0 comments/ 4740 views/ 0 favorites The Queens Gambit Ch. 01 By: LeopoldNicholas I heard the chimes quite clearly. Even in self-induced narcolepsy something nagged away annoyingly enough to risk a slight opening of my eyes. Gladly the room was familiar. Austere enough certainly, very little to appeal to any but the most disengaged esthetically, in every sense my perfect room. The air was cold. The little flesh on my bones tended to offer little protection against inclement weather and between now and March was going to be an eternity of chilblains and colds. The thick wool dressing gown was just in reach and moving far too fast for my befuddled brain I managed to pull it over the linen nightshirt I had apparently successfully managed to don before collapsing into coma. John was still contentedly snoring, quite loud enough for my ear drums to complain bitterly that once again we had managed to finish tèt a tèt. Perhaps hindsight is a good thing sometimes but as always I preferred to skip over the vague memories of anything that might have transpired between us in private, with the clear understanding that my best, well in truth my only real friend would continue to disguise the reality of our relationship in a mask of acceptable fraternity. Suggestions of any impropriety were to be frowned upon, indeed pointedly prosecuted against and such were the double standards of our age that any hint of scandal would risk my reputation and most certainly cause Johns excommunication from his profession. The heavy curtains in the study were still tightly closed, the air rancid with a mix of stale tobacco smoke and even less appealing perfume. The first half of the stench was easy to rectify. Two hard pulls on a cheroot and nicotine wrapped its protective numbing arms around my frizzled nasal passages. The second half, caused no doubt through the combined aroma of a dozen or so actor types that returned from the Savoy in our company would be harder to expunge. Risking all I pulled the drapes aside and threw open a bay window. "Fog, thank be for a good London pea-souper!" "I see you have deemed it appropriate to surface!" The landlady's voice charming as it might otherwise be cut through my nerves like diamond on glass. "Is it late?" I always considered that the best of all defenses against criminal guilt was a total ignorance of any pertinent fact whatsoever. "Past noon sir, but there again I wasn't up till the wee hours cavorting with Mister W. and his friends." I had the distinct feeling of being squashed into the front pew of a Presbyterian Kirk somewhere north of Edinburgh. "I suppose it is too late for breakfast?" Much safer ground for a casual conversation there. "Perhaps, perhaps not!" "Conundrums, always......" I was silenced by the large silver serving tray being magically recovered from just outside the chambers door. "Sit!" I obliged sheepishly, tucking a large fresh starched napkin into the still gathered neck of my nightshirt. "Kidneys!" The succulent morsels were uncovered with the theatric flare of the magician. "Eggs!" Again the flamboyant reveal accompanied by a slap to my hand as I attempted to filch a lonely urinary organ from the previously exposed dish. "Toast!" I was dumfounded, undone equally by both the cornucopian repast and by the exhilarating prestidigitation. I hung my head remorsefully, only to be reprieved by the softest peck of a sweet pair of lowland lips on my cheek. "You're such a perfect cad sir and such a little boy. Eat, enjoy, bless you. Should I wake the Doctor?" "Let him be Mrs. H, the world can bear him slumber a little longer yet." ---------:--------- Arthur Seymour Sullivan was by nature a man with little consideration for gossip or notoriety. His talent and success had granted him a guiding position in Victorian society but his popularity as a composer amongst both high and low borne alike allowed for leeway in strictly personal peccadilloes. Being far less addiction riddled than say a Byron or Rossetti meant even the great moral prognosticator Charles Dickens found criticism difficult. Finding the great man sitting quite distracted in the bowels of my study was quite mystifying. "My dear Arthur, how the devil are you?" He rose, took my hand reasonably firmly but resumed his seat at once. "You seem a bit wobbly old chap. Something amiss in the world of light opera?" "Terrible tragedy H. Poor Braithwaite got killed on the way to the theater tonight. Chap was doing so terribly well too. Kicked the infernal needle for once and all and was back to top form." "Really am so terribly sad to hear Arthur. Was it a robbery? I know he lived in Stepney and had to travel through Whitechapel twice daily. Not a good spot at all." "No one seems to know much at all H. Would really appreciate it if you could take a look." "Calm your self old man and give me as much of the facts as you can. No panache please, just facts, clean, concise and undiluted." There in lay the rub. The facts, or at the least the assumptions were as thin as a whores underpinnings. Braithwaite had taken a hansom from Stepney to Commercial Street at around four that afternoon for an undisclosed destination and had remained incommunicado till found slain some two hours later. No information either helpful or distracting just bare bones. "Where did they take the body and who is looking after the case?" "I believe the body is being held at Saint Thomas's morgue and an Inspector Fred Abberline is in charge." "Leave the matter in my hands please Arthur. I know Abberline, he's a good man and will let me poke my nose around quite peaceably." "Thank you H. don't know where else to turn. Braithwaite was a special friend you see, want him done right by." "Understand old chap. Soon as John gets back from his rounds we will get moving. Need the fellows medical skills, my hands are a little shaky still from a five percent episode. You toddle off back to the Savoy. Am sure you have a lot of work to do before curtain call." "Gilbert is beside himself. Just keeps on and on about the possible effect on box office receipts and there's poor Braithers lying on a marble slab." "Don't let the old fellow get to you Arthur. You know he is as soft as soap under that starched collar." "Quite right H. your so right. He's all bluster and little real malice in reality. Will you let me know as soon as anything becomes evident?" "You have my word on it Arthur, anything and everything." "No scandal though H. Keep the poor boy out of the tabloids. Don't want his dirty washing spoiling a great artist's memory." "Enough said Arthur. We all have our skeletons to keep closeted." -------------: ------------- John Hamish Watson still consistently took my breathe away. His skin had paled a little from our first meeting and perhaps the once lithe figure was showing some effect from Mrs. Hudson's extraordinary meat puddings but still so perfectly Greco-Roman to my adoring eyes. He was a decidedly dapper man with perfect Spartan carriage despite the gimpy leg and such a truly wonderful ass. The mustache was not particularly to my taste and a little distracting in the embrace but as the saying goes you don't look at the mantle shelf whilst poking the fire. "Braithwaite got gutted in Whitechapel." "Surely not, the poor boy was here last night." "I remember!" John, Braithwaite and Foster had performed a very robust version of 'three little maids from school' for our entertainment. "Bet the Savoy is in a dither!" "Arthur came around whilst you where on rounds. He asked if I would take a quiet look see." "Yes of course Arthur, I had forgotten that connection." "Best still kept under the covers old man. Not the sort of thing needed airing at this time." "Sorry to bring it up." "No it needs consideration but we must be discrete. Never quite know whats afoot since Lonsdale started nosing around." "That mans an absolute bounder. He needs a good punch between the eyes." "Anyone ever tell you how handsome