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From: "Yotna El'toub" <yotna_eltoub@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Strange Case of the Missing Madonna [Yotna El'toub] Chapter four.
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Date: Sat, 13 May 2006 19:10:01 -0400
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{ASSM}  The Strange Case of the Missing Madonna ~ A Holmes & Hove
adventure Chapter four of several) [Yotna El'toub]
(M-solo,MM,FFM,MC,NC,magic. Caution: blasphemous)

****************************************************************
WARNING: This story will contain situations and explicit language
of an adult nature and should be read only by those of a legal
age to do so. If you are a minor or object to stories of an adult
nature, LEAVE HERE IMMEDIATELY. Legal age local to the author is
18+ please abide to your own local laws.

Please note and understand the content codes for this story. The
characters portrayed in this story are just that, characters in
my story. Any similarities to real people are purely coincidental
and unintentional. The characters and situations portrayed are
pure fantasy; the author is keen to state that in reality adult
sexuality should remain only in the adult world.

Please do not allow or cause this story to fall in to the hands
of minors.
________________________________________________________________

***AUTHOR'S NOTE*** Due to the subject matter this Holmes and
Hove adventure will contain not only sex, but blasphemous
content. I have no desire to upset people or their deeply held
belief's, so if this is likely to upset you; stop reading *NOW*.
If you continue to read despite my warning my conscience is
clear, as *YOU* have made a free choice.
________________________________________________________________



William had spent most of his day completing the preparations
for the forthcoming baptism of baby Howlett, soon to be Martha
Howlett. He always enjoyed the process of welcoming a new small
soul into the family of god. Even this could not maintain his
mood, as gradually the memory of the previous night returned to
haunt him. William recoiled when he recalled his barely-
provoked attack on Mary. What must she think of him? The poor
woman must have felt he was denying her this morning, what a
Judas he was!

The Reverend locked the door of the church and sullenly walked
away. At least Mary would be gone now and he need not face his
sin. Cowardice had persuaded him to put things right in the
morrow. His mind turned to the cause of his behaviour, he was
certain that this had something to do with the accursed icon.
Since he'd first laid eyes on it, he had detested it. William's
mind took him back to that fateful happening in his childhood.

The night had been wild, storms lashed at the vicarage and the
insistent tapping of the branches on Will's window had filled
his head with unwanted images. In his young mind, witches flew
and the dead whispered from the adjacent graveyard. A loud peal
of thunder was the final straw. Will left the scant comfort his
bedclothes had provided, and headed off to find reassurance.

His quest eventually led him to his father's study. The room lay
in darkness but Will could just make out his father's figure. He
stood on this side of his desk facing the window, his head bowed
as if in prayer. Will hesitated, he did not want to interrupt his
father's commune with god, even at his tender age he understood
its importance. That was when the lightning struck and young
Will learnt of the icon.

Multiple flashes of intense blue light rendered a nightmarish
scene; the icon, the virgin Mary, the beast, his obscenely large
appendage, the look of hatred in his father's eyes. More flashes;
the staccato motion of his father's hand, his grotesquely large
organ. The spurts that issued from it. The pool of seed on the
icon. Will fled, his young mind sure that he had just seen the
devil incarnate, both in the icon and in his beloved father.

Will never spoke of this; neither as a child nor as an adult.
Over the years he saw his father's health fail; the doctors
called and named the illness, consumption. But William knew that
although the name was apt, it was not the disease that consumed
his father, burnt his youth and laid him to waste.

No, he knew the true source. He had seen it. The irony became
complete a year ago, when finally his father's brave struggle
ended; William took over his job and his responsibilities. One of
these was most sour; to guard the very icon that had corrupted
and killed his father.

William stopped walking; he had reached the door to his manse.
He opened it, and crossed more than one threshold.


                -------------------------


Hove had walked briskly on, not even, as was his habit pausing in
Green park for his favourite stroll up Constitution Hill. No, on
this day, Brighton strode on by making his way rapidly along
Piccadilly soon he turned left, finding his way through to
Saville Row and finally into the heart of Regent Street.

His pace slowed, he was unsure of the precise location of the
shop but he was fairly sure it was a quarter of a mile or so
further, on this side. He scoured the shop fronts as he walked,
then he spied it - just the other side of Prince's street; J
Brown and Brothers, Purveyors of Fine Maps, Charts and
Astronomical instruments.

Brighton smiled, his sense of direction had not failed him, it
was innate, but Infantry training and the pressure of the Sudan
had honed his skill to perfection. He sighed, damn it all, he was
getting as bad as Ned, the Sudan and the Mahdi were long gone.
This was civilisation not the killing fields of Abu Klea. Sadly
he shook his head and crossed Prince's Street.

