Fifty Shades of Sherlock Holmes

  Fifty Shades of Sherlock Holmes

  By

  Lana Swallows

  Copyright 2012 by Hardcore Superhero Publishing

  Discover other erotic works by Lana Swallows, such as:

  Fifty Shades of Ancient Egypt

  Fifty Shades of King Arthur's Court

  The Complete XXX Avenger

  Table of Contents

  The Case of the Defiled Countess

  Unmasking the Raven

  The Case of the Defiled Countess

  The sky was dark over all of London and the gusts of wind so intense they rattled the shutters of our windows. "Watson, do see if you can attend to that vexing draft?" Holmes pulled his heavy afghan blanket closer to his chest and stoked the fire whilst I walked around the room surveying the windows to see which had not been properly closed.

  A slight ripple in the drapes of the window overlooking Baker Street drew my attention, and as I moved in to reposition it, I saw a carriage was pulling up to our front door. "Holmes? I believe we may have company," I said.

  "At this hour?" Holmes said. He drew a pocket watch from his robe and frowned at the time. "I suppose you should go down and see what our visitor requires before Mrs. Hudson is awakened. We'll hear no end of her complaints if she is."

  I took up a lantern as I headed down the staircase and had not yet reached the bottom when the caller slammed the heavy knocker on our door louder than cannonfire. I winced as Mrs. Hudson charged toward her door shouting, "What kind of ruffian calls on someone in the middle of the night?" through the walls.

  She threw her door open and I smiled sheepishly. "Good evening, Mrs. Hudson. I apologize for the noise. I was trying to get the door open before you were disturbed."

  Mrs. Hudson was still tying her robe around her waist as she looked up at me, not bothering to cover up the plunging neckline that revealed her heaving bosom. A handsome woman not yet in her sixtieth year, her hair was dark and grey as it hanged loose about her shoulders. It was the first time I hadn't seen it pinned up in a tight bun. "I suppose this is normal for the likes of you and Mr. Holmes," she sniffed. "But I run a respectable home and must demand the same from anyone who stays here."

  I caught myself lingering over her surprisingly ample cleavage and snapped myself out of it in time to say, "Of course, Mrs. Hudson. That is to be expected. I will see that it does not happen again."

  "See that it does not, or I shall be forced to raise your rent."

  Once her door was shut, I bounded down the rest of the stairs, terrified our new guest would bang the knocker again. The rain was coming down hard enough that I could hear it spattering against the cobblestones on the walk outside. I opened the door only to rear back at the sight of a darkly dressed apparition.

  The figure did not wait for me to offer an invitation. I was able to make out a woman's hat and black laced veil dangling from the brim, covering most of our visitor's face, but even in the dim glow of the gaslight, I could make out her shining green eyes. Her perfectly formed lips and narrow chin peeked out from beneath the veil, but the rest of her was all buttons and topcoats. "Shut the door behind me, quickly, I beg you," she hissed.

  Before I could comply, she grabbed the door from my hands and closed it herself. "Is someone chasing you?" I said.

  "No. Are you the detective?"

  "He is upstairs. But first may I say it is highly unusual for us to receive visitors so late and we prefer you make an appointment at a respectable hour." I raised my voice loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to hear the last part. I looked at the woman with a sideways grin and mouthed I apologize, then waved for her to follow me upstairs.

  I rapped on the door to 221-B and said, "Holmes, we have company."

  "I deduced that from the knocking on our door, dear fellow." Holmes stood to his feet and extended his hand to the woman, "Good evening, Countess Barrymore. How might I be of service?"

  She gasped and pressed her hand over veiled mouth, "However did you…who told you? I demand an explanation!"

  Holmes smiled gently and said, "No one, I quite assure you. And your confidence shall be kept regardless of the circumstances."

  He moved his hand for her to be seated but she did not move. "First, tell me how you knew it was me."

