Fifty Shades of Sherlock Holmes

by Lana Swallows

  "Why should I be afraid?" I said. "Do you know something of what awaits? Is there something to be afraid of? Tell me now, whatever it is."

  She only smiled benignly and pulled me deeper into the woods. We hurried after the other two, afraid to lose them in the darkness. As we came over a hill, I saw what appeared to be a blazing inferno below, only to realize it was a large ring of torches all stuck in the ground, burning with such intense light and heat that I had to look away.

  We came down the path toward the burning wall's entrance and as we entered, two hooded men barred our passage with long staffs. "Reveal that which you were instructed to bring," the one closest to me said.

  I pointed at the raven pinned to my dress and said, "This is what I was given."

  He looked at the pixie and saw her sparrow. Their staffs came apart and we moved past them to enter the flaming circle. It was worse than any dream I'd ever had. Masked creatures and bare flesh exposed to the night air at every turn. One man was naked and smeared with green paint, hopping around in filthy fur leggings like Pan. Another wore a massive golden mask designed to look like the sun, with rays of light sticking out in every direction.

  I watched a woman dressed in dark robes lead a naked man across the ground by a chain attached to his manhood. His wrists and ankles were bound and he scurried after her as she walked, desperate to not have her yank on the chain too hard.

  I heard a loud crashing noise and people nearest me leapt back to get out of the way as a woman dressed like a horse came barging through them on all fours. Her hair was back in a tight ponytail, and her mask formed a long brown cone with painted on nostrils. She grunted and neighed like a horse as she scrambled past them, and to my utter shock, I saw that her long tail was connected to a thick device that someone had inserted into her rectum.

  That was enough for me to want to leave. I spun away from the scene in disgust, only to see that my path was blocked by another masked figure.

  His mask was white porcelain, and designed in the fashion of the Greek figure Tragedy. I could see nothing of his eyes or mouth, and the rest of his body was covered in long black robes. At the center of his chest dangled a medallion, the unholy symbol of the upside-down-pentagram. When I saw that, I finally screamed and collapsed.

  I do not know how long it was before my eyes fluttered open, but when they did, I realized hands were fumbling inside of my skirt. I felt a warm mouth close over one of my breasts and realized that the woman in the toga from the carriage was sucking on them while her male companion was attempting to insert his penis into me. I squirmed to get away, but the woman laughed and said, "Stop thrashing about, dear."

  The man held my legs fast and propped one over his shoulder, bearing down on me so that I could roll aside. I felt his cockhead pressed against my sex and just as it was about to penetrate me, someone came up from behind him and cracked him over the back of the head.

  I shoved the woman off of me and scrambled away, amazed to see that my savior was none other than Tragedy. He threw down the golden bowl that he'd used to subdue my attacker and extended his hand toward mine to help me to my feet. "Are you all right?" he said.

  "I believe so. I nearly wasn't. Thank you for your assistance."

  He folded his hands behind his back as he walked, surveying everything with the reserved amusement of Bacchus. "I apologize for those two. Sometimes the new members get carried away."

  Although he purposely kept his voice at a low whisper, I thought I recognized something familiar in it. I attempted to adjust my gown and pushed my breasts back beneath the shoulder line. He looked down at me through his impenetrable mask, but did not speak.

  "Who are you?" I said.

  "I am called the Gatekeeper," he said. "This is my gathering, as it has been since the previous Gatekeeper departed the world."

  "So it was you who sent me the invitation?" I said. "Why did you pick me? How did you pick me?"

  He did not speak, except to say, "Drink with me." The Gatekeeper snapped his fingers and a nude servant girl came running toward him bearing a jug of wine. Her breasts were full enough that they swung as she ran, and I saw that her skin was darker than anyone else's present. A smooth caramel color with black hair worn tied back so that it hung over her buttocks.

  The girl handed the jug to the Gatekeeper and he held it out toward me. I held up my hand and said, "I am just now beginning to regain control of my senses. Thank you, though."

  "Drink," he said flatly.