you are when you're angry." Watson blushed profusely and I delighted in every red corpuscle. "First stop Saint Thomas's to see the remains. Hopefully the autopsy is still awaited. Don't need that butcher messing with any evidence." Watson began to protest then thought better. Even professional brotherhood couldn't excuse the ham handed approach of some of his colleagues. "Then we need to collect Abberline from Limehouse before going to the murder scene." "Why Limehouse? I thought Abberline was living in Finsbury Park now." "Still chases the dragon there my dear John. Friday night and he will be nicely tucked into one of Lu Pi's cots with a half crown bowl. We need to get him out fast or he'll be no good to anyone till Monday at least." John was as usual aghast. His tolerance for my occasional descent into morphine derivatives was wafer thin and the concept of an apparently well grounded crown employee seeking any solace in the infernal opium den was beyond comprehension. "Poor Freddie has some issues. Please try and show your usual compassion for we slaves of addiction and our depraved succumbing to boredom's havoc." John was of course mortified as was my very intent. Far from being the typical Blackheath rugger star he was plagued with a heart the size of the subcontinent that had framed much of his stayed character. "Sorry H, was very unthoughtful of me. Will take your recriminations on board and attempt to rectify." Damn it the chap was close to tears. "No matter John, am quite sure you had no intent to slight. Take heart in our crusade to support and save!" The dear boy sniffled a bit and regained the vibrant masculinity I found so delightful. Far too many of our acquaintances slipped into the vernacular of femininity with abundant ease at times of emotional stress. "Best feet forward old fellow, first to Limehouse and from thence to submerge once more into sublime and purgatorial reasoning." The Queens Gambit Ch. 02 The ride from 221B to Limehouse was taken in silence. Morbidity had settled on us both and no doubt we shared the same fond recollections of poor Nikipoo as many of his acquaintances would that night. The journey took us down the Strand where an abundance of black memorial ribbons stood out starkly against the advertizing posters in the Savoy's foyer. Figures fleetingly appeared then disappeared in the swirling mist, silent apparitions ensconced in the oppressive silence. The Tower came and went, St, Catherine's Dock sensed rather than observed and then the steady trot down the Highway before turning into Narrow Street. "Stop at the 'Grapes' cabby!" I decided that a stiff brandy was the best solution to our immediate emotional needs and also wished to ascertain any pertinent happenings in the vicinity. The 'Grapes' was quiet enough on the surface but had known its percentage of strange cargo passing through the rear windows overhanging the great pool. Twice I had good reason to believe that my great nemesis had disposed of bodies exactly that way and had every reason to expect the landlord's full cooperation in lieu of my continued discretion. "Two large Brandies please and a pint of porter for the cabbie beyond." I laid a golden sovereign on the counter and as Charlie attempted to retrieve it covered the glinting metal with my right palm. "Surely our debt is square Mr. H." I fixed Charles Dawson with my eyes and simply smiled. "The Professor doesn't take kindly to our arrangement continuing." I knew the mention of the devil himself would rouse John to distraction. "Calm yourself John; we are just a quiet drink in convivial company." "Mr. H. I really have been keeping very steady, not one single illicit dealing in many a month." I smiled serenely and let him garrote himself. "Not like down the road in Chinatown. Lots of troubles there I hear." I winked admiringly and too late Charlie realized the hook was fast in his lip. "Gercha! You're Old Nick himself Mr. H. I swear." "In for a penny in for a pound Charlie, only in this case another nice shiny guinea would seem more appropriate." Charlie bit into the coin not so much as to test the nature but more as a reminder to all present he was no mans fool. The two coins slid into his waistcoat pocket to clink against the very resplendent time piece already ensconced. "Far too many new faces in Limehouse these days Mr. H. Lots of very young faces if you follow my drift." Watson and I exchanged glances that needed little vocal explanation. 'The Professors not happy bout it either. Says it's queering the pitch so to speaks." "Damnably strange sentiment from a man who chucks the ball consistently!" I was beginning to worry that Watson's hot head would get the better. Charlie had started to eye the snug for possible backup incase of altercation. 'Excuse the good Doctor Charlie he is inclined to see everything from a sporting skew." "I cannot speak for the Professors sportsmanship sir, but he is decidedly against whatever is occurring." The statement was made loudly alerting me at once to the fact we were being eavesdropped. The dirty mirror behind the bar gave an excellent view of the area behind and I quickly noted the two or three possible lieutenants. "Youngsters you say Charlie, how young we talking? "Teenagers Mr. H, not long out of their mothers care and still with them pigtails down their backs." He attempted to elucidate but I had heard enough. Opium was vice enough for these cobbled streets, human trafficking was quite beyond the pale. I tossed him another guinea for good measure and drained the last drop of brandy against the cold of the night. ------------ : ------------ The junction with Three Colt Street marked the end of the rule of Empire. From there to till the happy reemergence of civilization at West India Dock the Imperial Chop held sway. A virtual no go area at night even the peelers from Westferry Police Station ventured here sparingly and then never alone. During the day the residents serviced the East and West Ends laundry needs economically and efficiently. At night the restaurants and brothels vied for trade with the contagious opium dens spreading to almost every basement. I knew the street well, had eaten, fucked and smoked here too often. John on the other hand was a comparative virgin soul with not enough vice to fill a thimble. "Seems quiet enough." Watson's absurdity was followed by the distinct sound of breaking bones as a body hit the cobblestones perhaps two yards to our left. The mound of rags moaned for a few seconds then fell silent. The window above slammed shut in distain. "Don't bother yourself John the wretch is beyond our help." The stairs that descended to Lui Pi's establishment were slippery from the combined encrustation of the multitude of humanity that had traversed in anonymity that evening. Carefully avoiding the more obvious flotsam we descended to be confronted by a heavy paneled door. Three knocks bought a questioning face to the peephole and we were admitted. "It is always an honor to see you sir." Lui Pi had the manners of a courtier carefully concealing the devilish machinations of a mass murderer. "How may this humble unworthy be of service to such fine gentlemen?" I had become familiar with the groveling tone that custom insisted but was not so naive as to consider for one moment any genuine wish to assist was forthcoming. "We have come to collect one of our friends who I believe may be enjoying your fare." "It is so difficult to keep track of all my clients. They come, they stay then leave, always with discretion." "Hopefully in general from the door Lui Pi as opposed to an upstairs window." "That unfortunate incident a few doors away? I am told the gentleman quite accidentally toppled from a window whilst in the process of whistling for a cab." "You are informed of such 'accidents' very quickly." "I have a certain position amongst the community. Such is the nature of respect." "Yes you are number 438 I believe. No