watson, for when I have put the bones of the case before you I have a favour to ask you that you may find difficult to grant, but I fear that the fate of the country may rest upon it.' Knowing that my attention was now fully engaged he relit his pipe, took two dramatic puffs to build the tension, then began. 'The Cad's Diary was always something that was at the back of my mind Watson, no student of the criminal and the unusual could fail to be intrigued by it, and of course, there was always the danger of it falling into nefarious possession, like Milverton, but whoever the Cad was, he seemed indisposed to profit from his knowledge through anything as base as blackmail. It was my deduction therefore that he was driven solely by the allure of other, more powerful, men's wives and the Diary, through the rumoured knowledge of its existence, was his protection. His conquests, who followed his wishes slavishly, would supply him with gifts and trinkets enough that he may live as comfortably as he desired in the singular house in which we saw his body and, as a socialite without compare he was able to dine out every evening and, ah, entertain himself shall we say, whenever he chose.' 'I had been collecting oddments of information regarding the Diary and the man himself, but little of any consequence until a few months ago when I received the tip off that led us to our little adventure at the house of the Minister for European Trade. Of that evening I'm sure I do not have to refresh your memory. But what of the killing of the Cad, you will remember that there was a confusion of wounds upon the body.' 'Yes Holmes, it appeared to be a frenzied attack by an assailant using different weapons in each hand.' I had cast my mind back to the sad demise of this arch-seducer. 'Or, as suggested by the footprints of the assembly at the door, a group of men Watson. I surmised that a group of men whose wives all appeared in the pages of the book had been led by one man, who had finally identified the Cad, to wreak the ultimate revenge. All in it together, all with a hand in the murder but led by one particular man.' 'The man who slit his throat?' 'Exactly Watson. The coup de grace which finally dispatched the man that had caused them such trouble. None of them could talk lest they would be implicating themselves in the murder, and as a further muddying of the water, we were implicated by the simple use of body doubles in the darkness of a London night. By the time that confusion was sorted out, they assumed, there would be distance between them and the crime, time enough for alibis and cover stories to be sorted out.' 'A very good plan Holmes, but you said that the crime was ongoing, yet you paint a picture of a complete story, a neatly packaged ending.' 'And so the conspirators probably thought Watson, but the coup de grace was an act of a ruthless but heartless man. One who had plotted far beyond the simple act of murder, one who had seen the crime for the opportunity that it was.' Holmes was speaking rapidly but with flourish now, carried away by the narrative he was weaving. When he was talking of the events of the night and the murder I was able to compare my own theories with his and keep up but now he was venturing into places unknown and I sat enthralled, my coffee untouched, as Holmes surrendered to his love of the dramatic, pacing the room as he unravelled the strands of the story. 'The ringleader must have been the first to retrieve the Diary, the others, pulled along on the adventure as participants but not instigators would have been naturally reticent after their first hand involvement in the death of the man. I can even imagine him holding it aloft like a trophy and giving it due reverence. But instead of destroying it as he had more than likely promised, he spirited it away, took control of it, and used it for the one thing that the Cad never did – outright and blatant blackmail.' Holmes and The Cad's Diary Ch. 02 'The conspirators would be silent, they had the double jeopardy of knowing that their wives most intimate secrets were in the Diary and also that they had committed a capital offence. My investigations also suggest that they may have benefitted financially in some small ways in the subsequent endeavours. In that way I think I am certain of the names of eight of the ten men and can hazard a guess at the other two. But the instigator, he has benefitted greatly and quickly and succumbed to the most common of criminal vices – greed. Greed Watson, my most loyal and dependable informant.' 'So you know who this man, this instigator, is?' 'Yes Watson, I should have known from the very beginning, if only I had been clever enough to see the bigger picture. He made one mistake early on which gave me the scent. The Minister for European Trade was away on a trade mission the night we saw his wife entertaining the Cad.' 'Some minor state I believe. It was in The Times.' 'But he had no passage booked on any line for three weeks before that date Watson, and no record was made of him re-entering the country at any of the Channel ports. I checked.' 'You mean?' 'Yes Watson. The Minister was the source of my tip-off and the man that used his own young wife as sacrificial bait in a trap to kill a man. And it has been the Minister that has been using the knowledge and leverage gained from his possession of the Diary to secure, over the last few months, lucrative shipping contracts and business deals to increase his wealth and influence to such an extent that he stands on the verge of a meteoric rise from a relatively lowly cabinet position to leader of his party at the next election.' 