Once in the shop he approached the vendor, a largish gentleman
with a handlebar moustache. "I wonder if you can assist me. I am
looking for maps of a very specific area of Buckinghamshire.
They must be highly detailed. Oh, and before I forget both
ancient and modern. The places of interest are West Wycombe,
Henley and..." Before Brighton could complete his list the
moustachioed man did.

"Medmenham! How odd. Very specific but identical to the last
gentleman. What a co-incidence."

"Incredible yes. Erm, the last gentleman was?" Hove felt the
hairs on the back of his neck bristle.

"Behind you, the man browsing at the London Street guides. If
you will excuse me I will just retrieve your maps."

"Yes thank you." Hove replied, then stole a sideward glance at
his fellow customer. An unremarkable but clearly foreign chap,
squarish forehead and lantern jawed. 'Could be a Hun' Hove
thought to himself, suddenly Brighton found himself staring
directly into the man's intense, dark eyes. He blinked once, and
the man had diverted his gaze concentrating on the guide once
more. Hove thought it odd that he had not taken his gloves off to
do this, surely it would be easier?"

"Here we are Sir, six maps just as requested." The shopkeeper
did a quick mental calculation, "That will be Ł2.11s.6p and one
farthing, please."

Ned reached for his wallet and smiled, he handed the shopkeeper a
Ł5 note. Hove heard the bell on the shop door sound, he glanced
around and noticed the Germanic man had left. He made up his mind
in an instant and rushed to the door himself, ignoring the
surprised shopkeeper's cries.

"Sir! Sir, your change!"


                -------------------------


Holmes was gleeful, he enjoyed nothing more than perusing books
and discovering gems of information. As an only child, books ad
been his one constant companion, they taught him and provided
his fertile imagination with lands, indeed whole worlds to
explore. Yes he truly loved books, even so, some of the works
he delved into today taxed him sorely.

The woodcut illustrations of demons and rituals abhorred him. Not
the practices so much, for he thought it very unlikely any of
this was true. If anything he was a little ambivalent about god,
but as for the fallen angel and hell, these were just tales to
scare the uncertain. No, his abhorrence was for the darkness that
resided in the human, and the fact that it could be communicated
so effectively to others, slowly eroding their morality.

The morality he, and all others, depended on for civilisation.
The one true and honourable thing the Empire stood for, the only
reason for laying one life down; as he so nearly had. No this
was tumour, eating at the heart of civilised behaviour, cut it
out - or surely it would spread. Ned suppressed a shudder of
revulsion at the very idea.

Ned's next read was more enlightened, a treatise on the 'Knights
of St. Francis'. Reasonably it pointed out that the 'Knights' of
Francis Dashwood were men of standing, in politics, the arts and
society. As such these men may have a liking for fine wine and
women, but that the occult stories were mere fantasies created
by the press of the time and subsequently, the product of
nothing more sinister that jealousy. Although this cheered
Holmes somewhat, it did add weight to the theory of the
illuminati being involved. For the illuminati and power went
hand in glove.

Holmes lent back and pinched the brow of his nose, for the faded
print had taken is toll and his head thumped in furious pain. He
concentrated to clear it, decisions were needed, fast, correct
decisions. Tonight he would visit the 'George and Vulture' the
public house where the Hellfire club had been conceived. If
nothing else he could gain some background, maybe into the reason
for the destruction by fire of the first pub that had born that
name.

Holmes stood and made his exit from the library. Once outside
he lit his churchwarden. Magically the pain in his head
subsided. 'And Hove thinks this is bad for me, tsk tsk!'
Thought Holmes, as he walked off to find a cab.


                -------------------------


Brighton burst through the Cartographer's doorway and out onto
Regent Street almost colliding with a mature matron.

"Sir! Please have some care." She grumbled.

Brighton muttered his apologies before rushing off in the
direction of Buckingham Palace. He left a very irate woman in
his wake.

"Really, these young people! Just what is happening to manners
these days?"

She was left to wonder, as Brighton in his hurry, was already a
good fifty yards away. He dropped his pace slightly as he got
within yards of the 'Hun'. Hove puffed happily, this was his
chance to do some real detection, the sort Holmes would approve
of. He calmed his urgent breathing and kept a few pedestrians
between himself and his target. His stealth was pointless, as
his perceptive target was already award of his presence.

The walk was uneventful, the man crossed at the end of the
street, to the far side of Piccadilly. Hove wondered idly if the
unknown man was heading for Hove's home base. The idea of course
was foolish. He was proved wrong when the gentleman turned left
into Green Park. Hove increased his pace to avoid his quarry
slipping away.As he entered the park, Hove realised he had
failed. The man had simply vanished!

Hove was lifted off his feet, a strong right arm wound around his
waist and a gloved left hand sealed his lips. The smell of fine
leather drifted up his nostrils. A second later he was dragged
into the bushes at the park entrance.

"So my fine friend, what is your fascination with me?" A soft
Germanic voice whispered in his ear.

