Title Page

Valves & Vixens Volume 2

Edited by

Nicole Gestalt

Publisher Information

Valves & Vixens Volume 2

published in 2015 by House of Erotica

an imprint of Andrews UK Limited

www.houseoferoticabooks.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Nicole Gestalt 2015

The rights of the authors have been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Clockwork Toys

Blair Erotica

Vanessa had no idea how Sue had managed to get them invitations for the maiden voyage of Warren’s newest airship, Venus and didn’t intend to ask. Heralded as a technological marvel that would change international travel, even scientists and politicians had vied for births but somehow Sue managed it.

Vanessa didn’t exactly care that much about the flight itself, but being on board meant she would have a chance to meet and talk to the secretive millionaire inventor. It was an amazing opportunity and a lot was riding on it. Her ideas had met with a great deal of ridicule, but if she could convince this forward-thinking man of the merit of her plan, it could turn things around. She was sure she could make him see the value of imposing a technology tax, with the money invested in charities like Sue’s that ran clinics for the poor. It appalled her that technology seemed to benefit only the rich.

From the beginning they were treated almost as celebrities. She and Sue had been swept from their hotel to the airfield by a liveried chauffeur in the whisper-quiet luxury of a steam-powered limo and delivered to the steps that led to the gondola of the massive airship by a tall and striking black man.

“Hello Sue,” he said in a deep and sonorous voice. He kissed her cheek, then turned to Vanessa. “Welcome to the airship Venus,” he said. Just the sound of his voice made her feel giddy. “I am Jordan Wexler, Mr Warren’s business associate, and friend. He asked me to take you two in hand and see to your comfort.”

As he led them on board, Vanessa decided that she didn’t mind him taking her in hand at all, and was certain he could provide more than a little comfort.

“Jordan is the man to thank for getting us the invitation,” Sue said.

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “Neil and I have great admiration for your clinics and the work you do, Sue.”

Seeing the look in Sue’s eye when she looked at him gave Vanessa a clue as to how her girlfriend had gotten them invitations.

Jordan smiled at them. “We were delighted you wanted to join us Sue, and when you mentioned that Miss Casewell would accompany you, we couldn’t have been more pleased.”

Vanessa started. Although she’d been quite public in promoting her plan, it surprised her that these men knew anything about her.

He led them through narrow passageways to a sparkling stateroom with a huge bed. The large and comfortable room surprised and delighted Vanessa. A large porthole let in light and she noted it angled down to provide a view of the ground below. Even at rest, with the ship tethered to the ground, they seemed quite high.

A crewman came in and put Vanessa’s suitcase on a stand by the bed. As he left, Jordan went to a door and opened it, showing them an identical stateroom next door. Sue’s suitcase sat bed the bed in that room. “This door provides privacy when you wish it,” he said. He consulted his watch. “I’m afraid I have to scoot along and meet other people. Neil intends to give you a personal tour of the ship once we are under way,” he said. “He wanted to greet you himself, but as the designer of the ship’s propulsion system, he involves himself intimately with last minute details and checks to ensure our comfort and safety.”

“Of course,” Sue said.

“Go ahead and settle in. We will be ascending soon for our departure from Madrid.”

“And we go non-stop all the way from Madrid to Bangkok?” Sue asked.

He nodded. “That’s right. Neil is trying to make a point, so we will make the trip as quickly as possible. If our demonstration flight interests a company in commissioning a ship for commercial use, then it would likely stop at several major cities en route. First we have to prove her viability, show that she will be quick, comfortable and reliable over such a distance.” He smiled. “I think it will be a rather easy test for her.”

When he left, Vanessa found the room suddenly felt empty. Yes, she told herself, Jordan Wexler is quite a man. She looked forward to seeing more of him on the trip. She would have to see how just how proprietary Sue felt toward him.

Sue went into her cabin to unpack leaving Vanessa to take a closer room at the lovely room and its impeccable appointments. She decided the room was seductive. It wrapped you in sensual comfort and enticed you to stay in it. With the right man she could see never leaving it.

“Hey Van,” Sue called through the open connecting door. “Would you mind if we swapped rooms?”

The question surprised her. “I guess not. What’s wrong with yours?” Vanessa asked.

“I think it’s backward,” she said laughing. She came in and looked around at Vanessa’s room. “These two rooms are mirror images of each other; for some reason the other one makes me feel funny. This one feels better.”

Although she was sure that Jordan affected them both more than the room, Vanessa agreed. She closed her suitcase and traded door keys with her friend.

“Thanks,” Sue said. “I’m being silly, I know, but then you know I’m a silly person sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Vanessa told her as she took her bag in the other room. “I actually like this room better.” It was true. There was something about the room that felt right. She wondered if it was the same something that made it feel wrong to Sue.

“Do you want to take a look around after we unpack?” Vanessa asked.

“No. I want to go to the lounge.” She grinned sheepishly. “Jordan gave me a few names of some rich men who are on this trip who might be convinced to support my clinics. I see no reason to waste time in hunting them down.”

Vanessa grinned. Although she was a top fund raiser, she knew that when Sue was on the prowl it was often for more than donations. “Of course you’ll start with the ones who are both rich and attractive,” Vanessa laughed.

“Well a girl has to prioritise. How about you?”

Vanessa suddenly felt lazy. “I might just take a nap.”

“See you for dinner then,” Sue said and shut the door.

***

Vanessa slowly unpacked her things, putting them away in dresser drawers lined with cedar. Then she undressed and put her travel clothes away. A soft cashmere robe hung in the closet with a note saying that it was a gift. An elegant touch, she thought, as she slipped into it, feeling the luxurious caress of the supple fabric on her bare skin. Not as arousing as the touch of a lover, but not bad, she thought.

She had noticed a wet bar near the porthole and she went to it and poured herself a drink. She took it to the viewport and sipped it as she watched workers checking and double checking things on the ground below.

The idea of a nap called strongly. She grabbed her empty suitcase from the bed and was stuffing it in the closet when she heard a knock on the door.

She opened it to find Jordan.

“Hello,” she said. Then, noting his surprised look, she felt awkward. “I’ll bet you are looking for Sue,” she said. “She asked to swap rooms.”

He smiled broadly and it warmed her. “Did she?”

She thought he seemed to take some meaning from it. It stuck her that Sue had known he was coming. Swapping rooms was a ruse she knew Vanessa wouldn’t mind in the least.

“She intended to go to the lounge and track down some people you mentioned to her.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I see no reason to disturb her then.” His gaze seemed to envelope Vanessa; his eyes sparkled and she felt warm and flushed. “I just finished my official duties as meeter and greeter,” he said. “With everyone safely tucked in and accounted for, I wanted to see if you are settling in well.”

“Everything is wonderful,” she said.

“Do you need anything at all?” he asked.

It dawned on Vanessa that she didn’t know what Sue had told Jordan to get the invitation. For all she knew, they might be there under false pretences. That could sour everything.

She opened the door wide. “Please come in, won’t you?”

He nodded and came in. She closed the door and walked to the bar feeling, knowing that he watched her closely. “Can I get you a drink?”

“That would be lovely,” he said. “A neat scotch would be delightful.”

“I want to make sure that Sue explained why I asked to be on this trip,” she told him as she went to the bar. She felt his gaze as she poured the drinks. The idea that he seemed attracted to her gave her a tingle of delight.

“Oh she explained it thoroughly,” he said as she turned and handed him his drink. “Even if she hadn’t, Neil and I both know of your proposal, Vanessa. May I call you Vanessa?”

“Of course,” she said.

“We’ve both read your excellent articles outlining your ideas. Neil and I even attended the talk you gave at the banquet for the new minister of health.”

Her heart beat faster. This was more promising than she could have hoped. She clinked glasses with him and they drank. “And what do you think? Will you support my efforts?”

“Perhaps. However there are some points we want to discuss. Neil sees a few difficulties.” He smiled. “I am sure you will have good answers for him. In discussing your plan at length, we came up with an idea of our own that we would like you to consider.”

“What is it?”

He grinned. “Slowly, Vanessa. Neil wants to tell you himself and in his own way. That’s why he was delighted that we would have you available for the entire trip.”

“Will you at least tell me what you think?” she asked.

He smiled. “I think I am very glad you’ve come on this trip. After seeing your talk, I developed my own reasons for wanting you on board; now they appear to be incredibly well-founded reasons.”

She looked at him, noting the open way he looked at her body. Wearing nothing but the thin cashmere robe suddenly made her feel naked, but the truth was the feeling was also exciting. Not only was Jordan an extremely sexy man, it seemed that circumstances might have handed her an opportunity to gain an ally. Her cause was important enough to her that she was happy to play up to a man, to stroke and toy with his delicate male ego. In the end, in her experience, the woman controlled how far things would go and she could usually get what she wanted without giving up that control.

“You make your reason sound quite personal,” she said.

He was standing close to her and she could feel the heat of his body. She looked up at him and saw that the sparkle in his eyes had changed. Now his eyes showed a hunger, a look of lust.

“Very personal,” he said. “In fact, you and Sue swapping rooms is incredible fortunate in that regard,” he said. Before she could even take a moment to consider what he meant he took her arm in his hand and gently pulled her closer to him. She moved to him as if caught up in some powerful current, feeling helpless to do anything else but press her body against his, causing her breasts to brush against him. The simple caress of their bodies through clothing sent a tingle of warning and excitement through her.

“Jordan...” she began, without knowing what else to say. Her knees were weak and her will to do anything but whatever he asked her to was even weaker.

“Seeing you,” he said, “even from a distance, I knew I wanted to be alone with you. I saw and heard you and knew I wanted you.”

She caught her breath as she tried to think of a response, a way to slow things down while she restarted her brain. When she turned her face up to his again his lips met hers. She thought she should protest but instead found herself returning a divine kiss that made her head spin wildly. Struggling to think, she tried to get her bearings, but it seemed impossible. He began touching her, stroking her back and then her arse softly through the supple cashmere, feeling the line of her body, each movement setting her on fire. Any resistance melted under those incredible hands moving over her body. She had assumed she would be the one in control, and miscalculated. The hunger in his eyes was a smouldering fire, fuelling a deliberate and ruthless seduction, not a raging heat that she could hold at a distance. She was drawn to him viscerally, overwhelmed by the magnetic power of his passion.

“Jordan,” she said again, cursing herself for not having any other words.

He didn’t respond. He opened her robe and slipped his hands inside it, burning on her bare skin. Those unstoppable fingers on her back, then cupping the cheeks of her arse, pulling her pelvis against his as he kissed her again. She opened her lips and gave his broad tongue access to explore her mouth.

He finally broke the kiss to run his tongue down her trembling neck. He tasted her collarbone. His mouth moved downward. leaving behind a fiery trail and captured her bare breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth, taking it between his teeth. All she could do was arch her back and give herself to it, for she wanted more.

He turned her in his arms, enfolding her in those powerful arms. One impatient monster of a hand touched her belly, sending chills up her spine. Feverishly, she anticipated what he would do next. Goosebumps covered her skin as his hand made the inevitable march down to her stomach to stroke her pussy, igniting the fire inside it. She sagged against him as his fingers spread the petals of her cunt open to send intense shock waves rippling through her as he probed inside. He was dipping into her wetness and then entering her, moving inside her.

Disoriented, she had stopped thinking about what might happen and became totally absorbed by the here and now of the amazing sensations he evoked in her.

With his massive fingers working inside her, his mouth heating her neck and sucking her earlobes, she opened her eyes and saw their reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Her body looked tiny in his arms; her legs were spread open obscenely and his huge hand played with her cunt, making her face contort with lust. In the mirror, he smiled and she watched, transfixed by the sensations his fingers aroused in her and the vision of it all in the mirror.

Grabbing his wrist she ground her cunt against his fingers. As her orgasm welled up he held her tight, continuing the glorious motion of his fingers inside her as she came. In the mirror her lover smiled with delight as she trembled in his arms.

He picked her up and carried her effortlessly to that wonderful bed, spreading her out so that she floated on the incredible softness of the down duvet, her robe open, body exposed to him. “You are a delicious morsel waiting for me to consume,” he said.

That was exactly what she wanted. “Consume me,” she begged.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Open your pussy for me.”

As she did, he slowly undressed, tossing his clothing aside. When he stood naked in front of her she reached out to touch his magnificent erect shaft. As her fingers encircled it, a sense of apprehension rippled through her. It was so beautiful, with a lovely upward curve, but it was huge. The idea of taking all of it inside her made her tremble.

With her holding his cock, feeling his heat, smelling his arousal, he moved between her legs. He reached under her and lifted her arse, bringing her cunt up to meet his shaft. She watched his cock as she rubbed the bulbous head between her swollen cunt lips, spreading herself open so that it could pierce her. She wanted it. When he finally shoved his hips forward, she released his cock and cried out. He gave a satisfied grunt as he impaled her. Amazingly his enormous shaft slid into her, taking away her breath.

“Yes,” she moaned as he fucked her. He knelt between her legs and rocked back and forth, driving that shaft into her as she stroked his muscled chest. He seemed to stretch her more, go deeper with each thrust. She was sure he had filled her already, but if he had more to give her, she wanted it--she wanted to feel every inch of him.

He pushed her legs up and back toward her, stretching his own legs out so that he lay prone on her. He let his weight bury his cock in her entirely and then he began to fuck her in a steady rhythm that stoked her fires again. They sank into the soft bedding as he drove into her. His face loomed between her legs; she saw the fire growing brighter in his eyes and began to expect she’d feel him begin spilling his seed in her.

She tightened the muscles of her cunt, trying to capture, even briefly, the shaft that was driving in and out of her, driving her mad. She came in an explosion; her body contracted inward around his cock and then blew outward.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned and a secondary explosion rocked her body. He grabbed one of her breasts roughly and his mouth covered hers in a passionate kiss as his cock erupted inside her sending warm blasts of his seed flooding her cunt.

As he relaxed on her, his cum wet her thighs, her body ached but she felt wonderful.

***

She woke to find the room growing dark. “We will be lifting off soon,” Jordan whispered in her ear. Still floating in the musky smells, the blissful aftermath of sex, she sighed. She wasn’t ready to give up the erotic warmth of his body against hers, the comfort of those strong hands around her. Still, she had heard that the lift off, the silent ascent of the airship as it left, was something to behold. And they had a lovely week ahead of them.

“How long until we lift off?” she asked.

He fumbled for his clothes and found a pocket watch. “About ten minutes.”

Vanessa kissed his cheek. “Then we’d better get dressed or we will miss it.”

“We don’t need to miss anything,” Jordan said with a devious grin. “Or give up anything. The lift-off is mostly a PR thing, to be honest. I’ve never understood the draw. You sit and watch the ground below shrink. Half the point is that it is silent. We can see more or less the same thing from right here and have the advantage of being able to watch it naked.”

“I like your dirty mind,” she said as he led her to the port. As she looked out, trying to see what was going on he stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. She felt his cock stirring, brushing against her legs. She reached back to take it in her hand.

Beneath them, the ground suddenly began to pull away. It gave her a slight sense of vertigo as the craft lifted quickly. “It makes one dizzy,” she said. Running her fingers up his cock, enjoying it swelling in her grip. Somehow when not looking at it his shaft felt even bigger.

“That is the rush that people think is so fascinating,” he said. He spread her legs apart and his hands danced over her body. Her body shook off any sense of being tired, replacing that weakness with arousal. She felt her pussy lips swelling as Jordan’s cock grew in her hand. “There are much better rushes,” he said. “Bend forward, Vanessa, and I will mount you.”

She released his shaft and bent forward until she could just barely see the lights below shrinking to pinpricks. He distracted her with the much interesting sensation of his engorged prick touching her hungry cunt. The ascent slowed as he entered her.

“We are flying now,” he said and she focused, trying to stay aware of every inch of him as he slowly penetrated her from behind. She dropped her head further, no longer interested in the flight and obsessed with the slow and delicious movements inside her. He took her steadily, his hands caressing her back.

The ship suddenly began a roar that quickly settled into a gentle, almost relaxing vibration.

“The clockwork engines,” he said. “They provide propulsion. If we don’t have strong headwinds, they can push the ship at almost 200 km per hour.”

“It is getting dark fast,” she said.

“There is still enough that I can see the gorgeous vision of my cock spreading you open, moving in you,” he said. He touched her then, his finger pressing at the junction of his cock and the folds of her pussy. “This is where we meet.”

“Wonderful,” she moaned. Her legs grew weak, and she gripped the edge of the port tightly. He seemed to sense her discomfort for he bent over her, grabbing her legs and lifting her. He stayed inside her as he carried her to the bed. In the soft darkness he crawled on the bed, still holding her. Stretching out, he laid them down on their sides. He lifted her top leg, putting her foot down behind his legs and moved his hips up against her pushing in deeper.

“I want you to come,” he said moving his hand around her waist, his fingers opening her pussy and finding her clitoris. She moaned as he began fondling it while he fucked her. The slow motion of him inside her and the touch of his fingers were driving her crazy. Needing to do something, she pinched her nipples, hard.

She came then, this time with a gentle and pleasurable tremble - a soft eruption of her passion that unfolded in a smooth wave that she rode to its end.

He slipped out of her, making her feel empty, but it wasn’t for long Bending her legs upward he knelt by her arse and lifting her filled her once again with his slippery wet shaft. The change in position made him feel totally different. She wanted him to come, to feel him explode inside her and she clamped her legs tightly together contracting her tired cunt muscles around his shaft.

“Yes,” he cried, squeezing her hip. There seemed no end to his flow of seed and when he finally slipped out her, it leaked out to her thighs, messy and wonderful.

***

Vanessa woke to find that having Jordan in her bed hadn’t been some wonderful dream. He lay beside her. Feeling she needed a shower, she slipped out of bed went into the bathroom. When she came out, he was dressed.

He gave her a sad look. “I’m afraid I should have been working an hour ago,” he said. “Take an easy day, relax and you will meet Neil at dinner this evening. Things are a bit crazy, but we have the week to go over your plan and Neil’s ideas.”

She nodded and said “Fine,” but when he kissed her to leave, it didn’t seem that fine. She wanted him again.

Greedy bitch, she thought. Then, looking at him, feeling her desire for him well up, she said, damn right.

After he left, as her lust ebbed, she tried to examine her feelings, take stock of them. He was an amazing man and a great lover, but did she feel anything for him but lust? Did that even matter? For the duration of this little trip, at least until she understood her feelings better, she saw nothing wrong with indulging herself. The man was a great fuck, so why not be wonderfully fucked? Did it need to be more than that? Beyond promoting her proposal and listening to Neil’s, she had nothing to do. Fucking this hot man would make the trip much more pleasurable. If they wanted more, time would tell if that was possible.

When she dressed she decided to see if Sue was ready for breakfast. She cracked the connecting door open and was met with the sight of Sue astride a man. She knelt facing his feet moving her arse up and down as she rode his cock. He lay under her, running his finger in and out of her arse as she moaned. She was clearly enjoying herself far too much to be bothered with breakfast. Vanessa shut the door softly and left them to their fuck.

Obviously fund raising could be enjoyable work, if you had the right attitude.

***

At dinner that night, Vanessa finally met Neil Warren. He was a dignified young man - hardly the eccentric inventor she expected. Nearly as tall as Jordan, he was rather thin and wiry. She suspected he was stronger than he looked, in that sinewy way of some men, even though his pale skin and thin hair made him look like an academic. What she liked best about him was a glint of humour, a spark of life she saw in his eyes. It suggested an inner man that could be fun to tease to the surface. You keep engaging in dangerous games, she told herself. The idea made her lick her lips. It was a wonderfully hot way to think of yourself.

She was seated at the table of important people between Jordan and Neil, with Sue notably absent from the table.

“Sue asked to have dinner sent to her room,” Jordan said. “Dinner for two. She is working hard, I suspect.”

Under the table, he put his hand on her leg. The dress she wore was fashionably split down the side to bare the right leg and he managed to find his way inside it quickly. His touch sent thrills through her. She knew it was a combination of her body recalling the pleasure he had given her and his animal magnetism. Pure lust, she thought. Nothing wrong with that. She assumed most women would and probably did respond to him eagerly. How could you assess the kind of relationship you might have with a man beyond sex when just being around him made your head spin? She had no practice with men like him.

Neil spoke softly and she concentrated on what he said, trying to hear him clearly. After all, despite the incredible sex with Jordan, Neil was the reason she was here in the first place, not Jordan. Jordan was a sexy bonus--a happy accident. She couldn’t lose her focus, let lust distract her and waste the opportunity.

A tall woman came in to stand by the door. “The VIPs are feeling neglected,” she said. “The absence of both of the prime players has not gone unnoticed at the Prime Minister’s table.”

The timing seemed laughable. Jordan was wiggling his fingers in her cunt.

“I’ll be there,” Jordan said reluctantly.

“The Prime Minister?” she said.

Jordan nodded. “One reason we invited you on the trip was that if you dislike Neil’s proposal, we can introduce you to the big players in terms of getting your technology tax put through. You see, on this trip you can only win.”

The idea made her brain freeze. She never imagined she might have a chance to make her pitch to the highest levels.

“And now I must attend to him,” Jordan said. He made a face. “Don’t be jealous as I will be bored out of my mind while you will have the chance to speak privately with Neil. Rest assure that my absence is not because I have lost interest in you.” He slipped his fingers from her cunt and touched her face gently. “I intend to demonstrate that later on our trip. Unfortunately duty calls.”

