A Study in Satin

by Tigger

 

Part II: Veni, Veni, Vici.

Chapter 7: Facing the Facts

 

Irene looked up from her reading and did a pleased double take as Sherla came hurrying back into her library. *The dark red of the burgundy gown suits her coloring, especially with that incredible black hair,* Irene thought again, *And that delicate gold embroidery about the bodice highlights her bosom beautifully. I must remember to congratulate Katrina on her efforts as a lady's maid. As for Sherla, except for her behavior and the manner in which her mind works, one would never suppose or believe she was anything but another beautiful young woman ready to make her first curtsy in Society.*

Irene waited for Sherla to reseat herself so that they could continue. They had been planning an outing for the girl when her need came up on her once again, necessitating her rapid departure. *Strange, though,* Irene had mused, *I would have expected the girl to have that 'just-loved' look of sexual satiation on her face.*

She didn't look anything like that.

"DAMN ME, Irene," the ebon-haired Fury snapped as she slammed both hands down on the other woman's desk. "I cannot take much more of this. I have been consumed by my, uh, needs for the better part of two days and nights, now," she said. Then she gave a particularly foul curse before continuing, "And I cannot fight Moriarty if I perpetually have one hand stuck inside my drawers like some perverse female caricature of Napoleon!"

"I believe he kept his hand higher than that," Irene replied as she fought to keep her face straight. "And I thought I had told Katrina to dispense with your drawers for the time being."

Sherla exploded, "IRENE!?!?"

"SILENCE!" Irene snapped before Sherla could begin anew. "I have told you before that young ladies do not use such language or such a tone of voice. Take care that I do not resort to the classic remedy for such behavior and wash your mouth out with strong soap."

The tone more than the message brought Sherla up short and she stared at Irene's suddenly implacable face for almost a minute. Irene was a tall, well-built woman who seemed to exude an aura of strength and power. *She might well be able to carry out that threat,* Sherla thought furiously, *And besides, that sly boots Katrina would be only too happy to assist her in such an endeavor.* Sighing her capitulation, Sherla flounced over to a nearby chair and flopped down into it quite indecorously.

"THAT will not do either, my fine young miss," Irene snapped, black fire flashing at Sherla from her eyes. "Stand up, come back over here and then walk over and seat yourself like a lady!"

"How can I attempt to be a lady, Irene, when my body seems determined to be a slut!"

"One . . more . . . foul . . word!" Irene growled, "And you will find out that I am more than capable of disciplining that mouth of yours, and moreover, Katrina would enjoy helping me see to it. Now, do as I directed."

For a moment, Sherla was tempted to test Irene, and then decided against it. She did, after all, still have those chains and cuffs and evidently enjoyed using them. With slow grace, she rose from her seat and returned to the doorway from where she made a much more ladylike entrance to her chair. Carefully, she arranged her skirts and seated herself.

"Brava," Irene applauded, her wicked smile back in place. "As we have discussed, my dear Sherla, it is necessary for you to learn to do these things when you are in your role as a young lady of society. Better that you should be disciplined here with me in the privacy of my home than be shamed, or worse, ostracized in public."

"Yes, of course," Sherla said, more in control now, "It is just that I do not see any chance of me going out in your society. Unless they have convenient bedrooms where I may go to. . . relieve myself."

"As to that, my dear, I would bid you take a look at this," Irene said offering a sheet of paper to Sherla. "You've been too, shall we say, involved in the details of your therapy to keep track, but I wanted to see what was happening to you."

Bemused by the woman's words, Sherla looked at the paper and tried to decipher them. *Times,* she mused, *followed by a number. Apparently collected over the past two days. The most recent entry just fifteen minutes ago followed by a '10'. . AH HA!. This is . . .* "You've been keeping a record of when and how long I go off to . . .address my needs?"

"Exactly," Irene said smugly. "And so, Miss Holmes, what do you see in the data?"

Sherla took another, longer look at the sheet, and then it finally became clear. "The intervals between my . . .departures seem to be growing longer, and once I leave, I am not gone as long," she offered.

"Excellent, Sherla. Precisely so. Your time between sessions has more than doubled since yesterday morning and the duration of your sessions is down as well, though not as much. These things do take *some* time if one is to do them properly, as I am sure you are learning. However, I believe that in another day or so, you will be well able to control your urges."

"Then I am not going to spend the rest of my life like some feminine incarnation of a mythological satyr?"

