Steampunk Desires: An Erotic Romance (The Complete Collection) (6 page)

Clarence grinned, then began stripping. Finally, Edwin thought. It had taken almost a year to get Clarence to take off his clothes for longer than a minute before the act. The whole crew would fall over in surprise when they saw him walking down the hallway sans his precious clothes.

Clarence’s clothes doffed and folded neatly on his bed, Edwin led him to the bipolar collection room and into the shelter the chalkboards had made. Scarlett was not yet there. “Wait here,” Edwin said as he departed to find her.

Clarence stood awkwardly. He could see nothing but blank chalkboards on three sides and the wall of the room on the fourth; the bed lay to his left. A nightstand sat on the other side with a large leather-bound book open on top with a fountain pen and ink. It was in this book that the occupants of the bed signed to get credit for their contributions to the ship’s energy. Plugs on the floor awaited the connection of a brass sock, the interface that harvested energy from the participants and fed it to the ship. A clock sat on the back of the nightstand so that the participants could record their check-in time.

The room was comfortable, but Clarence shivered. While this was something he had secretly wanted for years, he had been afraid to admit it to anybody. Now the opportunity was here, and he didn’t know how to take it. Would it be like he’d hoped? Would he botch it? Would the woman be pleased? Who was she? One of the chalkboards groaned and moved out of the way, and she appeared. Clarence gulped as she moved the chalkboard behind her, obscuring the view for everyone else. They were, for all intents and purposes, alone.

“Hello, Clarence,” she said seductively. “Or should I say, ‘slave?’“

His heart pounded. He could feel a hint of tumescence in his groin. He nodded, captivated by Scarlett’s body, voice, and demeanor.

“What was that, slave? I didn’t hear you,” Scarlett said, lifting his head with her finger to make eye contact.

“Y–yes,” Clarence stuttered.

“That’s ‘yes, milady,’” she corrected him. “Can you say that?”

“Yes, milady,” Clarence murmured.

“You’ll have to speak up, slave,” Scarlett said, smiling sweetly, but her eyes flashed fiercely.

“Yes, milady!” Clarence said, nearly shouting.

“Such a good slave!” Scarlett praised him. “Now, I understand that you need a firm woman’s touch. Is that right?”

“Yes, milady!” he said eagerly, but he hesitated afterwards; was he being too forward?

“Good. And you’re going to do as you’re told, right, slave?” Her words were reassuring.

“Yes, milady!”

“Wonderful. Very good, slave.” The cord from her brass sock dangled between her legs. “Can you plug me in, slave?” she said, but the tone of her voice told him it wasn’t a question. He hurriedly knelt down to plug the cord from her brass sock into one of the jacks in the floor.

“Such a good boy,” she said. “Now, sign us both in.” As he quickly signed them in, she lay down spread-eagled on the bed. When he had finished, she continued. “A slave’s job is to pleasure his lady,” she told him. “I want you to touch me in a way that you think will bring me pleasure.” She lay back, her head resting on the pillow, eyes closed.

Clarence hesitated. He wasn’t good at this, and he knew it, but he wanted to do as told. He grabbed her breasts and began twisting them, not hard, but not sensuously, either.

Scarlett opened her eyes and rolled them. This was going to take some work, she realized. She thought of how to put her words nicely.

“Slave, you don’t get pleasure from a lady by twisting her breasts,” she said gently. “I want you to do this: take your fingertips and gently rub my nipples with them.” She demonstrated a very light touch on the back of his hand with her fingers. He nodded, and although he was still rougher than she’d planned, the feeling was much better. And the authority to tell him what to do! That got her excited.

“Mmm, that’s much better, slave,” she said. “Kiss me.”

“Where?” he asked.

“On the mouth, of course,” she said, laughing. He clumsily reached over and pressed his lips to hers, making a kissing motion. The effect was not at all stimulating. She gently lifted him off her with a touch to the shoulder. “Gentle, slave,” she said. “That is the word of the day. Say it with me, ‘gentle.’” She cued him with her hands.

“Gentle, milady.”

“Very good, slave. Now try again.” He kissed her again, this time, gently and tenderly. The sensation hit a nerve in her sex, and she sighed pleasantly.