Vanessa caught the look on the face of the woman who had come in as Jordan rose to go with her. Clearly she was taken with him too. Whether or not he had fucked her, or even was fucking her, Vanessa was certain she wanted him.

“Polly is the acting cruise director for VIPs,” Neil said when they were alone. He seemed to relax more now that he had her alone. “She has to put up with all their bullshit. I’m not sure I pay her enough for what she puts up with.”

During dinner, Neil skilfully kept the conversation causal. When she tried to turn him to business he resisted. “Let’s save the business talk for later,” he said. “I want to show you the ship before I make my case,” he said. “It has a bearing on what I want to say.”

***

After an excellent dinner, Neil suggested they begin their tour. “Not everyone can appreciate the wonders of my ship, but I think you will. I’ll do my best to make them obvious.”

His tone of voice sounded almost mischievous - fun, so she set out optimistically.

They walked through the ship with him leading her into parts of the ship filled with machinery, places she imagined passengers seldom went. As they passed along a narrow corridor, he said, “The ship has two identical engines, one on either side of us. Both use the magnificent clockwork drive.”

“Don’t all airships use it?”

He shook his head. “Scaling the mechanism has been a problem so most are propelled by steam, either directly through thrusters that direct the ship, or through turbines which turn propellers. But steam requires fire, and that is rather a tricky thing to balance in a ship lifted by hydrogen gas, which is highly flammable.”

She saw that Neil was in love with his machinery. “And you’ve solved the problem?”

He nodded. “With new alloys and some modifications, yes. And keep that in mind as it has a bearing on our business. The other problem with clockwork mechanisms has been how to wind it whilst in flight. We’ve applied solar power to the task. It is reliable and free. So our propulsion systems run for over twelve hours on a charge and recharging takes four hours. Both engines are charged every day and in unusual conditions we can run for twenty hours.”

Then he led her to the operating areas, entering a room where men in white uniforms poured over charts and wrote information on a status board. Passing through into the room ahead they stood behind the pilot and stared out into inky darkness. The room was dark except for the glow from instruments. There was an odd beauty of that view, she found.

“We are about to reach Constantinople,” he said. “Why don’t we go see what that ancient city looks like from up here?”

***

“I designed this ship for my own use. It won’t be used commercially and as I enjoy my privacy I made two of each of what most of what people think of as common rooms...lounges, dining rooms, and viewing rooms. The people in the main section, even the VIPs aren’t aware this private part exists.” He smiled. “So Jordan had dinner with the Prime Minister in the main section while we ate in privacy.”

“You are quite passionate about your ship,” she said.

“No, I am passionate about life. I am fascinated by machinery.”

“Why?”

He looked into her face. “Propulsion systems are an interesting metaphor for human interaction.”

“I don’t see that at all,” she laughed as he led her into the deserted viewing room. It was circular with seating arranged around a central viewport. The room was dimly lit; a few small lights provided enough illumination to find seats, which were actually plush cushions. Vanessa sank back into one happily and Neil settled into a cushion behind hers. He pointed down at the viewport and she saw a few random flickers of light.

“As we make the approach, I want to address your doubts,” he said. “The reality is that propulsion engineers and lovers face much the same challenges.”

“How in the world do you come to that idea?” she asked. It seemed absurd.

“The engineer knows that energy, which is needed to make things happen, is found in matter. The challenge is to release that energy. It is important, however, to control the build-up and release of that energy. For it to build, it must be coaxed out and contained for a time.”

She felt his hand on her legs, brushing her calf and sliding under her dress. He moved close to her and she felt his warm breath on her neck. She had to admit that he was building her energy.

“The real challenge comes once you begin releasing or generating the heat and energy. It is important that this energy doesn’t just escape or it simply dissipates pointlessly. By containing it and building it to a useful level, it can then be directed.”

“I am beginning to understand,” she said as his hand moved under her panties. She wondered if she should stop him, but his touch was so enjoyable and the mercenary part of her knew that letting him go ahead would only help her cause. And it certainly wasn’t an onerous thing to let happen. In fact, his fingers felt entirely pleasant as they stroked her pussy. She let out a breath as he spread her pussy lips apart and his fingers began a delicate exploration in search of the source of her heat. She wriggled her hips to increase the pleasure he was giving her. He rolled her toward him and she looked up at him. He smiled as he raised her dress to her waist and worked her panties down her legs. He took a long and lingering look at her pussy before lowering his face to it. As his tongue began to thoroughly map her crevices and taste her moist cunt she shuddered. The heat of his tongue darted here and there, tingling in her vagina then stroking the nib of her clitoris while his fingers took over the task of filling her.

He brought her to a fevered pitch, devouring her, touching her. Then he rose up on his knees and undid his pants, freeing his cock and stroking it as he lowered himself to her. Hungry to have it inside her, she opened her legs, welcoming him and wrapping her legs around his torso as he penetrated her.

Moving inside her, his shaft tickling the tender spots that loved to know the attention of a man’s hard cock. Lifting her hips she met his thrusts, wanting him to fuck her harder, and telling him so.

Responding, he slammed his cock deeper, taking her legs from his waist and forcing them back. She held them for him as he drove into her. And he came inside her; the familiar pulsing of a hard cock delivering its cargo resonated inside her.

“I think we missed seeing the city,” he said softly.

She laughed. “Well we didn’t miss anything important.”

***

Although he had spent in her, as they lay together he seemed to still have enough energy for quiet and gentle erotic exploration. He slowly undressed her, then himself. When he touched her again the magic in his fingers made her squirm happily on her cushions. Then his lips teased her chin, her throat, and her breasts while his hands played in the wetness of her thighs and cunt. She knew that he controlled her, kept her sufficiently aroused to think of little but the sensations he evoked in her body.

“Let’s talk business,” he said incongruously.

“Now?” The timing seemed oddly inappropriate.

“Yes. I want to briefly tell you the problem I see with your tax and at the moment you are in the right frame of, well call it mind, to appreciate my solution.”

“Go ahead,” she said, wanting to ignore words and focus on his touching, which happily continued.

“A tax is problematic. You need a way to objectively determine when something is a new technology or just an innovative application of an existing one. I am an engineer, rather than an inventor, and my ship is largely innovative applications of existing technologies. It might be exempt from your tax. A tax would provide incentive for inventors to move to other countries, which would dampen innovation and encourage a brain drain. Yet I agree with you that technology brings enough to the game that the benefits can and should be shared by society at large.”

“And what do you suggest?”

“Encouraging licensing of industrial technologies to companies that develop non-competing products for consumers and use the proceeds for social good.”

“How would that work?”

He smiled. “I’m an engineer. I test things with prototypes, so after hearing your talk, Jordan and I set up a company called we call Clockwork Toys. I am the designer and he is the manager and oversees to manufacturing. I assigned the company licenses to my engine designs; the company is using them to make some toys that I think will be incredibly popular. The prototypes look promising. The profits will be equally divided between Sue’s clinics and a series of scholarships for poor children.”

“Toys? Wind up trains and such?”

He smiled. “A bit more innovative than that; and the products serve an older group.”

“Which is?”

“Horny women.” He let her laugh for a moment. “I said we solved scalability problems, and that applies to miniaturization as well as full-sized engines. As you will see our little clockwork toys will pleasure women and provide for the social good. If our model works we will start by encouraging other innovators to license us their technologies to apply to this or some other worthy task. Eventually we might convince governments to provide a tax break for companies that license their technology. I could even see some countries making such licensing automatic.”

“These toys of yours,” she said, “they pleasure women?”

“They use a miniature clockwork mechanism guided by mechanical programs I’ve developed. When inserted, they introduce pleasurable combinations of sensations. At least Polly said they were amazing,” he said. “We need more testing of course. We want to ensure they work, that they bring pleasure to a woman who uses them alone and intensify the pleasure when she has a partner.”

“With a partner? How would that work?”

He grinned and sat up. “There are many possibilities. Why don’t we go to my stateroom and explore one that I have been dying to try?”

She honestly couldn’t think of a reason not to.

***

The clockwork toy was small and consisted of two components. The body looked like any other dildo and the second part was small, almost a flap. They undressed and she lay on her back on his huge bed, which sat in the middle of the room, with her knees bent and spread apart. Looking up, she saw herself reflected in a mirror on the ceiling. Neil spread lubricant on the device and then worked it into her. When the body of it was mostly in her, he positioned the flap over her clitoris.

“This part adds a second vibration that sometimes will be in harmony with and sometimes opposition to that in your vagina,” he said. “It helps confuse the brain and make everything more erotic.”

With the clockwork toy inside her, he had her get on her hands and knees and hold on to the headboard. Looking straight ahead she saw another large mirror that reflected them both. He looked eager as he reached for the switch. She had a brief moment to wonder how she had gotten herself into this bizarre situation before gentle and pleasantly erotic vibrations began coursing through her cunt.

Neil played with her arse as the vibrations picked up tempo and grew in intensity inside her. She tightened her grip on the headboard as the sensations began making it difficult to concentrate. With the toy exciting her cunt and Neil’s hands roaming over on her arse she knew she would definitely come. It seemed odd to have him watching as the toy excited her. Odd but erotic.

While her conscious mind began shutting down, as her body redirected the blood from her brain to feed her cunt, she felt his fingers toying with her anus. He began spreading something damp and soothing over her butt cheeks, down her arse crack and then into her anus. She started when his finger probed into the tight ring, feeling painful at first and then, as he worked more lubricant into her, more pleasurable.

Inside her vagina the toy began making small movements in her cunt, surprising her as it wiggled as if there were another finger in her. She heard herself give an odd whimper and realised that Neil had taken his fingers out of her anus and brought the head of his cock to stretch the ring of her anus.

Her body rocked and squirmed as the toy stimulated her and Neil forced his cock into her anus, stretching it. He held her hips and she felt him move deep into her. With the various sensations in her she couldn’t decide which way to move, yet her body felt that it had to.

Neil was fucking her arse ferociously. “This is insanely wild,” he moaned. “Your arse is so tight and I can feel those vibrations in my prick.”

Vanessa was quite sure that was when she came, although it felt more like her body was being demolished entirely, being ripped apart by the energies Neil and his toy unleashed in her. Just as she heard him crying out and felt his hot cum do a fair imitation of a tidal wave in her arse, she collapsed and lay under him unable to move.

“You will sell millions of these things,” she said.

“So you like our little mechanical fuckers,” Neil laughed.

“That wouldn’t look quite as good on a marque as clockwork toys,” she said.

“I think it’s better, but probably actionable.”

***

The next morning Vanessa thought about all that was happening. Jordan and Neil were certainly onto something with their toys - it would impossible not to sell them once the word got out. Their idea about encouraging companies to license their technologies for other products made sense and might even work. And if it didn’t, Neil said he was ready to regroup behind her tax, despite his misgivings. She had accomplished her goal, or was well on her way.

Her personal situation was less clear. The truth was that although she liked and respected Neil a great deal, and certainly enjoyed sex with him, she was still drawn to Jordan. It had become clear that he was more to her than a good fuck and she wondered if he would be upset to find she had fucked Neil. She needed time alone with Jordan to talk about any future they might have.

When she had showered and dressed, she cracked open the door to Sue’s room and found part of her answer. Jordan was naked on Sue’s bed with his stiff cock in her mouth, his mouth on her pussy.

Clearly she hadn’t poached him away from Sue, not successfully, and certainly he hadn’t spent the night pining over where she might be. But she had been with Neil too, so she couldn’t complain. She chided herself for her foolishness in thinking he might consider their relationship as anything more than a good time, even if it was a very good time. Neither of them had suggested it would or could be more than that.

At breakfast she encountered a smiling Neil. “And how are you?” he asked.

“Sore,” she laughed. “Happily sore.”

“I like the happy part,” he said.

As they ate, Jordan and Sue arrived looking pleased. They sat at the table with Jordan between Vanessa and Sue.

“And did you two have a fun night?” Neil asked them.

Vanessa looked up, glad he had asked.

“We did,” he said. “And I expect tomorrow should be fun too, because she agreed.”

“Agreed?” Vanessa asked.

Neil caressed her knee. “Last night, while we explored the ins and outs of your proposal, Jordan explained our idea to Sue.” Vanessa felt hot, sure that Sue and Jordan knew exactly what he meant by that. “Sue also knows that we have one other prototype we are thinking of adding to add to the initial product line. Apparently she agreed to test it for us.”

“Actually, she demanded she be the one, once I told her that Vanessa was testing the first model,” Jordan said.

Vanessa looked at Neil and saw that the two men had planned things carefully. But what did they ultimately want? Nothing in either man’s face explained anything.

“Was it good?” Sue asked her.

“No. It was rather amazing,” Vanessa said and she smiled seeing Sue squirm in anticipation.

Neil let his hand move higher. “Tonight is our last night before arriving in Bangkok. I expect things will get crazy once we get there with meetings and the normal bullshit. I would skip it if we didn’t need the goodwill for getting our factory set up. So this is our last chance for some privacy and fun. Let’s get together in my stateroom after dinner and learn if Sue finds our latest design a success.”

“The last night?” she said. “So soon?”

Neil shrugged. “We seem to have caught a tail wind and gained enough speed that we are two days ahead of schedule. We will be there at first light.”

Vanessa felt a twinge of disappointment. One night left and clearly Sue would have the attention of both of these exciting men.

Jordan turned to her, his face close to her ear. “We want you to join us for the test,” he said.

“Join you?” The idea seemed odd to her. Sue would be in the throes of experimenting with the fuck toy. The men would watch, and then probably fuck her. She wondered what her role would be.

“Of course,” he said. “Not only would it be a benefit to have a woman’s thoughts on Sue’s reactions, we would enjoy your company.”

“He means that the testing group requires a little immoral support.”

“Sue?” she said, looking at her friend. “Are you good with that?”

She shrugged. “Should be fun, Van.”

Vanessa quivered slightly as she imagined the evening. “How can I refuse assisting in such a noble and worthwhile cause?” she said.

***

The lights of Bangkok lit up the distant horizon as the ship glided toward it. Vanessa looked down through the large viewport in Neil’s private stateroom. The ground was still dark and invisible below them. You felt Bangkok approach more than saw it.

Standing behind her, Neil reached inside her dress to take her nipple between two fingers and squeeze it.

“How long before we are there?” she asked.

“Plenty of time. I told the Captain to slow us down; we want the sun to be well up by the time we are over Bangkok,” Neil told her.

Already the monolithic dark was fragmented by tendrils of soft light. “As we come into the city of Bangkok we will make our descent slowly and the details of the city will unfold before you,” he said. She felt his shaft stiffen against her arse.

He turned her as Jordan and Sue came in. Both were naked and Sue looked nervous. They watched Jordan stretch the woman out on her back on the bed, then lash her hands to the headboard. He lifted her legs and began tying her ankles back by her head.

“Why are you tying her?” Vanessa asked.

Jordan grinned. “So she won’t cheat.”

“Cheat?”

Neil held up the new toy, which seemed to have extra bits. “Quality control. This one is a bit more powerful and when she gets excited, she might start trying to make herself come. By tying her up we can ensure the toy does its job.”

Vanessa trembled at the thought of one of Neil’s devices doing its magic insider her and not being able to move. It occurred to her that it might be crazy good at that and Sue certainly was beaming as she anticipated what was about to happen.

Neil lubricated the toy as Jordan put a pillow under Sue’s arse.

“This one has three vibrating components,” Neil said. “The first two are the same, with one in the vagina and one playing with the rest of her pussy. The last part goes in her arse.”

“Oh,” Vanessa said with an involuntarily shudder as her body as she remembered the sensation of it in her and Neil penetrating her arse.

Her pulse quickened as she watched Neil spread Sue’s cunt open and insert the device. Sue cried out as he pushed it into place, wiggling it to position the vibrator over her clit.

“She’s enjoying it already and you haven’t turned it on yet,” Jordan mused.

“Having us all watch is turning her on,” Neil mused. “Spread her arse cheeks for me.”

Jordan put his hands on Sue’s arse and spread her cheeks apart and Neil worked the third component into Sue’s anus. Vanessa gave an involuntary gasp as it popped inside. Neil stepped back to admire his work and Jordan stroked Sue’s forehead.

“Comfy?” he asked.

“Oh God,” she moaned.

“She wants it on, I think,” Neil said. He reached for the switch mounted on the cord that came out of her pussy and flipped it. Vanessa heard a soft and recognizable hum that she could almost feel.

“I programmed it to start slow and build,” Neil said. He stepped back from the bed and slipped his arm around Sue’s waist as they watched. “It will reach peak strength in about half an hour.” Tied securely, Sue was already writhing on the bed, her eyes closed. “The clockwork toy component in her cunt will worm around for a time while the one on her clit starts periodic vibrations. The part in her arse will be expanding and contracting, changing the way the other parts feel inside her.” He smiled. “At least that is my theory.”

“Oh you evil bastard,” Sue moaned as she writhed in her bounds. “You delightfully evil bastard.”

Jordan ran his hands over the backs of Sue’s legs, his fingers coming close to her cunt. “She definitely likes it so far,” he said.

Unable to help recalling the feeling of the damn thing inside her, Vanessa grew wet and hot. Neil’s hands began playing with her. With Jordan in the room she wasn’t sure she wanted him to keep arousing her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but encourage him.

She watched Jordan step back from Sue and come over to where she stood with Neil fondling her from behind. “I think we need to let our tester alone,” he said. “It is too tempting to touch her. Or interfere in some other manner.”

“We will have to entertain ourselves somehow,” Neil said as he worked his fingers inside Vanessa’s cunt. “We can’t just stand around watching her for half an hour. Not only would that be impolite, I simply couldn’t manage it.”

To her dismay, Jordan began undoing Vanessa’s bodice. “I think we can find distraction right here,” he said and as he pulled her dress down her arms, he pressed his lips to hers and forced his tongue into her mouth.

She tried to focus. As Jordan kissed her, Neil’s free hand grabbed her bare breast and toyed with it. Jordan explored her mouth with his tongue and he grabbed her dress and pulled it down further. When it puddled on the floor, his huge fingers began working her panties down. Neil had to move his hand from her cunt to let him get them down her legs. He knelt as he pulled them down, and while Neil held her from behind, Jordan spread her legs and pressed his face to her cunt. She cried out with delight as his broad tongue tasted her, burned inside her, wetting her. His mouth took her tender folds inside and he sucked air in his mouth. She wanted to scream with delight.

Jordan sat back and watched as Neil’s hands worked their way down her body, moving across her belly and took their turn in her. Jordan stood slowly, running his hands over her naked skin and then, smiling, he began undressing, unveiling that powerful torso and then, eventually his huge ebony cock, now rigid, came into her view. She had trouble breathing as she saw it, noting the way it curved up in a slight bend. She reassured herself that she had taken this monster inside her before and found it wonderful.

Neil brought her to the foot of the bed and put her on her back and then walking around the bed to stretch her out and hold her arms over her head. She could feel the heat of Sue’s body, smell her musky arousal as the clockwork toy worked inside her.

She looked up and saw Jordan stroke his cock as he came close. “This will be so fine,” he said, the now familiar gleeful lust in his face.

Above them, Sue sang a song of lust, gasping and making soft soprano cries at irregular intervals as Jordan raised Vanessa’s legs and brought his sabre to bear on his intended target. She watched his face as she felt him working the head of his shaft between her petals.

“Fuck me,” she told him.

He nodded and lunged forward, impaling her, making her cry in harmony with Sue. Having Jordan fuck her with Sue being aroused by the toys while Neil watched seemed insanely erotic. As her head went from side to side, thrashing with joy at the feel of Jordan stretching her sheath, Neil let go of her wrists and she saw him undressing, exposing his own stiff and considerable cock and wondered what he would do.

She had her answer when he came to the bed and grabbed her hair, forcing his cock in her mouth. She sucked it, torn with paying attention to making him feel pleasure and wanting to simply savour the plundering of Jordan’s staff in her own body.

After a time, Jordan stood up, slipping his shiny and still hard cock from her. He said something and Neil came around to take his place. He straightened her legs out, then lay on her. She wrapped her legs around him as he took her. His hands went under her arse, pulling her up to meet his thrusts.

She saw Jordan watching them and tried to imagine what he was seeing and what he thought. He seemed to be the one who arranged this and she wondered if it was a test of some kind, or simply a lusty game.

After a time Jordan tapped Neil on the shoulder and said, “Roll over.”

Holding her tightly, and keeping his cock inside her, Neil rolled them over so that she was on top.

“Ride his cock,” Jordan told her and she did, trying to contract her cunt around him, to massage his shaft and make him come. Jordan went behind her and spread her arse cheeks. She felt him spreading something cool and damp on her arse. Soon he touched her anus and began rubbing it into the tight ring.

“Oh God,” she started.

“Shh,” he hissed and abruptly slipped his finger into her anus. She froze and Neil began pumping his hips, driving himself up into her as Jordan stretched her anus. When he worked in a second huge finger she groaned. He forced it in all the way and began working the two fingers in her. The combination of Neil thrusting up into her and the fingers in her arse were making her come unglued.

Suddenly Jordan pulled out his fingers and got on the bed behind her. Neil was tormenting her nipples with his fingers as he fucked her. Behind her she knew Jordan was stroking himself, probably rubbing the slippery concoction over his shaft. In preparation for...

“You’re too big,” she cried, but he was already pressing the head of his cock into her anus. It slipped into the tight ring more easily that she had feared, though not without enough pain to make her cry out. Her cry seemed to inspire his lust and he began fucking her arse fiercely. She screamed as both cocks filled her at once. Then side by side inside her, they were moving in different rhythms and her brain tried to keep track of them, separate the sensations of the two cocks that were fucking her. It failed and she felt herself disintegrate, her body taking actions of its own, her nervous system betraying her by shaking her to pieces between her two lovers.