  Holmes rolled his eyes slightly. He'd grown so accustomed to this little charade of people being mystified by his parlor trick-like feats of deduction that it was no longer fun to astound them. "Very well," he sighed. "Your carriage is personally owned, for it does not bear any of the markings of the local companies that service this area. Obviously, someone of your station would have her own. From your conversation downstairs with Watson, I detected an ever-so-slight hint of a French accent in your speech, no doubt from your formative years spent in Paris while your father served as the Ambassador."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I keep biographical files on all of the Royals, as well as notable government officials, performers, and authors. One never knows when they will be of service."

  "I see," she said. "Pray continue."

  "Your height and weight are consistent with the information I have collected thus far, and finally, despite your best efforts, I can clearly make out the beauty mark above your left upper lip which is said to be the single-most imitated physical feature among the upper-class. It seems that what nature has bestowed on you, your peers would seek to emulate through cosmetics."

  "Most impressive, Mr. Holmes. I see that the information I received about you was well-deserved."

  Holmes nodded and said, "So, now that we've wasted enough time establishing the obvious, allow me to return to my initial inquiry. How may I be of service?"

  She opened her mouth to speak and Holmes' hand suddenly shot up, "Wait. Before you begin. Yes, we understand discretion is of the utmost importance. Your attempts to reinforce that by offering us extra money or jewels to keep your confidentiality are unnecessary. Yes, Watson is required to be present, even as you reveal whatever awful thing has transpired that brought you here, regardless of how embarrassing it may be."

  "I suppose you hear things like this from people like me quite a bit," she said.

  "That depends, Countess. I have not heard anything from you yet. For all I know you are about to tell me something far beyond the pale of my entire career thus far."

  "I assure you that you have never heard anything quite like this, Mr. Holmes."

  Holmes smiled politely, if skeptically, and said, "Then please start at the beginning, and I must insist you do not leave out any details."

  "Some are quite sordid, Mr. Holmes."

  "It is not possible to embarrass either Watson or myself, Countess. Whatever you leave out may hold the very key to our solving the case, so I must ask you to be as specific as possible."

  "Very well," she said, with a sideways glance as if to take my measure. I looked down to spare her the humiliation of knowing I was looking at her. She took a deep breath and told us a tale of hedonistic intrigue that I shall not soon forget.

  ~***~

  On the Friday before last, I received a package at our city home. Our estate is far out in the countryside, and lately it has seemed unbearably empty to me to stay there. Two weeks ago I packed a few things and we left without telling a single soul.

  I was sitting in my bedroom, reading, when a man knocked at my door.

  "Madame, some rich bloke asked me to deliver this to you," he said. "Paid me thruppence to hand it off to the pretty blonde lady who liffs here."

  I looked past him, but saw no one else. He claimed his only instruction had been to deliver it to my front door and leave immediately. With that, he tipped his hat to me and walked into the night.

 
Attached to the package was a letter written in ornate script, an invitation to a "private gathering" on the following evening. It promised an "unforgettable evening of mystery and delight."

  A carriage would be positioned outside of my front door at precisely nine o'clock the next evening, and all I need do is enter it to be taken to the gathering's secret location. The last line of the letter read: Be sure to wear everything you find within this box.

  I undid the package's bindings and stared in wonder at the contents inside. The first, a long black gown with elegant stones sewn into the neckline. The fabric felt luxurious on my hands as I removed it to inspect it. Someone had even gotten the size correct, as it appeared the perfect length and width for my figure.

  Even more mysterious, beneath the gown was a black mask made of the same fabric and a small golden pendent of a raven.

  Now, I realize how foolish this must sound. Anyone wishing ill upon me could simply have whisked me away in the night, but I admit, I was intrigued by the mysteriousness of it all. I tend to live such a boring life at the estate that the promise of this new adventure thrilled me incalculably.