“You’re learning, slave,” she praised him, “but don’t stop stroking my nipples. Kiss me again.” It took effort, but he was able to remember to keep gently stroking her nipples as he kissed her. Her body writhed softly against the bed. He sensed her arousal. It turned him on. His eyes widened as he felt his dick begin to harden. He’d never been turned on like this before. It seemed so simple, yet it had been so out of reach before.

“Slave, you’ve really got to keep your head in this,” Scarlett gently chided. Clarence had ceased both rubbing and kissing, but before he could recommence, she had a new task for him.

“What’s today’s word, slave?” she asked.

“Gentle, milady,” he recited.

“Good, slave. Keeping that in mind, I want you to stroke my sex. Do you think you can do that?”

Clarence nodded eagerly. He wanted to show her that he could be a good slave, and he reached down slowly and carefully and barely touched his hand to her labia. She smiled and fought back a chuckle.

“You’ve learned well,” she said, “but you can go a little harder than that.” Clarence nodded and stroked harder. Her sex was hairless, warm, and moist. He liked what the moistness meant: it meant he was doing a good job. It meant that she was pleased with him. He wanted her to have more moistness.

“Oh,” Scarlett moaned in spite of herself. “Very good, slave,” she said breathily. She stayed his hand with hers and caught her breath. “I want you to lick my flower,” she told him. “And remember…”

“Gently, milady,” Clarence finished.

“Yes, slave, that’s right.”

Clarence climbed up onto the bed and knelt between her legs. His breathing was labored with excitement. His cock was raging-hard; he’d never been so turned on before, nor had he ever enjoyed himself like he was enjoying himself now. The warmth and moisture of her sex beckoned to him, and he followed the call, as mindless as a cult’s new recruit. His hot breath stimulated her, and she spread her legs subconsciously. The folds of her clitoral hood had begun to rise, like a tiny homing beacon for him to follow. It was there that his tongue made its first delicate contact, sending shivers coursing through her body. The taste was otherworldly; he had never given oral attention to a woman, preferring to get done as quickly as he could so that he could go back to his books. He had never realized how much he’d missed until now. He needed more of that taste, and his tongue greedily dove between the folds of skin in stark contrast to the gentle caress he’d just made. The variation made Scarlett grunt in surprise and pleasure.

“Oh, slave, you’re a natural at this,” she said appreciatively, delighting in the sensations his inexperienced tongue brought to her. “Go in deeper,” she said, and he obliged, sticking his tongue in as far as it would go, burying his nose inside of her. She reached down and held his head there as he tried to pull out. He started to struggle, but she calmed him. “Stay with it, slave,” she soothed him. “You want to pleasure your lady, and your lady wants five more seconds.” His body went limp as his tongue strove to deliver his lady’s wishes. After five seconds, she let him go.

He pulled his head out, gasping for air, but his tongue was soon buried again, tasting her secretions and feeling the ridges of her vagina as her arousal increased.

“Such a good slave,” she murmured, and then tugged on his shoulder. “Kiss me,” she breathed, and he lay on top of her, his face pressed to hers, tenderly caressing her lips. She reached out with her lips and gently nibbled his lower one. His eyes sprang open in surprise and delight, and his cock throbbed as an electric rush flowed from his lips through his chest and into his testes. He tried the same, nibbling her lower lip, and her reaction was much the same. Breathlessly, she whispered, “It’s time, slave.”

Without a word, he pressed himself into her. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to fight to keep an erection. For the first time, he genuinely felt pleasure in what he was doing.

“Press up a bit, slave,” Scarlett instructed. As he did so, he pressed against her g-spot, eliciting a loud moan from her. Her vagina contracted, squeezing hard against his cock, and he, too, moaned.

“Faster, slave,” she said. Unseen to either of them, the gauge that monitored their power output was at ninety-six percent. Their orgasm was near.

“Faster, slave!” she ordered loudly. The repeated command, issued this way, made Clarence’s chest jump, and he drove in and out faster and harder than before.