Then Jordan was flooding her arse with his hot seed. She thought no one could produce so much cum as he pumped into her, his cock pulsing in her arse as Neil still fucked her vagina.

When Jordan’s cock softened and slipped from her he stood, pulling her off Neil and putting her on her hands and knees on the bed. Neil came behind her and then his stiff cock was in her arse, slippery in Jordan’s cum. Jordan sat next to her smiling contentedly.

“Now your treat,” he said. He reached to the night-stand and found something. He moved his hand to her cunt and she knew it was the first toy she had tried. He slipped it inside her and switched it on.

“Damn that feels nice,” Neil cried.

Nice wasn’t the word that came to Vanessa’s mind. No words came to her mind. The vibrations of the clockwork toy in her cunt with Neil fucking her arse gave control of her universe to her limbic mind. Thought was replaced by nothing but the passion of the fuck. It ran through her. She was nearing exhaustion, but her animal self rose to the occasion, mustering enough energy to respond and she came again, her body a violently spastic creature that had Neil’s cock taking its pleasure in her arse.

But he was coming too. His arms wrapped around her as he drove his cock in her to the hilt. Instinctively she reached back between her legs and found his balls and caressed them as he throbbed, spurting his seed in her.

And they collapsed, Neil sliding to her side, his cock spreading his cum across her arse and the backs of her legs. Gently, Jordan removed the toy from her exhausted cunt.

As the spinning room began to sort out and the deafening pounding of blood in her ears subsided she heard Sue crying, “Oh my God,” repeatedly. Although still bound she was bouncing her own arse on the bed. Jordan put his face on Vanessa’s back, which gave him a good look at the toy moving inside the woman.

“I think the program might need toning down for the average woman,” Neil said as Sue suddenly slumped.

Jordan touched the lips of her pussy. “You better ask her opinion when she recovers,” he said. “We don’t want to make any stupid marketing decisions.”

After Jordan untied Sue, they all got into Neil’s huge tub for a hot bath.

“I’d love to continue this,” Neil said. “Assuming I could. But tomorrow is a big day.”

“Ah yes, the end of ride,” Sue said wistfully.

“But the start of something quite new,” Neil said.

Sue smiled. “There is that.”

They cleaned up and had drinks, then returned to their rooms where Vanessa fell into a deep and erotic sleep.

***

Vanessa sat in the lounge having a drink. Through the large port she could see the colourful bustle that was Bangkok. It swarmed with people and looked so different from a crowded street in Madrid.

She wondered what would happen now. The free ride was over. Neil had presented his idea and she had accepted it as a possible solution to the problems she wanted to address. The mechanics would have to be discussed, but she would support the new company and the idea behind it.

What bothered her still was the uncertainty between her and Jordan. She cared for the man more than she wanted to admit and she was concerned that getting carried away with both men might have ruined that. She hadn’t seen Jordan all morning. He might be busy, but he might be avoiding her, as well.

Just then he came in to the lounge, smiling. “I was wondering where you got off to,” he said.

“I missed you at breakfast. I expected to see you sometime during the day.”

“I should have told you that I was having breakfast with our own bigwigs and the Prime Minister of Thailand. It’s all schmoozing to ensure that we get the permits for making flights here and for the new factory.”

“You’ll build it here?”

“Absolutely. That will keep labour costs down and, not incidentally, employ a lot of poor Thais, mostly women.”

“A good combination,” she said.

“Those things go on forever, but as soon as business wrapped up my thoughts turned to you,” he said. “As they tend to.”

“They did? They do?”

He came behind her chair and put his hands on her shoulders. She warmed to his touch and felt herself grow weak as his hands moved down, untying the bodice of her dress and slipping under the top to hold and squeeze her breasts.

“I intended to come in and invite you to take a tour of Bangkok with me,” he said.

“You don’t seem to be going in that direction.”

He laughed. “I’m weak. I confess that I can’t seem to get enough of you,” he said.

“I like the way that sounds,” she said. “I couldn’t agree more. You definitely need more of me.”

He slid her dress down her shoulders, exposing her breasts. It struck her that someone might come in on them. As he bent to nuzzle her neck while his fingers pinched and toyed with her nipples, realized she didn’t care in the least.

“For me to come close to getting enough of you, I’m afraid I will have to ask you to stay with me in Bangkok,” he said.

She opened her eyes and saw the familiar fire smouldering in his eyes. “Stay with you?”

“I am staying to set up the factory. We want you in charge of community relations, letting the world know how the company works and lobbying other companies to license their technology to us for new products.”

“You want me to stay here to work with you?” she asked feeling like a ninny for repeating his words.

His huge hand caressing her arse made her hot with desire for him.

“Yes, but I want more than that. In fact I’d be hard pressed to find ways and situations in which I didn’t want you.”

She looked into his eyes. “I like that look in your eye,” she said.

“Do you?” he chuckled.

She reached for his crotch and found his prick stiffening in his pants. She undid his pants and reached in, capturing it with her eager fingers, feeling it growing in her hand. “Yes, your visibly insane lust is lovely. But what if you grow bored with me?”

“Bored? If we need variety, we can always design a new test for one of Neil’s toys,” he said with a grin that bordered on evil. “Stay and work with me, and I will fuck you in ways neither of us has even imagined yet.”

“And then what? When the work is done, I mean?” she asked, feeling breathless.

“By the time the factory is finished I’m sure Neil will have some other mad scheme it will be fun to pursue. Or maybe we will just take an airship to a new place. Together.”

His words melted her fears. She reached for his cock and found it growing hard again. “I’ve never been fucked in Constantinople,” she said. “Only over it.”

“There is something to look forward to,” he said. “But here and now I need you. I have been dreaming, fantasizing about fucking your sweet arse again and Bangkok seems a lovely place to do it.”

She kissed him and decided she would suck him another time. “Then fuck me in Bangkok, Jordan. Fuck my arse in an airship tethered in Bangkok.”

Which he did, when she felt his cock stretch her sphincter, her pain and excitement fused together. They had a great deal to work out still. They had never talked about the nature of this relationship, but she knew it would be intense. And they would have many days and nights of glorious fucking in Bangkok and see what the future brought them.

His Fortnight Man

Kim Knox

Waiting for the arrival of Commander Julius Axton twisted and cramped my gut.

I stood in the dark, vaulted lobby as two of the young apprentices gripped the handles of the great locks on the heavy metal door. Making ready. The workshop of my employer, Master Engineer and Metalsmith, Robert Isham stored the finest - and most expensive - suits in the Empire. He took no risks with his stock.

I rubbed my palms against my hips, masking the action with a hard tug at my waistcoat. Mr Isham couldn’t see my nerves. I was his devil - first amongst his journeymen - and he was showing great trust in letting me perform the final fit for Commander Axton.

But he’d yank me away if he saw my shakes and throw me back into little more than tramp-work. Running and fetching for senior apprentices and no doubt a harsh cut to my pay for the privilege. A final fitting required a steady hand and in allowing me to fit Axton’s suit, Mr Isham was presenting me as worthy of him and his work. However remaining calm and steady around the commander was something that escaped me. Always had.

I drew in a breath, pulling in the sour, workshop air. No, nothing would spoil the first private moment I would have with the man. Not even my own nerves.

In the past, I’d watched the initial construction of Axton’s suit, half-hidden behind a thick screen. The alcove was cramped, with its beaten metal wall and a slow moving fan turning and cleaning the air of smoke, ash and the stink of hot metal. My job was to shovel coke into the machine that drove the soldering iron, to keeping the heat even. An apprentice’s job, but I volunteered for this work. The Commander drew me against all sense. I couldn’t fight it. I didn’t want to.

My master worked in the fitting room beyond and I’d catch only sly glimpses of him and his elusive client. He’d hammer and cut, whilst Axton braced to stillness against the needle-thin, white-hot tip of the iron that formed the bespoke metal suit around his body.

As a journeyman, I’d finished suits for lesser officers. But this was Commander Julius Axton. Leader of the elite 1st Lunar Expeditionary Force. A man who’d strode across the surface of the moon. I was all too aware of how privileged I was. And now my wait was soon to be over.

The boy at the metal grilled window waved his hand, breaking into my reverie. The air changed, growing thick with nerves and anticipation. I lifted my chin, unclenching my jaw. Perhaps it was only my own uneasy thoughts painting the tension. With a sharp nod from me, the apprentices worked at the oiled bolts. “The clank’s steppin’ down from his carriage.”

Clank. The common word used for men such as the Commander. One I never allowed. “He’s a fortnight man. A soldier, an officer. He has a name and rank. Use it.”

The boy gave a quick nod. “Open up,” - a quick nervous glance at me-”Commander Axton is right there.”

The heavy fall of the locks and the scrape of the metal against the tiled floor brought my wandering mind back to the job and I straightened. I was a representative of Mr Isham. I had to appear professional.

Hazy afternoon sunlight filled the doorway and I squinted. The rumble of overhead trains, the shouts of sailors, the creak of ships’ timbers and carts and horses broke the silence. Our workshop hid in plain sight in the great docks of Liverpool, none suspecting that Her Majesty’s greatest endeavour had its home in such chaos. On a gust of air, the stink of the docks, of salt, sand and shit cut through the stuffiness of the lobby. A shadow moved, and the apprentices scrambled back as I willed my feet forward.

I’d greeted him before. Twice, in fact...but, still, my mouth was dry and I nodded, my heart thudding, before I got my tongue to work. “Commander Axton.”

The commander handed his walking stick and hat to one of the hovering apprentices. With the light behind him, it was hard to make out the expression on his face. Was he irritated that a mere journeyman would be seeing to him today?

“Marlow.”

I blinked. He knew my name. Pulling in a quick breath, I turned and waved my arm - too fast - towards the darkened passageway that led to the fitting rooms. “If you would follow me, please?”

I fought to keep my pace even, not to glance back and to keep my spine straight and my chin lifted. Appearance was everything. Mr Isham had drilled that into me from the time I’d joined his workshop as a fresh-faced boy of thirteen. Officers had to trust us, trust us with their lives. Still, my stomach twisted and a tightness gripped my chest.

“Relax, Marlow.” Axton’s smooth, deep voice wrapped around me in the shadows of the corridor. “The fitting will go well.”

I couldn’t help it, I stared back at him, caught his face in the white light of the single electric bulb. The illustrations in The Times or the more scurrilous News never quite captured his hard handsomeness, the strength and command that stamped his features. I was still staring...and I snapped my gaze away. “Thank you for your faith in me, Commander.”

“I work with Captain Warwick often. You finished his suit last month. He speaks very highly of your abilities.”

Pleased heat burned my cheeks. Faith and praise from Commander Axton. It was staggering. I stopped at his usual fitting room and pulled back the heavy latch. Going first into the darkness, I found the cord to activate the sharp white shine of the electric light.

The scrape and groan of the hinges and lock closing surprised me. Axton had followed me into the small changing room and shut the door behind him. Already his fingers moved to unbutton his greatcoat. “Isham consented when I asked for you.”

“He...you did...?” My hand stopped at opening the long cupboard that would protect his clothes from the smoke and fumes of the finish. “Thank you.”

He handed me his greatcoat and gloves before moving on to his suit coat. He had to strip down before putting on the smooth silk inner skin that protected him from harsh metal and kept his body working for his fortnight at the garrison. I folded and hung the items he passed to me. Trying not to stare and failing miserably.

Axton was a man in his prime, strong and athletic. Manning the orbiting camp, it was essential he be fit - the silk in combination with the suit wouldn’t work on the infirm. But watching his slow and sure disrobing, the promise of skin as he pulled free his cravat pin and tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar, his fingers slipping through buttons to reveal smooth muscle and the rough swirl of hair had my heart racing. Being so close to him, the man had me hard...just as I knew he would.

I tucked his boots into the bottom of the cupboard, the bend and stretch of my body only serving as a reminder of the hard length of my dick. Silent curses railed against it. I worked with other members of Her Majesty’s 1st Lunar Expeditionary Force, saw them as I saw Commander Axton, stripped down to nothing but their skin. But not one of them had my blood as hot as the man standing before me.

It’d always been that way. Even from the very first time I laid eyes on him. A spark that ignited under my skin, as molten as any metal. I couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to. I esteemed and desired him in equal measure. It was an admiration quite unreturned.

And I prayed for his continued ignorance. It was an honour and a privilege to kit out the men who pushed beyond the Earth and who were stationed in a garrison orbiting high above us. I didn’t want to lose my position.

“My silk, Marlow.”

I pushed out a slow breath, feeling the heat in my cheeks and stood to face him. White light shone down over his strong shoulders, shadowing the clean muscles of his torso and the firm length of his legs. He was Grecian in his beauty. I fought not to stare at his dick. Yes, so much more perfect than a simple statue.

He lifted an eyebrow and a hint of a smile pulled at his mouth. “Or has Isham’s genius made it possible to wear a suit without its inner skin?”

“No. Sorry, sir.” I pushed the folded silk into his waiting hands and backed away. “I’ll prepare your suit.”

Holding back a groan, I escaped to the fitting room. The chug and thump of the engine behind the curve of a metal screen said the iron was heating up. A little apprentice was tucked into the corner, already sweating from the blaze of the machine’s firebox. He wiped the grime and sweat from his face and muttered a hasty “Sir” before he picked up his shovel to look busy.

I nodded - the lad had always worked hard - and now had no excuse not to turn back to the rest of the room. The intricate pieces of the suit were hooked from the brick ceiling by thick chains, an inanimate statue of black steel and copper. Sharp electric light cut down over its perfect shape, one moulded from the commander’s own body. My master’s suits were objects of true beauty.

Its helmet sat on the tool bench, next to the glowing soldering iron and the filaments of silver chandarite. The thin strips of metal were worth more than a fistful of diamonds or a room stacked with gold. It was the secret to the Empire’s push into space.

“Ready, Marlow.”

Axton stood beside his suit, the thin material of the pale inner skin clinging to his body. The Commander was also a thing of beauty, but I remembered that my job paid very well and I couldn’t gawk at the man all day. As much as I would like.

“Damn things.” Axton locked his hands, pressing the fine weave of silk between his fingers. “It itches and never fits as I want.”

“It’s the finest Chinese silk. Specially prepared.”

“So I’ve robbed the Queen of her underclothes?”

I smirked and unhooked the solid left boot from the suit, clamping it to the floor. “Even Her Majesty makes a sacrifice for her country.”

Axton grinned and stepped into the boot. “It’s a sacrifice I could do without. Though,” he flexed his calf muscle, and the silk shimmered, “it does prevent my skin from ribboning.”

“That it does.” I looked up and failed to stop myself from following the straight line of his shoulders or how the defined muscle of his upper arm was a perfectly delicious curve. Swearing silently, I arranged my tools. It was time to work. Not to find fantasy.

I rolled the bench to one side of the Commander, preparing myself with my leather apron, gloves and goggles. I worked fast, but beading the solder was tricky and would take time. Mr Isham had constructed the suit from small plates of steel and copper, already soldered from the inside. I had to complete the external solder with chandarite.

We both knew that the Commander’s life would depend on my skill and accuracy. In the emptiness of space, the slightest crack could explode the air out and broil the man inside.

I pushed the darkened goggles down to protect my eyes and lifted the soldering iron from its hook. The slender strips of gleaming chandarite pinned to their wooden rack floated, weighing less than air. “Ready, sir?”

Axton lifted his chin. “Ready.”

He was silent and still as I applied flux and soldered the first interconnecting lines of chandarite. Hunched down on the stone floor, I beaded the metal into the joints, the molten silver flowing and filling the thin seams.

Flux broiled away under the heat of the iron and already the chandarite began to weave its strange magic. The boot pulled against the clamps, fighting to lift from the stone floor. Chandarite would bring the metal suit alive, making it flexible and protecting the officer within. Keeping him alive - but only for a fortnight. The Commander himself had determined that fact on his very first mission.

Mr Isham had discovered the seams of chandarite, slivers of it fused into Scottish granite. How he connected the metal to the moon was a secret known only to a few living souls. I was not one of them. But men like the Commander now mined the moon in shifts, bringing back sheets of the metal for Mr Isham to store deep beneath our feet.

With a huff of breath I sat back and re-hooked the iron to its stand. The first working was done, the intricate pattern of silver binding across the boot. A heartbeat later and the shining metal dulled.

My jaw ached from clenching. I would not fail Axton.

“How long have you worked here, Marlow?”

I looked up and dug my fingers into the crick in my neck. “Twelve years this summer.” Groaning, I pushed myself to my feet. “I remember the day Mr Isham first demonstrated chandarite. I didn’t think the Prime Minister’s jaw could drop any lower.” My fingers curled into my palms and I sucked in a hard breath. It wasn’t my place to laugh at my betters with the Commander. I wasn’t his fellow officer. I was a lowly mechanic. A clank monkey.

Unhooking the other boot, I eased it into its clamp and Axton pushed in his silk-clad foot.

“How low?”

I frowned up at him. “Sir?”

“Did his jaw drop?” His smile was sharp and too-attractive. “Salisbury has a vast beard. It had to be extraordinarily low to fight that mass.”

I couldn’t help the grin that pulled at me. “We feared it would break away from his head.”

Axton wiped a hand over his mouth, his dark eyes gleaming. “That I wish I’d seen.”

An easy silence fell again and I finished the boot, moving on to the calves, kneecaps and thighs, encasing Axton’s legs wholly in metal and soldering the seams in a lacing pattern. The next piece I’d hardly given a thought for on any other officer, but this was Axton.

I knelt before him, my mouth almost level with his dick. The scent of skin-warmed silk wrapped around me and I could imagine the taste of him...

“Marlow...”

My eyes flickered shut as his deep voice held me. For a moment, my wild imagination galloped.

His fingers pushed through the damp strands of my hair to rest his palm against my skull and urged me closer. Yet his fingers eased free and I let my breath heat the silk. His dick hardened, straining against the material and eager for my mouth.

My fantasy deepened with the imagining of the impossible parting of the heavily padded silk, exposing him to the hot air of the fitting room. I licked my dried lips, before my tongue teased and tasted his bared skin. His scent swept deep into my lungs, heat and want forcing me to grip his iron-clad thighs to steady myself. But more. I needed more, of his taste, of the shallow yet increasing thrusts into my mouth. To feel him shudder and quake, to take all of him as his fingers fisted tight in my hair and I drove him to desperate pleasure-

“Marlow.”

Startled, my heart thudding and desire fierce and hot in my flesh, I pulled back and turned away to unhook the iron. My fantasy pushed too far. With hands made steady by sheer force of will, I picked up the piece that would cover his backside. My goggles with their darkened glass protected me. He wouldn’t see my need. Still, I couldn’t look up and witness the derision - or worse - disgust in his eyes. I tacked the piece to the supporting rims, trying not to think that only thin sheets of metal and silk came between me and his backside... I held down a groan. “Hold completely still, sir.”

Axton didn’t reply, but the tension in his body pushed out. Shit. He knew.

My heart found an uneven rhythm and lightened my head. I breathed, slow and sure, fighting the speckles of blackness running over my eyes. If he told Mr Isham, I’d be out, thrown out onto the street with no character and no chance of further work.

I shoved down my panic. I still had a job to do. The commander was running to a schedule I had to meet. Focusing, I worked, running liquid beads of the rare metal and not thinking, not thinking at all...even as I pressed the front plate to him, encasing the long length of his dick behind metal.

He groaned, the sound sinking through me, but I didn’t look up. Couldn’t, even as I cupped him over the metal to tack the edges. Sweat slicked my neck, wet my upper lip and my dick ached, the twist in my gut so sharp as to be a pain. I wanted to look up, desperate to see if anything of the desire I felt lived in him. But my livelihood depended on him never knowing.

I soldered, the hard muscles of his stomach and chest so tight he couldn’t be breathing. It was a natural reaction to a dangerous nearness of molten metal and a burning iron. I wanted to share that joke - I had in the past with other officers - but the air was strained, all ease gone now. And I dreaded the moment I would have to stand and face him to fix the final part of his suit into place.

I moved onto his chest and arms, managing to fix the collar and shoulder yoke without once looking into his eyes. The tension twisted harder than a wrench. I cursed myself as I fitted the subtle finger joints. My desire - sharp and yet utterly pointless - had spoiled the private time Mr Isham had given me. I’d admired the Commander from a distance, found a sense of humour in him...and then ruined everything.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

It took me a moment to realise I hadn’t spoken, that it was Axton’s smooth voice. It forced me to look at him. “Sir?”

He wet his lips and the shine was too tempting. I re-hooked the iron and stretched my cramping fingers, anything to distract me from kissing the man. He was bound in steel and copper, he couldn’t resist...

Axton’s dark gaze narrowed, looking beyond me to the curved wall of the alcove obscuring the engine and the apprentice who stoked its firebox. I followed his gaze out of curiosity. There was no movement. Keeping the heat even was a consuming task for a young boy.

“During the cutting of my suits, you worked behind there.”

I could blame the redness of my face on the heat of the room or the iron, not to the fact that he’d noticed me peeking at him like a shy girl at her sweetheart. “I did.” I placed my gloved fingers on the glass-fronted helmet from the bench, wanting to put an end to our talk. With it fitted and finished, Commander Axton would be ready for duty. And I could escape.

