Steampunk Desires: An Erotic Romance (The Complete Collection) (15 page)

Elle’s head eventually cleared from its orgasmic fog, and she regarded the ropes of semen stuck to her face. What was this stuff? she wondered. Having never experienced semen where she could see it before, she licked a bead of it from her lips. It was somewhat bitter and left a strange tingling feeling in her mouth. She grimaced and opted not to taste any more.

Suddenly, she felt a familiar feeling, and the brass sock ejected itself from her womb.

“Oh, nonono!” she said, reaching between her legs to catch it. She missed, and it landed on Albert’s face between his eyes. He groaned, clasping his hands to his face.

Elle could not withhold the laughter as it burst from her lungs. “Oh, Albert! I’m so sorry!” she said, terribly embarrassed but helplessly amused at the same time.

“That’s twice you’ve rewarded me for an orgasm by using your brass sock as a projectile,” he grumbled, but then he brightened. “Wait, you climaxed! Ha! You don’t win! We tied!”

“Nuh, uh!” Elle retorted, poking him in the stomach. He grinned and winced.

“Yeah, huh!” he said, grinning wickedly as he tickled her ribs.

“Ack, no!” she cried, rolling off of him to lie beside him on the bed.
“Humph!” she pouted. She was certain she won.

Harriet, who had been watching the whole time, rapped the desk with her knuckles, then declared, “Man-person orgasmed first.” Elle gave Albert a smug look, and he gave a sheepish grin. “Now,” Harriet continued, annoyed, “if the two of you are done being silly, I have science to do!”

The two on the bed exchanged glances. Were they dismissed?

“You’ve messed up the test results,” Harriet continued, irritated. “And since man-person got off, it’s going to be a while before he’s able to go again.” She grunted in annoyance. “Go away, and have Edwin send me two more. Make them both male.”

Albert gave a guilty look, and Elle bit her lip. Oops. They hesitated.

“GO!” Harriet ordered, pointing at the door. The two scurried out, taking the updated brass sock with them.

Harriet held her head in her hands, massaging her temples with her fingers. She hoped they were happy, she thought ironically. Actually, she hoped they’d somehow managed to invent a venereal disease and infect each other with it. No, that was too harsh. Maybe they’d both have blisters or something. But no, that would prevent her from experimenting on them. Fine, she thought. She hoped they were happy and that they’d hurry up and be ready to go again.

Harriet was frustrated; the results were skewed because the two had gone about things so differently. Still, she went to the strip chart, pulled her magnifying glasses down over her eyes, and examined it closely. The ripples were gone, and the power output had increased by thirty percent. She gasped.

“HA!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Got you!” she called triumphantly to some anthropomorphized embodiment of the problem she’d been solving. Fortunately, none of these problems ever manifested themselves as actual beings, or even her extensive lab would be very tight on space, filled with strange-looking monsters of odd sorts: black, floating, furry blobs with glowing red eyes that babbled incoherently, smiling friendlily yet tauntingly while mostly remaining just out of her reach. At length she’d capture one, poke and prod it, and store it in a glass jar as a badge of her intellect and perseverance. She might even name it some strange three-letter acronym. Or Bob. This monster’s name was post-coital phosphorescence, or PCP for short. She paused a moment, wondering if she should feed her captive imaginary adversaries. What would they eat? She shrugged and shook her head dismissively; she had real challenges to overcome without inventing nonsensical ones for herself. She made a mental note to modify all of the PCAs with the PCPA upgrade; she’d compare various contributors’ new output with their old ones for better evidence.

She glanced at the clock. It was 7:30, and there was ample time for her to work on her next project: advancing her research on the effect of time taken to achieve orgasm on the total energy harvested. She’d been working on it off and on for years, but Edwin had notified her of a new crewman that might prove interesting. While her research was far from complete, she could at least collect data from this specimen. She gathered her parchment in preparation for the test.

“Giles!” she called.

Giles entered with a new set of sheets. He had read her mind, again. He quickly and quietly made the bed with skill that would rival even Edwin, and then departed silently.

At length, two men walked in: Alonso, a dark-haired, attractive young man of Spanish descent, and Francis, an equally attractive, younger man of British descent. Francis was new, while Alonso had spent the last couple of years working for Edwin on various ships. The two were very good together, and apparently Francis had the uncanny ability to reach orgasm repeatedly in short succession. He was the main reason the two of them were here.

“So which one of you is the one with the insatiable dick?” Harriet asked bluntly.

Francis grinned and nodded to her, flashing a garish smile. “That’s me, my good lady,” he said.

Ugh, Harriet thought. There were no other words. She sighed. “You,” she said to Alonso. “Why are you here?”

Alonso looked at her, confused, then answered with a light Spanish accent, “Mister Albert said you were looking for two gays?”

Harriet frowned. Yes, she had asked for two gays. Well, for now, she didn’t need two gays; she needed dick-boy.

“You can go,” she said to Alonso, waving her hand dismissively. Alonso gave a helpless look to Francis, who reached over and gave him a peck on the cheek and patted his bottom, escorting him gently out the door.

“Get off,” Harriet said simply, gesturing to the freshly made bed.