doubt the respect is only eclipsed by the obedience of your subordinates." Lui Pi was not enjoying our exchange. My open acknowledgement of his secret exalted position as Deputy Mountain Master in the Triad made him extremely uncomfortable. Western observation or even knowledge of the underbelly of Imperial Chinese politics was considered a serious affront to dignity and since most of their dealings were in criminal affairs overtly dangerous. "My associates will bring Inspector Abberline to the front. I would be most gratified if the matter were considered finished." "Just one question Lui Pi. Why are all the young men?" If he had any knowledge bearing on the subject he gave not a hint. Confronted by stoic silence I stared hard. I would consider myself a keen student of human expression but the granite of this mans face flinched not one fraction. Inscrutability was his badge of office. "No matter it is of little import." Taking Watson by the elbow I led him back to the street. The pile of rags was gone and a fresh dousing of water indicated a suitably swift and complete cleanup. "I see our friends have done the laundry John." --------------------- : ------------------- The cab ride from Limehouse to St. Thomas's was taken in silence. The effect of the bizarre sights and sounds of Lui Pi's establishment had obviously affected John considerably. Abberline simply slouched in the corner as close to distraction as was possible whilst awake. The markets were in full swing, the aroma of produce filling the air with a pungency that not even the thickest fog could disseminate. Costermongers vied with each other for passage in the narrow streets, handcarts and baskets full of the exotica of home and Empire set for Broad Street, the Garden or a dozen other bustling destinations. "Rear entrance please cabby." The doors into the morgue were unmarked and nondescript. I stopped at the office just long enough to make sure the autopsy was still awaited then followed John and a very unsteady Abberline to the tiled heart of the mortuary. It was a quiet night. Just four corpses laid out on the slab our interest being in number three. "Sorry about this Braithers." The uncovered body wasn't a pretty sight. Some effort had been made to clean the body but the ugly gashes to abdomen and groin gaped into evil grins. "Cuts almost disemboweled the poor devil." The wounds were deep, caused by a razor sharp object, almost as if a large circular saw blade had been forced against the flesh, lifted then forced down again. The cuts were at thirty degrees to each other and wouldn't have been immediately fatal. "He died from exsanguination by the looks of things." John had entered that place that removed reality from theory and a body no matter the condition of previous ownership became an object of purely scientific interest. "He didn't struggle much, probably due being bound. The abrasions on wrist and ankle are rope burns, deep ones. Incisions must have hurt like hell." The information came fast and without emotion, a near perfect flow of fact to feed my greedy intellect. "There's a slight scent of alcohol on his breathe, but not a large quantity. Guessing he took a hair of the dog before all this transpired." The torso had lost all personal connection to Watson now, his hands moved swiftly and professionally from limb to limb, probing, pinching, fingertips able to disseminate the smallest detail from every touch. "Injection traces on the left forearm. You can't see them but I can feel the slight bumps where the needle went in. Intravenous opiate I would say knowing Braithwaite's history." "That's interesting. Arthur stated the poor chap was completely clean these days. Wonder what pushed him off the abstinence wagon?" I helped Watson roll the body onto its belly. "Nice set of fingernail scratches down each side of his back and looks like someone or something bit into his shoulder a few times. He's definitely been buggered very recently by a very large object." Watson was probing Braithers anal passage with a swab. "Well no doubt about that. He was fucked hard by a very large cock and this semen seems to suggest it was fairly recent." The sound of excessive vomiting disturbed the scientific interchange momentarily. "Feeling a bit better Abberline?" Abberline sidestepped my sarcasm easily. "Buggered after he was dead you mean? In the morgue you think Doctor?" "No no Inspector it was prior to his demise and quite consensual. Well as consensual as would be practicable with that monster impaling him." "Then in Whitechapel. Body was found near Brick Lane, there are several Molly houses within a few hundred yards. Soon enough find out if Mister Braithwaite was frequenting any of them." Suddenly Abberline was totally cognizant. John had often remarked on the change that overcame my personality and demeanor when hot on a case. It was fascinating to observe the effect in another. "Are you feeling up to showing Doctor Watson the crime scene Inspector?" "You're not coming along yourself Mr. H?" "I have some matters I need to attend too in Whitehall. Might concern this case, might be totally unrelated. I will join you and John at the Seven bells as soon as." I saw Watson and the Inspector off in a cab then hailing my own set out to see dear brother Mycroft. The question of the teenage boys was weighing heavily. The fact that Dawson had acknowledged the occurrences meant that Moriarty was not in control and Lui Pi's acquiescence pointed to deeper and darker waters. Brother dear would know something, or if not have the where with all to start looking under the right stones. The Queens Gambit Ch. 03 The entrance to The Diogenes stood amidst the elite of London's Gentlemen Clubs but two minutes from Whitehall. Sandwiched between the Explorers and Cavalry the unnamed and unnumbered entrance presented nothing more than another marble portico in an already abundant forest. As I descended from the hansom the door opened miraculously as if by some invisible hand. As often as I visited I had yet to see a doorman or have an inkling as to the surveillance mechanism that allowed such punctilious service. As with all things Diogenes knowledge was on a need to know basis and however close we might be genetically Mycroft felt little pull to share anything more than the necessary with a brother. I have never been a club member nor ever likely to be invited to such exulted rank but as a founders younger sibling and having some reputation with the powers that be I was tolerated when either business or melancholy led me to the door. The lobby was impressively ornate but with a total absence of furniture and the only escape apart from the front entrance was directly into the 'Strangers Room'. I ensconced myself there with a freshly ironed edition of the 'Madras Times' awaiting the war drums to relay to Mycroft's ears my unannounced intrusion. The editorial screamed treason of course, without fail something on the subcontinent was always a stir, in this instance a question of pig fat being used by unscrupulous ammunition manufacturers. Having only recently quelled the last Sepoy revolt from exactly the same unforgivable violation of Muslim and Hindu religious protocol the mighty hand of the Raj was being exalted in the strongest of terms to smite with great speed and voracity the perpetrators of such a travesty. The usher's arrival was much of a surprise. Mycroft's usual habit was to greet any club visitors personally and I was seriously considering enquiring after his health as politeness would demand when the flunky unaccustomedly spoke. "Mr. Mycroft begs your forgiveness Sir and would be most grateful if you would be so considerate as to join him in the Turkish bathhouse." My curiosity aroused I was about to press for elucidation when the man turned and began to depart. Quickly throwing my open newspaper into the roaring open hearth, as was customary in the club to ensure utter privacy, I followed