"I believe the feminine equivalent is called a nymph, dear, but no, I think you will soon be rid of this irresistible urge, or at least, able to control it under most circumstances," Irene answered, but then her tone changed and became reflective, "Although I think it highly unlikely you will ever be one of those pasty-faced, milque-toast-minded, 'close your eyes and think of England' misses when it comes to passions of the flesh. One positive aspect to this otherwise unfortunate situation is that you've learned that passion properly dealt with feels wonderful. I don't think you will be able to deny yourself such pleasures in the future, and further, you will, I suspect, become a rather demanding lover." A hint of merriment and conspiracy twinkled in Irene's suddenly very green eyes as she dropped her voice to a whisper. "I should not care to be the man who fails to satisfy you while selfishly seeing to his own pleasures without regard to your own."

Feeling the heat rise in her face, Sherla turned away *The woman has the most remarkable propensity for making me blush like a school child.* "As if," Sherla managed a creditable imitation of a Katrina sniff of distaste, "I am ever likely to allow a man to become intimate with me that way, Irene, I *am* a man. . . .I mean, I was a ma. . . . .I mean. . "

Musical laughter bubbled up out of Irene and then she stopped, seeing the distress on Sherla's face. "I know you were, dear," she replied more gently, "but you are not a man now, and one of the marvelous things a woman can do is make love with a man. At least, it is marvelous to make love with a man who is knowledgeable in and dedicated to the arts of pleasing a woman. If you are to be a woman, and it appears that you are, I would hope that you would not deny yourself that pleasure simply because you used to be male."

Sherla could find no answer to that, so Irene returned to their prior discussion. "As I read that sheet, I would say that in one or two days, you will, in all probability, have your needs under sufficient control that you will be able to go about in public as easily any other highly passionate woman. Like myself, for instance," she added as she grinned impishly. "I think that whatever causes this hugely amplified arousal in you is slowly wearing off, or is being cleansed from your body."

"Is that why you've all but been pouring liquids down my throat?" Sherla asked suspiciously.

"Just so, Irene replied. "Herbs are often water soluble which is why they are used to make tea, so it seemed prudent to use large quantities of water to wash your system clean of any residue if that was what was causing your burning sexual arousal. It seems to have worked."

"I see," Sherla said, rising from her seat. "If you will excuse me for a bit."

Irene's face fell. "Not another session in your room? You just returned and should be satisfied for several hours now."

A gamine grin lit the young face. "Oh no, Irene. I just felt the need for some water is all. See you at dinner."

It was not until much later that each woman realized that Irene had said and MEANT that she now believed that Sherla and Sherlock were one and the same person.

~---------------~

Actually, the two women were back together at tea time. "This is neither a French nor a commonly American tradition, Sherla," Irene had said as she accepted, finally, the cup of coffee Sherla offered her, "but as you are English, you should know how to properly hostess an afternoon tea. The English are second to none in their pursuit of and snobbery about this peculiar little institution."

"Oh, I have attended a Japanese Tea Ceremony, Irene," Sherla said with a smile, "And that is an occasion akin to a high service in a Christian Church. But then, this would not count since you have insisted on coffee instead of tea."

"Just another American vulgarity my good friend Penelope was unable to wean me away from. I find tea a rather tasteless and insipid brew, and since it is my house and so long as the proprieties of the ceremony are observed, who cares if I drink tea or coffee or hot toddies?"

Sherla nodded her understanding while reaching over to ring the small service bell that had arrived on the tea tray. Keeping track of the time mentally, she watched the door that permitted access into Irene's salon. A shadow fell across the small rug immediately outside the door and precisely two seconds later, a rather displeased Katrina appeared in the doorway. "Oui, Mademoiselle?" she asked, her tone just as aggravated as her frown.

"Some honey, please, Katrina. I should like some honey for these lovely scones you provided and for this very rich coffee."

The look of blank amazement followed by what had to be a very sharp, barely-swallowed back retort pleased Sherla. "Oui, Madame," she said with the air of someone who is bestowing a great favor on a very annoying child, and left in swirl of black silk skirt and white petticoat, her heels clacking loudly.

"That is the third time you've rung for her in the last ten minutes," Irene said, her tone making it a question.

Sherla managed a creditable imitation of Katrina's flirty shrug. "I have never hostessed a tea. . . or perhaps more correctly, a coffee, before. I will do better next time."

"Oh, will you?" Irene asked, amusement lighting her eyes.

"Of course," Sherla answered with complete and unconscious confidence. "There is no question. Now, I have a female question to ask you."

Irene's brows lifted suggestively. "A female question suitable to this oh-most-solemn of British ceremonies? I did not think that could be possible."

For a moment, Sherla did not understand Irene's reference. When she did, she blushed furiously, and shook her head vigorously. "No, no, nothing like that. More of a woman-to-woman type thing. Katrina informed me during the fitting with Madame La Modiste that having pins stuck into one's. . .ummm. . person is almost a rite of passage for a woman of society - so that they can brag about the horrors of it as a man might brag of battles fought or his first wo. .. ummm. . .his . ." Sherla stumbled.