  Terrified that I would be at the mercy of the entire group if I refused their leader, I took the jug from him and tipped it to my lips. It was delicious, unlike the absinthe from earlier. Wine of the sweetest nectar. I wiped my mouth and handed the jug back to the servant girl. The Gatekeeper ran his fingers along the side of the girl's face and down the side of her neck. He pinched one of her nipples and shook her breast until it wobbled. "Thank you, princess. That is all."

  I watched the girl run away, her naked figure soon swallowed up by the horde of costumes and drunken revelers. "Why do you call her princess? To mock her lowly station?"

  "Of course not. I call her princess because she is one. Her father is the King of a small island I encountered during my travels."

  "What? Is she your prisoner?"

  "Of course not," he laughed. "She is here to learn how to rule. How to be free."

  "By being your slave?"

  "Yes."

  I giggled at the madness of it all and realized I'd drunk more wine than I'd meant to. "The longer we speak, the less sense you make."

  "To properly rule over others, one must first learn to submit. I am her master, for now, but once I release her, she will have authority over an entire civilization. It falls to me to teach her to obey, so that she might know what it means to make others do the same."

  "I could never allow such a thing," I said.

  "Of course you could. You already do."

  "Pardon me?"

  "Look at your marriage. Your husband keeps you caged behind walls of extravagant homes and inside elegant dresses, but you are not free. You are a prisoner while he travels the world and you do not even realize it. With your husband, the injuries are subtle and never heal." That is far worse, I think. Far more foolish."

  I moved to strike him across the face, but he caught my wrist and bent it backwards until I cried out in pain, "Yes, that's it, Countess. Finally, a little fire to ignite your dull spirit."

  "Let go of me!" I demanded.

  He only bent it farther back, "You will not speak to me in such a way or I will break it. Do you understand?"

  "Y-yes," I gasped. "Will you please let go of me?"

  He instantly released my wrist and pulled me close to him, embracing me in the warmth of his arms. "Do you not see it, Countess? With me, the rules are clearly defined and the rewards, so much more than trinkets and baubles." He lifted my face to his, "Do you know what it means to truly be loved?"

  My eyes stung with the onset of tears at the thought of my husband off sailing the seas without bothering so much as to write. "No, I do not," I said.

  "Come with me," he said. He put my arm through his and we walked to the farthest edge of the circle, where I soon heard the sharp crack of leather on skin, followed by cries of delight.

  We passed a makeshift archway constructed of wooden beams that were painted gold and decorated with stars. A naked man was tied by the wrists to the top of the arch and hanging so that he could only stand on the tips of his toes. Behind him, the pixie cocked her arm back and swung a riding crop at his backside. The flat end of the crop smacked the man and he threw his head back and moaned, "Thank you, mistress, may I have another?"

  The gatekeeper showed me the risen red welts across the man's buttocks and said, "This one is learning to surrender." He wrapped his hand gently around the pixie's shoulder and said, "And this one is learning to take possession of what she desires."

  I followed him to a wooden stool seated in the grass with a flat wooden pa
ddle lying on the seat. He stopped me in front of it and said, "Would you surrender, so that you might learn to possess?"

  "I am not sure," I said. I looked back at the man suspended from the arch. His welts appeared to be painful.

  "You will only be taken as far as you desire to go, no further," the Gatekeeper said. He squeezed both of my arms, "I assure you, you will never feel more alive than when you are at the mercy of another, so long as the other loves you."

  "Do you?" I said.

  He rubbed my lower lip with the pad of his thumb and said, "More than you shall ever know."

  With that he sat upon the stool and pulled me across his lap, so that I was lying on my stomach and my hands were touching the grass. With one hand he flipped my gown's skirt up over my waist and he said, "Do you trust me?"

  I was only wearing light cotton bloomers beneath the skirt and shouted, "I do not know you−"

  Before I finished speaking, the paddle cracked me across the right side of my buttocks. I winced at the stinging pain and he said again, "Do you trust me?"

  "Yes!" I said.

