Holmes & the Blackmailer Ch. 03

Scotland Yard Archivist's note: It is with some embarrassment that I must report that the papers of Dr John Watson became scattered amongst the archives. It has taken some years to piece them together and I am now pleased to present the third and penultimate part of this record. I am currently transcribing the last of Doctor Watson's hand written account and should be in a position to present them soon.

It is with more than a little embarrassment that I must admit that I was somewhat excited at the prospect of meeting with Miss Torrington once again. I had stayed in my old room for the night and Mrs Hudson had prepared an excellent early breakfast which I ate alone as Holmes had risen and left before me. He had left me a note reminding me of my instructions and telling me to make sure to bring Miss Torrington back to our rooms before 10 o'clock.

I picked up my trusty Doctor's bag, as instructed, and went down to the street to find a cab. When I arrived at Miss Torrington's Aunt's house I introduced myself to the boot boy as Miss Torrington's private physician. The boot boy, who was a little surly in my opinion, took my card and ushered me into the hall but did not offer to take my hat or cane. I left them on the table and waited until Miss Torrington's maid appeared and showed me to her room.

'Miss Torrington has asked me to show you in while I wait out here.' the maid said a little coldly. Of course, the Doctor's bag leant some respectability to the situation and putting on my best medical manner I entered.

I was surprised to find Miss Torrington still in bed. She was sat up, wearing a nightdress and with the detritus of her breakfast on a lap tray. Next to her toast rack was an opened note upon which I recognised Holmes' hurried hand.

'Doctor Watson, come in. It's so good to see you again. Mr Holmes has sent word that you were coming and that he should have a solution to my problem by lunchtime. He has sent you to collect me, you are my knight in shining armour.'

'Your mood has certainly improved Miss Torrington.' I replied, trying hard not to stare at the silhouette of her perfect breast which was visible through the thin fabric of her night attire by virtue of a candle on her bedside table.

'It is true what they say about a problem shared Doctor Watson. Since I placed my problem in the hands of Mr Holmes a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. And you of course, my good Doctor.'

I looked at the bedside table nearest to me and Miss Torrington's better mood was explained - a brass syringe, obviously used recently, sat in a silver dish. I walked over and picked it up.

'Miss Torrington, have you been administering drugs to yourself?'

She looked up at me with an embarrassed smile, and dilated pupils.

'The boot boy got it for me, it's just a little opium for the pain, and it does lift my mood a little too.'

'Miss Torrington, as a physician I must advise you not to proceed with this course of action; I've seen what an addiction to this can do to perfectly sane human beings.'

'Oh Doctor Watson, please don't lecture me. Anyway, haven't you come to take me to Mr Holmes? Here, take my tray and put it on the side table over there please.'

I did as I was asked but as I turned around I saw that Miss Torrington had thrown back the bed clothes and was stood at the side of the bed. She started to stretch but this obviously put strain on the delicate chains connecting the bars through her nipples and the rings attached to her labia. She winced slightly and dropped her arms again.

'I do hope Mr Holmes is right that this will all be over today Doctor.' she said then amazed me by swiftly untying her nightclothes and letting them drop to the floor.

As she stepped out of them I was once again looking upon the beautiful naked form of the young socialite. Her pure alabaster skin, her beautiful breasts and shaved pubic area. Of course, there was also the delicate but wicked jewellery that her as yet unknown blackmailer had forced upon her under sedation. Despite my embarrassment my penis started to stiffen at the sight. To my utter amazement Miss Torrington proceeded to move her right hand down to her crotch and started to manipulate her labia. She saw my mouth open in amazement.

'Sometimes, after I've slept, I have to adjust the rings to make them a little more comfortable.' she explained, 'Would you help me dress Doctor, it can be painful dressing myself with the chains.'

She slipped behind a dressing screen and then reappeared carrying a fashionable dress. She dropped it to the floor and stepped into it then bent at the knees and pulled it up, slipping her arms into the sleeves. She turned her back to me and asked me to do up the back of the dress. I moved closer and noticed that the dress seemed to have a hundred small metal hooks which slipped into corresponding loops. The fastenings started below the gentle curve of Miss Torrington's buttocks and, unaccustomed as I am to dressing women, as I fumbled with the fiddly closures my hand brushed her soft buttocks a number of times. I blustered an apology but Miss Torrington, in her opium induced reverie, merely giggled. With much frustration at the job in hand I finally finished.

