The Tattooed Gentleman

CHAPTER 1, WATSON

It should come as no surprise to the reader to learn that Sherlock Holmes, as familiar as he was with London's underworld, was no stranger to the purveyors of all the vices available to those who sought them out. Those vices included the products one could ingest, inject, or inhale in pursuit of fantastic visions or languorous stupor, the games of chance where the opiate was the adrenaline rush as the contests played out to their resolution, and of course, the pleasures to be found in the contact of flesh with flesh.

Early one November evening, Holmes and I were in the sitting room of our Baker Street apartments, I enjoying a postprandial cigar and reading the late Edition of the Times, he deep in thought abetted by a full charge of shag tobacco glowing in his favorite brier pipe, the smoke from which swirled around his chair by the window. The window curtain was mostly closed, affording the great detective only a narrow slit to view the street outside, but it was enough for him to discern the approach of a hansom cab which stopped before the door of number 221B. A female form emerged, paid the driver, and proceeded to the door. Presently we heard the footsteps of Mrs. Hudson on the stair followed by her tap on our door. "A Miss Devereaux wishes to speak with Mr. Holmes", she announced.

At a nod from Holmes, I opened the door, thanked Mrs. Hudson, and ushered in a young woman of perhaps five and twenty years who appeared to be in great distress. She wore an overcoat against the night's chill, and without waiting for me to offer assistance she unbuttoned and removed it. The clothing she wore announced her as a woman whose occupation was to offer carnal entertainment to men with the means to pay for it. Her ample breasts threatened to spill out from over the top of the bustier which thrust them proudly out and up. Her dress was tailored to accentuate both her narrow waist and her full hips. The skirt was slit up one side to show a hint of the leg beneath as, without waiting for an invitation, she walked over to the vacant wing chair next to the fireplace and seated herself. She was hatless and her auburn hair was unpinned on one side, falling to her shoulder.

"I have an urgent message to deliver to Mr. Sherlock Holmes," she said, looking from me to the detective. "Pray, to which of you gentlemen should I deliver it?"

"I am he whom you seek", said Holmes. "This is my associate, Dr. Watson, with whom you may speak as frankly as to me. Be assured we shall both hold whatever message you have in the strictest confidence. Watson, perhaps some brandy for Miss Devereaux." I rose to comply, and delivered a glass to her as Holmes began to speak.

"I perceive you hold yourself to be more a courtesan than common streetwalker, accepting as clients only men of breeding. You awakened your last customer's manhood with what is colloquially called a blowjob. You were distressed to find that he possessed a penis of less than the usual length. Despite your distress you dutifully removed your knickers and allowed him the pleasures he had purchased. Something occurred during his performance of the carnal act that caused you to dismiss him as soon as he had spent himself and you proceeded here immediately without making the ablutions you normally would to prepare for your next assignation".

Miss Devereaux's shoulders jerked back at Holmes' words, and she took a large swallow of the brandy to compose herself. "How could you possibly know that? You speak as if you were present in my lodging!"

Accustomed as I was to Holmes' method of establishing his bona fides at first meeting a new client, I still could only partially follow his reasoning. Even I could see that the woman's clothing, her manner of carrying herself, and general state of dishabille identified her as a lady of the evening. But I was baffled by his detailed description of the services she afforded her customer as well as his comments upon the physical characteristics of her client.

As he is wont, Holmes took the opportunity to explain his reasoning. "The act of fellatio imparts a distinctive pattern upon the lipstick of the artist performing it. That you failed to repair the damage together with the state of your hair and the rest of your clothing suggests haste on your part. Since you had not previously made an appointment to call upon me yet you proceeded here in such a state indicates that the need to consult with me occurred to you during the course of your most recent carnal liaison. Your skirt rides a bit high upon your left thigh and a rather large moist spot there appears to be the cause. A man more sumptuously endowed would dispense his ejaculate deeper within your vaginal cavity than one of less impressive length. The latter's being much more likely, then, to leak out after the act."

"Remarkable," said I.

"Elementary," said he.

"It's true his equipment was none too impressive," said she, "and he didn't last too long neither. I cut short his hum job because I could feel the jizz start to rumble down in his bollocks."

"As for why I came here to see you, another of my regulars is a high muckity-muck in the foreign office. He pays me extra to keep my eyes open for characters who might not have Her Majesty's best interests to heart and report them to him. Of course, I'd do anything he asked, him being a regular and on account of him sporting one of the best cocks I have the pleasure of milking dry and on account of he takes his time to make sure I get more than just money out of the job if you know what I mean."

