The Tattooed Gentleman Ch. 03

Author's note:

While this chapter might possibly hold up as a stand-alone story, it will make a lot more sense if you read the previous chapters first.

CHAPTER 3, MYCROFT

The Diogenes Club, of which I am a founding member, is unique among gentlemen's societies in London. While other clubs encourage socialization between individual members as well as informal groupings within the membership, the Diogenes Club adheres to a strict code of solitude and silence within the confines of the club. Within the walls of the establishment members may neither converse, nor acknowledge the very existence of each other. There is no common room as is the case with other clubs, only the Stranger's Room. Each member has access only to his own room. Upon arrival at the door, a member must wait to be acknowledged by the porter who will then escort him to his sanctuary, first assuring that he will encounter no other member en route. When he desires any of the club's amenities, he affixes a signal upon the door of his alcove to summon the porter. The same procedure is necessary when he desires to exit.

I was ensconced in my alcove at the Diogenes Club when the porter announced a visitor to see me in the Stranger's Room. The Diogenes Club discourages, but does not forbid the practice of outsiders calling upon members. I have personally bade the few of my colleagues who are aware of my membership to refrain from accosting me there, save in matters of utmost urgency, so I proceeded apace to discern what manner of crisis impelled someone to disturb me in my sanctuary. Arriving in the Stranger's Room and finding not one, but two visitors, I knew I had cause to be concerned. The visitors were a woman known to me as Violet, one of my frequent paramours, and my brother, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

Of all the people, bold or desperate enough to seek me out at the Diogenes Club, the appearance of these two caused me no lack of foreboding. Violet was an employee of one of London's most discreet parlors for the service of gentleman's needs. I had previously alerted her to be on the lookout for any client who might bear a particular tattoo and report to me immediately if any should appear. Knowing full well that any discovery she might make would most likely occur at a late hour, I had instructed her to use my brother to convey this information to me should I not be at my station at the Foreign Office.

"The appearance of the two of you together presages ill tidings, Miss Violet. I gather you have observed the tattoo of which I bade you keep alert. Brother Sherlock, to what extent have you been made privy to the salient facts surrounding this affair?"

"Greetings to you as well, Sir Mycroft. Indeed, it is as you surmise. I have disclosed to Mr. Holmes your instructions to me as well as the events preceding my observation. He has made a careful inspection of my lodgings and his questioning has elicited from me details I would not otherwise have considered important."

"Indeed," said my brother. "Dark forces are at work here. As you, I am sure, are well aware, that singular tattoo is the emblem of a sinister brotherhood of Eastern European origin. The presence of one of them in London suggests a blood debt with someone of consequence is to be paid. What knowledge does the Foreign Office possess about this group?"

"We know they are of Balkan origin, but they mirror that fractured peninsula, manifesting more as a loosely knit group of regional associations than a coherent whole. It is not unheard of for one faction to accept a commission to eliminate a member of another. In order to be tattooed and accepted as a comrade of the cult, a man must pledge his absolute loyalty to his local leader, known as a centurion. When the centurion commands, his orders are of priority to the comrade, superseding his duties to his livelihood, even his obligations to his wife and children. There is no exit from the cult, save by death. When the centurion decides to undertake a mission, he deploys a team comprising a leader, called a decurion, and two or more junior comrades, each of whom keep the others under constant surveillance. The decurion holds absolute power over his subordinates, and is authorized to summarily dispatch any who fall short of his standards of performance or who endanger the mission in any way. Indeed, it is expected that not all who are deployed upon a mission will return. Those who return from a successful mission share in the spoils and may be promoted to stations of increasing responsibility. The mystique and prestige of the organization are such that even royalty and sovereign governments have been known to engage them."

"You told me to watch for the tattoo signifying an individual's membership," interjected Violet, "but the man I serviced displayed a word in addition. What could the word 'BOHT' signify?"

"It is a relatively recent development, arising in the wake of the Congress of Berlin; a means of identification among the factions. In your case, the letters are from the Cyrillic alphabet and denote the Moldavian faction. For the better part of the past century, petty wars have caused the governance of that region to vacillate between the adherents of the Czar and those of the Sultan. That instability has rendered it a particularly virulent breeding ground of those of an anarchic bent."

"They call themselves simply "The Brotherhood," said my brother. So secretive are they and so highly regarded in the throne rooms of the Continent as the perfect weapon for subterfuge, that few are even aware of their existence. How is it that the Foreign Office has been alerting its sources to be alert for their presence?"

"The Moldavian Foreign Office has declared a high-ranking official of the Ministry of the Exchequer to be persona non grata without offering any further explanation. Our sources in that country report great agitation among the Moldavian branch of the Romanov Family, but have thus far been unable to provide any details. Knowing that the services of The Brotherhood have been utilized in the past by the Romanovs, we have been watchful. Now that we have confirmation of their presence in London, we must spare no effort to intercept them and discover their intent. Sherlock, you finger is ever upon the pulse of this city's underworld. You must consult your sources."

"Indeed, a team of anarchists in London will inevitably require the assistance of our domestic criminal classes in the pursuit of their objectives. It is equally inevitable that their activities will come to the attention of Moriarty."

"Brother Sherlock, your obsession with that inoffensive mathematician will one day be your undoing."

"There is nothing inoffensive about Moriarty! He is the Napoleon of crime. He sits at the center of a web whose tendrils extend into every illicit transaction that that transpires, not only in this city but also in the capitals of Europe. He possesses information that could incite riots, start wars, bring down governments, even alter royal lines of succession were it made public."