Miss Torrington turned around and thanked me then sat gingerly on the bed and asked me to pass her boots and help to fasten them. The boots fastened with a similar mechanism so the process was somewhat quicker after which Miss Torrington rose and looked at herself in a full length mirror.

'I fear my lack of undergarments is apparent Doctor, I must present a somewhat slovenly appearance. My lack of a corset is plainly obvious.'

'Trust in Holmes Miss Torrington, I feel confident that this sordid business will soon be at an end.'

Miss Torrington turned to me sharply, her cheeks reddening and moisture forming at her eyes.

'You think me sordid Doctor Watson?'

I felt brutish in an instant, reproaching myself for my careless turn of phrase.

'Oh no, my dear Miss Torrington, you are the innocent and virtuous victim of a wicked villain. It is the merely the situation that is sordid and not you. Forgive me if I implied otherwise.'

'The pressure is hard to bear Doctor, truly it is. I hope and pray that your faith in Mr Holmes is warranted and I shall soon be free of these adornments.'

'Come,' I said, regaining my composure, 'I have a four wheeler waiting outside to take us to Baker Street. The sooner we leave, the sooner this will all be over.'

I took my case in one hand and Miss Torrington's offered forearm in the other and we left the room.

Outside in the street I helped Miss Torrington into the cab and instructed the driver to proceed with all haste to Baker Street before joining her inside. We heard the driver shout and the crack of his whip and the cab lurched out into the crowded streets of the great metropolis. Miss Torrington had sat facing forward so I had taken the bench opposite. My young companion did not seem to want to talk and was looking out of the window so I did the same, looking out over the world's greatest city as is passed by us. As they have a habit of being at that time of the morning the roads were thronged with delivery drays lumbering along the streets and small, more nimble cabs, skittering across the cobbles between them. Our progress was slower than I hoped and after a few minutes I became aware that Miss Torrington appeared to be succumbing to the strain of the situation once more. Even though she kept her face steadfastly facing the window I could hear that her breathing was starting to become shallower and swifter and I could detect a flush starting to spread across her cheek. My heart reached out to the girl and leaving my bag on my bench I moved to sit beside her and place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

'Miss Torrington, I know this must be difficult for you but . . . '

She swung round quickly and put her head on my shoulder and grabbed my thigh with her hand.

'Oh Doctor Watson, I apologise, but the cobbles, the vibrations . . . Oh!'

Her hand tightened on my thigh and I suddenly realised that I had completely misunderstood Miss Torrington's symptoms. She was not upset but rather, the motion of the cab over the cobbled streets was causing her unsupported breasts to move and in doing so was causing the chains connected to her labia rings to excite her womanly folds and clitoris. Miss Torrington, far from being distressed, was sexually aroused. The combination of this realisation and the presence of her hand high up on my thigh caused my own genitals to react and, once again in the course of this adventure, I found myself becoming stiff.

As the young woman's breathing came in gasps her hand started to knead my leg and her hand started to rise up my leg as my penis lengthened down my trouser leg. I tried to extricate myself from the situation but Miss Torrington was lost in her reverie and was now clinging on to my arm with her free hand. I jumped as her hand first made contact with my now fully engorged member.

'Miss Torrington I really must . . .'

My words were cut off by my own breath. Miss Torrington, in her swoon, grasped my member through my trousers and started to rhythmically squeeze it. As her breath shortened and came in ever increasing gasps I found myself, I must say, thinking back over the occurrences of the last two days and finding myself unable, and, I'm afraid to say, unwilling to remove myself. With the intoxicating memories coursing through my mind like the opiates burning their way through Miss Torrington's veins it was a very short time before I pumped seed down my leg but Miss Torrington continued grinding her hand until it was almost painful on my softening penis. I was thankful when, with one final and prolonged squeeze, her own feelings came to a crushing climax, a long moan escaped her wantonly parted lips before she finally released her grip.

'Oh Doctor Watson, I'm so sorry.' she managed before she turned and, looking out of the window, started to sob.

My heart reached out to the beautiful but stricken girl and I reached out a hand to hers. She turned and buried her head in my chest, her tears wetting my collar. I put a comforting arm around her shoulder and, although her crying slowly subsided, she remained thus until the four wheeler slowed outside the door to 221B Baker Street.