in some haste. The man stopped and indicated me to sit again and with some aplomb proceeded to cover my freshly nailed boot soles with disposable cotton galosh. Happy that my footwear could no longer disturb the hush of this great hub of Empiric power we continued. Mycroft was laying face down on a marble slab humming the Major generals song from 'Pirates'. It had been a number of years since I had witnessed the full nakedness of my sibling and was quite shocked as to the extent of his now voluminous proportions. Saville Row is quite capable of taking fifty pounds of a man with clever cutting and Mycroft's personal choice of tailor was as usual with him brilliant. "Stop looking at me like I am a beached whale Sherlock. I am quite healthy enough yet to lead you a merry dance given the will." "I think it might be a gavotte as opposed to a mazurka brother mine!" "Indeed, indeed. Is your visit intended just for the purpose of spreading such precious gems of badly disguised sarcasm or is a more serious matter pressing? Myself I am amidst the necessary pummeling of my flesh by these two excellent masseurs and am quite content to enjoy the experience alone." Brother had never taken kindly to my sometimes cajoling humor. Mycroft had two moods, serious and calamitous. "I come to the mountain of all wisdom in search of knowledge." "You really cannot resist a score Sherlock! Touché, I am suitably hit, proceed please." "Very well, briefly. There appears to be a sudden large influx of young men from the East in the reaches of the London Docklands, noticeably in the areas surrounding West and East Indie basins. This might be explainable by a number of factors. Maybe a sudden increase in the number of lascar seamen employed, perhaps a widening of Imperial Chinese emigre policy. Even the substantial increase in the number of soldiers under the employment of the Triad would explain. However I doubt any of those simple extensions of logic are the correct one." Mycroft floundered just long enough to raise himself and swivel to a sitting position on the side of the slab and thankfully for me strategically place a towel over his ample and erect genitalia that dangled openly and grotesquely between his thighs. "This is a matter of knowledge and concern to Her Majesty's Government. Indeed is worrying to many interested parties including a sparring partner of your own." "The Professor you mean Mycroft. Don't mince words. I am fully cognizant with the ongoing arrangement between Moriarty and the Secret Service in arenas of common interest. When I survived Reichenbach Falls there was always the possibility he would also. Little wonder with the inventive genius of the Ministry boffins to aid his subterfuge. We have come to an arrangement of sorts now. A truce if you wish, a mutual refusal to look in each others direction unless the stench becomes too overpowering." "You are learning politics at last Sherlock. I am suitably impressed. Perhaps there is hope for you yet!" "The point being Mycroft that both Moriarty and myself are quite in agreement on one point. Human slavery is despicable and without any possible excuse." Mycroft attempted to interpose but I gestured him to remain silent. "I am not talking about consensual arrangements between individuals to serve psychological or sexual needs, or the continued under rewarding of individuals that economic restrictions might cause to be in place. I am referring to the total subjugation, to the position of a beast of burden, of any human being by another no matter what the circumstance." The passion of my words seemed to surprise Mycroft no end. I understood that he viewed some matters from a perspective of the reality of 'the great game' but to a simpler soul like mine the fraternity of humanity was indisputable. "My dear Sherlock it is unusual and quite refreshing to hear you proselytize in the realms of morality and social order with such passion. Yes you are right of course and as a nation we have justifiably led the world in the surge towards egalitarianism. Although our immediate neighbors to the east might claim some small fertilization of its continued growth. Democracy must lead the way in this goal or we will lose all to the fervent socialist and anarchical. I will arrange for you to meet with Wilkinson in the Ministry tomorrow. He has been following the issues you speak of closely and will ground you in everything that is allowable." "I appreciate your help Mycroft. This matter seems somewhat linked to another case that I am pursuing and any light in the darkness will be extraordinarily beneficial." "You mean the demise of Braithwaite I presume?" "Indeed. You see a connection." "Butterfly wings in the Amazon my dear Sherlock. Action makes reaction, cause and effect. You will make sense of it you always do. That is what my young brother does!" For a moment Mycroft's eyes shone proud and I glowed in that light like a firefly. "Now away to Whitechapel with you and leave me to my happy release." Nodding knowingly we made our adieus and I turned to make my way back to the Horseguards entrance. Deduction told me that the smaller of the attendants was now bent over the marble slab in the process of receiving a deep and thorough sodomizing from my otherwise lethargic sibling whilst the taller masseur played tongue twister with Mycroft's thrusting ass. Without question Mycroft had a clear and concise knowledge of all the matters at present vexing my mind. He was the spider sat at the edge of a complex and all enveloping web that reached far beyond the parameters of lesser men's understanding. Nothing could occur in our great metropolis, indeed in the vastness of suburbia and country alike without his knowledge. If Moriarty was the overseer of Empires criminal underbelly Mycroft held sway in the shadowed world of intrigue and politic. Like ying and yang they coexisted, standing nose to nose collecting and filtering intelligence of all. It had often occurred to me that by a tiny shift of fortune their roles might so easily be reversed and none would be the wiser or safer. "Cabby!" The hansom had appeared as magic from the clouds of still dense soup. "To Christ Church, Whitechapel if you please." "Sorry sir, already have a fare." "That's quite alright cabby, Mr. Holmes is more than welcome to share this excellent knee blanket." Professor James Moriarty pushed open the cabs doors and welcomed me inside with a disarming smile and the offer of his hip flask. "Do excuse the intrusion Sherlock. A little cloak and dagger but we seem to be traveling the same cobbled street as of now. Mycroft suggested you might be up to a parley." My slight annoyance at the prospect of brother dear setting up this ad hoc meeting was being somewhat soothed by the certain knowledge that in some way Moriarty was a key to any solution. "I was most perturbed to be advised of poor Braithwaite's demise, a most unfortunate and tragic occurrence. The chap was quite a magnificent actor, a musical Keen no less. Saw a rehearsal of 'Mikado' and was so looking forward to seeing the production in full splendor." "The matter seems far more involved than at first apparent. My first considerations were of simple foul play by some inconsequential blaggard but every factor seems to point to these being deeper waters below and murkier with silt at that." "Braithwaite had two notable weaknesses. The first the ill-conceived need for opiate support to his artistry, secondly a perchance for the regular company of large and brutal lovers. I have little doubt that a combination of these factors led to his untimely demise." "I have no doubt your reasoning is sound but the immediate connection escapes me Professor." "My dear boy you must call me James at least. Mycroft is quite in the habit of doing so." The warmth of his words was accompanied by his hand sliding under the knee blanket and firmly squeezing my upper left thigh. "I am a good ten years older than