  I felt him slide my bloomers down to expose my naked buttocks to all the world. He rubbed and squeezed each fleshy cheek with his hands and then lowered his masked face to my backside and I felt his lips caress the place where the paddle has struck. I knew he was unmasked, and I tried to turn around to see who he was, but he struck me again on the opposite side. "I did not permit you to look at me," he said.

  "I am sorry!" I cried out.

  "You are forgiven," he said. With that, his lips touched that injured area as well. With the skin raised and sensitive, his kisses felt like warm velvet against me. He kissed me again and again there, then pursed his lips together and blew gently across the surface of my buttocks. As he blew, he spread my legs slightly and began to stroke my sex with his thumb. I felt myself getting wet as he touched me, and could not bring myself to care.

  I blame the wine, I blame the absinthe, I blame him and his damned words, but even now, I feel myself stirring at the thought of his fingers stroking the delicate folds of skin where none had ever taken the time to touch me.

  Copulation with my husband was more like a military exercise, where he decided it was time to fornicate and promptly bent me over and had his way with me. My own pleasure was never an issue. When he needed extra lubrication, he simply spit on his tackle and stuck it inside me.

  With the Gatekeeper, it was different. He listened to my breathing, knowing what I liked and wanted more of. He rubbed me and tickled and slid his fingers inside of my sex until I felt myself opening to him. He tossed the paddle aside and used his other hand to spread my arsecheeks and tickle the tight ribbed hole between them. Then, to my astonishment, he moistened his fingers from the leaking font of my vagina and slid his fingers into both of my orifices, filling me up from beneath until I cried out and bit his arm.

  "You are mine now," he said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Yes, what?"

  "Yes, I am yours!"

  "You are my whore, my saint, my bride, and my intoxicant. You are now, and forever will be, mine to possess."

  Then I could not contain myself. I slapped his hand away and tore at his robes in a frenzy. I needed more than his fingers. I needed to feel his hot member deep inside of me. When I unfurled his robe and grabbed his organ, it was already rigid and standing up. I hoisted my skirt and climbed onto him, amazed at how slippery I was. He slid into me and I grabbed him by the back of the neck, feeling his cock budge up against the walls of my cunt.

  I rode him like an animal, biting at his neck and trying to wrest that cursed mask from his face. He pinned my arms to my sides and stood up, holding me against him in the air as he slammed into me. I felt the first hot spurt of his mettle into me as thick and strong as a raging stream. It leaked out of me even as he filled me up with it over and over.

  He gasped aloud and cried out as I clung to him, wanting it to never end. But it did.

  ~***~

  "What happened, then?" Holmes said.

  The Countess turned toward the fireplace and said, "He lowered me to the ground and stared at me for a long while, as if wanting to speak. I reached for his mask, and he let me get close enough to put my hands on it, then pushed me away.

  'Please,' I begged him. 'For all you have done to me this evening, please at least let me know who you are.' But he refused.

  'With that he summoned the servant girl, the naked princess, and told her to take me away. I begged him to let me stay, but he scolded me and told me, 'Get home, silly Countess. Back to your meaningless existence where you sit pining for a man who does not deserve it.' And that is how I left him."

  Holmes closed his eyes and rubbed his index finger against his temple, as he always did when the gears of his brain were turning rapidly. Finally, he looked once more at the Countess and said, "What is it you would like me to do?"

  "I want you find him. Find this man who calls himself the Gatekeeper."

  "To what end?" Holmes said.

  This gave her pause. Her lower lip quivered slightly and she said, "Since that night I have thought of nothing else. Either he must take me back or I shall poison myself. I am his, as he said I would be."

  The Countess began weeping then, overcome by the weight of the revelation she'd made to us. Holmes scowled and got out of his chair to both get away from the woman's mewling and to find something to offer her to wipe her face. He came around to where I was standing and said, "Why the devil are you still standing here?"

  I pointed down in embarrassment, and Holmes looked at my protruding member and said, "Ah." He leaned close to my ear, "How long will it take you to abuse yourself sufficiently?"