He reached out to stay my hand, his metal fingers closing around my wrist. The touch was light and cool, the chandarite thrumming through the thickness of my shirt to my skin. “Sir?”

“It’s no work for a journeyman.”

I would admit my admiration for him as an officer and explorer. That would cover the strangeness and we could move on. “You’re a great man, Commander. The first man to have landed on the moon.” I pushed a slipshod smile across my mouth. “You caught me being curious.”

He lifted an eyebrow and that twist of need was back in my gut. “Curious?” His voice wove around the question with the hint of something more, something I couldn’t quite believe. “Where you satisfied with what you saw?”

I hoped to hell I didn’t look like I’d been slapped, but that feeling shocked over me. He couldn’t be hinting at a mutual need. He was Julius Axton. He’d sat down to tea with Queen Victoria. Was a friend of the Prince of Wales - they went on shooting parties together-

“Well?”

There was an edge of amusement to him now, a gleam in his eye that I found bewitching. I drew in a slow breath, wanting the rapid thud of my heart to slow. “I caught only peeks.”

His smile then was positively wicked. “Anticipation is good for the soul.”

He still had his hand on my arm and his metal-encased thumb stroked the edge of my wrist, slipping under the looseness of the cuff. Light and cool, metal, but not. It sparked a flare of electricity along my veins. My breath caught and I was hard. Painfully hard. And he knew it.

It was there in the flush of his cheeks, the brightness in his eyes and the way his firm mouth parted. My pulse drummed under his touch. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I...”

With a delicacy of touch I often forgot the metal suit could achieve, Axton pulled free my goggles and rested them against my damp hair. I blinked against the sudden flare of white light. The clack and thump of the engine faded back, overtaken by the loud thud of my heart. Axton’s attention was fixed on me. “When was the Lunar Expedition set up?”

That wasn’t a question I was expecting. Not at all. “Three years this autumn coming.”

“And in all that time, I have stood here whilst Isham cut metal around me and you, you lurked behind that wall.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Did you spy on every clank?”

“No, sir!” I pressed my gloved hand to my mouth, the scent of leather and the lingering metal stink of chandarite pulled in on a tight breath. My voice dropped, thankful it was still covered by the loud thumps of the machine and the shovelling of the apprentice. “I volunteered to work the engine for you alone.”

His gaze moved over my mouth and my lips burned under this attention. Anticipation was terrifying for the soul. The Commander was a man of the world - worlds - I didn’t doubt he had experience in every carnal pleasure. Where as I, I only had a few brief fumblings, and even though I lived and worked beside the docks, I feared my true desires would land me with a long sentence of hard labour.

“As you watched me, I watched you.”

My heart turned over. I was still asleep three floors up from this room. This was all an impossible dream. “You did?” The question came out on a squeak of air and Axton’s smile was sharp and hot.

“I waited.” He glanced down to the shining suit he wore. “I’m a patient man.”

He’d been waiting for me to develop finishing skills? It seemed incredible. It was incredible. Axton had realised this time could be our only private moment too. Yet...I was a journeyman metalsmith. The bastard son of a barrister whose only role in my life had been to secure me my apprenticeship. He was a son of baronet and would inherit his father’s title one day. “But...why?”

“I’ve seen the Earth. A shining blue marble on a black carpet of velvet and diamonds.” His eyes became distant and I envied him his memory. “Whole. Beautiful. And I thought of the petty rules that divide us all. The divisions that stop us from having what we want. Need.”

“But...” I wanted to ask more, yet could I chance it with the apprentice working only a few feet away? It wasn’t simply my job at the workshop, it was the Commander’s reputation. Still, the need to know why he would take this risk for me burned through my thoughts.

His cool metal hand cupped my cheek and I froze. I forgot to breathe.

“You’re a good man, Marlow.” His thumb drew a line under the edge of my lip, a charge of static forcing a gasp. “And I wanted you to know that I admire you. Your work.” The wicked gleam in his eyes declaimed that my work was the last thing on his mind, and I swayed closer into him. His firm and perfect lips were a sharp temptation. “Your work is quite...exceptional.”

And then he kissed me.

Something slow and sure, a press of his lips to mine, surprisingly soft, his clean-shaven skin smooth against my own. The wet heat of his tongue licked along the seam of my mouth. Teasing. Tasting... We had only these stolen moments, a matter of pained and fast heartbeats...and I opened my mouth to him.

His groan and mine melted together. He tasted sweet and rich, the clever play of his tongue curling and chasing, fuelling my blood, searing want into my belly and making my dick so hard I ached to grind myself against him.

Axton’s hand left my cheek and slid slow and sure down over my shoulder, the flicker of static pricking through the thick cloth of my sleeve to tease the bare skin beneath. I hissed against his mouth, unable to hold back, and tasted his grin.

“A strange affect of an equally strange metal,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine. “The semblance of touch. As if my bare hand rested against your equally bare skin.”

His words in that deep and seductive voice wove around me, as easily as his fingertips drew lines over the muscles of my arm. The shadow of his fingers pressed into my flesh in a tingling rush and I fought to deny the weakness in my legs. I had to hold some control over my need to find his mouth again and drag his delicious hand down to where I ached for him.

I licked dry lips, tasting him. “It’s an effect I’m sure Mr Isham would want you to explore, sir.”

Axton’s teeth grazed my lip, following with a sharp nip that chased heat straight to my aching dick. His hand pressed to my chest, the imprint of his palm sharp into my skin. “Isham has impressed upon every man bound to the expedition to examine, thoroughly, the nature of chandarite.” His hand skirted lower, sliding over the line of my hip. “It’s our solemn duty.” And his sure touch skimmed a slow, slow caress over my hard dick.

“Duty.” The word escaped on a burst of air. My heart hammered, loud enough, I was certain, to be heard over the clack and thump of the engine behind the screen. It was hardly possible. That Commander Julius Axton would share my fantasy. Was making it real before me, and forcing every breath I took into a pained and blissful labour.

His fingers firmed, finding the shape of me and I all but groaned. “Sir...” The word was ripped from me. “Please.”

I gripped the solid metal of his arm before my knees buckled and gave out. His smile was dark. Hot. And my need to kiss him almost swallowed me whole.

“Would you deny your duty, Marlow?”

I forgot to breathe under the slow, purposeful slide of his hand. The caress of the almost spelled alien metal was unnatural...and delicious. “And this...” I swallowed, trying to hold his dark gaze, even as my eyelids fought to drop in sweet bliss. “This occupies your time in your fortnight away?”

His firm lips tilted in the brief show of a smirk. “Nights are long and dark, Marlow. Who is to say how my fellow officers pass the time?”

His thumb teased over the head of my dick as surely as if his bare flesh touched mine and I groaned. “And you?” I had to know if everything was a play, something to while away his time. An itch and nothing more. “Do you...?”

His stroke quickened, his head dipped and his breath burned against my lips. “I am not a...fickle man.” The words were almost a growl and the heavy ache in my balls deepened. “I bide my time. And I am well aware of what I want. What is due. What is mine.”

My hips jerked, demanding more of this touch, needing it after the raw possession in his voice. “I am...” My lips brushed his, hot and wanted, “I am yours.”

Axton took my mouth, a fierce claiming that swept molten need through me. His metal-clad fingers fisted my hair, even as he worked my dick, his hand one with the increasing rhythm of my hips. Faster, more sure. Heat broiled up my spine and I lost every thought. There was only his mouth and fingers driving my flesh, searing pleasure in way I could hardly have dreamt.

He swallowed my half mewled pleas and I couldn’t stop my thrusts against the hard thigh being shoved between mine. The tightness of my body caught me. Held me. Twisted hard. I groaned, aching for him to push me, to spill bliss into my flesh.

“Mine...”

The word, growled over my lips, flashed molten heat under my skin. There. There. White-hot joy surged over me, through me, breaking my mouth from his as I arched against him. I shook and only Axton’s firm grip held me up. My heart still pounding, I stared at him through blurred eyes, unable to fight the disbelieving grin that warmed my mouth. “Yours,” I murmured. “Absolutely. Completely.”

The clatter of a dropped shovel broke us apart. Half stumbling, I whipped around to the metal wall, but there was no slack-jawed and shocked apprentice staring at us. I staggered and Axton’s strong hand caught me.

He was breathing hard, the shine of his lips wet in the glow of the white light. I tugged my glove free, intent to wipe away the dampness, but he stopped me. He licked his lips and I held down a moan.

“The suit preserves me. It’ll preserve this.”

My heart squeezed and I fought the need to kiss him again. But we couldn’t. The danger of being caught was too great. I glanced down, wondering if his suit preserved more than the wetness of a fierce kiss.

“I’ll be back in a fortnight.” Axton lifted an eyebrow, promise there in his eyes and the firm pleasure of his mouth. There would be so much more than a tantalising and hurried working of his fingers. So much more. “I have a new contraption - one of Isham’s playthings, an autocar - I believe you’re familiar with them.”

I nodded, uncertain of his direction. My mind had hardly caught up with the huge shift in my world. Of being his.

“The key to my town-house is in my coat pocket.” His smile was dark, his voice smooth and deep and pricking my skin. “I want it running hot and waiting for me upon my return. Is that understood, Marlow?”

I straightened my shoulders, willing my mouth to keep from twitching into a grin. “Hot and waiting, sir. Understood.”

Axton rapped his knuckles against the helmet sat almost forgotten on the nearby table. The clang was sharp and broke the moment. “Then seal me in. The sooner I’m gone the sooner I’m back.”

And with a tight breath, I got to work.

I stood in the yard, the shadow of the vast airship mooring tower falling across me. The air was cool and smoke and soot swirled around me, the cries from the docks clear over the high brick walls enclosing the workshop buildings.

Axton, his distinctive suit disguised by a lead-weighted tweed cloak, rode the lift to the small, silver-skinned airship that would take him high into the hazy summer sky. From there, he’d launch himself out beyond the safety of the Earth to the orbiting garrison. And from there, to the moon.

I touched my lips. I didn’t have the mysterious metal to keep him with me. But my fingers curled around the key to his town-house, warming my pocket.

A fortnight. Fourteen days. I would be hot and waiting.

Mender Cotton’s Daughter

Thomas Gregory

Chapter One

“Mender!” the blond rider shouted. He was just tall enough that he had to duck beneath the cog and hammer sign marking the mender’s trade above the door. Inside, the little room was lined with tools, meticulously organized by type and size and stained canvas dust cloths shrouded larger pieces of machinery keeping the wind blow grit outside from getting into their gears. “Mender!” he shouted again.

“I’m crippled, boy, not deaf,” the old man replied, his wheeled chair gliding from behind the curtain that divided one room from the next. Twin tufts of grey hair stuck out from either side of his otherwise bald pate. “Now, what can Mender Cotton do for you?”

The rider stepped fully into the room now, his broken gait awkward, but not pained. “I need brass work done.” He pulled his right pant leg up to show the metal and dark wood of the replacement limb beneath. “I need quick work. Can you do it?”

Cotton fished a pair of glasses from the pocket of his thick workman’s apron, cleaning them on an empty pant leg in the place where his limb should have been. “Quick work is usually careless work.”

The rider drew two silver coins from his coat pocket and placed them on the mender’s work bench.

“Feh. Put that away and let me look first. No sense figuring price till I know it’s a thing that can be fixed.” He adjusted the glasses on his nose and leaned in close, squinting at the leg’s clockwork pieces as if he were mapping the workings of the thing in his head before coming to the stamped C.S.A. Mark. “You boys should’ve stuck to buying originals from the Schwarzwald factories instead of trying to build copies after you got a good look at them. Rare to see one of these in working order.”

“Field menders taught me to take care of it,” the rider replied.

“Taught that to everybody. Not many that listened, your side or ours. Girl, bring a chair and some light.”

He hadn’t heard the woman come in, not that it was hard to sneak about the place, divided up by curtains as it was. She dressed not unlike the mender himself in workman’s apron and multi-pocketed pants filled with small tools. Her black hair was pulled out of the way in a tight braid and there was a certain olive skinned resemblance between her and the grey haired Cotton. A leather strap ran across her shoulder to a small box at her side covered with tiny black keys. On one end of the box was a small bellows, like a concertina. A brass ratchet handle protruded from the other.

“What’s your name?” the mender asked as the girl busied herself with an electric lantern. It buzzed as she played with the knob at its base and came to life a moment later bathing the room in an orange glow from the tiny bulb inside.

“Donnegan,” replied the rider. The girl left through the rear curtain, returning a moment later with a wooden stool.

“Sit. Leg up here.” Cotton knocked on the lower shelf of the work bench. Donnegan sat, the clockwork appendage remaining stiffly extended. He laced his fingers behind his knee and, grimacing as he pulled, brought the artificial limb up to the shelf so Cotton could examine it more closely. The mender made a sucking sound on his teeth as he looked over the intricacies of the gear driven prosthetic, bringing the light closer, readjusting the wick again, and squinting through his glasses.

“Flex,” Cotton ordered. Donnegan tensed the muscles in his calf and the clockwork leg suddenly sprang to life. As he shifted, the leg and foot moved, subtly, mimicking the natural movement of their flesh and blood counterparts with an uneven series of syncopated ratchets and ticks. Donnegan tightened and the foot turned first one way, then the other. Suddenly a grinding sound came from inside the mechanical limb, capped with a twisting groan of metal against metal as the foot went silent and dead. Cotton held up his hand and Donnegan relaxed as the Mender gently turned his artificial foot back into the correct, forward facing position.

“There’s a room in back,” the mender said, finally. “Three days, I’ll get it ticking right again. Give me four and I can make it better than new.”

“Three will have to do,” Donnegan answered, “It’s all the time I’ve got.” The old man frowned.

“Help him off with it, girl.”

The woman reached for the leather straps that kept the mechanical appendage secured to what remained of his leg before Donnegan’s hand closed over hers.

“I can do it myself, thank you.” She blinked at him before withdrawing her hand.

“Miranda doesn’t speak,” Cotton said, from the work bench where he was already selecting his tools, “not without the box.” The girl tapped the bellows device at her side. Her fingers moved over the keys in quick, practised succession before cranking the ratchet handle.

“I’ll bring a cane, then,” came a thin, airy voice from the box, “and a replacement.” The haunting sound of the machine left him with a sudden chill as it gave breathy, musical life to those disembodied words. She left again once the box was finished and Donnegan returned to the job of removing the prosthetic.

“One thing,” the mender stipulated, “that stays here.” Cotton pointed to the wood handled revolver with the tiny bronze wren resting at Donnegan’s hip. “Unusual name, Donnegan. Used to be a Wren Donnegan, fought with Hauser’s Bastard Sons during the war.” Donnegan reached, slowly, for the revolver, releasing the thin strip of leather that held the hammer in place while it was holstered. “This was back when they spent most of their time raiding border towns between north and south you understand. Put more than a few of them to the torch.”

“Can’t say he’s any kin to me,” Donnegan answered, drawing the pistol but leaving it pointed towards the floor. The two men looked at one another in silence for a moment before Donnegan turned the gun around, handing it to Cotton butt first.

“Well that’s good. That’s very good.” Cotton took the revolver and turned back to the work bench. From beneath his apron he drew a set of keys, tied with a cord around his neck. “A fair lot of Hauser’s men took to the wild life after the war. Robbing. Raiding. All manner of behaviour. You wouldn’t be a man who’d walk that kind of road, would you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then we can do business.”

Miranda chose that moment to return as Cotton locked the gun in one of the workbench drawers. She began fitting Donnegan for the simple wooden prosthetic she’d brought back. This time he let her deft fingers wrap the leather straps around his thigh, tighten and buckle them.

“Saloon’s down the way, you can get fed there, livery too where you can leave your horse.” Cotton said over his shoulder, already at work on Donnegan’s leg.

“He’s a mule,” Donnegan replied.

Miranda pressed the crank on the bellows box.

“Be careful, it’s like your first time being on one.” She made to help him up but he waved her hand away, lurching to his feet. Immediately he reeled, losing his balance and nearly crashing to the floor before Miranda caught him. Steadying him with a sigh and a little glare, she handed him the cane she’d brought on returning with the wooden leg.

The near fall put Donnegan at the door and face to face with the new body who entered the room. The boy barely came up to Donnegan’s chin and the taller man was forced to tilt his head to look him in the eyes as close as they stood.

“Mender, Job says the phonograph’s gone out again, wants to know if you’d have a look.”

“I’ll see to it, Caleb.”

Donnegan hadn’t noticed that Miranda’s small hand had remained on his back, steadying him until she removed it to push the box’s crank handle. Now he felt a sudden, warm absence.

“Thank you, miss. Sir.” The boy nodded up at him before retreating, backwards through the door. Miranda, in turn, left Donnegan’s side to retrieve a stiff leather sided tool bag from beneath the workbench.

“I’ll be at the saloon, then.”

“Mind the Engineers while you’re there,” Cotton instructed, already deep into his work. “If they turn up in search of trouble come straight back.” Miranda, or the box, made no reply but squeezed silently through the gap left between Donnegan and the door.

“Engineers?” Donnegan asked, watching her go.

“Hmm? Yes.”

“I’m sorry, can’t say I follow.”

Cotton sighed, put down his tools, and removed his glasses.

“Then you’ve been ranging too long. Church of the Holy Engine’s been building outposts in every boom town from here to Deadwood.” Cotton turned his chair around, wheeling closer to Donnegan. “A few years back, a farmer out east said he found something buried while he was digging a new well on his land. Didn’t know what it was at the time, of course, just that it looked like a bunch of punched cards, like the big thinking machines use, only made from sheets of solid silver instead of stiff paper. So, he did what anyone would do.”

“He found someone to run them,” Donnegan surmised as he sat back down in the chair Miranda had left.

“Exactly. What was on there was... well, they call it a revelation, like a new kind of bible for the times, telling them how to deal with the new world, dictating the place of men and machines. They’d seen that leg of yours and you might’ve had trouble.”

“I take it they don’t approve?”

“Not a little. ‘To bring man and machine into union is to violate the holy nature of both.’ That’s their line anyway and they’ve a harsh way of spreading the faith.”

“What about the phonograph?”

“A machine that promotes idleness and sin. If it isn’t feeding them the word of God or helping a man keep at his labours then it’s nothing but a toy of the devil, and if there’s one thing they like more than preaching the new word, it’s smashing the devil’s playthings.”

“Doesn’t anyone complain to the Sheriff?” Donnegan asked.

The mender laughed. “The only one more devout than Sheriff Wuhl these days is Preacher Hayes himself. Only difference is, Wuhl’s devotion is to gold, not God.”

Chapter Two

The Parched Mermaid was not the largest of the town’s trio of saloons, but it was, by far, the most popular for two reasons. The first was Job Quarrel’s willingness to invest in just about any new form of half baked technological entertainment that came through his door so long as he smelled the faintest hint of a profit in it. Job had already installed three motor-kinetoscopes by the time he’d been convinced to buy the tinny sounding Victrola, barely a prototype. That meant regular trips by either Cotton or Miranda to keep the thing under repair. It also meant regular trouble with the Holy Engine.

The Parched Mermaid’s other draw was “Crimson” Cait Morrow. Cait had come to the Dakota Territory as a mail order bride, marrying a fur trader named Jonas Eldredge, a man who anyone in town could have told her spelled nothing but misery for any woman unlucky enough to find herself his bride. Violent tempered and of perverse inclinations, it came as no surprise when Cait shot her husband who was in the grip of a particularly powerful drunk. At her trial, one that had been perfunctory at best, the jury voted unanimously for acquittal. Afterwards, though she’d gained her freedom, she found herself destitute and with little to no prospects she finally turned to the oldest of all professions.

Cait, it turned out had something of a talent for the business, and for self promotion, using both the colourful sobriquet she’d received for the red dress worn at her late husband’s funeral and capitalizing on her fame as a murderess. When Job Quarrel purchased the Mermaid, he saw the necessity for an added brothel but was loathe to operate one himself and so went into partnership with Cait, giving her run of the upstairs rooms and license to bring in the girls of her choosing. Cait quickly built the brothel’s reputation on the cleanliness of the women, her refusal to tolerate opium or morphine habits among her employees, and the terror she instilled in clients who got out of hand.

The wooden floor creaked under Miranda’s boots as she entered the saloon. A trio of miners congregated at the far end of the bar, not far from Job who stood beneath the shrivelled “Fee-Jee Mermaid” that was the saloon’s namesake. In the back corner, Horace Schefly was dealing a mostly honest game of faro. Otherwise, the saloon was as yet largely empty. By evening, however, the place would be filled with trail hands, labourers, and anyone else in search good times, decent liquor and a woman of negotiable affection.

“The belt again?” sighed the box. Job shook his head.

“No rattling. It’s the gears, they keep grinding and seizing.”

“Going around today.” Miranda unfurled the small rug in front of the Victrola and sat, cross-legged upon it. Unpacking her tools, she began dismantling the machine, organizing parts one by one at her side, laying them out in tiny ordered regiments of gears and springs and sprockets.

It was well into the evening when Donnegan entered the saloon. Either he did not notice or did not care to notice Miranda, sitting on the floor in the far corner, parts and tools spread out around her, grease smeared across one cheek. Instead, he made a path directly to the bar. He had, in the intervening period, shaven and cleaned himself as much as the small room at Cotton’s would allow, giving his features a certain wounded softness that his ranging had somehow buried. Job brought him a drink and he retreated to a back table to sit alone.