'My God Holmes!' There was silence in the room for several minutes. Holmes moved back to the mantle to refill his pipe after his performance and I sat, trying to take in the gravity of the situation. It was I that broke the silence at last. 'You said you had a favour to ask me?' 'A very great favour Watson.' 'What is it?' By way of answer Holmes went into his room and returned a few minutes later with a battered suitcase which he put on the table in front of me. Undoing the straps and opening the lid he pulled out a long black cape with a high collar. 'I want you to be the Cad Watson.' I could think of no reply other than to sit open mouthed in shock. 'I would do it myself Watson but I am wholly the wrong build, you are very close in height and stature. If you were to make your voice a little more gruff and keep you instructions short, or perhaps used gestures and sign language, in a darkened room you may pass muster enough for my needs. The Minister also made one more mistake, more an omission, which will be vital in the deception I propose. He was unaware of the Cad's secret lotion. This is plain by the fact that the ointment jar was left in the cloak at the murder scene and the exotic tropical plants in the conservatory were untouched. From a close examination of the specimens I noted a number had cuttings taken or lesions on the stems where extract had been taken and I would therefore venture that it is some combination of this extracts which makes up the lotion.' 'I'm not really sure Holmes; I mean what would you want me to do?' Holmes outlined his plan and after two stiff brandies, against all my better judgement, but with, I am ashamed to admit, some excitement, I agreed to his plan. And so it was that near 11 o'clock on a cool spring night I was again crouched by the French windows that led into the sitting room of the Minister for European Trade, soon to be leader of his party, looking in. Holmes, in preparation for the upcoming charade, had picked the lock ('A Dobson 3 barrel is child's play Watson') and placed the leather pouch that the Cad had used to store his lotion jar on the table in the middle of the room and I was crouched waiting for my cue. I had been there nearly 30 minutes when the sitting room door opened and the lady of the house entered, in night attire and a dressing gown and carrying a lamp. We had learned via a loose tongued servant that it was her custom to hunt out some reading matter from the sitting room each night. She moved across to the bookshelves and took a few minutes selecting a book then turned to leave. I feared that our plan was not going to work but then her eye caught the pouch and she froze, transfixed, as if she had seen a ghost. She stared at the pouch for two, long minutes, barely able to breathe, let alone move then slowly approached the table and reached out a trembling hand and, with difficulty, undid the strap and opened the flap. She visibly deflated when she noticed that the pouch was empty. That was my cue. Tap. Tap. Tap. Three, slow, gentle taps of the jar on the French windows made her head snap round and her eyes nearly burst into flame as she saw the glint of the lamp light reflecting on it. Her eyes turned to my face but I had donned a mask as well as the high collared cape. She looked for some seconds such that I was unsure if she had taken the bait but then she rushed to the windows, unlocked them (Holmes had refastened them) and pulled me inside and into an embrace, burying her face in my chest and starting to sob quietly. 'I thought you dead, I thought you dead.' were all the words she could manage. I let her hold the embrace for a number of minutes, partly because it would have been difficult to break her strong grip but also it gave me time to gain confidence in my part. Suddenly her hands moved from my back towards my crotch. Although, I would point out, not small, I was certainly no match for the Cad in penis length so I quickly gripped her wrists and pushed her back and made my first attempt at the Cad's gruff voice. 'Undress' 'Would you not be sucked tonight?' The young woman dipped her head coquettishly and walked seductively back towards me. The combination of the dim light (her lamp was across the room), my wide brimmed hat, the masquerade mask and, I presumed, the promise of some of the magical lotion all seemed to work in my favour and she seemed to accept that I was her illicit lover, at least for now. I only hoped I could keep up the charade long enough for Holmes' purposes. 'Undress!' I repeated with an edge. She gave me a look like a reproached child but started to undo the dressing gown. 'Over there, on the couch.' She dropped the dressing gown to the floor as she turned. As she moved towards the couch she came between me and the lamp and her body was silhouetted through her thin cotton nightdress. I was transported back to the night I had watched her through the window and my penis stiffened in my trousers. She reached the couch and undid the lacing at the top of her nightdress, with her back still to me, and let the loose nightdress fall to the floor around her feet and turned to face me, naked. She stood for a few seconds as if on display then reclined on the couch making no attempt to cover her modesty. I nodded approval and, playing for time, moved to a table that had a cigar box on it. Aping the Cad's confidence, which I was not feeling myself, I flipped open the box and selected a cigar, rolling it under my nose. I took a match from the nearby box and lit the cigar, inhaling deeply and blowing out a large cloud of smoke. I congratulated myself on the double benefit of using up some additional time and further obscuring my face. 