“Yes, slave, yes!” Scarlett cried. The gauge read ninety-nine percent. She pulled his head by the hair to her nipple, and he took the hint, sucking on it for all he was worth, forgetting the word of the day. The stimulation sent her over the edge. The needle in the gauge swung hard to the right, pressed against its glass enclosure. Her body bucked against his, sending him over the edge, and both cried out in ecstasy as his fluids and hers met and collected inside the brass sock shortly before it ejected itself, taking Clarence’s cock with it. He collapsed on her, and she stroked the hair on the side of his head, softly murmuring, “That’s a good slave. Such a good slave.”

Edwin sat on a bed on the other side of the chalkboards. Several couples had seen the chalkboards, and, their interest piqued, had stopped to listen. The sounds of pleasure and the occasional command from Scarlett had gotten everybody aroused, and all around were people producing energy for the ship. Harriet would be pleased, Edwin thought to himself. He certainly was: his gamble had paid off, and he had once again succeeded in improving his crew’s performance, not only for Clarence and Scarlett, but for all these voyeurs making out like rabbits around him. Yes, he was quite pleased with himself.

As the couple emerged from behind the chalkboards, everybody stopped and applauded. Scarlett blushed crimson, and Clarence hid behind her altogether, but the warm reception and a hearty hug from Edwin instilled confidence in both as they made their way to someplace quieter to discuss what had just happened for both of them. In the days that followed, Clarence would come to follow Scarlett around like a puppy. While they were free to play with others, and both found themselves in demand for their unique talents, they found that they were both happiest playing together.

The
HMS Rapturion
glided silently through the night sky. Those in first class would be treated to a spectacular view of the aurora borealis in a few minutes, completely unaware of the experience they had missed many decks below them.

*****

~Volume Three
~

Eloise
loved to fuck. When she’d heard that there was a job that would pay her to do just that, she’d leapt at the offer. The inspection had been a bit uncomfortable, and the ritualistic touching of her breasts between the examiner’s hands had been very uncomfortable, but this was it: the chance for her to finally fuck to her heart’s content. Like that was ever possible, she thought sarcastically to herself.

At twenty-one years of age, Eloise was young, cocky, well developed in body and in endowment, self-confident, and horny. Always horny. Unlike most of the propulsion crew of the
HMS Rapturion
, Eloise came from an upper-middle-class family and had more than enough opportunities for work or a life of luxury, if she’d been willing to take them. By pulling a few strings, her parents could even probably have swung putting her through Oxford, or perhaps sending her overseas to Harvard or Yale.

But Eloise didn’t care to go. An only child, accustomed to getting what she wanted and completely self-absorbed, Eloise just wanted to screw anything that moved — and that meant anything. Her father had even caught her touching herself in a family chair, completely disrobed. Too shocked to speak, her father had just turned away in a daze and never brought it up. To Eloise, that meant it was okay, but the chair didn’t really excite her, and her treatment of it would have given any potential fling a preview of coming attractions: she utterly ignored it afterwards, not deigning either to write or call on it ever again. One of the servants, the poor thing, had gotten the unpleasant task of cleaning up after her when the results of the encounter were discovered some days later.

Aside from her promiscuous ways, Eloise loved to drink and eat. She maintained her form only through God’s gracing her with a fast metabolism, and surely by her thirtieth birthday, that grace would expire. She was a hedonist, and her self-satisfaction increased with the number of hedonistic endeavors she could manage at once. Her record was single-handedly drinking four bottles of port over eighteen courses of the finest French cuisine her family could afford, followed by a deep tissue massage with more wine and a deep-tissue massage of her sphincter by the masseuse. All of that was before lunchtime.

Thus, when she saw the ad seeking a few good men and women to join the propulsion crew on the
HMS Rapturion
, the flagship airship of the Air Cruise Co. luxury line, a better fit could not be found, and she spun it as an opportunity to see the world and earn her keep to her parents, who, although reticent, bade her the best of luck as she set out for the interview.