For her part, Miranda returned, wordlessly to her work, ignoring Donnegan across the room as he had ignored her. A short while later, he returned to the bar for another drink, and then for another. He was well on his way to the fourth when the three engineers entered the saloon. The first, a local boy Miranda recognized had a hatchet tucked into his belt and a tin covered bible in one hand. The remaining pair each carried a long hickory ax handle. The room grew suddenly quiet as the lead engineer, the one with the hatchet dragged a chair out from the table next to Donnegan’s and climbed atop it to address the room while the other two made their way through the saloon, one towards the three motor-kinetoscopes and the other towards Miranda, or more likely towards the Victrola currently in pieces on the floor.

“Brothers!” shouted the engineer, “Oh my sinful brothers. Are you so blind as cannot see these playthings of that great adversary, that fallen one who’d lead you astray for what they truly are?” The men in the saloon looked around at one another as if one of them was about to jump up with an answer. “They are tools of the devil, brothers, here to take you down that leftward path most sinister, straight into darkness!” The engineer looked around the room, eyes full of fervour, not settling on any one of the men there. “But do not fear, brothers, do not fear, for we are here to show you the way and we will deliver his new commandments that come straight through from that most holy engine itself.”

On cue, one of the engineer’s companions began to assault the first of the kinetoscopes with his ax handle, first knocking the eye piece from the top then proceeding to smash his way through the thin panelled sides with such violence that Horace Schefly, still at his faro table flinched with each successive blow to the machine.

“He has in his grace inspired us towards a great revolution and in accordance with the first commandment of his new world let no man make light of the gift we have been given by turning its use towards frivolity or lewdness.” At this, the third engineer grabbed for the open casing of the Victrola, attempting to tip the machine over whether Miranda was in his path or not. Miranda, however, was on her feet before he could, a heavy wrench in one hand, the other pressing buttons on the bellows box at her side.

“Nobody wants to hear your talk, Grayson Wynn.” Miranda could see Job Quarrel close his eyes, afraid to watch was was about to come next as the engineer turned his attention towards her. Grabbing her by the leather strap of the bellows box, he dragged her across the room to Grayson Wynn’s makeshift pulpit.

“The second of his commandments for the age,” the engineer shouted, mirroring Wynn’s own fervour, “make no man like unto machine, likewise make no machine like unto a man for to do so is abomination and makes profane the sacred nature of both!” Grayson sneered down at her as the engineer released her at his feet.

“God’d wanted you to have a voice, he’d have given you one, girl.” Miranda looked up at him with a spark of defiance in her eyes. Reaching down to the table beside her, she grabbed Donnegan’s glass and took a long draught, then, pursing her lips, she spit the bitter beer in a long, slow stream directly at Grayson Wynn’s crotch.

Before Wynn or the rest of the room could react, Donnegan had thrust the crooked head of his cane upward, catching the engineer who’d dragged Miranda to Wynn’s feet by the neck and yanking him face first into the table, a sudden gout of blood spraying from his broken nose. Not finished, he grabbed the wide bladed hunting knife at his belt in one smooth motion and drove it into the table beside the engineer’s head, grazing his ear and setting that to bleeding as well.

“Anyone here suppose I won’t knife fuck every mad bastard one of you that don’t let me drink my peace?” Donnegan growled. The only response was from the engineer on the table, still squealing about his broken nose. “Shut your filthy mouth,” letting go of the cane, he grabbed the engineer by the hair, “or I’ll make a permanent end to the problem for you.” Donnegan yanked the knife from the table and slid it along side the engineer’s nose, blood and tears streaming from the man’s face. The click of a hammer being pulled alerted Donnegan to the other engineer, about to come at him from the side. Cait Morrow stood at the railing above, aiming a navy colt at the man.

“Leave him be. I like his talk better than yours.”

“Ain’t no need for that kind of aggression, Miss Cait,” came the smooth, southern voice from outside the saloon’s bat wing doors. Donnegan kept his attention on both Grayson Wynn and the man on the table, trusting the woman who was already watching his back to do so a little while longer if this new player was going to start anything. He made no move towards Miranda or Donnegan, instead he waved off the other engineer, motioning for Wynn to step down off his chair and join the other man in the corner as he strode into the centre of the room, a grim vision in parson’s black. His smile was at once too wide, his teeth too big and horsey. Donnegan felt an immediate distrust of him the way he always did around men who armed themselves with nothing but their mouths and God’s words.

“Brother Wynn, brother Lundy, I trust that you do not require the kind of lesson brother Allen has received to understand the error of tonight’s exercise in piety?” Wynn and Lundy said nothing, eyeing Donnegan instead. “Go home, boys. Take brother Allen and patch up his hurt.”

Donnegan released his hold on the engineer’s hair and letting his head hit the table again with a thud before slipping backwards, his backside introducing itself to the sawdust covered floor. Wynn and Allen quickly grabbed their prone partner, one under each arm and hauled him out of the saloon under reverend Hayes’ ever watchful, ever smiling gaze. When they were gone, Hayes turned his attention at last to Donnegan.

“I don’t believe you and I have met, sir.”

Donnegan reached for his drink, brought it to his lips only to find it empty, and returned it to the table, all the while ignoring Hayes’ extended hand causing Hayes’ smile at last to falter. He had to fight not to smile himself when it had.

“I’m Reverend Hayes. I’m the local churchman around these parts.” Hayes, regaining his composure, smiled again.

“I can see that from the collar. I don’t like your men.”

“Well, a man can’t judge a whole flock by a few wayward sheep, can he? Matter of fact, you look like a man might need some help gettin’ right himself.”

“Let me make something clear to you.” Donnegan took up his cane again and stood, towering a full foot above the reverend. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of your men. And I’m sure as hell not afraid of your tin god.” Donnegan looked around at the other men in the saloon. “Don’t know what it is about you that makes these people so scared they let their womenfolk be the only ones to stand up for them. Don’t much give a damn either. You want to run roughshod over people willing to let you, go ahead. But the next three days, till I leave town, stay out of my way. I hear you bother either of these two women, I’ll make your man Allen look all kinds of pretty compared to you.” Hayes stared at Donnegan in silence for a moment. Then, he began to laugh.

“I like you mister. Got a certain brutish simpleness to you, makes you talk plain.” He started for the door, stopping next to Donnegan. “You remember what I said about gettin’ right with the lord. Come a day all the angels in their heaven and all the devils out of hell ain’t gonna lift a finger to save you. Got a feeling the day comes soon.”

“Righter than you know, reverend. Don’t expect you and yours are the ones to introduce me to my hereafter though.” Hayes laughed again, Donnegan not turning to watch him as he left. As the bat wing doors shut behind him, Donnegan looked around at the other men in the room and found every pair of eyes on him. “Go back to drinkin’. You ain’t earned the right to look at me like that.” He turned to the bar where Job Quarrel already had another drink waiting for him. Taking it, he paid, silencing Job’s inclination to protest with a look and raised it in salute to Cait Morrow as she descended the staircase from the brothel above.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Cait Morrow corrected as Job brought her a glass of wine. “It’s nothing to point a gun at a man from where he can’t reach you. Especially when someone else has already stood up to him.” She sipped her wine, then put the glass back on the bar, reaching instead for the hand that held Donnegan’s glass and prying it away from the drink as she leaned in close to him and whispered. “I don’t think there’s a woman here who wouldn’t take you into her bed, gratis.” In full view of the bar, she slid his hand beneath the folds of her bustle skirt, cut short in the front like those of her girls and into the split knickers underneath, finding the moist heat awaiting him. Closing her eyes, she ground down against his hand and sighed. “Not a one of them,” she whispered and watched over his shoulder as Miranda walked out of the saloon doors.

Donnegan withdrew his hand, albeit slowly, placing it flat on the bar. “It’s a good offer. Sorry, I’m not the type.” The madam caressed his chest with one gloved hand, feeling suddenly what he kept hidden beneath his shirt and understanding. She smiled at him again, this time not with lust, but with warmth, kissing him at the corner of his mouth.

“You change your mind, come see me.” Her hand slid along his arm as they parted and she returned up the stairs, not looking back at him. Donnegan in turn went back to face the bar, ruminating over his drink.

Chapter Three

Donnegan saw the dim red glow of Cotton’s pipe long before his eyes could pick out the man himself, sitting outside his shop in the darkness.

“Mr. Donnegan.”

“Mender. Hell of a town you got here.”

“I should probably give you back your piece and tell you to get out.”

“Probably.” There was a momentary silence, both men staring out into the night.

“Can I ask you something?” Donnegan nodded, adding a small grunt of consent. “How many men do you figure you killed in the war?”

Donnegan shrugged. “Hundred. Maybe a few more. Probably only ten as deserved it. Why?”

“Come inside. I want to show you something.” Cotton wheeled his way into the small workshop where they’d earlier talked. Lighting the electric lantern he illuminated the room, though dimly.

“Lift the tarp off there,” he instructed. Donnegan did as he was told, dust flying into the air as he removed the shroud-like sheet. Lamplight played off of the polished brass and lacquered wood underneath. “You know what this is?” Cotton asked as Donnegan stared at the thing on its wooden stand.

“I was at River’s Bridge, right before Columbia burned,” Donnegan said, nodding, “saw half a company blown all to hell with just a handful of these. This one’s simpler than I remember though. Not that I tried for a close look.”

“It’s the first of them. Banshee Mark I. I keep it to remind me of how many men are on my head.”

“You built it?”

“And god will surely damn me for doing so.”

Donnegan rubbed his chin, eyes still fixed on the thing beneath the sheet. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Sometimes a man gets war in his veins, he can’t get it out. Everything becomes another fight to win, another siege to be endured. End of the day, all he can see is blood, his own or some other man’s. I’m tired of blood, Mr. Donnegan, and so are these people. You’d be hard pressed to find someone here that didn’t fight in the war or lose someone in it.” Silence fell over them again and Cotton turned away from his creation, and from Donnegan. “Cover it up.” Donnegan did as he was asked.

“I worked the docks in Vicksburg before the war,” Donnegan started, “nothing much, move something off one boat, put it on another or on a train to get it where the boats couldn’t. Sometimes the head man, he’d ask if I wanted to make some extra money, watch the boats at night, make sure nobody took anything. Had a wife then, Jeanne and extra pay for the two of us was extra pay.”

“What was she like,” Cotton interrupted, gesturing towards the empty stool still sitting along the wall, “your wife.”

“She was... everything. Till one day, the army comes calling, decides they want Vicksburg and the fort that’s there. Now I didn’t have much part in the war then, Jeanne and I weren’t supporters of the... institution, being she was a quadroon herself. But that didn’t matter much when it came to the city because we were all inside together while they sat camped out there shelling. Didn’t even attack like men, just the shelling, day and night, all the time.” Donnegan pulled the chair to sit across from Cotton, easing himself into it, feeling, at once, older than his years.

“Pretty soon, we started running out of food, people eating cats, dogs, horses, anything they could get their hands on. And there’s me and a whole lot of boats stuck in the dock, boats full of supplies for the men at the fort.”

“See, I’d gotten to know who was like to steal from the boats by then. Sometimes a captain would do something the head man didn’t like and he’d send me home with a quail or a duck he’d got, tell me to make sure Jeanne cooked a big supper that night. Take my time coming back to finish looking after the dock. I’d come back and find a few fellas leaving the yard I didn’t know and a boat that was half as full as it was when I left. Except I never got called on it. So I find one of these men, the ones I recognize, and I tell him what I’m thinking and he says it’s a pretty good idea. Few nights later, most everyone busy up at the fort instead of watching the boats, we go out and we feed our families. And a few nights later, and a few after that because I will be damned if I ever let Jeanne eat rat, or dog, or horse or anything else isn’t fit to be food. And the whole time, we knew, if we got caught, they’d string us up right there for treason.”

“Did she know?” asked Cotton. Donnegan looked blankly at him. “Your wife, did she know where the food was coming from.”

“I sure as hell didn’t tell her. But she knew. Problem was, while I was out doing what I’d decided was the right thing to do, she was at home listening to the shelling, day in, day out and now, she had me to worry about each night, not sure if one time I’d go out and not come back. I was out so much, I couldn’t see what it was doing to her, just that we were fighting more and sleeping less all the time. Til one night, maybe thirty days in, one of their big guns hits a boat we’d been skimming from. The docks caught fire, then the buildings closest the water. The fellas with me all make a run for it, but people I know live there so I stay, try to help put out the fire. She must have heard what was going on, thought I’d gone up with the boat when I didn’t come home. Or maybe she couldn’t take the cannonade anymore. Maybe both. I came back after dawn and there she was, hanging from the big beam over the hearth, chair laying on its side underneath her.” Donnegan’s grip on the cane made his knuckles go white as he relived the discovery. “Wasn’t long after that Vicksburg fell.”

“After the funeral, one of the fellas who was with me at the docks came up and asked me if I wanted to kill myself some Yankees. And there’s me with a belly full of hate and sadness and looking to blame someone. So I told him it sounded good. Sounded damn good in fact. That night we put torches to one of the barracks the Union men had taken over. Pretty soon there was a gang of us, harriers going up and down the edge of the Union raising whatever kind of hell we could.” Donnegan’s eyes were distant, haunted, the man himself somewhere else. Cotton touched him gently on the shoulder and saw the heartbreak there as Donnegan lifted his head to look at him.

“You want me to leave?”

“No,” replied Cotton, wheeling his way through the curtain and into the back rooms, “but see you don’t bring blood into my house.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Donnegan.”

Storm clouds hung low as Donnegan stepped outside and around to the back of the building, the temperature already starting to drop as the wind picked up. Exhaustion, reflection and drink took their toll as he entered the rear room Cotton had given him use of only to find himself being slapped in the face. He hadn’t seen the lantern light visible underneath the door giving away the waiting Miranda.

“I didn’t ask you for help.”

“I don’t see as I offered,” he replied, closing the door behind him.

“You broke a man’s nose and cut off his ear.”

“I nicked him. He bothered me and someone took my drink, so the only way to get another one was to get those boys to shut up.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I can see that!” Donnegan shouted, louder than he should have with the girl’s father likely just on the other side of the wall. Miranda huffed in frustration, fingers hesitating over the bellows box. “You’re braver than they are, I’ll give you that.”

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“It means I’m not unaccustomed to forgetting to think before I act and it’s an unhealthy habit to be in.” Miranda raised her hand to slap him again but found him quick enough to catch her wrist before she could strike him. He held her there for a moment, looking down into her dark eyes. Her long braid had started to come undone, the static in the air from the coming storm causing strands of her black hair to float about her face. After a moment, he released her, turned, kicked off his boots and stripped off his shirt as if she weren’t even in the room, hanging it on the bed post before climbing into bed, facing the wall. She stood, silently staring at him before reaching for the bellows box.

“Don’t help me again.”

Donnegan pulled the woolen blanket over himself.

“Goodnight, Miss Cotton.”

Chapter Four

Donnegan dreamed. In his dream, he followed the red haired madam, her hips swaying before him as she led him up the stairs of the saloon to her room. He reached out as she neared the top step, his hand sliding along the back of her leg, up to her bottom. She looked over her shoulder, smiling and quickening her step, her red curls bouncing as she moved. Down the hall, she stopped in front of him, fishing an iron key from the garter belt around her thigh. Donnegan came up behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist while with the other hand, he turned her chin towards him, kissing her as she pushed the key into the lock on the door. They stood in the hall for a long moment, she returning his kiss twice as passionate, twice as heated, her hand sliding over his resting on her waist and guiding it down to her knickers, her fingers over his, probing together the warm, wet opening between her legs.

“Come inside,” she whispered, nipping at his earlobe.

“I intend to,” Donnegan replied.

In a moment, they were inside the room, Donnegan turning her around, pressing her to him, his strong hand kneading her backside. She gasped as it moved inward, rubbing against her slit. For the first time, Donnegan realized that, in the dream, he was whole as she reached between them, working at his belt buckle, grinding herself back against his hand as she did so. Cait moaned as his middle finger made its way inside her, stroking her velvet walls. As she finally managed to open his belt, undoing the buttons of his trousers, she felt him add a second finger and lost all ability to focus on the task as pleasure took over. Leaning her head into his chest, she let his fingers take her until, at last, she screamed in a fiery crescendo.

When she had returned to her senses, she reached up, forcing her mouth against his, her tongue teasing between his lips even as her hands completed the job they’d started below, freeing his hard prick. Breaking away from him, she descended to her knees, grabbing his member and eyeing it hungrily. After only a few strokes, it was in her warm, waiting mouth. Donnegan ran his hands through her red hair, removing the pin that held her scarlet tresses up and watching them cascade around his manhood as she swallowed him. Releasing his cock, she licked along the sides with small, darting strokes of the tongue before returning just the head to her lips, kissing it again and again. Now taking the head into her mouth, she held it there as she reached behind and loosened her corset stays enough to free her pale breasts before taking him all the way into her mouth again.

Donnegan pulled her to her feet before she could finish him with her mouth. Running a hand along her cheek, he kissed her before turning her around to face the foot of the bed. Sensing what he wanted, she grabbed the bed frame, spreading her legs for him while behind him, he removed his shirt. Reaching for her waist with one hand, the other began to tease her exposed nipple, causing it to harden. His cock bobbed between her legs as he pressed up against her, teasing her breasts. Finally, she could take no more, grabbing his manhood and guiding him into her.

There was a long, lingering moment, Donnegan relishing the long forgotten feeling of a woman’s heat before he drew back and thrust again. His movements were deliberately slow, careful but powerful, each thrust bringing him fully into her, the bed frame squeaking in time with their movements, Cait gasping each time Donnegan entered her. The hand Donnegan had kept on her waist slid forward, his fingers finding her clit and she screamed, flooding him with her juices and driving herself back against him even harder as she shuddered in orgasm.

Donnegan pulled out of the warm confines of her body but the woman who turned to face him was not the red haired madam Cait Morrow. She was taller, her skin was darker and her hair black and wavy. In place of Cait Morrow, Jeanne stood before him, the loose cotton chemise he’d last seen her in untied at the neck and pulled down below her shoulders, bearing her breasts to him. She moved close, kissing his chest, his neck, and finally his lips as he stood, frozen. Crossing her arms, she pulled the chemise over her head, revealing herself to him fully and Donnegan found himself loosing all control.

Picking Jeanne up in his arms, he carried her not to the bed of a madam, but to their wedding bed, the brothel suddenly their tiny house in Vicksburg and laid her down as she giggled at his show of masculine bravado. She parted her legs as he crawled into the bed, kissing her feet. Donnegan’s lips worked their way towards her most secret of places, kissing her ankles, her thighs, causing her to laugh uncontrollably as he kissed the backs of her knees. Finally, his lips met the petals of her sex, parting her pink lips and savouring the half remembered taste of her. To know her like this again nearly caused him to weep, remembering the parts of her that only he knew, the taste and the smell of her, the way she liked to be touched, the sound of her moans as she came.

Donnegan moved up the bed and Jeanne nudged him, making him roll onto his back. Languidly, she ran her hands up his chest and along his arms, stretching them above his head as she lowered herself onto him, taking control of their lovemaking. Her hips glided smoothly over him, a dancer’s hips, he thought, as he lay transfixed by her movement. The speed and ferocity of her thrusts increased, Donnegan thrusting up into her as she made a small, growling grunt each time he pushed into her depths. As he reached his limit, Donnegan looked into her eyes and found that the woman who rode atop him, the woman to whom he made love had changed again. His hot seed rushed not into Jeanne or Cait Morrow, but Miranda Cotton as she to reached the apex of her pleasure, slowing her gyrations, her muscles tightening on his cock, refusing to let go until both of them were spent and she fell, panting, against his chest.

Chapter Five

Donnegan woke to the sound of rain and a pained, distant cry. Slipping into his trousers, boots, and coat, not bothering with his shirt, he walked into the rain slick darkness. His blond hair fell around his face, soaked completely the moment he stepped out the door to Cotton’s small guest room, following the intermittent cries to the front of the two story building. Miranda, he presumed, had her rooms above while Cotton stayed downstairs with his workshop, the door to which hung open, blowing in the wind. Drawing the knife from his belt, Donnegan nudged the door open further with his foot, keeping to one side of the doorway in case anyone inside decided to shoot before stepping inside once he was sure the room was free of anyone who wished him harm.

Cotton lay on the floor, his wheelchair sideways beside him, wheels spinning listlessly in the breeze from outside. Blood covered his hands and the floor beneath him as he pressed against a wound in his gut. Donnegan put the knife away and went to his side.

“Wren?”

“Quiet, don’t strain yourself.” He peeled the mender’s hands away from the wound, a stab to the belly, explaining why Donnegan hadn’t heard gunfire from the back room. The wound was vicious, too vicious to easily survive. “Where’s Miranda?”

“Hayes,” Cotton groaned. It was all Donnegan needed. He spotted the Banshee rifle lying on the ground behind the fallen mender. “No,” murmured Cotton, sensing where his thoughts were headed, “no more blood on my head.” He fumbled for the keys at his belt. Donnegan brushed his hand away and removed them himself.

Standing, he went to the work bench, trying keys one by one in the locked drawer. Cotton groaned again and Donnegan dropped the keys in frustration. Grabbing the drawer at the bottom, he yanked, screaming, as hard as his strength would allow. Wood splintered, the drawer giving way as the wood handled revolver clattered to the ground, the tiny wren on the handle looking up at him, glinting in the moonlight. He reclaimed it, checking the cylinder and finding it still fully loaded before slipping it into the empty holster on his belt and returning to Cotton’s side.