"His first woman, Sherlock?" Irene finished for Sherla, and then let the silence hang just long enough to let the girl know she needed to be more careful. "In answer to your question, I suppose it might be if one has nothing better to brag about. One's first m. . .well, we won't go into that here, but now I am curious. . "

Irene was interrupted by the return of Katrina who stormed into the room, all but slammed a silver serving bowl filled with golden honey down and then stormed back out of the room without so much as a word.

"I would say you have disturbed her routine," Irene said with a grin. "Katrina has the lovely Gallic temper that makes French women justly famous in the world. Now, as I was saying, you have piqued my curiosity. When did Katrina make this . . .revelation about the Secret Society of the Pinned Posterior?"

Sherla reached for the honey server and dipped out a large spoonful. "Oh, after I complained about it to her during the fitting," she said airily as she stirred with her spoon.

"I see," Irene said in a tone that indicated to Sherla that she probably did. "Well, I did tell you that Katrina is a minx. She is forever teasing and playing her little tricks."

"So I have learned," Sherla said with a small, kittenish smile. "And can she take what she so blithely serves up to others?"

Irene chuckled. "She takes it from me," she said with utter confidence. "Other than that, I am not sure. Ummm, Sherla, why are you adding honey to the cream?"

"Honey to the cream?" Sherla repeated. "Oh my goodness! I was not paying proper attention. We shall need more cream!" And with that, reached over to sound the bell again.

Irene watched Sherla's face slip into a by-now familiar mask of total concentration. For an instant, she thought about intervening, but decided against it. If she was going to help Sherla, and she had all but decided that she would do so, Katrina and Sherla would need to reach a meeting of the minds between themselves for themselves.

Sherla's internal clock counted down the seconds. At the precise moment, she snatched up the cream pitcher and leapt to her feet. "Oh, Katrina is probably busy. I know where the cream is stored."

Sherla reached the doorway just as the expected shadow fell across the rug. Taking a careful last step, she contrived to "trip" on that rug just as Katrina's shapely form appeared in the door. Her free hand shot out, apparently trying to catch herself on Katrina's shoulder, while the hand holding the pitcher had another target.

Irene watched as Sherla's hand unerringly emptied the cold, sticky contents over the rounded expanse of cleavage shown off so perfectly by Katrina's décolletage. *She even managed to get most of it to flow underneath the blouse instead of onto the outside of the blouse,* Irene thought admiringly as she watched a "very distraught" Sherla attempt to "help" Katrina by patting the sticky mess further into the girl's uniform, all the while thanking Katrina profusely for "saving her". She soon had the satin and silk of Katrina's bodice thoroughly saturated and practically glued to the little maid's bosom.

"Katrina," Irene said authoritatively. "Go clean yourself up and change your uniform. Sherla, come back and finish your tea. It is getting cold and if you are going to be that clumsy, you shall go without cream for your coffee."

Katrina sent Sherla a fulminating look before acknowledging Irene's order and rushing off. Sherla came back to the table, attempting with all her acting ability to appear suitably penitent.

"Not bad, by the way," Irene said after Sherla had reseated herself, "for a first try."

Sherla knew the game was up, but decided to attempt to brazen it out, if only for the practice. "I beg your pardon?" She asked, as innocently as possible.

"Your little revenge on Katrina. Next time, don't alert bystanders by asking questions about how your victim might respond to a bit of her own medicine. Oh yes, and be more careful with your facial expressions just before you strike. You became quite "Sherlock-looking" right after you rang the bell. Counting the seconds, were you?"

Sherla sighed and then nodded. "I don't think she meant to hurt me with the pins," she said softly, "But I now feel such things so acutely. Actually, one of the sticks still bothers me a bit, particularly when I sit."

"And if she escalates the contest?" Irene asked. "She is not one to take such a thing lying down. She is very intelligent and will soon decide that it was intentional, particularly after those earlier repetitive bell calls. I suspect, my dear, that your next fitting or hair brushing might be a bit uncomfortable."

Sherla nodded, "But I am ready for that, Irene," she said with a serene smile. Irene gave a little movement of her hands indicating that Sherla should expound on that. "Well, I will simply ask her, in the hearing of the modiste or yourself perhaps, what she uses for that lovely complexion of hers, and mention that I have heard that a mixture of milk, or better yet, of cream and honey is said to be wonderful for the skin."

"Particularly about the bosom?" Irene asked, choking back a laugh.

"Well, only if it is you who is present and not the modiste."

"Now THAT is a well done plan. VERY devious and VERY feminine. Do try to have me present when you implement that stratagem, please. I should very much like to see if you are the second person who can make our Katrina blush."

"You being the first?" Sherla asked, not really needing an answer.

 

 

 

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