"I will overlook your fantasies Sherlock, so long as you explore the strands of that web enveloping London's underworld to root out these anarchists. Time is of the essence. We know not how long they have been observing their prey and planning how best to carry out their commission. Forsake any other investigations you may be engaged in. From this moment on, every minute of your time must be in the exclusive service of the Foreign Office. Begin at once. They cannot be allowed to succeed! I will assume responsibility to convey Violet to her lodgings."

My brother struck the table with his fist. "No, that will not suffice. She must be afforded the best protection your Agency can muster. Other members of the team will doubtless have monitored the activities of the one who visited Miss Devereaux. By now, they will be aware that I have been engaged. We are no less at risk than the actual target of their contract."

"You are correct, of course. Violet, I apologize for the danger I have exposed you to by enlisting you as an informant. I shall provide new quarters for you and assign my best female agent to be your constant companion until we have excised this tumor from our midst."

My brother departed, leaving me alone with Violet. "I expect our liaisons must now become a postscript of history," I lamented. "I know enough of Sherlock's prowess between the bedsheets to realize that I will always pale in comparison. No matter my attentions to the satisfaction of your needs before those of myself, always will you be reminded that he is the primo uomo, and I the mere understudy."

"Sir Mycroft, I count you as the most generous gentleman it has ever been my honor to service. While you are correct that your brother is a virtuoso in matters of sexual fulfillment, and I look forward eagerly to discovering even more facets of his talent, there is no need for you to consider yourself his inferior. In fact, I am not only willing, but eager to lay your fears to rest. Is there a more private place to which we can repair so I can convince you?"

So saying, she began to dance sensuously around the empty Stranger's Room, all of her movements aimed at enticing me to accept her offer. As a founding member of the Diogenes Club, I am privileged to have access to private rooms on the top floor. These rooms are normally used to accommodate meetings between individuals who have need of deniability that their paths ever intersected. To one such room I escorted Violet, by corridors invisible to the general membership. Upon our arrival, she bade me be seated on a comfortable sofa while she continued her sensuous dance, periodically removing one item of clothing after another, each discard in such fashion as to excite the senses in anticipation of further mysteries to be revealed. She danced to a melody only she could hear, yet by her movements I could sense its ebbs and flows, its crescendos and decrescendos, its changes of rhythm from languorous andante to frantic presto.

As she discarded each piece of her clothing, she danced close to where I sat and deftly removed a corresponding article of mine. The sexual tension increased as we each approached the Edenic state, by which time my member was fully engorged and aching in anticipation of becoming engulfed within the confines of her velvet tunnel. She danced in front of me and I attempted to draw her enflamed nether lips to my face as I have done on so many previous occasions. But she slid away saying, "Not tonight, my stallion. This night I exist solely for the satisfaction of your needs. I believe I see such a need standing proudly at attention. Lie back upon this divan while I honor him."

I gave myself over to the enjoyment of her ministrations. She straddled my hips and slowly lowered herself until her cunt lips just kissed the tip of my Johnson. She lowered a fraction more to allow her to spread my precoital emissions over the entire head and mix with her own, creating a musky perfume, the odor of which filled the room and only heightened my arousal. With the head thus lubricated she began to dip and rise, each dip spreading the pungent lubricant a bit lower on my shaft. Soon she had me completely engulfed, whereupon she ceased riding. Pinning me to the divan, she now concentrated on contracting and relaxing all of the musculature within her nether region, assaulting my cock over its entire length as by a hundred tiny masseuses. This soon brought me to the brink despite my best efforts to restrain myself and prolong the exquisite sensation.

"You must stop lest I spend myself too soon."

"Do not resist. Leave everything to me and hold back nothing."

With one final compression of her pelvic muscles she brought me to a thunderous climax and I released a prodigious series of jets into her cavern. Once I was spent she again contracted her vaginal walls, clamping my shaft so tightly as to retain its engorgement. Then, lifting herself slightly, she reached behind and grasped it at the base to maintain its fullness as she stood and let our combined fluids drip from her muff onto me. Then she spread the musky issue over cock, bollocks, and arsehole, using her mouth and her titties as well as her hands. Those ministrations were sufficient to convince John Thomas to remain engorged and to prevent my succumbing to the torpor that typically follows such an energetic bedding.

She then positioned herself on all fours inviting me to reenter her velvet tunnel from behind. Never have I been able to decline such an invitation. Kneeling behind her, I once again delved her depths. Leaning over her back I reached beneath to grasp her silken globes and trace her nipples. "Pinch them," She admonished me, and each time I did so she responded with a clench of her vaginal walls. I had thought that, having once climaxed, this time would be a more sedate fuck, but she had other plans. She backed to meet my every thrust, her contractions and vocalizations serving to increase my passion and thus the speed of my attack. As I began to detect the signs of her impending climax, to my utter surprise I felt the beginning of another round of turbulence within my bollocks.

"Do you not feel that?" she howled. "Ride me harder and let the little death takes us together!"

I know not if it was I who sensed when she was ready or she who matched herself to my state, but we achieved that glorious simultaneity of which the bawdy poets sing, but is so rare in actual fact. Spent at last, she reluctantly released me. I collapsed on my side; she pulled a bolster over us, arranged herself facing me and hooked a leg over mine as if to claim me as hers. Thus entangled we surrendered to our mutual exhaustion, not to wake until the morrow.