'Don't be cruel my love, you know how much I need you.' The Minister's young wife was lying on the couch, wantonly displaying herself. Her hand moved to her crotch and her index finger found her folds and started to worm its way inside. She was already moist, I could see by the glistening in the lamp light. I took another puff on the cigar. 'Show me' I said. She moved both hands to her vagina and parted the lips, the vivid pink of her inners folds contrasting against the dark curls of her pubic hair. All the time her eyes flicked between my own eyes and the jar which I had placed on the table next to the cigar box. She started to run her middle finger along her opening, lingering at each stoke on her most sensitive area. 'I need your cock my love, you know my husband doesn't fill me like you do and he has neglected me sorely recently while he has been away doing business. Just the sight of you makes me wet. Let me have some lotion and fill me up my love.' As she finished this craven entreaty she slipped her finger inside herself. My penis was fully hard now, despite the trepidation that filled me. Holmes had assured me that I would have to act the part of the Cad for only a short time and for obvious reasons I would not have been able to fully impersonate him for a 'full performance'. However, the situation had now gone beyond any brief that Holmes had given me and I could not keep up the pretence of being the Cad much longer without engaging with the Minister's wife, and any sexual engagement would surely break the spell she was under. I ran through scenarios in my head: Anything involving my penis was out of the question, as much as my baser instincts cried out for release. My only option would be to perform some other act on the young woman. Manual manipulation was an option but I would necessarily be close to her and afford her a better look at my face. I had reached the conclusion that my only option was to engage in cunnilingus on the young woman when there came a soft knock on the door. Expecting this interruption as part of Holmes' plan I turned to the door with a curious mixture of regret and relief. This feeling quickly turned to panic however when I saw a chambermaid enter the room. She took a few steps into the room before seeing her Mistress lying on the couch, naked and masturbating. She was struck dumb for a second then, out of the corner of her eye saw the flare of my cigar and turned, open-mouthed, towards me. She looked ready to scream but the Minister's wife reacted quickly, dashing up from the couch and taking the girl, who looked to be in her early twenties, by the shoulders so that she turned to look her, naked, mistress in the eyes. 'Nancy, Nancy, don't be afraid, this man is my friend. You are not to shout out, he means no harm.' 'But Mistress . . .' 'He is a wonderful man Nancy, and he is helping me. Now, go up to your room and go to bed and say nothing to anyone. Do you understand?' The chambermaid looked at me then back to her mistress, standing naked in front of her, the chill and the shock causing goosebumps to rise on her skin and her nipples to jut proud from her shapely breasts. I could just discern the sheen of her juices on the fingers that dug into the maids shoulder. The chamber maid was silent in shock and confusion. I suddenly struck on an idea. 'No, she will stay.' They both looked at me, the Minster's wife's face also now shocked. 'Undress her, I would have you both.' 'But my love, she is a common working girl.' 'Undress her, or I leave.' I picked up the lotion jar and turned for the window. The Minister's wife turned to the servant girl and started to unbutton her uniform. 'No, don't be afraid Nancy, be a good girl and my friend will give you a great gift. But it must be a secret Nancy, no one must know.' As she was trying to calm the girl she helped her out of her chambermaid's uniform to reveal simple cotton undergarmets, far removed from the silken lingerie that her Mistress had worn for the Cad. The Minister's wife looked back at me, as if asking if I was sure. I merely nodded, curtly, back in reply. The poor servant girl moved her hands in front of her in modesty. A pang of guilt pushed it's way past the lustful preoccupations of my mind but I told myself that any second now my charade would come to an end and that this poor, unwitting, accomplice was a part of a greater, good intentioned conspiracy. A large part of me however, caught up in the excitement of the scene in front of me, was also hoping that the interruption would be delayed just long enough for me to see the lady of the house undress her servant. The minister's wife gently moved the servant girl's hands to her sides and then started to undo the ties that fastened the girl's camisole undershirt. She pulled the hem up and obediently the girl lifted her arms and let her mistress remove her top. Perky breasts on a slight and pale frame were revealed, unrestrained by a corset and, as her mistress threw the camisole aside her long blonde hair, fastened in a ponytail, fell down across her back. Again she instinctively pulled an arm across her breasts, the nipples rigid like her mistresses, but again the arm was gently removed. Her mistress knelt before her and placed a hand on each side of her knickers, at the hips. The maid put a hand on the waistband to resist but her mistress looked up at her and nodded a reassurance and the hand was removed. The Minister's wife pulled down her maid's knickers and revealed the triangle of darker hair at her crotch, now inches from her face. 