Holmes and The Cad's Diary Ch. 02

Shouts and sounds of furniture crashing from the hall suddenly caused Lestrade to run out of the room. The servants had come downstairs to see their Master being led away in handcuffs and a scuffle had ensued. Holmes, after taking one last, disinterested look at the women started to look around the room and moved away to the fireplace, taking the lamp with him. My attention was caught as one of the servant girl's feet moved to caress her mistresses foot then fell still again. My eyes moved up their entwined legs, the damp cheap stockings of the maid against the smooth skin of the mistress. There was still a slight quiver playing out in the right thigh of the servant, pulsating against the wife's thigh which rested on it. The Mistresses hips moved slightly, appearing to push her crotch gently into the hip of the girl. My gaze moved on up – the girl's small breasts almost imperceptible now she was lying on her back, but her nipples still retaining some of their post-coital hardness. The Mistresses' fuller breasts resting on the girl as her face snuggled into the nape of her neck, her breath, slowing now into a comfortable sleeping cadence, gently moving the blonde ringlets around it. The two women were now completely asleep in a deep and restful way which I suspected would remain on them for some time. An uncomfortable cold damp feeling in my own trousers snapped me away from thoughts of the women as my now softening penis leaked against my leg. The spell was broken and the scene finished. I moved my hand to the small chain which secured the cape at my neck and undid it, pulling the cape off and using it as a blanket to cover the two women. A single low murmur, I know not from which of them, was my reward.

As I sit here now, writing up this account which I suspect will never be published but that my friend Holmes wished to be submitted to the secure vaults of Scotland Yard, I feel that there are just a couple of footnotes that I should add. The secret of the Cad's magical lotion were never uncovered. Holmes' analysis of the little remaining in the jar was inconclusive and no notes of its recipe were uncovered in the Cad's meagre belongings, recovered from the curious house with the conservatory. Of its potency there can be no doubt however, both from the evidence recounted above and from the fact that, in a state of arousal after leaving the house that night, I went home and, after swiftly dismissing the servants, swept my wife to our bedroom and made love to her urgently. Having worn gloves on my journey home, and not being in the mood to pause to wash my hands on the way to bed, some residue of the lotion, albeit probably dissolved in the juices of the Minister's wife, must have remained on my fingers. That night I believe that I pleasured my wife to heights that I had not previously, or sadly, subsequently, been able to reproduce.

Of the infamous Diary, officially no more is known and it remained a legend in society circles for many years, whispered stories of which would titillate young bucks once the ladies had retired and the alcohol had been flowing. The Minister's various known safes, strongboxes and safety deposit boxes were searched thoroughly when his estate was wound up after his trial but it was concluded in the official report that he had secreted it somewhere safe, of only his knowing and that he had taken his secret to the noose.

And there the story would stay told if I had not, some months later, called unexpectedly on my former rooms at Baker Street to see Holmes, sat in his favoured chair by the fireplace, smoking his own blend of acrid tobacco from his favourite pipe and reading a large notebook, made up of rough pages.

'You will never guess,' he said, looking up at me mischievously as I entered, 'which member of the Royal Household is a particularly skilled practitioner of analingus.'

I never guessed and he, of course, never told.