“Small chance you’ll see morning. You’re smart enough to know that.” Cotton gave a weak nod.

“Go get my girl, Donnegan. Get her safe.” Donnegan rose. He had to admire the old man’s toughness and hoped he was the kind of man who’d make the same choice for his daughter if he’d had one. The wind had picked up outside, an angry hollow scream that whipped the rain into his eyes as he walked down the street to the Parched Siren. The saloon was empty, gas lights extinguished though by now his eyes had adjusted enough to find the stairwell near the bar.

After a moment’s urgent banging on her door, Cait Morrow rose, a few of her girls already peering out of their own rooms to see what the shirtless, sopping man in the hallway was about. She came to the door wearing a sheer, lacy robe that hid little if any of her body and certainly wasn’t there for sake of modesty.

“It’s a bit late in the evening for changing your mind,” she said, giving him a wry smile, “but all right.”

“I need help.”

I thought that’s what I was about to do.”

“The mender’s been stabbed. They’ve got Miranda.”

“Oh dear god, is he alive?”

“Barely.”

Cait pushed him out into the hallway, turning to two of the girls who’d stuck their heads out to see who’d stumbled his way to Cait’s door in the middle of the night.

“Alice, go fetch Doc Edward. Lucy, go stay with Cotton till Alice gets there with the Doc.” Both women rushed past him, obediently following Cait’s orders as she retreated into the room, not bothering to close the door as the sheer robe dropped from her shoulders leaving her completely nude. Donnegan’s imagination had gotten the room wrong, but all of her curves exactly right, watching as she pulled on a pair of fitted riding pants and a gingham shirt.

“Do you even own a horse?”

“No, but I own a saddle.” She pointed to where it hung on the wall, barely big enough for a small pony. “There’s a regular who likes me to put it on him.”

“Really?”

“Some folks have odd romantical notions. But he pays well and he’s polite. You know where we’re going?”

“I was hoping you’d have an idea.”

“Wynn’s daddy. He owns a slaughterhouse down by the stockyards. Built it completely mechanized, doesn’t take more than a few men to run it. He put a lot of men from the old place out of work when he built it but, lucky him, the Holy Engine showed up around the same time telling folks it’s all right, God meant for us to mechanize to ease our labours.”

“Sounds like the kind of man who makes his own luck.”

“He’s close with the preacher, that’s certain.”

“And a slaughterhouse is as good a place as any if you find yourself stuck with a body you don’t want.” He was, by now, already heading for the door. “We’ll need to go by the livery on the way.”

“Why.”

“I need my mule.”

Chapter Six

Frank Lundy fought the urge to scratch his broken nose as he looked out into the darkness, wishing he was inside with Allen and Wynn and the mender’s girl. The preacher had already said they weren’t to have their way with her but he’d just see what Grayson had to say about it. After all, hadn’t it been him she’d embarrassed, spitting on him like she had? And hadn’t he himself been the one to take the beating after? Reaching for the flask in his pocket, he unscrewed the cap and took another drink of rye, the pleasant burn on his tongue doing nothing to mellow his mood.

Somewhere in the night, a high loud braying broke through the sound of the storm outside. He squinted, trying to make out the figure approaching the great steel doors where the cattle were lead in during operation but to no avail. Taking up the rifle he’d left leaning against the wall and an electric lantern, he opened one of the twin doors, stepping outside for a better look.

“Who’s that commin’ out there?” Lundy shouted and was met with another bray. “I said who’s out there on the mule? You stop ridin’ or I’ll shoot!”

“It’s Crimson Cait, Frank, I got a peace offering.” As she neared, leading the mule by the reigns, Donnegan’s body slumped across its back, he could see how her soaked gingham shirt clung to her breasts, revealing every curve. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about preacher Hayes’ commandments after all.

“That’s far enough. You just send the mule on over here.” Cait stopped walking and the mule stopped with her until she slapped its backside and it wandered forward towards Lundy. Donnegan hung limply, bouncing with the mule’s every step until Lundy picked up the reigns himself and brought it to a halt. “How’d you get one over on him?” Lundy asked, keeping the rifle pointed in Cait’s direction, eyeing the pistol that protruded from her waistband.

“How do you think?” she shouted back, “now call Hayes and Grayson out here and lets make amends.”

“Why do you think I need anyone else out here?”

“We both know they’re the ones that get to say if the deal’s good.”

“Except I already got this old boy so you’ll have to find something else to bargain with!” Cait started to put her hands on her hips in frustration and Lundy levelled the rifle at her, thinking she was going for the pistol. A sudden feeling of dread took him as he felt the muzzle of Donnegan’s colt pressed into his belly.

“You people really must put your faith in some kind of god, leaving a man loaded up on laudanum and whiskey to keep watch.” Lundy looked down at the gun jammed in his gut, taking his eyes off Cait who took the opportunity to draw on him as well. “Lower the rifle,” ordered Donnegan.

Lundy did as he was told and Donnegan slid backwards off of the mule as Cait joined him, taking the rifle from Lundy’s hands.

“How many inside?” Cait demanded. Lundy looked from one to the other, then back again before beginning to laugh.

“You caught me with my pants down, good for you, but you are one real dumb whore if you think I’m gonna tell you anything. What are you gonna do, shoot a man that’s unarmed?” Cait and Donnegan looked at one another.

“He’s got a point,” Cait admitted.

“He does.” Lundy never saw the rifle butt until it was too late as Cait drove it into his broken nose with a crack. He went down hard and fast, clutching his face as he rolled on the ground. Cait stopped his squirming, putting her boot against his throat, the barrel of the rifle against his forehead. He clenched his teeth, breathing through his mouth as blood soaked the bandage that wrapped across his nose and around to one ear.

“You don’t get to use that word with me, Mr. Lundy. Now answer the question.”

Donnegan would have mistaken the rifle shot for the sound of thunder if not for the mud that splattered as the round struck the earth beside him. Both he and Cait made for the cover of the metal ramp leading up to the big cattle doors through which Lundy had come, one door still hanging open. Cait turned, firing in the direction from which the gunshot had come giving Donnegan time to stump his way over to her and cover.

“Lundy you idiot!” Donnegan didn’t recognize the voice and assumed it must be Allen, the third man from the saloon.

“Can you see him?”

“Top window, I think,” replied Cait, “far side.”

Lundy scrambled off the ground and headed for the open door, hands still clutching his bloody nose. Allen fired again, trying for Cait and Donnegan but instead, felled Lundy, his body falling before them, eyes glassy and staring into nothingness. Cait rose from behind Lundy’s body and fired three times in quick succession before Donnegan pulled her down again.

“Cait!”

“What?”

“Aim, then fire.”

“I only ever did this once and he was drunk at the time, okay?” Her breathing was rapid, adrenaline coursing through her. “Can you get inside if I cover you?”

“I’m not fast enough,” Donnegan admitted, “He’ll gun me down before I get there.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“And what, take on whatever’s on the other side of that door?” They both went silent, watching the upstairs window. After a long moment, Donnegan reached up, grabbing Lundy’s body by his coat and dragged him to the edge of the ramp.

“Rest your rifle up there.”

“What?”

“Rest it up there and aim for that window. He sticks his head out, you shoot. Don’t worry about me. Just aim, breathe, shoot, understand?” Cait nodded and Donnegan got to his feet.

“One...” Cait braced the barrel of the rifle on Lundy’s corpse and took aim as best she could, rain stinging her eyes.”Two... Three!” Donnegan set off at a loping run, keeping himself at a sharp enough angle from the building to force Allen to expose himself at the window if he wanted to have any chance at cutting him down.

Rifle thunder rolled again and Allen screamed as he came toppling out of the window, hitting the muddy ground with a wet thud.

“Good girl,” Donnegan breathed, too quiet for Cait to hear as he stopped running, “good girl.”

“Donnegan!” Cait called, lowering the rifle, “your leg!” Had she not called out to him, he wouldn’t have noticed the tear in his trouser leg where the bullet had grazed his wooden limb. He stumped his way back to the ramp, stopping to pick up Lundy’s electric lantern along the way.

“Stay here. Get yourself underneath the ramp. No one comes out this way but me or the Cotton girl.” Cait nodded and he started for the building.

“Wait!” She called, running up behind him. Grabbing the collar of his oilskin coat, she pulled him to her, forcing her mouth against his. They stood there in the rain, her tongue exploring his mouth, surprised but not unwilling until she broke their kiss.

“Sorry. Had to see what that was like in case you don’t come back.” She started back down the ramp and scrambled underneath as he turned back to the door.

“Hey.”

Donnegan looked over the railing at her, peering her head out from beneath.

“You should come back, all right?”

Inside the doors, Donnegan found himself in a wide, fenced chute. Following the chute would, presumably, lead him directly to the killing floor and whatever sharp and deadly machinery lay there to slaughter and process the cattle that were lead through. Lifting the electric lantern high, he found the gate along the right wall through which Lundy must have passed on his way outside. By now, anyone remaining within must have known that he was inside already leaving little use for subtlety. He decided instead, as he so often did, for intimidation.

“Grayson Wynn!” His voice sounded throughout the building and he wondered if whoever was there could not only hear him, but see him already as well. The vast complex of machinery that he could already see through the fences occupied most of the building would make firing a shot a dangerous prospect with a high risk of ricochet however so chances were they’d have to confront him head on.

“We can still walk away from here, Wynn. Just give up the girl.”

“How’s the old man?” Wynn called back, a sadistic mirth in his voice. “Is he done dying yet?”

“Old man’s just fine. Lucky for him you’re shit with a knife, boy.”

Wynn laughed.

“You don’t sound like someone who’s going to let me leave here.”

“I promised Cotton I wasn’t going to shed more blood than I had to. You’ll leave alive. Just a question of how many pieces you’ll be in when you do. Might make me look like a whole man compared to you.” Donnegan heard a heavy knife handle switch somewhere in the depths of the mechanical abattoir and the machinery of the killing floor churned to life. Amid the clanking, whirring, crashing sounds of the machinery, built with singular sanguine purpose, he considered his next move. The noise of the machines could only serve to cover the sound of Wynn’s own approach which meant he was putting himself on the attack, coming for Donnegan instead of waiting to be found.

Swinging the electric lantern by the handle, Donnegan cast it ahead of him into the darkness and retreated back into the small room from which Lundy had seen his approach. Something in the lantern cracked and sputtered as it landed causing it to flicker erratically. Moments later, as Donnegan had hoped, Wynn approached the light, a lightweight pistol in one hand, the hand ax he’d earlier had tucked into his belt in the other. He waited, watching from the shadows as the other man screamed with rage and kicked the lantern in his direction. Donnegan took no small pleasure in Wynn’s look of horror as the flickering light revealed him, pistol at the ready and pointed in his direction, then died a flickering, buzzing death.

Donnegan’s colt lit up the night for an instant, the smell of cordite mingling with the charnel smell of the slaughterhouse. Wynn’s gun hit the ground as he howled, his right arm hanging limp, the wound there ragged and ugly. Desperate and full of hate, he charged Donnegan with the ax, swinging wild but full of as much force as he could muster, striking him in the ribs with the butt instead of the blade, knocking him off balance. Instead of pressing his brief advantage, Wynn made for the cow chute leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Righting himself, Donnegan gave chase, nearly slipping more than once on the blood Wynn was swiftly losing. He was unlikely to have much more than whatever strength his hate gave him now, but as Donnegan entered the first of the slaughterhouse’s mechanized stations, a massive pneumatic bolt gun hanging from the ceiling, Wynn charged him again, screaming, flecks of spittle issuing from his mouth as he swung for Donnegan’s neck. Too late to move out of Wynn’s path, Donnegan instead yanked the bolt gun between them, pulling it down and driving it into Wynn’s pelvis as he did so.

If the gunshot wound in his arm had made him scream, words failed to capture the sound that followed the bolt gun’s pneumatic hiss and the crunch of bone audible over even the machinery of the slaughterhouse. Wynn squirmed, writhing in pain on the floor amid the muck and blood the two of them had tracked about trying desperately to crawl backwards away from Donnegan as he picked up the hand ax and tucked it behind his back.

“Your daddy ain’t here to buy your way out of trouble, so before you start blubbering you need to remember that. Now I’m going to give you one chance to answer. Where’s the girl.”

“Or what? You said you wouldn’t kill me, old man.”

“I did that,” Donnegan acknowledged, “stupid of me. I ain’t used to lettin’ people live on principle though, and I didn’t promise I wouldn’t just let you die.” He prodded Wynn’s hip with his boot and Wynn screamed himself hoarse with pain. He hoped beyond hope that the preacher, still somewhere in the building could hear it and that it gave him pause.

“You won’t ever walk right again. Nothing to be done about that. But you won’t last long enough to lament it if that arm’s not bound. I can do that for you. Might be you make it past morning. Where. Is. Miranda Cotton?”

“She’s in the cold storage room, you fucker!” Wynn squealed. “Now bind me up!” Donnegan turned and started to walk away, back towards the chute.

“Bind me up! You said you would!”

“I make it back, I will. Best hope you told me straight and your preacher’s sensible.”

Donnegan returned through the chute gate, back through the little room and down the darkened hallway from which Wynn had attacked him. Nearing its end, he came to an open metal stairwell leading downward to a lower portion of the killing floor. Not far from it, a ladder fixed to the wall ascended to a catwalk above where Allen had stationed himself before. Moonlight streamed in through the broken window and he wondered if the storm had at last passed.

A wide sloped hall waited at the bottom of the stairs leading to the lowest part of the building, several feet below ground. The insulation of the earth around it coupled with the modern gas cooled refrigeration system in the cold storage room allowed for the preservation of beef until it could be put onto rail cars and taken across the country. He found the preacher outside the heavy insulated door to the cold room, kneeling, hands clasped in prayer.

“I see the wolves within my flock have failed in their duties,” Hayes said at his approach, not looking up.

“Looks that way.”

“Coming to blows with a man of God would be sinful, son.”

“Preacher, God and me got plenty to have a reckoning over, but knocking the hell out of you ain’t one of those things.” Hayes stood, facing him, brushing the dirt from his knees with one hand.

“In that case, there’s plenty of money here for us both. Wynn’s flush with more cash than he’ll ever be able to spend.”

“Figured it’d come to that, sooner or later.”

“Doesn’t it always?”

“Wynn goes for mechanization and the Holy Engine keeps the folks he forces out quiet and peaceable by telling them it’s God’s will that they be put out of work and that the real reason for their troubles is all them new kinds of sinners you bring forth.”

“Oh, he hires them back,” Hayes assured him, “Down at the mines instead.”

“Where there’s twice the danger and half the pay and the company owns everything about you.

There even a real church back East?”

“There is.”

“First surprise I’ve had all night.”

Hayes smiled.

“You understand of course that if you kill me, my people will come for you. You’ll have half the town howling for your blood.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on killing you then.”

“I don’t see as you’ve got much choice, but I’m willing to hear you out.”

“You walk away from here.” Donnegan told him.

“That’s it?”

“You don’t come back. Leave these people to sort out their own problems.”

“These people...”

“These people,” Donnegan interrupted, “don’t have any use for you. The can stand or fall on their own.”

“Son.”

“Hmm?”

“Afraid I can’t take you up on your offer.” Steel flashed as Hayes revealed the palmed Derringer and fired. Donnegan’s knife was nearly as fast and more accurate by far as it left the sheathe at his belt and wound up lodged to the hilt in the meat of Hayes’ shoulder. The Derringer fell to the ground and Donnegan kicked it away.

“I’ll give you a moment to think it over” Hayes winced as Donnegan shoved him out of the way, opening the cold storage room. There, hanging among the frozen beef was Miranda Cotton, her hands bound above her head to a steel hook. Her body shivered uncontrollably, her eyes barely recognizing his presence as he lifted her up, off of the hook, letting her slump over his shoulder.

Hayes was struggling to pull the knife from his shoulder as they passed and Donnegan let him fight with it as he took Miranda to the stairwell. A moment later, he returned and drove Hayes to the ground with a fist to the gut.

“New offer.” Donnegan yanked the knife from Hayes’ body with one hard pull. Unlike Wynn, Hayes’ reaction to the pain was not to cry out, but to clench his jaw tight. “Come dawn, either this town’s going to be less one preacher or this preacher’s going to be less one arm. Best decide fast. Cuttin’ on a man’s long, slow work and dawn comes fast. I’d just as soon get started.” Donnegan gave Hayes a silent three count and was ready to go for him again, but Hayes waved him off and with a laboured grunt lurched to his feet. He began to walk, haltingly, using the wall to brace himself against each time he faltered until he disappeared around the corner, passing Miranda on the stairs where she sat slumped against the railing.

Cait had him in her sights moments later as he staggered down the ramp and out into the dark, ready to pull the trigger when Donnegan called out.

“Let him go, Cait.” He stood, Miranda’s arm around his neck, his around her waist, keeping her upright. Aside from her body temperature and the numbness in her arms from being suspended, she appeared physically little worse for wear, merely exhausted.

“You’re going to let him live,” Cait questioned.

“That’s between him and god. Next town’s two days ride from here, wilderness all the way. If he’s clever enough to follow the rail line, he’ll get there in three. Question is whether the wolves or the mountain lions get him before that. Help me with her.” He passed custody of Miranda over her and started back inside to make sure someone found Grayson Wynn alive the next morning.

Chapter Seven

By the time they returned to town, dawn was visible on the horizon. The storm had left in its wake a cool, wet odor in the air and the town seemed to have awakened earlier than usual. Cotton had been moved during the night to the doctor’s office, tended to by Doctor Edwards and Alice. His chances of survival were still scarce at best but for the moment, he was alive. He woke not long after Donnegan had arrived.

“Miranda?”

“At home. Asleep.” Cotton said nothing and Donnegan thought he might have passed out again.

“Take her out of here.,” he said, opening his rheumy eyes. “Sheriff won’t do anything to us, but Wynn’s daddy isn’t one to let a thing go.”

“I can’t,” Donnegan replied flatly. “Staying with me... she’d be in for a worse kind of hell than what she’d face here.”

“You don’t know Jefferson Wynn.”

“No, but I know Cole Hauser, and I know what he’d do if it meant getting to me.” Cotton began to cough uncontrollably, violently. Alice, still dressed in her night clothes brought a porcelain pan over to him and he hocked phlegm and blood and spit into it, then fell back against the bed.

“What do you mean to do, then?” He croaked.

“I mean to live, old man. Just a question of how long I get away with it.”

He found Miranda at Cotton’s workbench when he returned, sifting through the strewn pieces of his mechanical leg, trying to work out how they fit together. Her shirtsleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her ankle length skirt likewise tied on either side, raising it to her knees. Sweat beaded on her furrowed brow and between her breasts. She did not notice him as he stood in the doorway and he was about to leave when he heard the bellows box ratchet behind him.

“He’s dying, isn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. He decided then to trust her to handle the truth of it.

“Most like, yes. You should be with him, not here. Not with this.” He gestured towards the mechanical leg.

“You had a deal. Three days.”

“He wants me to get you out of town, away from reprisal.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then I need to finish it before you leave, don’t I?”

“I’m not leaving.” At this, she finally turned to look at him. “There are harder men than me coming soon and they don’t mean to leave here with me still breathing. I mean to let them come.”

“That’s why you needed this done.”

“I hadn’t planned to face them before.”

“What changed your mind?”

Donnegan turned to the door again, not answering. Behind him, she pulled the box’s lever again.

“What changed your mind?”

Donnegan sighed.

“Stay away from me when they come. Reckoning’s mine to have, understand?” With that, he returned to his room to make his peace with what was to come leaving Miranda alone.

Almost immediately he heard her begin her labours anew and the sound of her continued frustration kept him from his hoped for quietude. He knew that in this hour, he should if anything be anxious and on edge about what tomorrow was likely to bring but the only worry that he felt was for the girl trying so desperately to help him, to make him whole enough for a real fight while her father lay even now in his own fight with death’s grim shadow, neither of them a fight either man expected to win. It was well into the night when she finally relented and the noise ceased at last.

Chapter Eight

Miranda lay down her father’s tools and wiped the sweat from her face, her eyes and fingers aching from the delicate work. That the hope of a man so hardened could rely on a machine so intricate and fine was perplexing. She hadn’t been there when Cotton had taken it apart and as he’d said the first time he’d seen it, pieces of its like were few and far between, so she’d been forced to go on intuition and no small amount of guesswork to reassemble it. And all the while, her thoughts returned to him. How she’d told him not to to help her and how he’d come for her anyway. How would he spend his last day? Back at the saloon? In the brothel with Cait Morrow? Cait, who’d come with him to rescue her. Who’d made sure her father was taken care of, maybe even saved his life along with hers. She felt an unexpected pang of jealousy and her face flushed.

She flexed her fingers one by one and stood.

Miranda needed a drink.

The saloon was far less busy than it should have been when she arrived. Word of the previous day’s events had apparently gotten around as all but the most regular customers were staying away. Already it seemed to Miranda as if it were in the distant past. The disassembled phonograph and ruined kinetoscope had been moved to the far corner and the mood without the raucous sound of music was dour. Cait Morrow, dressed more conservatively than Miranda had ever seen her descended the stairs and approached her as she entered.

“How is he?” Cait asked going behind the bar and pouring for both of them from her private stock.

“I thought he’d be here with you.” Cait stared at her for a moment before her error dawned on her. “You were talking about my father.”

“You weren’t.” Cait put the bottle down between them and picked up her glass. “He wouldn’t have me, you know.” Miranda gave her a small smile.