The hand finally relaxed to let him reply, his feet however
still dangled.

"Fascination, Sir I have no idea of what you mean! Unhand me
now."

"Oh, an innocent are we?" The voice cracked into a nasty laugh.
"Let me see you, I am going to release you. If you attempt to
flee, I will kill you Sir."

For some unknown reason Hove did as he was told, he stood facing
his assailant.

"Most pleasant, restful on the eyes. And my, Sir you are well
proportioned, are you not. Now be so kind as to undo your
britches for me..." Asked the assailant.

The very suggestion broke through Hove's daze.

"I shall not, the very idea. We have laws in this Country Sir!
We..." Hove's voice was cut off in it's entirety by a dismissive
wave of his assailant's right hand.

"I know of this despotic Countries opinion of me and my 'kind'. I
know of the music halls and the outrageous jokes you make of us
'Earnest's'. But as ridiculed as we are, we can frighten more
than the horse's, Sir. Your cruel Country has something I want
and I shall have it. You have got something I want, and I shall
see it. Now!"

Brighton found that his mouth would not move, he could not
emote the words that burned in his mind. To his horror however
his hands would move, and unerringly they proceeded to undo his
britches and extract his flaccid organ. The man moved towards
Hove and without shame he gripped the shaft of his man-stalk.

"Very solid and attractive, but I am sure it can be encouraged
to blossom." The man spoke quietly.

The assailant tightened his grip and began to manipulate
Brighton's pego with easy strokes. Hove died inside, but in spite
of his feelings his member responded to the experienced touch
and reared up. The frequency of the gloved hands motion
increased, causing Hove to tremble as his desire and erection
grew.

Now the assailant laughed cruelly, "Oh dear, I think you will
disgrace yourself Sir, how very unfortunate." The hand now nipped
and relaxed, as it polished Brighton's stalk with urgent
friction. Hove felt his shame approaching, try as he might,
however hard he fought he could not prevent it.

As Brighton grimaced, long streams of his seed shot forth,
coating the surrounding leaves with a thick white deposit. He
never recovered to feel the enormity of the sin against him, for
as he swayed in the midst of his pleasure, a heavy hand clubbed
down on the back of his neck. The world as viewed by Hove swam,
and then darkened.

"Farewell Sir, I have what I needed, and you are without whatever
it was you desired." The man smirked, "Just as with you, I shall
take your Country and all I desire from it."

The man wiped his gloved hand with his handkerchief before
continuing his stroll. A few minutes later he had a view of
Buckingham Palace from the peak of Constitution Hill. He waited
while a couple strolled by him, he touched the brim of his hat
briefly in apparent respect. Once alone he spoke his oath.

"I, a member of the Sancti of Illuminati, vow to undermine Her
Britannic Majesty and usurp her Empire. Or die in the process!"

He stepped back and continued to stroll, he had some time
before his meeting with Dashwood. Wherever it was to be. All he
knew was he must meet his carriage at the entrance to Green
Park at seven o'clock on this very eve.


                -------------------------


Mary walked down the stairs, on this journey she used much less
care than she had on ascent. She saw the look of abject horror on
William's face, as he drank in the vision that was her nakedness.
Mary did a very simple, but seductive thing. She turned on the
stairs and then she looked over her shoulder, just before she
started returning to the upper floor.

William followed her, with his eyes to start with and then his
body. As his foot settled on the lower step, a loud hammering at
the door halted him. Only duty encouraged him to turn and answer
the door. When he did, he was face-to-face and eyeball-to-eyeball
with the last person he wanted to see.

"Thomas, how can I help?" William asked.

"I am sorry to disturb thee Reverend, but Mary has not arrived
home yet. Is she within?"

William did not hesitate, his mind was set. "No, Thomas, she
left maybe an hour since. I hope you find her soon."

Thomas blinked, then nodded and walked away, his shoulders
slumped.

William closed the door gently, and rushed to the stairs. Once
there, he bounded up them three steps at a stride. He swung open
the bedroom door and wandered towards the hedonistic tableau
before him. Clarice lay spread-eagled on the bed, her legs
dangling loosely to the floor. Mary was in a supplicant pose
between them, her mouth and tongue productively occupied.
William raised his cassock and freed himself. He knelt
behind Mary and consummated his hot desire.


                -------------------------


To be continued...


____________________________________________________________


Foot Notes (C) Yotna El'toub May 2006
________________________________________________________________

I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed
writing it.  As always, feedback is appreciated, since it is my
only payment for my work.

Please address comments to yotna_eltoub@hotmail.com

This story is copyrighted by the author and as such may not be
published, posted or archived on any newsgroup, website, or
server, other than ASSM and ASSTR, without the EXPRESS PERMISSION
of the author. Any reader may archive a copy of this story,
provided the warnings and copyright information is attached in
full.

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