The month since the interview had seemed like it would never end, but here it was: the first day of work. The giant dirigible floated beside the wooden dock, its leather-and-canvas hull gleaming a golden yellow in the morning sun. It was a little past eleven. Eloise’s instructions had been to arrive no later than nine, but she had stayed up most of the night in anticipatory celebration and had missed the piercing bell of her clock, one of the first of Redier’s mass-produced models. The rest of the household had not missed the alarm, and although no one dared wake Eloise, as soon as she was gone, the clock had disappeared to an infrequently used part of the house. Eloise cared not that she was late; the ship was still there, and in her mind, no harm had been done. She casually examined the rich mahogany railing on the gangplank as she boarded the vessel. Not bad, she thought to herself.

She found herself on the top deck of the ten-story vessel. Luxury abounded everywhere, from the electric chandeliers casting their warm glow down the wide hallways to the lavish paintings, and from the statuettes and tapestries to the rich velvet floor, not a cent had been spared in appointing the finest deck on the ship. While Eloise was not a stranger to the finer things in life, the spectacle was enough to impress even her. With an entitled spirit, she took possession of the ship in her stride and carriage. Although she had never been on any airship before, she walked boldly down the main hallway until she found herself against a brass-railed balcony, polished to a mirror shine, supported by ornately carved dark mahogany banisters that gave off a subtle luster and lent a hint of their spicy scent to the panoply. In front of her was an enormous glass window that provided a view of everything outside the bow of the ship. The window extended above her head, letting in the sunlight and giving her an unobstructed view of the clouds as they lazily drifted by. Many floors below her, she could see the bridge jutting out into an enormous atrium that provided the occupants of all the floors a view similar to the one she was now experiencing. The crew was preparing the ship for the takeoff that would commence in just a few minutes. They looked like ants from Eloise’s vantage point. Further below the bridge, she could see the ground through the bottom of the window before the balconies on the floors below her cut off her view. She was at the very top of the ship, and she could easily imagine herself on top of the world at this instant.

Her belly rumbled; she had left the house hastily and had not eaten. It was time to seek out food, and then she could locate her stateroom. At some point, she would locate her employer. A passing waiter carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres caught her attention, and she took one as if it had been brought just for her. The waiter regarded her critically: the young woman’s manners were not the best, and her vestments were not of the quality the waiter would expect of someone in first class, but with Eloise’s well-groomed hair and confident attitude, the waiter surmised that perhaps she was merely one of the first-class passengers who eschewed the manners and high-class dress of the day. Such patrons were, regrettably, becoming more common. Erring on the side of caution, the waiter bowed and continued on his way. A second waiter carrying champagne glasses had much the same experience.

Eloise was enjoying herself. The hors d’oeuvre was impeccable, and the champagne was to her liking. Glass in hand, she decided to discover more of what the airship had to offer. In the distance, she could hear the call of a trumpet and the answer of strings. The orchestra had started performing the William Tell Overture promptly at eleven as a preview and an enticement to the passengers to come out for the whole opera that evening. The airship had its own three-story miniature opera house at its stern, and the first and second-class passengers were all welcome to attend. The faint music blended with the sound of one of Chopin’s newest works on a piano set up in a wide vestibule in the hallway. Eloise casually dropped her now-empty champagne glass off on the piano as she walked by. The pianist did a masterful job of not letting the defilement affect his performance, but his shoulders visibly tensed in irritation. A waiter quickly removed the glass and mentioned it quietly to one of the deck managers, who kept a discreet eye on Eloise thenceforth. Eloise, meanwhile, had located another full champagne glass and had taken it with her as she continued to peruse the ship.

The spa caught her attention next. In her now-inebriated state, she approached the receptionist, flashed a winning smile, and asked to be shown to her room. She obliged and asked her preference for masseur or masseuse, a luxury most spas could not provide, and she indicated the former. She nodded and left, inviting Eloise to make herself comfortable. She quickly stripped, threw her clothes wherever they landed, and snuggled under the sheet. The aromatic candles in the room, the warm, cozy blanket, and the comfortable massage couch, coupled with her already-intoxicated state, led her to quickly doze off, but she was awakened almost instantly by the masseur’s greeting.

“Hallo, ma’am,” he said professionally. “In the mood for a massage?”

“Mmm, yes,” Eloise murmured, wishing the masseur would shut up and get to work.