“More fool him.”

“Indeed.” She knew the look that haunted Miranda’s face, even while she smiled at her. She’d worn much the same look since they’d parted ways on returning. “You’re worried about him. Donnegan, I mean.”

“He’s infuriating.”

“So are you, at times.”

“He’s like a child.”

“He’s hurt, Miranda, damaged. But he’s not broken, I don’t think.”

“Then why does he act like he’s already dead?”

“Perhaps he’s simply needs to be mended.”

Chapter Nine

Even with the silence that had fallen in the workshop on the other side of the wall, Donnegan found that he could not rest. Instead, he resorted first to cleaning his knife properly which he otherwise would have chastised himself for neglecting. He wiped the dried blood from the steel blade before it had a chance to encourage corrosion and sharpened it diligently. When that was finished, he turned to his colt, brushing out the cylinders and the barrel and oiling the metal parts. Even after this meticulous set of jobs, he found himself restless and he looked at himself now in the dirty mirror. He should have been out howling at the moon one last time. He should have been running like hell, as far and as fast as he could. So why did the thought of it leave a sour taste in his mouth?

Plunging a hand into the cold water in the wash basin, he ran it through his blond hair, across his face, and down to the paired rings that hung from the chain around his neck. A second, more delicate one joined it there, reaching around him even as the other wrapped around his waist. He hadn’t heard her enter, it seemed as if he never did and for a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming again as Miranda gently kissed his back and shoulders and neck. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips before turning to face her. She had loosed her braid and her long black hair framed her face as she looked up at him. For the first time, when she looked at him, he saw not bold defiance, but relief. Peace.

She smiled as she led him to the bed before unbuttoning her linen shirt and straddling him. Her breasts were small, her body almost boyish yet there was nothing either frail or unwomanly about her. She descended on him, her nipples rubbing against his chest as she trailed delicate kisses from his neck to his cheek and finally to his lips. His hands gripped her waist, running up her sides and she shuddered, kissing him harder as they made their way to her breasts. His thumbs touched her nipples and she pressed down against him reflexively, her thighs gripping his legs tight. Her hand reached between them, working at his belt, their lips never parting. She raised herself up, allowing Donnegan enough room to remove his trousers and hiking up her skirt to reveal her lack of under-things. Lowering herself once more, the lips of her sex all but kissed his manhood, running along its length, up to the purple head and down again to his balls. She did this, teasing him once, twice, and on the third time, grabbed his cock and took it inside her.

They both sighed and Miranda closed her eyes as she began to ride him, her hips swaying in a steady rhythm as she rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. She placed her hands on his chest, increasing her speed even as his own went to her hips, driving her down harder and faster until her face clenched in a silent scream and she flooded him with her juices. Pulling out of her, he turned on his side and she followed suit, facing away from him as guided himself back into her. They lay there together, their breathing slowing, Donnegan’s thrusts deep and deliberate and almost gentle until he at last spent himself inside her. Still they did not part, but fell asleep, his arm around her waist, his manhood softening before falling out of her into the cool night air.

Chapter Ten

Cole Hauser walked the early morning streets of town from the train station, much of the day’s business not yet begun. He found Donnegan sitting outside the saloon, drinking coffee and was surprised when he hailed him.

“Cole.”

“Wren.”

“You’re later than I thought you’d be.”

“Yeah, well, Rathburn got the crotch lice from some whore when we went to toast my brother’s passing. Had to wait till morning so he could find a doctor. Otherwise we’d have to listen to him bitch about it the entire way.”

“Poor Rat.”

“I told him not to go with that one but he don’t listen. Also someone burnt the only bridge across the James for fifty miles when he went through.” Donnegan continued drinking his coffee, steam curling from inside the mug. “Made it so we had to give up the horses and take the train into town. I liked that horse too.”

“You stole that horse.”

“Only cause I liked it so much.”

“You gonna make this fair fight?” Donnegan finally asked.

“Shit no,” replied Cole.

“Haven’t really got a reason to do this you know. We could each just let the other one live.”

“You killed my brother, Wren.”

“Quentin was a maniac who put a little girl to the noose cause he thought her daddy was holding out on him.”

“You ain’t wrong,” Cole admitted, “but blood’s blood, you know that.” Donnegan said nothing, holding his coffee with both hands, staring into its depths as if trying to divine a way out. “Quentin was wrong, by the by. They didn’t have no money. Found that out after we went back to kill the girl and her daddy.”

“Cole.”

“Yep.”

“I was wrong when I said I’d let you live.” Donnegan hurled the scalding cup of coffee into Cole’s face and drew his pistol, firing wild as he made for the bat wing doors of the saloon. Cole howled like a wildcat and fired back blindly, his free hand trying to wipe the hot liquid from his eyes.

Dabney Bowles was already inside the saloon waiting for him, having circled around through the back while he talked with Cole. His paired Remingtons fired and Donnegan fired back, scrambling for cover behind the bar. He crouched there, trying to slow his breathing. In the mirror above the bar, he could see Bowles approaching. In a moment, Bowles would be able to see him as well. Seizing his chance, Donnegan broke cover, rose, and fired. Bowles dropped his pistols and clutched the whistling hole in his throat, grasping at it as if he were trying to force the blood back inside. Seconds later, he was dead.

Donnegan made his way to the back of the saloon, intending to leave the way Dabney had come but a sudden shot as he opened the door let him know it wasn’t an option. Quentin’s filthy whipping boy, Rathburn was waiting outside. He supposed that Cole had now inherited his brother’s toy. Out in the main room, he could hear the sound of Cole Hauser’s boots and knew he’d been penned in.

“Wren, you’re through, son, you know that,” Cole called and Donnegan knew he was right. He could try to shoot his way out, but both men would have their own guns trained on the doors and Rathburn was probably already on his way from wherever he’d secreted himself to keep watch on the back door to the saloon. His fight was over.

“All right, Cole, I’m done,” Donnegan shouted.

“Damn right you’re done,” replied Cole, entering the room and stripping him of his gun. Only a second later, the back door opened and Rathburn showed his greasy face.

“Lemmie shoot him,” Rathburn insisted.

“Cole, if we were ever friends, for the love of god, do not let it be said that I was killed by the likes of Ed Rathburn.” Cole laughed and Rathburn looked as if Donnegan had wounded him.

“I’d wanted to kill you myself, but go ahead, Rat, he’s all yours.” Rathburn cocked his pistol. A low theremin buzz filled the street followed by the sound of thunder and a great cloud of dust as Rathburn’s chest collapsed in on itself with a twisting crack of bone. His eyes were wide as he fell to the ground.

“What the fucking hell is that?”

Donnegan laughed and got to his knees, putting his hands over his head as he lowered it to the ground.

“All the angels in their heaven, and all the devils out of hell.” Cole Hauser never heard him finish as Miranda came around the door and the Banshee screamed again, his skull crushed inside his skin by the terrible wave of sound, his head almost seeming to deflate as he fell.

“Sometimes, you’re a spectacularly handsome idiot, you know.” Miranda took off her dirt caked goggles and offered him her hand.

“Spectacularly handsome?”

“Idiot.” Standing the Banshee against the wall, she unslung the brass parcel strapped across her back and handed it to him.

“You finished it?”

“Last night. I was going to tell you in the morning but you were gone.” Donnegan smiled.

“Spectacular idiot.”

“What now?” She asked.

“North.”

“North? That’s your plan?”

“The law’ll be here for me sooner or later and Canada’s supposed to be nice. Mountains full of gold up there and miners bring plenty of work for a good mender, knows what she’s doing. You could come with me.”

Miranda leaned up and kissed him. “North.”

The very next morning, they rode.

Auntie Midnight

Senta Holland

I met the old man on the mountain path, sitting on a rock with the mist rising behind him, as if he had been waiting for me.

I was late returning from a visit to my fiancée that day, and I hurried along the dreadful Cliff of Knives, I didn’t want to be caught there by darkness. Everybody knows that this is the place where the Girls-That-Never-Should-Have-Been are taken, so that they don’t become a burden on the village.

Their bodies disappear quickly, and when I was younger we boys often speculated about the gruesome nature of this disappearance, but their ghosts linger on, vengeful and greedy for the life we have deprived them of.

There were many reports of those ghosts appearing from the rocks just underneath the path at dusk, and sometimes it was worse than that. My own Uncle Long Hook disappeared here one night. So I walked as fast as I could, trying not to look anywhere but my own feet, but keenly aware of what I could not see. I wished now that I had left the house of my fiancée’s family earlier, but I wasn’t really in a position to insist. Winter Plum was only my fiancée because her brother had run away to follow the iron paths to the new cities, and the family was looking for a marry-in son-in-law for their only daughter. I would have to take their family name, but my marriage would bring a lot of honour and prestige to my parents, and younger brothers. We also didn’t have any sisters to support, a fact which was welcomed by my future in-laws but which made me hurry even more.

I was telling myself I was a lucky boy (particularly considering that I had already failed twice to do my duty in other ways), and that it was only half an hour to the village, when I saw a shadowy shape sitting on that rock.

I stopped. Foolish, but I couldn’t help myself. The shadow turned towards me, and I relaxed a little. Whoever this was, ghost or alive, at least it was a man.

He wore a dark cloak, and a long grey beard.

“Well met, stranger”, he said, and raised his bamboo stick in greeting. How old would he be? Sixty at least, maybe older. I was cautious with old men, but not afraid. Old men are just men, while old women are vicious.

“And you too”, I said politely. “Have you come a long way?”

“Oh yes”, he said. “The longest. But my journey is almost at an end.”

Now I was in a pickle. I knew I should invite him to the village, but I didn’t want to. We would have to entertain him and feed him. On the other hand I couldn’t very well say no if he asked.

“Are you travelling on tonight, Uncle?” I said reluctantly.

“No, I don’t think so”, he said. “But I believe you are...”

I thought I could hear a strange noise reverberating across the mountains, like a remote thunder.

“I am only going home to my village”, I answered. “from the house of my fiancée, the lovely Winter Plum”.

“Are you looking forward to your wedding?” he said.

“Yes”, I said. “I am looking forward to becoming a real man.”

“Oh well”, said the old man, looking up at something behind me, “is that what you want? In that case, you may be in luck tonight...”

The noise grew louder, and as I turned I could see a dark shape rising over the cliff top, something that was definitely not a shadow, though it might still be a ghost, but of enormous proportions.

In the fading light, it looked like a conglomeration of strangely shaped buildings, roofs and walls and crooked windows all huddled together on top of the wide, ugly bow of a floating ship.

A floating ship!

My heart threatened to stop. A floating ship! It was unnatural. The spirits of the dead are said to travel in a ship, at least according to my Auntie Vinegar. But that’s a narrow boat, crossing a lake.

The ship came closer, and the noise increased. Steam rose from the chimneys of the huddled houses, and there was a strong smell of something burning.

It seemed a strange getup for the dead who are said to prefer silence but what did I know? I’d never been dead before. and I wasn’t dead yet...

The old man said nothing but looked away. The floating ship hovered in front of me, only a few feet away. Looking at it, it did remind me of something I had seen before. Too late, I decided to run. The old man stuck his stick out and tripped me up. I didn’t even make it to the ground - a large black net closed around me and I was lifted up into the air like a fish out of the water. Helplessly struggling against my fate.

***

All I could see was a foot. A foot that kicked me, repeatedly, until it succeeded in rolling me over, tightly bound by the ropes of the net I had been caught in.

“Welcome aboard”, a voice said, and laughed. It belonged to one of three very grimy girls who were standing above me, looking down. I had never seen anything like this before. Girls are clean! Winter Plum would have fainted at the very thought.

The second girl squatted down, like a fisherman checking his catch. She experimentally squeezed my muscles, here and there.

“This one’s going to need a lot of work”, she said.

The third one hitched up her grimy pants and came down on all fours. She lowered her body and slowly rubbed it against mine. I could feel her hips and breasts through her clothes and I am sure she could feel me, too.

Although my actual experience has necessarily been limited (I wished so much that I could see Winter Plum without her relatives, never mind without her clothes), I am, most times, perfectly ready to go and the close presence of these girls hardened my shaft. I still didn’t know what they wanted from me, but I knew what I wanted from them. I had no idea where I was and I should have been mortally afraid - but the truth is that other matters overtook my mind right then - and even more so my body. I told myself I could always be afraid later.

The girls gave another laugh, not altogether friendly, and dragged me off along the floor, still in my net, and deeper into the bowels of the floating ship.

The ropes cut into my flesh and my shirt was crumpled up to my shoulders. This part of the floating ship was a dark, noisy place whose walls reverberated with a mighty beat of something big and caged. The girls moved without shame and without grace, like men, and I could see they had strong muscles under those boyish outfits.

All the girls I had seen before were slender and frail. Girls can not work and can not do much of anything except sit and smile. This is why only a family as wealthy as Winter Plum’s can afford one of them. Other families, who kept their Girls-That-Never-Should-Have-Been out of weakness and sentimentality have been destroyed or at least lost all their possessions to uselessness and dowry.

Even the village fox lady who in a sense did work for a living was thin and when I embraced her, as all the young and not-so-young men in the village have done at some time, she never did anything active, just let me mount her, as quickly as possible, her limbs soft and yielding, her movements kept to a minimum.

These girls were very different.

They pushed me down onto the vibrating floor, right into the filthy layer of grease that seemed to stick to every surface, and then they jumped onto me without another word.

Well, that’s actually not quite true, they did talk, rather loudly, but not to me. Instead, they shouted to each other, commenting on my body and my responses, comparing me to other men they had taken before, and taken possession of.

“Nice abs”, “pert bottom, let’s see what happens when...” and, turning me on my front again with that sharp, kicking foot, the first girl hit me, once, twice, three times, with a thin, strong bamboo stick. It stung and I tried to wiggle away but the other girls laughed uproariously and held me firm inside my net, one sitting on my feet and the other one sliding underneath me from the other side, squeezing my head between her thighs. And that was a great place to be, I discovered. So when my body lurched involuntarily under the bamboo stick, I did my best to stay still, because on no account did I want to lose that wondrous closeness of the third girl’s thin pants to my face, and her lower lips unfolding just underneath them.

Every time my body jerked in response to the hot, burning strokes, the girls laughed. The third girl slowly peeled her pants down until she was naked. I could see her purple orchid in all its glory. I started to smell her juices.

The beating got harder and faster. My ass burned. Then she started to hit me in the same place twice, a precise, sharp cut...I couldn’t help it, I started to scream. The girl who sat on my feet told me to scream louder. I needed no encouragement. The third girl gripped my hair and raised my head until she could stare at me.

“Lick”, she said. Then pushed me down again.

Now, I had never done this. I had heard of it, certainly. Men making dirty jokes behind the fox lady’s house, never about themselves, of course, but about stories they had heard, from a distant cousin, from those who ran away to the big city. Our fox lady would never dream of letting anyone lick her lower lips, even touching her there cost extra (and I did invest in it once or twice, she was just so deliciously soft and secret...). Back in the village, I might have hesitated even now. Not because I didn’t want to (oh no! I wanted to, believe me!) - but because it was like crossing into a forbidden realm where people lived in stories. Dirty stories. Well, and hadn’t that happened already?

Girls number one and two held me down firmly, and gave me a few more strokes of encouragement with that vicious thin cane. My shaft responded with an intense, almost painful but also highly lustful tug, my buttocks strained against the net I was still caught in. The forbidden scent of the third girl’s purple orchid filled my nostrils. It flooded my brain.

Besides, it was a little late to worry about being dirty. I was already covered in grime from head to foot. My pants were somewhere around my ankles, and my shirt rolled up around my collarbone. The first girl gave me an extra hard stroke across my hips. My body rose as if to meet the stick. I yelped and my pelvis contracted. The second girl leaned over and put her weight on my thighs. I could feel my hot member straining under us.

So I licked.

The girl had firm, wide outer lips. My tongue tried to explore everything at once but the girl leaned over, pulled my hair and barked directions at me.

I did my best. I learned that there were certain ways of licking, and sucking my way towards the stem of her Lily and I realized how much more I had to learn.

When she was finished with me, I was rolled on my back again. I groaned as my bottom, sore with welts, slid along the grimy ground but forgot it all when the second girl descended on me, took my hard cock in her hand, and roughly pushed it inside her. She squeezed herself around it and started to ride me like we ride our tough little horses. And, like a good little horse, I responded to a good, harsh rider. With all my strength and with a lot of enthusiasm.

I knew I wanted it to last. Most definitely. The girl was controlling my thrusts, which was just as well since, left to my own devices, I would have spent myself far too quickly. Every time I rose, I could feel her strong muscles control my progress inside her, and every time she pushed me to the floor I felt my sorely beaten bottom scrape along the iron surface. The pain made me want to rise again, but I only could when she would let me.

My mouth still tasted of the inner lips of the third girl.

When I finally couldn’t hold on any more, I had the biggest orgasm of my life. Well, my life up to then...

The girls left me, but not before they had tied me firmly to a steel girder. Of course, since we were on a floating ship, there was no way I could escape. But I suppose it was convenient for them, because they came back a little later, when I had recovered my strength, and this time the first girl was able to use me for her pleasure. She was the strongest and tallest of them, taller than many men, and she laughed and shouted and waved her arms in the air as she fucked me, sitting in my lap, pushing me against the wall.

***

I don’t know how long I spent in the bow of the ship, because there were no windows to tell the time by, and I didn’t know how long they let me sleep. But when I woke, I realized that, if we had been moving all the time (and there was no reason to suppose otherwise), we must now be a long way from the village. And even further away from Winter Plum and my old life.

Who were these girls? They must be demons, or maybe those fabled foreigners that had come to the Middle Kingdom. I was captured, and barely comfortable, but I was strangely unafraid. Besides, what can’t be helped can’t be helped. I had heard our aunties and uncles say so many times.

And then of course the was little time for speculation, because they put me to work. Oh, yes, work, and plenty of it.

I was led, by my rope, to a wash-room, and then down an even dirtier corridor where the noise increased to a level that swallowed even the laughter of those girls.

Down, down we went until we arrived in a big hall made of iron, where naked men stood in a row, shovelling coal into big mouths of fire.

I did feel fear spiking my heart then, and ripping the breath out of my chest.

Were these finally the greedy mouths of hell? They could be. The girls who had beaten me and fucked me in ways that no respectable man should ever be fucked (and of course no man should ever BE fucked, he should do all the fucking necessary and proud to do so) (and yet I could not stop my shaft from twitching in excited remembrance of those unthinkable acts I had experienced) could really only be demons or ghosts. But then one of them touched my thigh and I thought to myself, well, if I am to be fed to the mouths of hell, at least I have tasted what the world of the living can bestow. Literally.

But it seemed it was not my time.

I was led to one of the gaping, fiery mouths, my rope was exchanged for a heavy, but not uncomfortable chain on my leg that gave me plenty of room to move, and then the guy next to me, who looked at least ten years older, pressed a shovel into my hand and, so to speak, proceeded to show me the ropes.

And that became my life then for a long time.

During long, hot shifts, I worked feeding the fiery mouths, naked, together with the other men, and I got to know them well, both the mouths and the men. The mouths, whatever they were, seemed like living beings, or at least if not living, then beings of hell animated by some otherworldly power that I could not even guess at. They sighed, and they sputtered, they gave off big roars of power and they whispered like tired children when they had not been fed enough and were dying down, deep red and exhausted.

***

The men were of all ages, naked and well-muscled. I could tell that they must be from different parts of the country. I never got to know all that much about them since the noise in the hall of the fiery mouths was so loud that I could not have heard what they said, even if we had been allowed to speak to each other which we were not, a rule which was enforced by a long whip wielded by one of the girls in charge, sometimes because one of us made a move towards the next guy, and sometimes just in case...

The girls, by the way, were different girls all the time. I suppose, just like us, they must have been working on some kind of shift system, but I did recognize the original three who had caught me now and then. I tried to catch their eyes but they never acknowledged me.

We slept all separately in different nooks and alcoves of the ship’s belly, never the same one in a row, on mats that were a lot softer than the ones I had been used to in the village, even in my fiancée’s house, and ate a lot of nourishing food. The wash rooms were, to my mind, absolutely luxurious.

Before and after the shifts we were exercised by groups of girls, both in the ways of vigorous sex and by performing a workout designed to strengthen those muscles that were not used enough while shovelling coal into the fiery mouths. Of course, in those exercises the girls found much to correct, usually with a bamboo stick, which made me perfect my posture and then led to more exercise of the erotic kind. Those girls just loved to fuck me after giving me a good beating. And, to be truthful, over time I started get hard and excited when I felt my hot and bruised ass slide across the sooty metal floor and wanted nothing more than to be held down and ridden like a horse by a strong, grimy girl with wild hair.

Well, unless perhaps it was licking another girl’s purple orchid... Sometimes I also heard other guys cry out from the neighbouring alcoves, both in pleasure and in pain. The next shift we could all see the new welts and bruises by those who had had a good time. At first I thought a lot about Winter Plum and felt guilty about letting my parents (and her parents!) down when I didn’t return and when there was no wedding, but slowly my mind focused on the world I lived in now and their memory receded into the distance. Who knew where in the world we were right now? If indeed we were still in and of this world, which I doubted more and more but cared about less and less.

Sometimes there were shifts when the fires went down, and when we were told to replenish the coal just enough to keep them from dying. This must have been when the ship was moored somewhere, although I never discovered was going on. But soon afterwards, new girls started to appear, and I could tell that they were not yet used to the ways of the ship, not so strong and bold, although they were very soon just as grimy. We all were.