Francis was, by now, used to being ordered to get off. Due to some poor choices he’d made when he first joined the crew, he’d been under Alonso’s strict control for several days, and Alonso, acting on orders from Edwin, had had Francis getting off as much as he could stand it, which was a whole lot. It was strange, though, for a woman to give the orders, and he cocked his head slightly.

Harriet sighed, frustrated. Were all of her test subjects going to be stupid today? She considered making a large pool of test subjects and floating lead on them; surely the lead, being of lighter density, would float on top. An idea popped into her head, and she brightened. Maybe she could feed her adversaries her stupid test subjects! That would solve two problems at once! She shook her head, regarding Francis. He was still there, still looking at her with that idiotic head of his cocked to the side.

“Dick-boy, I’m going to test the effect of you climaxing repeatedly versus waiting between orgasms, but I cannot get test data if you don’t cooperate,” she said pointedly.

Francis grimaced. Once a spoiled only child used to getting exactly what he wanted when he wanted it, he was now a test subject. One thing was for sure: the airship was teaching him humility. He put his brass sock on and began stroking himself.

Harriet began to wonder if the boy’s head was filled with helium. “Plug in,” she said dully.

Francis, who was on the verge of climax, groaned at the interruption but obeyed. The gauge registered a few megawatts, just under a third of what was needed to drive one of the giant motors that was responsible for the ship’s power. Harriet frowned. The output was surprisingly low, given as close to climax as the bionic penis seemed. Sure enough, seconds later, he groaned and the power dropped to zero.

Curses! Harriet wished she had another PCA with the PCPA installed. She’d have to add that to her list of things to study. Nevertheless, she stepped out from behind the desk, took up the strip chart, and examined it, doing some calculations in her head. She wrote some numbers down on her parchment.

“Again,” she said but heard snickering behind her. She turned. Francis’s face was deep red, and he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing.

Harriet’s temper surged. “What’s so bloody funny?” she shouted irately, her head turning as red as his.

Francis’s snickering stopped abruptly, and he gulped.

“Well?” Harriet demanded. Francis cringed.

Harriet put her short arms on her hips and tapped her foot impatiently. Francis sighed. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

“My good lady,” he began nervously, “it’s just that, ah…” he trailed off. There wasn’t a person on the ship that made him nervous — until now. Young and cocky, he’d been humbled by his previous experiences, but he still regarded himself as thoroughly capable of handling himself. Yet this person with explosive temper packed into such a…compact…package unnerved him.

“Well?”

“It’s just that you’re, er, vertically challenged,” Francis finally managed to squeak out, although by now, he felt as though she towered over him.

Harriet said nothing. She knew that people poked fun about her stature behind her back, but few were stupid enough to say it to her face. If she weren’t so eager to collect the information she needed, she’d have read him the riot act, but for now, she let it go. Francis already looked humbled enough.

“Again,” she repeated, and Francis quickly complied, relieved not to have been castrated. Again, the gauge peaked out at a few megawatts, and he was spent. She recorded some more numbers after looking at the strip chart.

“Again,” came the command, and the process ensued once more. She continued this for five trials, and then compared her notes. He was very consistent: he always peaked at thirty percent after 15 to 16 seconds, and his orgasms lasted an average of 9.63 seconds with a standard deviation of 0.23 seconds. Now she wanted to try something different.

“I want you to go again,” she said, “but I want you to take it slowly, to try to take twice as long to reach orgasm.”

Francis looked puzzled. The formula went jack off, get off. That was all there was to it. Alonso had showed him the joys of taking his time with someone else, but that was different.

Harriet was losing her patience. “Dick-boy, put your dick in your hand and stroke yourself slowly,” she said exasperatedly.

Francis did as instructed, but the activity he’d been doing since he was twelve was very ingrained, and before Harriet could do anything, he sped up and climaxed. It had taken 17 seconds.

“Giles!” Harriet called, her patience exhausted.

“Yes, madam?” Giles asked presently.

“Bring back the other gay,” Harriet said. “I need someone to get this guy off more slowly.”

Giles frowned, then disappeared.

“I’m sorry, my good lady,” Francis said, embarrassed. “I’ve always just gone for it.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have,” Harriet said bluntly. Maybe the other gay boy could teach him to slow down and improve his output. She tapped her pen on the table impatiently.

Alonso knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Harriet yelled irritably. Alonso entered, closing the door behind him. “Oh, other gay-boy, good, you’re here. Get him off slowly,” Harriet said, gesturing to Francis.

Alonso grinned. “Still haven’t figured it out, yet?” he asked Francis teasingly.

“Shut up,” Francis retorted, grinning sheepishly.

“Lie back,” Alonso said gently. Francis did as told, and Alonso stroked his fingers lightly over the brass sock.

“Ohh,” Francis murmured. Alonso’s fingers trailed down the sock, then grazed across Francis’s balls. Francis shuddered. So did the needle on the gauge.

Francis felt his orgasm building like a heat in his testes that slowly spread throughout his groin. A tinge of excitement started building, like a thunderhead in his forehead, seeking a clear path to his balls. Still Alonso teased him along, stroking his fingers over sensitive spots, and the charge slowly built inside Francis’s body. His toes curled, and he whimpered in lust that would not quite give way to climax.