“Very good, ma’am,” the masseur answered, oiling his hands. He lifted back the sheet, exposing Eloise’s lithe back, where he poured a small amount of the oil and began to work it in with strong hands. Eloise began to doze back to sleep.

Some minutes later, she felt a soft nudge from the masseur, who asked her to roll over. Eloise thought to herself that a massage couch should be made to flip the patron over without any effort of her own. As the masseur’s muscular fingertips worked Eloise’s arms, biceps, and temples, Eloise happened to gaze upon the masseur’s face: he was a Swedish man in his early 30s with blond hair and bright blue eyes, the corners creased in concentration. Seeing Eloise’s eyes open, he smiled warmly and continued to work. Eloise counted the hours since she’d last had someone; it had been at least ten, she decided, and that was long enough. The masseur began to wrap up the massage.

“Sir, you’ve missed a place,” Eloise said.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?” the Swede asked, looking puzzled.

“There is a place on my body that has not received your excellent attentions, my good man, and I should very much like for you to pay it the same care.” She glanced significantly down at the blanket covering her lower torso.

“Oh, of course, ma’am,” the masseur replied. “Most patrons do not care to have their legs massaged, for modesty’s sake.” He carefully moved the blanket off of Eloise’s right leg, expertly keeping Eloise’s privates covered. Eloise rolled her eyes and huffed to herself. The masseur’s hands felt good on her legs, but the sensations so close to her groin began to stimulate her and tweak her lust further. The masseur’s bottom looked inviting, she thought.

Finishing one leg, the masseur covered Eloise and repeated the exercise on the left leg. Again he began to wrap up the massage.

“That was most relaxing, sir,” Eloise said, bringing out her finest manners, “but I’m afraid there is still a place that has not received your attention, and now more than ever, I should like very much for you to give it the same care.”

The masseur looked perplexed. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, “but I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Eloise used her hands to frame her feminine flower under the covers. “In this region, sir,” she said eagerly.

The masseur started, and then recoiled indignantly. “Ma’am!” he said, taken aback, “This is not that type of establishment, and I am not that type of masseur!”

Eloise concealed a scowl and adopted some additional charm. She’d encountered people like this before. Nothing a winning smile and some sweet words couldn’t handle.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said innocently. “I thought that after having provided such excellent service, you’d be interested in going beyond the call. Of course, if you really were disinclined to provide the service that my body needs,” she continued, flashing her smile, “I’m sure we could work something else out.” She made a light thrusting motion beneath the covers.

The masseur’s jaw dropped, he took a breath, and then left. Eloise scowled at the empty room. She was horny, and it was that masseur’s fault! Oh, well, she thought. She could take care of herself here…

Before she could even do so much as touch herself, the masseur and the deck manager entered the room.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get dressed and come with me,” the deck manager said brusquely but with careful textbook courtesy.

“What’s this all about?” Eloise asked in feigned shock.

The deck manager was unmoved. “I must insist that you get dressed and come with me at once, ma’am,” he said firmly.

“My good man,” Eloise protested, sitting up and covering herself with the blanket on the couch, “I am taken aback by your rudeness! Will you or will you not tell me what this is about?”

The deck manager dropped his polite affect and spoke bluntly. “You have taken hors d’oeuvres and champagne reserved for a private party, you callously discarded your champagne glass on the piano, and you requested sexual favors from a world-renowned masseur. In short, you have exhibited such exquisite rudeness that we feel that it is best that you retire to your stateroom.” The politeness returned. “I will be happy to show you there, but once again, I must insist that you don your clothes immediately, or I shall have to call for security.”

With the force of evidence laid against her, Eloise knew she was beaten and quickly gathered and put on her clothes. As soon as she’d finished, the deck manager escorted her out of the spa.

“May I see your boarding pass, please?” the deck manager asked politely but purposefully.

“Here it is,” Eloise said, handing the man her employment contract.

The manager took it, scowled, and said coolly, “I will escort you to the correct deck, ma’am, and rest assured, you will not be seen on this deck — or any other deck besides the one to which I take you or to which your supervisor assigns you — or I assure you, you will spend the rest of the voyage in the brig, followed by the workhouses of the foulest sort upon return to port.”