" Just last week he came in for a regular rogering and told me to watch special for anybody with a peculiar tattoo. He said I had to get word to him as soon as I saw one and not wait a minute longer than the time it took to finish with the john. If it was his off-hours, which of course are mostly my regular hours, I was to report to you, sir, at 221B Baker Street and you would know how to get the word to him. Well, tonight when I popped my head off his knob before he came in my mouth I had no sooner got his trousers down by his knees and didn't I see just the tattoo I'd been told to watch for. So instead of falling on my back with my legs spread wide like I would usually do I jumped up on top and didn't have to ride him for a dozen bounces before he let loose. And he just softened and shrunk down and slid right out of me in no time at all. As soon as he left I pulled my skirts back on, told Madame DePanne I had to go out, and hustled over here. I can't stay long. Madame expects her night flowers to keep our gentlemen entertained in the evenings and run our errands during the day."

"And just who might this person be to whom you are to report and of whom I am supposed to have such intimate knowledge?"

"It is none other than your brother, Sir Mycroft Holmes."

"A remarkable story, Miss Devereaux. You must give me a more thorough description of your assignation tonight. What did he look like? What was he wearing? Can you guess at his nationality? Tell me everything he said. My brother seems to place much confidence in your powers of observation. Do not leave out any details no matter how insignificant they may seem to you."

"Well, I took him for a foreigner, maybe a Turk. He spoke English, but he didn't say much. He didn't have an accent, but his words were like he learned them all from a book instead of from listening to regular people talk. He had a full head of straight black hair but it wasn't his natural color. The curlies around his lobcock and bollocks were brown. He was a bit shorter than average and a wiry sort. Not a lot of muscle, but I'll wager he knows how to use what he has. I took him to be near to forty years. He wore a business man's clothes, not a working man's. They were clean and pressed. He had a brown bowler hat. His eyes are brown and he's clean-shaven. I had never serviced him before, but Boris, our doorman would never had let him in without a proper introduction and Madame DePanne brought him into the sitting room. There were only three of us waiting there, the rest of the girls being already occupied. We don't use our real names in the sitting room; we all take flowers as names. I'm Violet. The gentlemen are all introduced as Mr. Smith. Madam DePanne introduced us to this Mr. Smith, and after looking over the three of us he pointed to me and we went upstairs to my room. When I asked him how I could please him he said he desired release. Those were the first words I heard him speak. I asked if he wanted me to dance for him while I took off my clothes. He said no, just bring him to release. That's what I meant about his words coming from a book. I've never heard any of my gentlemen use words like that. "

"He wasn't a man who cared a whit for a working girl's comfort or pleasure. When I pulled back his foreskin the smell was rank and it took all my control to put my mouth to it. He may wash his neck regularly, but he doesn't do the same for his private parts. He took no pleasure from my efforts even as his erection swelled up to its unimpressive fullness, almost like what I was doing to him was something had to tolerate in order to quiet some unwanted demon inside him. I did all the work, he just lay there. He never made a sound when he shot his load and once I hopped off he was quick to pull his trousers back up and leave."

"The tattoo that Sir Mycroft told me to keep a lookout for was a wolf's head beneath a half-circle with seven arms extending from it, to make you think of a rising or setting sun. Below the wolf's head was a word that didn't make any sense to me. It was four letters, ' BOHT'. Sir Mycroft only told me to watch out for the wolf's-head and sun. He didn't say anything about any words."

"You were correct to heed my brother's instructions," said Holmes. "I know a little about the society who use that tattoo as a means of identification, and the presence of one of their number here in London bodes ill. I must bring this news to my brother immediately. But I should like to accompany you back to your place of employment to inspect your room to see if by chance your client left anything behind that might aid our investigation. I should also like to interview your doorman. If he recognized this person he may have additional information of interest about him. We must hasten, Miss Devereaux. The game is afoot!"

No sooner had Holmes and Miss Devereaux departed than Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door, to ask if there was anything more that he or I would require before she retired for the evening. "No," I replied. "Knowing Holmes, I expect he will be out for the rest of the night."

To that, Mrs. Hudson gave a dismissive snort. " I never though Mr. Holmes would have anything to do with a woman of that sort!"

"Regardless of her profession, she brought information that may be crucial to the security of the realm", I replied. "You should not be so quick to assume the nature of Mr. Holmes' activities for the balance of the evening. Perhaps you confuse your own expectations with his."

"Are you the intellectual equal to Mr. Holmes to glean my plans as he deduces the chain of events from the slightest of clues? Just what do you think my expectations are?"

"When you first brought Miss Devereaux up to our receiving room your expression betrayed your hope that she would bring a case sufficient to call Holmes to nocturnal action. Knowing that Holmes prefers to make his initial observations alone, when the only footsteps you heard on the stair were those of Holmes and Miss Devereaux, you immediately came up to confirm your observations. Your delight in that confirmation was evident when I opened the door. Suffice it to say that I am equally delighted, so let us revel in this unanticipated opportunity."

So saying I drew her toward me and busied my fingers loosening the drawstrings holding her bodice closed and freeing her magnificent breasts to my admiring ministrations. She returned the favor and in a trice my trousers and shorts were bunched at my ankles and her large warm hands were encouraging my member to expand to the extent permitted by the wound I suffered in the late Afghan war.