  My husband, as you have already deduced, is the Count of Corvus. Perhaps you are aware also that he has been travelling to the Orient this past year. What you cannot know, what no one knows, is that I have not received any letters from him as of six months ago. For all I know, his ship has crashed off the coast of Beijing, or he has run off with one of the native girls and does not intend to ever return to Britain.

  On the night in question, I paced around my house, unable to decide whether or not to go. Even as I bathed and prepared myself, I was still not yet convinced that when the carriage arrived, I would get into it. I slid the dress over my bare skin and it felt simply amazing to wear. There were ruffled bindings over the shoulders, leaving my arms and upper chest exposed. The wide skirt was light enough that it bounced when I walked.

  I fixed the golden raven to my upper left shoulder strap so that its beak turned up toward me. It had two small, finely-cut rubies for eyes.

  At nine o'clock, hooves clicked in the distance, coming closer. Soon I could hear the carriage's wheels turning along the paved stones of our road. When I opened the front door to peer outside and saw the wagon, with its darkly dressed driver and two enormous horses, I quickly fixed the mask around my face and ran into the street.

  Oh, that I had resisted.

  The carriage driver did not even look at me, let alone speak. Before I was even through the rear door, he snapped the reins we took off. There were three others seated in the carriage on the seat opposite mine, all of them masked, the same as I.

  An older gentleman, with fine grey hair and a dark suit. Beside him, a Rubenesque woman wearing what appeared to be a Roman toga. Her body spilled out of the loosely fitting robes, nearly revealing her massive breasts with every bounce of the carriage. On the opposite side of the man, a more curious figure. At first I thought it was a young man, much too young to be involved in such illicit things. As I watched, however, I realized it was actually a slender woman dressed as a man, with short blonde hair worn slicked back, like a pixie from a children's storybook.

  The robed woman smiled lasciviously at me and said, "I see you are the raven."

  Each of them wore pendants as well, the same as mine, but of different animals. Her's was a snake. The man's, a rat. The younger woman bore the sigil of a sparrow.

  "Where are we going?" I said. "Have you any idea?"

  "None at all," the man said with a laugh. He removed a small black case from the seat and unlatched it. Plain leather, it looked like a doctor's kit, but inside was no ordinary medicine. He removed a large bottle with glistening green liquid and said, "Will you join us in courting the green fairy?"

  "What is it?" I said.

  The man smiled as he handed the woman a glass and asked her to hold it. He laid a slotted spoon over the glass and placed a sugar cube on it. He then uncorked the bottle and slowly poured its contents over the sugar cube so that it filtered through the spoon and down into the glass. When it was half full, he handed it to me. "Absinthe is said to be the key to the mind's fortunes," he said. "Drink, and be immortal."

  "Drink too much and you go blind and mad," the pixie giggled.

  They all watched me carefully as I lifted the glass to smell its licorice, tarragon fragrance. I bolstered myself and took an ever-so-slight sip. Warmth spread throughout my lips and cheeks and soon travelled the rest of my body, as if the glowing emerald drink was now flowing through my very veins. The pixie tapped the man's leg anxiously and said, "My turn next, please. You promised."

  He repeated the same elaborate ritual to prepare their drinks, and soon, all of us were drinking it. As I finished my glass, I found myself staring through the carriage's window up at the stars. Vast fields of points of light such as I had never seen and all of them glittering. I was mesmerized too by the moon, with its seas of grey across the luminescent, marbled surface. I wondered what life might exist there and if it were looking down on us.

  The man's hand wandered into the larger woman's robes to squeeze her breasts. He let them out one by one, revealing each pearl white orb and their pink, flowering nipples. "It reminds me of my youth," he said with a whimsical laugh. He lowered his head to suckle from her, while the pixie stroked his hair. He cupped one of the breasts in his hand and looked up at me, "Come. Drink the milk of creation."

  I leaned forward to see a fine drop of white fluid emerge from the woman's nipple, and that it was dribbling from the man's lips. I hesitated, and he said, "No? Perhaps you have more discerning tastes." With that, he hiked up the woman's toga to reveal the light brown patch of hair between her legs. She shifted forward on the seat and lifted her leg to prop it against the carriage door.