'Kiss her' I ordered, before the wife had a chance to remove the maid's tied up stockings. I had intended the Minster's wife to stand and share a kiss with the maid so imagine my, not unpleasant, surprise when she merely leant forward and placed a firm and prolonged kiss on the labia of the servant girl stood before her. My cock twitched violently in my trousers. She sat back and looked up at the girl then round at me, just as I was adjusting my trouser front for comfort. Seeing the effect that her action had wrought on me she leant in again, this time with her tongue extended and lapped at her servant's folds, finding her clitoris and causing her to shudder slightly. A new plan formed in my fevered brain immediately. 'Move her to the couch.' The mistress stood and led her still shocked servant to the couch and made her lie down. I moved across, keeping my side profile, obscured by the cape's high collar, to the Minister's wife. I undid the jar and dipped two fingers into the lotion. Pulling them out I applied a generous amount to the saliva moistened labia of the servant girl, causing her hips to buck at my touch. I was not able to restrain myself from rubbing my fingers across her a few times more than was strictly necessary before moving away again. The Minister's wife did not need to wait for my instruction and immediately knelt between her maidservant's legs and buried her face between her thighs. The maidservant arched her back off the couch and her mouth opened as a gasp of pure and unadulterated lust left her mouth. The maidservant squealed and unable to cope with the onslaught of exquisite feelings thrust upon her by the ministrations of her mistresses tongue, aided by the amazing qualities of the Cad's almost magical cream, squirmed backwards along the couch, trying to pull away for respite enough to catch her breath. The Minister's wife would have none of it however, her long cravings, for months denied after the death of the Cad, now finally being satisfied in the most wanton way, she lapped ever harder at the nectar provided by the lotion and her head followed the maid's crotch. This had the effect of raising her on her knees so that her shapely and quite lovely buttocks were exposed to me, and between them, plump with arousal, peeped her labia, glistening again in the lamplight. Completely caught up in the scene before me I failed to hear a far off commotion, persistent hammering on the front door of the house and raised voices. I plunged two fingers back into the lotion jar and again moved forward to the couch. Without thought or hesitation I slipped the fingers into the Minister's wife's exposed vagina, causing her buck wildly and grind her face into the maid's crotch. Withdrawing my fingers again I smeared the rest of the lotion along her labia with three firm strokes then stood back. The Minister's wife withdrew her face from her maid's crotch, moisture surrounding her mouth and dripping off her chin. The maid, all early reticence blasted from her mind by the erotic onslaught, cried out in despair. The Minister's wife stood and moved to the side of the couch and lifted her leg before straddling her maid's face and lowering her own, lotion smeared, vagina onto her maid's now willing mouth. Before her face was obscured by her Mistresses curly pubic hair I saw the maid's tongue reaching out to meet the folds descending onto her. The Minster's wife shrieked at the release and arched her face to the ceiling in ecstasy then paused only to look at me through tear washed eyes before plunging back between her servant's quivering thighs. All thoughts of maintaining my disguise and worries over how to keep up the act long enough were gone; in fact I became completely lost in the scene only feet in front of me. As the door to the room bust open, almost splintering the hinges, and the Minister, flanked by two Scotland Yard constables, entered, face reddened with anger, I turned in complete shock towards them. I was struck dumb with shock; a fortunate occurrence as all thoughts of maintaining the Cad's gruff voice had been forgotten. The three men advanced into the room until, at the same time, they all saw the intertwined bodies on the couch and halted in their tracks. The two-women, completely surrendered as they were to their own, lotion-fuelled, desires, had not so much as registered the Minister's arrival and continued writhing and moaning against each other. The spell holding me had been broken however and to my shock I realised that, at some point in the proceedings, I had quite unconsciously pulled my rigid penis from my trousers and my hand was wrapped around it. I quickly started, with some difficulty, trying to regain my modesty. My movements drew the Minister's attention and his head snapped around. The Constables did not look in my direction however but continued to stare, open-mouthed, at the couch. A look of horror and confusion spread across the Ministers face. 'YOU?!' His arm raised and his finger pointed at me, silhouetted from his angle, against the French window. 'YOU! It can't be. I killed you!' He walked slowly towards me, now seemingly oblivious to the moaning still coming from the couch. 'I killed you and slit your throat. What are you? Some foul spirit? We shall see!' His hand moved beneath his coat and withdrew a small pistol which he started to raise toward me. There was a sudden sharp movement from the far corner of the room and a loud swishing sound. Holmes, who with Lestrade, had been concealed in the room all along, had sprung from his hiding place and, with a quick movement of his cane, struck the pistol from the Minister's hand. A sharp cry intimated that he had also damaged the Minister's wrist in the process. 