"Perhaps we should close the door and remove to a place where we can horizontally summon the Shakespearean beast with two backs", I ventured. She agreed and I closed the door and guided her from the sitting room to my chamber where I quickly doffed my slippers to facilitate the removal of my lower garments. My shirt followed while she lifted her skirts over her head. I immediately perceived that my deductions regarding her intent were correct as no knickers impeded my view of her glorious bush.

I pulled a thick bolster from the bed and laid it upon the floor before the fireplace in which a warm blaze burned and turned down the gaslights so that the fire provided the only light in the room. With no further impediments to our pleasure we fell to upon the bolster, our tongues dueling for supremacy between our locked lips while our hands sought out those places on each others bodies experience had taught us brought forth the most ardent response.

The jezail bullet I took at the battle of Maiwand nicked the nerve bundle that controls the musculature in my nether region. Fortunately, a Yogi, attached to the Fifth Northumberland fusiliers taught me to use my mind to master a modicum of control so that I am able to maintain my dignity. But the injury has rendered me a rather poor performer in the art of achieving or maintaining an erection. A touch to the areas that in another man would elicit an immediate swelling of the member, in me produces a mere twitch as fleeting as the memory of a dream upon waking. That cursed war took my youth in more ways than one.

Lacking the functioning equipment to practice more traditional methods of carnal coupling, I have mastered alternate techniques of pleasuring my coital partner. I lowered my head between her thighs and proceeded to let my lips caress those of hers that encircle her secrets and my tongue speak to her in a language not given to words. The position of my arms circling her legs allowed my hands to tease her nipples to hard peaks as well as to hold my head in place as her hips bucked with delight under my assault. The endearments that she initially spoke were soon replaced by gasps for breath and primal grunts as she surrendered herself to the first of what I expected would be many "petites morts".

I rolled over onto my back to allow her to recover. "Oh Dr. Watson, I hope your late wife appreciated your skills as much as I do. My late husband so often left me unsated, I despaired of ever again enjoying sexual congress before you and Mr. Holmes came to lodge with me." So saying, she roused herself and enthusiastically applied her mouth to my shriveled member. Knowing full well of my insufficiency she first dipped her fingers into her wet pussy. Thus lubricated, she deftly inserted her long index finger deep into my anus to massage my prostate. With the dexterity of a virtuoso violinist she set herself to the task of engorging my damaged manhood. Each application of pressure to my gland simultaneous with gentle suction to the tip of my cock coaxed a bit more blood into the corpus cavernosum which she trapped there by a tight grip of her off hand to the root of my shaft. I luxuriated in the sensation of the internal and external manipulations and it took every trick of mental discipline I possessed to prevent a premature explosion. After several minutes of her ministration I discovered to my surprise an erection almost worthy of the name. She loosened her grip on the base and quickly snapped a gum band around in its place.

"Dr. Watson, most nights your tongue gives me as much pleasure as this old body can stand, but tonight I need a cock tickling my insides. You just lie there while I lower myself onto that soldier and set him on a reconnaissance mission into my cunny. I know you can control when you shoot, so I'm going to let you know when I get close to another climax and you can release yours at the same time. When it comes I want you to tear apart that gum band and let your seed flow free so I can feel it when it leaves the barrel of your gun."

True to her word she straddled me and lowered her pussy, already well lubricated from my earlier attentions, onto me. When my full length was enveloped she clamped her muscles to grip me more tightly than I would have thought possible and began to raise and lower herself holding the tight grip on the upstroke, releasing for the descent, and tightening once again for each elevation. Her pace began to quicken and as it did she began to grunt at the bottom of each stroke. I could not stop myself from raising my hips to meet each of her downward thrusts and each of her grunts was matched, as flesh met flesh, with a resounding slap. Soon both of us developed a slick sheen of sweat, her grunts turned to squeals of delight and I found myself vocalizing as well.

"l'm close," she cried, "be ready to match my climax!" I reached behind her arse cheeks to the base of my cock where I could feel the gum band. When she screamed, "Now, oh God, now!" I hooked my fingernail under the band and tore it off as I my seed began to boil up from the depths of my testes. Her massage had left my prostate relaxed, presenting no obstruction to the flow and the sensation of my semen passing through that clear channel felt almost like it had when I lost my virginity to a village lass twenty five years earlier. I bucked once, twice, thrice, shooting jet after jet as she squealed her approval.

Too soon I was spent. The blood drained from my head as fast as it drained from my late erection and I all but swooned. Mrs. Hudson toppled off me and lay on her side, her breasts heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. I pulled a blanket over us as our sweaty bodies began to chill and we lay together side by side on our backs as our hearts slowed. Presently she rolled to face me, threw an arm across my chest, and in the exhaustion that follows a good and thorough fucking we both fell asleep.