Mycroft but we share so many similar tastes." His hand had risen sufficiently for the palm to lay quite casually across the cylindrical form of my ever semi erect penis. "Then 'James' please elucidate your hypothesis." Moriarty smiled at me with the same condescending expression that Mycroft was inclined to adopt when confronted by my inability to grasp what he considered trivial and simplistic. The hand on my thigh had curled sufficiently for the slender fingertips to run up and down my now rampant shaft with delicate but orgasmic producing strokes. "In Limehouse we had already an abundant supply of raw opium and now it seems a numerous supply of young men in human bondage ripe for the sex trade. Whitechapel supplies an endless market for suitably refined and diluted addictive product as well as centuries of expertise in the use of unfortunates for the making of unscrupulous profit through exploitation." The hand working its magic on my member had managed to serendipitously unfasten my fly and draw the magnificently full erection from my striped morning trousers into full glorious bloom. "We are just approaching Aldgate East gentlemen." The cabbies voice broke into my mind like a sledgehammer through a cabinet of cut glass. Hastily I attempted to rearrange my clothing suitably for public appearance. Moriarty placed a hand in the midst of my chest and smiled mysteriously. "Take us once around the block if you please cabby, then directly to Brick Lane." "Right you are governor." I gasped as Moriarty's mouth descended to enclose my manhood fully. The Queens Gambit Ch. 04 My intention was to find Watson and Abberline without delay. If indeed Braithwaite's unfortunate demise was a purely singular event I needed to clear the matter from an ever complicating playing field. Much deeper events were afoot, Mycroft and Moriarty's involvement behoove deep contemplation and a clean slate was the utmost imperative. The cabby stopped between two police black maria and awaited for me to alight. My immediate attention was drawn to the noticeably hostile crowd gathered in very close proximity. "Professor asked me to drop you here Mr. H." I offered the man a sovereign but his response was both surprising and illuminating. "Already hired and recompensed for the day thank you sir. I will wait for your further instructions." The mans muffler slipped a little as he spoke exposing just for a moment a very clean starched collar embellished with a red and blue striped tie. More interestingly was the tie pin emblazoned with a rather unique crest. A lion and unicorn supporting a shield enriched with the initial 'D'. A quick scan confirmed that the same crest had once proudly emblazoned the hansoms sides before being almost completely erased. Only the slightest outline was now discernible under the fresh black lacquer covering the panels. Refusing to allow further evidence of my indolent sibling's interest to distract me I proceeded to dissect the surroundings in detail. "Rum turn of events Mr. H, two bodies this time!" "Morning Lestrade, you seem to have been everywhere and touched everything as usual. Not one piece of evidence undisturbed!" "I am nothing if not thorough in the pursuit of my duty Mr. H!" As always the Inspector had adopted the appearance of a bookmaker rather than a detective, meticulously dressed in the rather novel lower middle class style adopted by lesser civil servants and non commissioned out of uniform officers. "An excellent choice of hat Lestrade must have set you back a pretty penny or two." "Fresh stock in the Army and Navy Mr. H. Took one look in the mirror and had no doubt. Two months salary but a man needs to be topped off correctly." The silver grey derby certainly was striking. A little loose on the head for my liking, a man should wear the hat not vice versa I always believed. The slight indulgence of a pheasant cockade was a little tasteless. "Fresh pomade and mustache wax too Lestrade. Bees-wax less I am much mistaken, with a hint of pine, very 'nouveau riche'." I swear Lestrade puffed out like an inflating pig's bladder inside a Saville row tailored rugger ball. I am often sour it has been suggested, unnecessarily according to John, unwittingly per my own estimation. Perhaps I do not sugar coat simply for effect like some apothecaries prescriptive, but keeping the good side of law enforcement, Inspectors particularly had immense reward in both cooperation and access. "You don't mind if I poke around a little Lestrade? Not that you will have missed a beat but just like to invest my own eyes." "Be my guest Mr. H. No harm in a second opinion, even an amateur one like your self. Not that you haven't been remarkably helpful in the past when you funny little ways have struck on gold." "Very decent of you to say Inspector, very obliged for the courtesy. Now don't let me keep you any longer with my unimportant jibber jabber. You be off about your official and vital duties. Yes indeed a very fine chapeau!" The body contains approximately eight pints of blood. Two corpses a sum then of sixteen. The upstairs room of 137 Brick Lane had been literally painted red with a barbarity that defied comprehension. The eviscerated cadavers were hanging from hooks mounted either side of the single gas mantle, although whether for maximum light to perform the grizzly business or simply for effect was difficult to ascertain. "I don't know quite what to make of it Holmes." Doctor Delaney is without doubt a good surgeon, quite capable of the most advanced medical procedures of today but has little experience with the purely criminal. "An unprecedented occurrence to western eyes beyond any doubt. Something quite beyond our every day European sensibilities." "It's as if the poor souls were sliced into like ham hocks. Carved Holmes, repeatedly, for hours it would seem." "Without the shadow of a doubt Delaney you are correct. The very skill in the matter is to make the effect last as long as possible. For hideous punishment it is and for a heinous offense without question." "But the rummest thing there was no noise. The devils must have been in agony from the first incision, if one can call it that. Why didn't anyone hear a damned peep? Walls in these buildings are so thin you could hear a mouse fart through them." "I would suggest you check their mouths. Probably a good deal of opiate powder therein." "You have seen this before Holmes?" "Not seen, no Delaney. Not witnessed personally, but I have read accounts that describe in some detail the events you here see played out. It is without question 'Lingchi', slow slicing, the slow accent of the mountain, the death of a thousand cuts. A punishment considered so severe that it is held over only for treason and patricide. In the hands of the skilled executioner such punishment might last many hours, in fact one tale tells of the victim surviving several days. The use of opium is well recorded. Some suggest it ensures the prisoner will not faint to fast, whilst others that it has quite the opposite effect and brings on a blessed stupefaction quickly." "Chinese then you are saying Holmes. But why here man, it makes no sense." Delaney was still mumbling as I left. No point feeding more information into his already frazzled mind, I had probably been too explicit as was. Without question some of my deductions would be passed to Lestrade and he would soon enough be banging at my door. Fournier Street was crawling with traffic. The mêlée caused by the events in Brick Lane had caused a major bottleneck and the crush of individuals and carts attempting to traverse between Whitechapel and Stepney had every spare Peeler on his toes running hither and thither. I managed to slide through the morass without being either felled outright or pick pocketed by the ever crowd present finger men. The junction with Commercial Street just ahead I darted into the protection of Itchy Park before there was a chance of my being spotted