  I meant to be horrified, of course, to properly reproach them, but instead I was fascinated by the folds of her sex. She reached down to spread herself open, revealing the soft, delicate pink flesh there and said, "Would you like to taste me?"

  "I would," the pixie said.

  "You saucy thing," the man laughed as he leaned back against the seat to let the pixie climb over him and dive into the woman's lap.

  Soon, the pixie's head was bobbing back and forth, and the woman giggled, "Her tongue is so soft!" The pixie burrowed further in between the woman's legs and soon, her head flew back and she gasped.

  I could not help but watch this display, and confess that it stirred something deep within me. The sucking noises and tiny moans of pleasure from the woman, combined with the effects of the absinthe, nearly turned me into an animal. I kissed the pixie full on the mouth and tasted every bit of the woman's juices, letting her smear her damp face against mine.

  As our tongues twirled together and I tried pulling on the short locks of her hair, something intruded on our mouths and I tasted the salty, briny essence of a man's penis. I realized our male companion had undone himself while we thrashed our faces together and slid his manhood between both of our mouths in between our kiss.

  I reared back, aghast as I wiped my mouth, but the pixie only laughed and pushed him away, as if it were the funniest thing she'd ever seen. "Just kiss it," he said, waving it at her between his fingers.

  The pixie rolled her eyes and pressed her lips against the shaft. She pulled me forward, but I refused to do the same.

  He shrugged and moved closer to the woman, waving himself at her exposed breasts and finally she rolled back his foreskin and took him all the way into her mouth.

  I looked out of the carriage's window and gasped, "We've stopped."

  Everyone managed to untangle themselves from one another and the pixie sat up and said, "This must be it. Come on!" She straightened her suit coat and waved for the rest of us to hurry.

  I knocked on the carriage door to signal that we were ready and the door opened.

  ~***~

  "Watson, are you all right?" Holmes said. He turned in his chair to stare at me, as I was positioned behind his
headrest and refusing to move.

  "Absolutely fine. Really," I said.

  "Would you mind making some tea while the Countess continues?"

  "Not possible at the present, I'm afraid," I said. I smiled tightly at Holmes and the Countess and said, "Perhaps in a few moments."

  "What on earth is wrong with you?" he said.

  "Nothing! I am simply standing here for the time being, trying to see this from a different point of view. Why are we discussing this anyway when we should be listening to what the Countess has to tell us?"

  Holmes snapped his fingers and said, "Quite right you are. So, you've arrived at the party."

  "Yes," she said hesitantly. "That is when things truly began to come undone."

  Holmes reached over to his side table for his Moroccan case and removed his calabash pipe. He packed it with fragrant tobacco and lit it until a fine stream of grey smoke was streaming out of the bowl. "Really? How fascinating."

  The woman nodded.

  Holmes was utterly unperturbed by this woman's story. He listened as easily as if she were telling him about items she'd purchased at the market, meanwhile, I was stuck hiding behind his chair with an achingly painful erection sticking out in my trousers. It was protruding enough that a bird might land on it and stoop. Mrs. Hudson could have hanged her laundry from it. Holmes the machine, Holmes the unfeeling and pitiless creature of logic and reason with no regard for the suffering of others.

  "Please, go on," Holmes said.

  Oh God.

  ~***~

  Torchlight decorated the woods where we exited the carriage, with several stakes forming a path that led into the forest beyond. Our driver snapped his reins the moment we were all standing on the leaf-covered ground, vanishing in the shadows of the trees before I could even turn to call out for him to stop.

  "I suppose there's nothing to do but press on," the man said. He draped his arm around the woman and they staggered forward. The torches began to be spaced out further apart, leaving longer distances of pitch black in between them.

  The pixie pressed her hand into mine and said, "Do not be afraid."