  "Sorry?" I said.

  "I can distract her long enough for you to hurry into your bedroom and stimulate yourself so that you might return and escort her back downstairs?"

  "I'm not going to do that!" I hissed.

  "Well I certainly hope you do not expect me to do it for you."

  I smacked him on the arm and looked back to make sure the woman was still too busy weeping to pay attention to us. "Stop being ridiculous. Between this conversation and that woman's caterwauling I should be fine in a moment or two."

  "Excellent," Holmes said. He leaned over the back of his chair and said, "I am glad to inform you that my associate and I will take up your case, my dear Countess. Watson will escort you downstairs and we should have an answer for you by tomorrow."

  Her eyes widened, "Tomorrow? You mean…It might be that soon."

  Holmes nodded, "I believe I already have it sorted out, but first, I need to check a few things. Expect me before sunset."

  She was still in shock as I escorted her down the stairs, "I cannot believe it. This was my last resort. I never hoped it might actually work."

  "I have seen Holmes untangle mysteries that all of Scotland Yard could not begin to grasp. You came to the right man." I opened the door for her and said, "Hurry, lest you catch a cold in the rain."

  She raced through the door toward the carriage, and waved excitedly back at me before she entered. "Thank you again," she called out.

  "You're welcome," I said. I held up my hand before I closed the door and locked it, only to feel the penetrating glare of someone standing behind me.

  Mrs. Hudson was at her door with her arms folded. She bore a candle in one hand and was dressed only in a long white nightshirt. Her silhouette behind the shirt was full-figured with a large bosom and curving hips that flared from her narrow waist. In the candlelight she looked only a few years older than I. "I warned you that any further disturbances would result in penalties, Doctor," she said.

  "Yes, you did, Mrs. Hudson."

  "I heard every filthy word that woman uttered. It was utterly horrifying the way she spoke."

  "I apologize, Mrs. Hudson, but she was in distress. Surely, we must forgive her some errors in propriety."

  "I will not," she said. She looked up the stairs at my apartment's d
oor and then leaned close enough to me to grab my shirt, "But I am willing to compromise with you so long as you meet my terms."

  I was about to ask what she had in mind, when she suddenly pulled me into her apartment and pressed me against the wall. "You are a man of the world, Dr. Watson. A veteran of the Afghan wars and medical practitioner. Surely you have known something of the women you've encountered."

  "But, Mrs. Hudson. What about Mr. Hudson?"

  "Dead. Ten years, without a man to warm my bones. Ten long years of frigging myself to sleep until my fingers were numb."

  She fumbled with my trousers and my John Thomas immediately shot up at the contact. She laughed in delight as she yanked my trousers free and soon had me trapped in the warmth of her mouth. I grabbed the back of her grey hair and brought her head forward even deeper on its length, feeling her lips clamp around the base of my shaft and the muscles at the back of her throat constrict around its head.

  "Oh, Mrs. Hudson," I whispered.

  Unmasking the Raven

  The next morning Holmes woke me up early to begin the day's investigation. I had only slept a few hours, and not had time to properly wash. My hands still bore the scent of Mrs. Hudson. Her dampness had dried to my fingers and soaked into my mustache and I could not help but inhale it again and again.

  Holmes watched me sniff my fingers as our carriage lumbered back and forth. I had been staring out of the window thinking of Mrs. Hudson's breasts, still full and firm, despite her age. Holmes voice snapped me out of my reverie when he said, "Where did you go after you escorted the Countess downstairs?"

  "I needed some fresh air, so I walked for a while," I said.

  "And did that supplant the need to ejaculate?"

  "Holmes! Good God, man. This is not the sort of thing two gentlemen discuss."

  "I cannot see why it shouldn't be. We are both men of science, Watson. You, as a doctor, and I in so many others. I have none of the religiously-associated guilt that goes along with the topic of self-abuse, nor do I assign it any moral value. It is simply a biological function, and one I expect that many are glad to have."