by either Watson or Abberline should they have need to raise their heads from the tankard of porter each would be imbibing happily in the Ten Bells. Itchy Park was full, all seats taken and the overflow reclined on the flag stones between. The air was turgid with an atmosphere of gin fumes and unwashed bodies, an olfactory critique of the degradation spewed within this Church yard by an uncaring government and society. Christ Church rose above me in all its English Baroque splendor but was more far familiar to these poor wretches laying drunken within its shadow than to any of its intended gentrified parishioners. "You needing something gov'ner?" A young man, probably in his mid teens stepped into my path. He was dressed very sportingly for this locale and had a knowing twinkle in his eye that showed more worldly knowledge than was the general rule. "I am looking for Jeremiah Flagstaff. You knows him?" "I knows Jeremiah sir, might we enquire the nature of ours interest?" The rather odd syntax of our conversation was following ritual exactly as prescribed. "Interest is ours alone, profitable but private like!" The lad spat in his right palm and extending the hand awaited my reciprocation. I necessarily obliged and followed his lead into the graveyard. Jeremiah Flagstaff sat enthroned on upturned fruit baskets beside the mysterious copper faced pyramid of Hawksmoor's design. As serene and resplendent in pearl buttoned costume as any other monarch the king of beggars watched me approach. "Stand stranger. This door is closed without profit." The speaker was Michael Renshaw, Flagstaffs master at arms and quite the most cold hearted killer I had ever met. A man who would quite willingly gut his mother slowly for a sovereign, his eyes had the cold stare of Jack Catch beneath the Tyburn Tree. "Three golden keys for entry are offered." "Two are taken for profit, the third is your interest." Placing the two gold coins in the offered cup and bowing generously I awaited Flagstaffs attention. The delay depended on status, fortunately we were old adversaries and the nod of approval swift. "Welcome to my kingdom Mister Holmes. Not often your footfall wanders into my garden. It would seem there might be some pressing affair that brings the unexpected but always welcome pleasure of your appearance." Jeremiah Flagstaff was without doubt the most complicated conundrum. An Oxford Don of Classics, ruined by alcoholism, now raised to be the only democratically elected sovereign in Christendom. "Death brings me here Jeremiah. Four deaths have I seen in two short days and the Black Angel will not rest yet." "Mortality is our nature; we are but fragile moths fighting against a hostile environment." "These deaths have little order to them. No natural force extinguished their life force; rather the hand of Adam struck them down." "Two Englishmen hastily followed by two Chinamen. A balancing you are thinking?" "If there is a connection I am at a loss. When one finds oneself left without vision who better to approach for prophecy than the Oracle of Thebes." "No vestal virgin I Mister Holmes, nor seer, but perhaps a little clarity might be interjected. When a great Empire collapses there is often chaos. The masses move here and there frantically searching for the collar that has been lost to them. Sheep, whether black or white will forever need a shepherd." "Yes, yes this is very reasonable logic but, with the deepest respect to you does not help me with the solution." "You already have had the solution in your hands and acting upon it failed not only to cure the disease but spawned an epidemic." My head was spinning. Jeremiah obviously considered the answer simplicity itself but my own mind was unable to grasp the trail. I had solved many a case in these past years but none had left to my knowledge circumstances to procreate so disproportionally. "You are one of the four greatest minds in the country Holmes. Consider your actions and you will understand all." Jeremiah Flagstaff closed his eyes and I was dismissed. No point in further debate or words at all, the oracle had spoken and it was for me to evaluate and demystify. I had thought to go directly to the Ten Bells but Renshaw barred my way. "You have a duty to perform for my liege Mister Holmes. Something you will enjoy or not as is your pleasure, but participate you will." A young girl approached, quite as finely costumed as any one might see parading in Regents Street, soft of movement and with a quite heavenly form. If her gender was my taste of meat she would have served a delicious banquet. "This is Jeremiahs niece, he wishes you to entertain her for an hour or so." "But Renshaw your liege is quite aware this would be extraordinarily difficult for me." The girl was so close now that I can clearly catch her scent. Jasmine, yes definitely jasmine, yet with a subtle hint of some other additive I cannot decipher. Strange I find myself drawn to her so intimately. "Roxanne, Mister Holmes will be delighted to take a turn with you around the locale." I glare hard at Renshaw for reprieve and see my answer staring back negatively. "Missy!" I extend my forearm for her hand and bow. The hand that grips my wrist is far more powerful than I have imagined it would be. Raising my head my sight meets twinkling eyes I have seen before but recently. "You see Mister Holmes uncle Jeremiah knows your flights of fancy quite adequately." The pathway led from the front left of the Churchyard, ran tight alongside the high exterior walls till reaching a small yard to the immediate rear. From thence a short traverse would bring us to the Fournier Street pathway and eventually a complete rotation back to our commencing position. We reached the first indented doorway halfway betwixt front portico and rear facade and I found myself being led into the vaulted alcove. His lips found mine instantly, tongue pressing deeply into my mouth to dance feverishly with mine. I am taken totally, expertly. Mouth to mouth, lipstick ring to genitals and finally drawing me into his tight enveloping purse till legs burning and tremulous I ejaculate deep into his core. The Queens Gambit Ch. 05 The journey from Christchurch to Mitre Square is less than a mile as the crow flies. One lies within the deepest darkest parts of East London seething with the concentrated masses of a dozen immigrant populaces the other in the sanctified marble and sandstone porticoes of the great City of London itself. Holmes knew these Streets as well as any man alive and every nook and cranny that might cast light on the complex evil web that spread before him. Hours past in diligent yet fruitless inquiry, from the costermongers of Spitalfields to the resplendent top hatted bankers and tycoons of Liverpool Street. Finally weary, disheveled and almost at a total loss he found himself at the Armenian bathhouse adjacent to the great Masonic Temple in Mitre Square. "You would care to take a bath before resting? We have arranged for some clothes and boots to be acquired to your measurements and they should arrive by the completion of your toilette." Holmes nodded eagerly. Certainly his ablutions of the morning had been adequate but the luxury of a real bath was too good to refuse. Vilis clapped his palms together and a male attendant dressed in very traditional Kurdish attire answered the call. "Please follow Tomas Mister Holmes. He will show you to the bath and steam room that adjoins. Do not concern yourself it is totally at your individual and personal disposal. There is another floor below that others can utilize." Holmes followed the man through the door to find himself in a long corridor he took to run the length of the entire building. The central part of the floor was carpeted with a deep piled weave that seemed to absorb every noise from footfall. Tomas moved silently ahead and Holmes holding the hems of the long towel gown he had been supplied to replace his soiled