'Is that confession enough for you Lestrade, in front of a Police Inspector, two Constables and two respected Gentlemen?' Lestrade followed Holmes from concealment, looking decidedly flustered and moving with the gait of an uncomfortably aroused man. This reminded me that I, also, was not yet properly redressed and I hastened to force my penis back inside my clothing. 'Good enough for me Mr Holmes, and good enough for the rope I'd wager. Get the cuffs on him boys.' The constables made no move. 'CONSTABLES!' shouted Lestrade, breaking their trance, 'And be quicker about it than you were getting in here, you nearly blew the plan!' Reluctantly the constables tore their gaze from the couch, where the two women were still pleasuring each other and, by the animal sounds they were making, coming close to mutual orgasm. They put the cuffs on the Minister, taking no heed of his anguished shriek as it jarred his injured wrist. As he was led out of the room the women's cries reached a joint crescendo and then died away to be replaced by heavy and ragged breathing. We stood over the couch, regarding them even though they seemed unaware of our presence. The maid had slipped from consciousness as her orgasm had crashed over her and was slumped back on the couch, one leg hanging to the floor. Her Mistress, the wife of the former Minister for European Trade, on the edge of consciousness, drowsily lifted herself off her maid, with some degree of difficulty on weakened legs, and turned to lie beside her, finally surrendering to a blissful sleep, arms around her maid's breasts, legs entwined and face buried in the blonde hair at her neck. Their bodies, chests heaving after their exertions, glistened with a sheen of sweat in the lamplight. Holmes and The Cad's Diary Ch. 02 Shouts and sounds of furniture crashing from the hall suddenly caused Lestrade to run out of the room. The servants had come downstairs to see their Master being led away in handcuffs and a scuffle had ensued. Holmes, after taking one last, disinterested look at the women started to look around the room and moved away to the fireplace, taking the lamp with him. My attention was caught as one of the servant girl's feet moved to caress her mistresses foot then fell still again. My eyes moved up their entwined legs, the damp cheap stockings of the maid against the smooth skin of the mistress. There was still a slight quiver playing out in the right thigh of the servant, pulsating against the wife's thigh which rested on it. The Mistresses hips moved slightly, appearing to push her crotch gently into the hip of the girl. My gaze moved on up – the girl's small breasts almost imperceptible now she was lying on her back, but her nipples still retaining some of their post-coital hardness. The Mistresses' fuller breasts resting on the girl as her face snuggled into the nape of her neck, her breath, slowing now into a comfortable sleeping cadence, gently moving the blonde ringlets around it. The two women were now completely asleep in a deep and restful way which I suspected would remain on them for some time. An uncomfortable cold damp feeling in my own trousers snapped me away from thoughts of the women as my now softening penis leaked against my leg. The spell was broken and the scene finished. I moved my hand to the small chain which secured the cape at my neck and undid it, pulling the cape off and using it as a blanket to cover the two women. A single low murmur, I know not from which of them, was my reward. As I sit here now, writing up this account which I suspect will never be published but that my friend Holmes wished to be submitted to the secure vaults of Scotland Yard, I feel that there are just a couple of footnotes that I should add. The secret of the Cad's magical lotion were never uncovered. Holmes' analysis of the little remaining in the jar was inconclusive and no notes of its recipe were uncovered in the Cad's meagre belongings, recovered from the curious house with the conservatory. Of its potency there can be no doubt however, both from the evidence recounted above and from the fact that, in a state of arousal after leaving the house that night, I went home and, after swiftly dismissing the servants, swept my wife to our bedroom and made love to her urgently. Having worn gloves on my journey home, and not being in the mood to pause to wash my hands on the way to bed, some residue of the lotion, albeit probably dissolved in the juices of the Minister's wife, must have remained on my fingers. That night I believe that I pleasured my wife to heights that I had not previously, or sadly, subsequently, been able to reproduce. Of the infamous Diary, officially no more is known and it remained a legend in society circles for many years, whispered stories of which would titillate young bucks once the ladies had retired and the alcohol had been flowing. The Minister's various known safes, strongboxes and safety deposit boxes were searched thoroughly when his estate was wound up after his trial but it was concluded in the official report that he had secreted it somewhere safe, of only his knowing and that he had taken his secret to the noose. And there the story would stay told if I had not, some months later, called unexpectedly on my former rooms at Baker Street to see Holmes, sat in his favoured chair by the fireplace, smoking his own blend of acrid tobacco from his favourite pipe and reading a large notebook, made up of rough pages. 'You will never guess,' he said, looking up at me mischievously as I entered, 'which member of the Royal Household is a particularly skilled practitioner of analingus.' I never guessed and he, of course, never told.