and tattered clothes followed dutifully. Each door to left and right drew his attention and he noted absentmindedly that each was numbered in even leaps. Tomas opened the second last door on the right and gestured for Holmes to enter. He found himself in a predbannick, the room being totally covered from floor to ceiling with heavy wooden planking inducing the feel and smell of a pine forest on a very hot summer's day. A row of hooks lined one wall, divided by vertical sheets of timber, producing the effect of cubicles without actually allowing for any particular degree of privacy. Holmes was quite at home in a bath house and without a thought stripped his robe at once. He began to carefully arrange the discarded garment upon a hook but with a chiding cough Tomas took the toweling robe and placed it in a large wooden chest designed for just this purpose. A little further along were stacked a vast array of white and colored towels and again gesturing for Holmes to follow Tomas handed him a white bath sheet of quite enormous size. Holmes struggled to successfully drape the towel around his skinny frame but eventually, probably frustrated by his ham handed attempts Tomas with some dexterity arranged the material in a good imitation of a toga. Stepping back to nod with satisfaction Tomas again led him through a further door to a quite sumptuous tiled and mirrored bathroom. The central tub was at least six feet square and the sides high enough to allow a large man to sit with water up almost to his chin. The water in the bath was steaming and Holmes considered diving straight in. A sharp cough at his left elbow shook his attention away from the pools immense pull and to a series of wall mounted shower units running along a raised tiled trough. Walking to a door inset a little further down Tomas cracked it sufficiently for Holmes to see that it contained both closet and urinal. With some pomp and presumed completed duties after this unveiling Tomas bowed stiffly and backed towards the predbannick before turning with great grace and stepping silently through the entrance. Holmes stood for a moment and contemplated the stillness. Apart from the gentle bubble that came from the circulated water in the steaming tub no sound entered the space. He was amazed how silently everybody moved and with such grace and precision. London was generally a cacophony of noise from dawn to dusk wherever one settled even for a moment and he had come to accept quiet as an impossibility. Now suddenly to find himself surrounded by utter peace was almost alarming. "Like the interior of a tomb." The words escaped his mouth without intention and he laughed involuntarily. He absentmindedly stroked the day stubble on his chin and again considered whether as beard or mustache might serve his serious nature better. "That would feel rough for kissing!" Holmes laughed again and then quietened as the room echoed His mirth back, almost mockingly. He stoked the twelve hour shadow again, but this time just smiled. Stepping towards the first shower head in line he proceeded to look for a control. He was amazed to find that just approaching sufficiently produced a deluge of water automatically. "Motion activated, how very convenient." The water was a little on the tepid side and Holmes stepped sideways to avoid the stream for a moment. His movement activated the second head which produced quite as strong a volume but just a little warmer. The first shower head ceased to spray and dripped a little in indignation at its so speedy abandonment. Holmes shimmied right again and with some satisfaction received an even warmer dousing from the third head. "Know I get the idea. How very clever." By the time he had reached the sixth head he was not only suitably clean but the water had heated sufficiently to prepare his skin for the pool. He quickly flew from one to the other, taking full advantage of the two tiled steps to plunge happily into the appreciatively hot brew. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh." He was beginning to become accustomed to talking out loud to no one in particular. Silence has that effect. The water was very hot, almost to the point of discomfort, but not quite. Holmes sat with his back pressed against a corner of the square perfectly tiled bath and tilting his head back gazed at the ceiling. At first glance the expanse was bare but then with growing amazement he began to see the outlines of shapes and figures appear. The mural was painted white on white, only carefully scanning his eyes repeatedly across the seeming flat surface allowed him to differentiate the slight variance in shades that with concentration produced a stunning three dimensional diorama. Clearly he saw into a room, the floor and lower parts of the walls covered in what seemed to be wood overlaid in heavy precious metal leaf. The room contained two figures, each of them having four faces and four wings, the outer wings of each touching the walls to either side, the inner wings meeting tip to tip in the center. A heavy veil hung from the ceiling behind the statues, the material multi-patterned in three distinctly different shades. "Well Mister Holmes it appears you have been seen through the artist's deception to the room beyond." "What is it Vilis?" "Why it is the Kodesh Hakodashim, the Holy of Holies, the Inner Room of Solomans Temple. That is where the Israelites God lives, behind the curtain." Holmes looked hard at Vilis. Solomans Temple was something he had often heard mentioned in the days of his childhood. "Your Father himself had great knowledge about the temple and its mysteries, as have all your antecedents before you. You will come to have answers to all your questions in time, but now it is important that your rehabilitation proceeds directly." Vilis stepped to blue and white marble sideboard that took up much of the wall to Holmes' right and reaching into a nook withdrew a silver hand bell. Having rung three peels He opened a drawer and moved to stand by the bath steps carrying two large white, very absorbent looking toweling sheets. "Your attendants will be here shortly. Please step out of the bath at your leisure and take ease upon the marble massage table. I will leave these towels here on the steps for your comfort. Please feel free to use anything you need or as your pleasure demands." Stooping just long enough to place the sheets upon the steps Vilis again backed a few steps before with his usual polite bow turned and left. Holmes felt slightly uneasy, he was full of questions now and had the strongest suspicion that it would be considered very improper to press for the answers he sought to early. "Patience Sherlock, patience. How often must you be told? Be patient." The remark was made to the ceiling and sure enough the response came back with due vibrato. Rising to his feet he shakily mounted the steps formed into the baths base and climbed out. He caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. Sure enough he was bright pink from toe to neck. "Look at the fresh channel lobster." Chuckling gleefully Holmes wrapped the warm toweling sheets around his slim but muscled frame and padded the few steps to the marble slab. Laying one sheet across the chilled surface he stretched face down along its length and pulled the other sheet across what would have been his otherwise exposed nakedness. The temperature in the room seemed to remain a fairly constant seventy degrees or so and did not accumulate any of the anticipated condensation making it very comfortable and just right for rest. Reaching down he managed to stretch to a small pillow by the tables pedestal legs and placing it between the right side of his face and the hardness of the marble closed his eyes. Holmes stirred as the towel covering his back was folded back carefully to the waist. He felt the smooth oily touch of the masseurs hands begin to gently knead his shoulders and sighed happily. The digits worked deep into the aching muscles so recently relaxed by the heat of the bath and Holmes felt the tension of the last few days begin to melt away. He had learned from past experience that often the most skilled masseur was also the most physically unappealing. Once he had been perfectly rubbed down by a soul whom could only be described as a wizened and hunch backed dwarf. Holmes took great care not to judge by appearance or physical deformity but sometimes the fact of not knowing made that ethic simpler. The hands were perfect, both in knowledge and pressure, the appearance attached from the wrist up was at this moment totally irrelevant. "Some pomegranate juice Sir?" The voice was male, youngish, the English stilted with a heavy accent. Holmes rolled his eyes up as far as possible but was unable to see who addressed him. "Please if that is possible." "For you all things are possible Sir." The sentence ended with slight snigger and Holmes felt a straw pushed against his mouth. Opening his mouth slightly and gripping the thin tube between his lips he took a sip. The pomegranate juice was chilled perfectly and the sweetness puckered the inside of his cheeks. Another sip and he pushed the straw away with the tip of His tongue. He felt the soft dabbing of a silk cloth upon his damp outer labium and luxuriated at such care. "Sir would like anything further?" "No, I am replete for now, but another sip in a little perhaps." "As you wish Sir. I will remain here at your convenience." "The gentleman's feet need some attention." Another mans voice, much like the last but different enough for Holmes to easily distinguish between them. "Please excuse any discomfort my tending them might bring." Holmes moved his right hand slightly, the only gesture possible in his present position. The signal was greeted with low laughter from the vicinity of his toes. 'Sir I hope I am not massaging too hard." A third masculine voice, obviously attached to the hands now manipulating His spine. "No not at all the pressure is perfect thank you." Giggles upon giggles joined giggles. "The Gentleman's nails are very uneven!" " Fetch the manicure set from the drawers Klaus." Holmes heard the softest of signs that a drawer was opened and closed then felt his left hand being lifted and smoothed. "Please spread your fingers Sir." Sherlock complied politely and heard the clips as his nails began to be straightened and shortened. "Cute and smooth hands. I want to feel these fingers caress me." The accents were very strong as the attendants chatted but Sherlock found their lilting conversation very stimulating. "Gripping you more like. Your such a slut Klaus." "You just want to bury your face in that sweet ass Gorje." All three attendants seemed to dissolve in fits of laughter and Holmes noticed that the hands working on him seemed to grip a little tighter. "He has a very big member, did you notice? "I nearly touched it straight away!" "I want it in my mouth!" Holmes felt the tip of His left index finger taken between soft flesh and moistened before being released again. "Just like that." Sherlock was enjoying this game, being massaged luxuriantly and listening to the attendants fantasizing about pleasuring him. The hands that had been busy on his soles and heels now circumnavigated his ankles. "Another sip Sir?" Sherlock opened his mouth in preparation and felt the slightest brush against his lips before the straw entered. This time when he released the straw he felt not the touch of silk but the a quick pass of a hot moist object. "So daring Gorje." "My ass is trembling!." The attendants laughter was long and hard and Holmes began to wonder exactly were this would end. The hands working on his back had turned their attention to his lower spine. They passed back and forth from hip to hip adjusting the modesty saving towel as they worked. Soon the sheet was low across his buttocks and the hands worked in circular motions on his firm mounds. Occasionally a hand would slip absentmindedly into the valley separating his cheeks then quickly retreat. "I want to lick his hole." "Arri, you would not dare." "Watch my tongue disappear given half a chance." Arri, Gorje and Klaus, now knowing all their Sherlock names started to combine them in different combinations. He smiled and wriggling settled down further onto the toweled slab. The three attendants giggled at his movements and their hands seemed to become even more concentrated on his well being. The hands had reached his knees and were generating enough gentle side pressure to oblige him to part his thighs a little. Gorje manicuring His hand was now filing and buffing and Holmes could feel the gentle pressure as he carefully worked on the cuticles. One hand on his buttocks began to cup and then release the flesh whilst the other ran gently but firmly up and down the valley from small of back to just above his anus. Holmes gasped as both the hands parted his mounds wide and he felt the hot wet tip of a tongue flick luxuriantly across his ass bud. A pair of lips started nibbling at his ear and the hands on his knees slid up His inner thighs to gently fondle his love sac. "Is this permitted?" Holmes blushed at his own stuttered statement and reddened more when the giggles came back loud and fast. The tongue began to lick around his tight asshole before probing gently into the orifices entry. A hand cupped his seed pods and another gently ran up and down the crease along the center of His bag. The lips on his ear and neck opened and teeth nipped and caressed his skin. Sherlock attempted to turn but was held in place and even the attempt to look at his tempters was nullified by the careful positioning of a silken cloth around his eyes. He was getting hot, hot from the steaming water, hot from the massaging, hot from the hands that seemed intent on taking him utterly. He felt his penis harden and the familiar throb of a full erection started in earnest. The sac in Klauses grip was tight as his fingers carefully massaged each testicle in turn. The tongue in his ass dipped deeper and deeper as the fingers of the hands stretched the skin surrounding it tighter and tighter. The lips on his neck moved round to start to lick and nibble at his mouth, gently biting into the soft tissue but releasing every time he attempted to make contact with his own tongue. Hands gently raised him into a position where he was on hands and elbows, thighs spread wide and ass raised high into the air. A different tongue began to penetrate his ass whilst he felt a mouth enclose the tip of his twitching member. At last the lips on his face pressed hard against him, but rather than being allowed to take charge the foreign tongue pushed into him and danced around before seeming to thrust almost down his throat. Holmes began to shudder, even though he had ejaculated earlier that day the pressure built by this triple assault was overwhelming. The mouth on his penis began to milk him fast and hard and the tongue in his ass was deep enough to seemingly lick his prostate. He spurted violently, emptying like a broken dam in one long explosion of furious foam. The boy beneath him fervently drank all he could manage, throat accepting swallow after swallow until Holmes love tube had been drained completely. Gently they laid him back down upon the slab still breathing hard and fast with the effects of the expulsion. As if quite normally the attendants returned to their tasks, massaging, oiling, manicuring, as if nothing untoward had occurred. Finally having completed their tasks to their own and each others satisfaction the hands left his person in one movement. "We hope our work was to your pleasure and satisfaction Sir." The giggles drew slowly distant and Holmes' reply found no one in particular. "Thank you yes I am quite content." He smiled inwardly as the feelings of exhaustion began to return and his eyes grew heavier and heavier. "So lucky, I am so lucky."