After some time I also discovered that there were a group of senior officers who really ran the ship. Some of them were engineers who understood the machinery and directed occasional repair parties that took us deeper into the pipe system and once or twice even up to the deck, just below the huddle of crooked houses. Those were the only times when I saw the sun, although even then we were surrounded by a white mist that I was told later by the girls was actually the inside of a cloud. Only once was I on deck in a work party when the weather was clear and I could see the world spread out like a picture below me, mountains and rivers and lakes and tiny red and white shapes that I realized must be houses and villages. That was when I changed my mind again. Although I had no idea where we were, we were clearly not in hell yet.

Those officers generally wore voluminous garments and only spoke to the girls, never to us directly. They were a lot cleaner because they lived up in the crooked houses from which they descended to our level only if it was unavoidable. I thought that maybe they were using the girls the way the girls were using us, it would have made sense. I suddenly realized that this was how our village had worked, too, all the time. Those who could used those who couldn’t help being used.

The officers usually kept their distance from us guys. It took some strenuous work on an exhaust pipe, and the very real danger of explosion which meant that we all had to lend a hand, even the officer in charge, for me to get a good look at one of their faces and realize that it looked very familiar. For days I was puzzled, mulling it over while feeding the fiery mouths. But in the end I realized that it was because I had of course assumed that the officers must be men that it took me so long to put two and two together. But this particular officer was one of the girls who had caught me! And not only was she a girl, she was a girl who had found good fortune and advancement. I thought I could no longer be surprised but I was wrong. Maybe we were in hell after all.

When my head stopped spinning I looked around. Maybe some of the other officers were women, too?

It took me a while to find out but - they all were. Sometimes, one or two of the more senior girls would disappear from our orbit and I now knew where they went. Sometimes one or two of the guys also disappeared but I never saw them promoted. Something else must be happening to them but I felt it might be wiser not to think about it.

***

And then, one day, I was declared “ready”. The girls stood around me in a circle and nodded at each other. Yes, yes, this one is ready. They didn’t tell me for what, but I bowed my head and agreed. What else could I do?

Fear came back for a visit, but I showed her the door. What had fear ever done for me? What can’t be helped can’t be helped, I thought, and relaxed.

I was taken up to the ship’s deck, and a troupe of girls washed me down, and scrubbed me down, and towelled me down again, and anything else down that my skin would take. I was a lot cleaner than they were when we were finished. Then I was given some pants and a shirt. Nice soft material, the kind Winter Plum (who was surely married by now to someone else) would have worn, but it felt very odd after being naked for such a long time.

The ship was high in the clouds that day, and rising. Maybe I would see what was above the clouds, I thought, but no such luck. A senior officer came and motioned me to follow.

I also thought I might see the inside of the crooked houses, but we just kept climbing steep stairs, and even I had to hold on for balance because they swayed wildly from left to right. I couldn’t believe it was possible to climb so high on that ship, but finally we came to a large door. The officer made me wait outside, then she returned. motioned me in and left.

The room was huge, and surrounded by windows - outside the sky was blue and I could indeed see the tops of the clouds. They rose in wild shapes unrestrained by gravity (although I am from a village, I know many paper facts, because I spent a large part of my youth preparing for the entrance exam to the National College of Administration, taking it twice and failing it twice, bringing shame on my family) and therefore could expand in any direction, upside down, sideways up, top heavy, bottom wide, anything. Some people in the village believed that heaven was up here but they were in for a surprise. The ship was here, too.

“Once again”, said a deep voice, “I am outshone by the sky.”

I turned, expecting someone to take action and pull me in line, but nothing happened.

The room was darker than the day outside, so my eyes had to adjust. Then I could see, among many cushions, miniature sculptures and drapes, a large bed with a silk curtain around it. That’s where the voice came from.

“Do come closer”, said the voice. It was so deep that this time I was sure I had finally come to the man in charge. To be frank, I had never met anyone who sounded that grand, not even the Main Proctor of the Exam.

“Thank you”, I said.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No”, I answered truthfully.

“No idea? No idea after all this time?” The voice sounded faintly teasing.

“Well”, I said, “I don’t know if...”

“You can be honest”, the voice said. “I quite enjoy it, honesty. Not much in fashion where you come from. Come and speak.”

I came closer and stood next to the bed. There was a faint shadow moving behind the curtain.

“Well”, I said, “to be honest, at first I thought I had been dragged into the world of ghosts. I thought that those girls, the girls who first caught me, and what they did to me - I thought they must be the ghosts of those Girls-That-Should-Never-Have-Been.”

“And now you have changed your mind?” said the voice, and I thought I heard some amusement in it.

“Well”, I said, “now it seems that this is all real, different perhaps, but real.”

“What did you see that makes you think that?”

“The iron, and the girls’ bodies, and the coal and the fiery mouths”, I said. “I have heard of ships that run on big rails along the ground, and I know times are changing...”

“Yes, the girls” bodies”, said the voice slowly, “everyone always says that. They must be real since they seem to be flesh and blood - although, have you ever seen any of them bleed? No? Unlike you?”

“But”, I said, “there are other... well, fluids...”

The voice laughed a little. A slow, ponderous laugh that made me suddenly think of old age. Well, the world is ruled by old men, so no wonder I should meet one here in charge, too.

“Yes”, said the voice, “those fluids are always very convincing. Although many ghosts have fluids, too...”

I couldn’t think of any but didn’t say so. Best to agree with such an old voice.

“Would it surprise you”, said the voice, “that in your great grandfather’s time, those who visited our ship, like you did, saw blood red sails and spent their time running up and down the ropes? While others worked at the oars, day in day out, until they had such hard, firm muscles as you...”

“That would surprise me very much”, I said.

“True”, said the voice. “Looking for the truth is such a waste of time. And still I always hope there will be one... But enough talking. That’s not why you are here. Sit down.”

I advanced and sat on the edge of the bed.

Two slim old hands emerged from behind the curtain and slowly drew it open.

What I saw made me jump back.

The old voice did indeed come from an old body, but it was the body of a woman. A very old woman. Her long grey hair hung down to her waist, and her half transparent dress concealed very little. I could see her large breasts, full but no longer pert, her hips and her thin legs. Her old skin was mercifully obscured.

An old woman! Any old women that I had known down in the village (and there were not many, old women are even more of a burden than young ones) were deeply shawled and veiled. This woman could have been my Auntie Vinegar, and nobody would ever have seen her naked nor wanted to.

Old she might be, but she was strong. A thin hand struck out and caught my wrist.

“Yes”, she said, in the same deep old voice that now seemed essentially female to me. “Yes, I am your worst nightmare. My name is Auntie Midnight and I am the ruler and protector of all those Girls-That-Never-Should-Have-Been. Why, some people even say that I was one of those girls once myself, a long long time ago, long before your time or your great grandfather’s time. And that I survived on the stormy cliff where I was left to die, cared for by the animals of the mountain, until one day I came to the notice of Someone With Great Power who took me under her wing, literally, and helped me find other such girls, and finally, build this ship. Yet others say that I am that Someone With Great Power myself and that I travel round the country taking all those girls into my body, and that we also take some men, not for revenge as they think but for quite another purpose...”

The old eyes became animated as she spoke, her breasts and her long hair moved as she turned around but she never released her grip on my wrist.

Auntie Midnight... Here in front of me was the true reason why we fear women, why we never let them have power, and often not even much of life.

“But as to where that power comes from”, Auntie Midnight said, “not many are privileged to know that but you, my young man, are about to find out.”

With that, she pulled me across the bed and all my powerful muscles could not help me. With one hand still holding onto me, she lifted the hem of her transparent gown and I could see her huge lower lips opening like the greediest mouth of fire.

I knew what was expected of me, and the grip on my wrist made it clear that I had no choice. Of course I had excellent technique by then, but what had been a rough game down below with the firm young girls seemed an impossible, disgusting, unnatural undertaking in the ancient Auntie’s bed. Older than my great grandfather! And yet, something in me stirred. I told myself I was just bowing to the inevitable, but when my tongue touched the velvety flesh of her inner lips, I felt a jolt of desire that was as far beyond my previous experiences as my adventures down below had been beyond those of the village boy (and twice failed examinee).

Her inner lips were the deepest red the eye could see and when they opened up, an intoxicating fragrance emanated from them. My tongue followed the elegant line of her magnificent petals, and I felt her shiver. Shiver! I was the man who made Auntie Midnight shiver.

When I found my way to her Lily it was already growing hard. I took it into my mouth and held it firmly between my lips while I described ever narrowing spirals with the tip of my tongue from its base to its summit. The girls down below had taught me how to pace myself, how to tease out its delicate pulse, while at the same time always insisting on the spiral movement. It was as if all that training had been designed just for this moment (well, I thought, it clearly was...). The Auntie’s Lily was very large and very erect, and whenever I thought it was close to climax, it relaxed a little into my mouth so that I had to apply my efforts and technique all over again. I have no idea how long it all lasted, but I do remember that my member thumped the bed hot and swollen under me, anticipating her climax just as much as my mouth did.

When she finally came, it was all I could do to cover her Lily, pressing my lips against her velvety flesh and holding her hips with my free hand. I wanted to come, too, nothing more than that but I knew better. If the training down below was anything to go by, I knew I would need to preserve all my strength.

She released me. I looked up into her face from my position between her legs and licked the upper end of her lower lips where they come together in a beautiful V.

The Auntie smiled. Who would have thought that Auntie Midnight could smile like this?

“Welcome, young man”, she said, then stroked my hair with a sudden look of compassion in her dark old eyes, “or perhaps I no longer should call you that.”

Then she drew me up and allowed me to enter her inner body with my cock, kneeling above her while she leant back luxuriantly into her cushions. Can’t expect the Auntie to do the work! It was all up to me, and glad to oblige. Also, it must be said, glad for the training, both physical and sexual.

I wish I could say how long I was able to fuck her, or rather, to be allowed to enter the iron hard muscle rings of her outer gate, then push myself through the next one, and so forth, until I was finally all the way inside. How I was able to hold on and not climax a thousand times I don’t know either. I had never experienced such stimulation all along my shaft, not even when I was played with by a whole group of girls.

I did briefly wonder how much experience the Auntie must have, and then I stopped thinking. It took all I had to go on, to push forward, to receive the pressure on my cock and return it.

World, hell, village or sky, they meant nothing to me. Everything was here and there was no other place except this bed and Auntie Midnight’s deep soft body.

I also lost all sense of time, and at one point I could no longer remember my past, as if my life had started when I entered this room.

But if there was no past, there definitely was a future.

After all this time, the Auntie sucked me in with one big final gulp and her inner body erupted in a long orgasm that shook the entire ship. And again I was taken to a whole new level of sexual intensity. I tried to hold on, to stay hard, to give her my hard self to grip on to while she climaxed and climaxed again.

Then, inevitably, I came. I couldn’t help it.

As soon as I was spent, the Auntie pushed me out and pushed my face towards her Lily. Again, it was already big and receptive.

I had thought, down below, that I had a lot of stamina. More so than other guys, I thought. More than enough to satisfy a dozen girls a night, and frequently had.

But I had never had sex like this. If it hadn’t been for all that conditioning, I don’t think I would have made it past the first few times.

I will get used to it, I told myself, I will do better next time. And yet again the Auntie pushed me on. And on. As she gripped my member inside herself and put my hand on her big old breasts that suddenly felt just the right level of soft and firm, and as I kissed the tender space between them, I lost all power of thought, and became nothing but a big fucking body. Which is all I ever could be, for her.

I don’t know how long we went on, but I think night fell and day rose twice and we were still on the bed, without sleep, without food and drink, although now that hardly seems possible. But then so many things that were not possible happened on this ship...

The last few times I could hear myself gasp, and I am pretty sure I passed out briefly, only to be woken by a slap on my face, or my hair raised painfully by a very strong thin hand.

I do remember my last climax. The Auntie had prepared me again, letting me in much more easily as if she could feel that my power was almost spent, too, and I saw something almost like regret in her eyes as she coaxed me to my final orgasm, not as wild and prolonged as the earlier ones, but the very best I could do.

This time I definitely passed out. The last thing I remember was that I slipped off the bed, and I think I remember one last moment when I thought that the girls were holding me tight between them in a net, just the way they had caught me all that time ago. Then all went dark and that is all I know, about the floating ship and her crew, and about Auntie Midnight.

***

I am not old, I know that. If I had not been taken, I would now be married to Winter Plum, living in her household, maybe with a few children, and working for her family. If those children had been daughters, no doubt some of them would have gone the way of the Girls-That-Should-Never-Have-Been. Winter Plum and I could have looked forward to a long life with dutiful sons. But I would never have known the intense pains and pleasures of sex with the grimy girls (who are waiting somewhere around here right now with a good, strong net in their hands), I would never have licked a Lily, never have fed a fiery mouth, and I would never have given all my life force to Auntie Midnight, for her to power her ship.

Now my body is frail like a grandfather’s, my beard is long and grey and I cannot move without a stick. I sit here on a rock by a mountain path, in a certain kind of location, waiting for the next young man to come along and take my place.

Her Humble Servants

J. Hepburn

“You are a needlessly complicating fool, Owen.”

“You will find that I am right, Ashton.”

“You are trying to run before we are even crawling!”

“And you are saying we should not plan to run because we have not walked!”

“Aiming is one thing, Owen, you do not even have a target!”

“Pshaw, my dear Ashton, pshaw.”

Owen Hyde Hunter, as the taller and more nervously energetic of the pair, reached the workshop’s immense doors first. He stepped smartly forward to open the postern door set into them, holding it for Ashton Charles Wallace with a florid bow.

“After you, my dear sir.”

“You are too kind, my good sir.” Ashton, one arm occupied with a large parcel, doffed his hat with the other. A close observer may have noticed that although both young men were dressed in the clothes of respectable young gentlemen, the tailoring lacked a little something, as did the style, and, to a very close eye, the integrity of the cloth. The fact the cloth was of surprisingly light weight but not fineness could be explained equally well by the needs of a furnace-like summer’s day in Brisbane as by the fabric’s lower cost.

When Owen closed the small door behind them, the clang it made echoed through the entire workshop.

The skeleton of a four-wheeled carriage sat in the middle of the vaulted space, lit by windows high on the building’s solid walls. Above this, a fan driven by a windmill on the roof attempted with minimal success to suck hot, stale air out of the building.

Ashton gestured at the carriage wildly. “Your ideas will be all very well for the second, or more likely third, prototype, but for right now...”

A figure rose from behind the chassis. “Hark, have my men found something else to argue about?”

Owen spread his arms in supplication. Ashton laughed in affected bitterness.

In almost perfect unison, they both said “This young man is a fool!”

The impatient, cocky strides of youth took them to the chassis and its halo of brass, steel and wooden shapes.

A young woman, about their age, stepped lightly through the ironmongery to reach them. She was dressed in solid but well worn riding boots, a leather apron over thick stockings, and a curious leather corset with a scandalous lack of any blouse or chemise worn over or under it, resulting in her arms, shoulders, and the upper slopes of her breasts becoming painted with grease, oil, and soot made inky by sweat. The deep burn mark extending up her corset’s right cup to the edge was not continued on her breast, suggesting she had access to more practical clothes if required. However the burn mark on her right forearm, still livid and fresh, suggested her opinion of ‘required’ may need some consideration. Her face was smeared with more grease, save two perfectly clean circles around her eyes - doubtless made by the goggles now hanging by their strap around her neck.

Holding her grease-smeared hands behind her, she leaned forwards as each young man in turn leaned in for a kiss on each cheek, deftly avoiding getting their jackets dirty but leaving greasy smears on faces already glistening with sweat.

Her apron turned out to be a full skirt, extending only just past her knees.

“Now, will you let me in upon your disagreement, or was it something so deep and mysterious my little woman’s brain could not hope to comprehend it?”

“Gillian, my Gillian,” Ashton began with a sigh.

“Storage!” Owen interrupted him explosively. “This lout seems to be happy with what has already been done, and is intent upon ignoring the possibilities of modulating power through storage!”

Gillian Canly Ledwich let them both see her roll her eyes before she moved away, towards a porcelain sink bolted to one wall. She began cleaning her exposed skin with a thick, greasy-looking substance scooped from a small tub, releasing aromas of eucalyptus oils, ethanol, turpentine and lanolin strong enough to stun the unprepared. “What is your latest brain-wave, my darling Owen?”

“Electricity!”

This bought a raised eyebrow from Gillian as she knocked the tap on with her elbow. “You are thinking of Monsieur Planté’s rechargeable batteries?”

“Exactly! We know how to make a generator which can produce a steady current, we know how to make...”

“A second-rate motor,” Ashton intruded sharply. “Face it, his batteries are still useless for any practical purposes, and the efficiency losses alone...”

“Would be a step in the right direction, instead of refusing to believe the future could look any different!”

Gillian raised her voice. “Gentlemen!”

They clamped their jaws shut.

Gillian very deliberately turned back to the sink to continue her washing. The men glared briefly at each other before haughtily turning on their heels. They removed their jackets, hanging them upon hooks on either side of a long work table. They removed their waistcoats without looking at each other, then their shirts, then their boots.

Gillian finished her face, imperfectly but adequately, in enough time to enjoy the sight of two young men with boxer’s physiques stripped to their drawers - undershirts being too much for any save the determinedly traditional in these sub-tropical climes - before those physiques were concealed inside canvas trousers and shirts.

The two men finally acknowledged each other’s presences once more as they pulled battered boots onto their feet. Gillian crossed to the table, drying her hands.

Both men drew in breath to speak.

“Gentlemen!”

The men, rebuked, released their breaths silently.

“We are agreed, are we not, that completion of the first prototype is of paramount importance?”

Both men nodded in agreement.

“And we are agreed, are we not, that experimentation is the very soul of progress?”

Both men once more nodded, although Ashton scowled as he did so.

“Owen?”

“I finished the governor yesterday. I need merely to test it.”

“Then what is your latest brainwave?”

“Aha! Efficiency and adjust-ability, dear Gillian, efficiency and adjust-ability!”

Ashton interjected. “Is it possible for you to stay with a mere one train of thought at a time?”

Gillian gave Ashton a look that made him subside.

Owen began wildly sketching in the air with his hands. “Even with this helical constant-flow boiler you designed, Gillian, we will need time for it to heat up, am I right? Time to light, time to develop a good flame, time to heat. Even the best coal or charcoal will take time...”

“Which is why we need liquid or gaseous fuels!”

“When you have solved the safety problems with your alcohol burners, Ashton, I will be happy to have them in any car I have a hand in designing!”

Gillian threw up her hands. “Enough! I have heard enough! You two will argue until you are both dead from exhaustion! Owen, you can draw up plans tomorrow, after, I stress after! You fit the governor, do I make myself clear?”

Owen deflated. He nodded grumpily.

“Thank you! Now, you were going to bring something for lunch. Have you at least managed to remember that during your constant bickering?”

Owen looked at Ashton. “My dear sir, we are being impugned!”

Ashton looked at Owen. “My good sir, our good intentions are being besmirched!”

Gillian allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. “Well, gentlemen?”

Ashton snatched up the parcel he had been carrying, presenting it with a bow as though it were a velvet cushion supporting a crown.

Gillian took it. “Then I place a moratorium on any and all debate of an engineering nature until we have restored our own energies.”

Owen retrieved two plates and three chipped glasses from one of the desk’s many drawers. Ashton seized one of the wheeled chairs by the work table, pushing it in front of him as they followed Gillian to where an upholstered bench seat retrieved from a damaged horse-drawn carriage sat to one side of the chassis.

Ashton held the chair courteously for Gillian, who sat with the satisfaction of a woman who does not have to worry about a bustle.

A pocket on the side of Gillian’s corset gave up a folding knife which cut the parcel’s string as easily as it would a single hair.

The parcel gave up half a load of bread, three apples, a thick sausage and a large bottle of beer closed with a wired cork. Ashton took the bottle, opening it with ease to pour into the glasses still held by Owen. Gillian’s knife made short work of cutting slices of bread and sausage.

Gillian kept one plate for herself, swapping the other for a glass of black beer.

The three toasted their shared enterprise solemnly, then their health - each in turn - then the success of their lunch, taking small sips each time.

“This colony,” Ashton said appreciatively, “has finally been able to brew a decent stout.”

Owen laughed, not cruelly but not kindly. “How would you know what a decent stout tasted like? We were the same age when we left mother England’s shores, and we could each still remember the taste of our mother’s milk!”

“My father can remember,” Ashton said with affected dignity. “This is from his supplies. He has pronounced it good. Do you pronounce it otherwise, sir?”

“I will take action if you begin arguing once more in my presence today,” Gillian remarked, as one would upon the weather, before taking a substantial bite of bread and sausage.

“I bow to your father’s prowess in the quality of stouts,” Owen conceded, changing tack as smoothly as a good racing yacht. “I do pronounce this good, and would like to know where we can procure more of it.”

Ashton jerked his head towards one wall of the workshop. “Peg-leg’s Rest. But not for the likes of you or I, the landlord only sells it to special customers.”

Owen froze, staring at his glass. “Ashton, my bosom companion, have you got us in trouble with your father? That is a place I would rather not be.”

“Don’t be such an old woman! He gave it to me with his blessing. Finding a good stout can apparently put a man in such a good mood he gives it away to his wastrel son.”

They toasted a father who could still be so generous after agreeing to invest in his wastrel son’s future as a private engineer.

Gillian settled back in her chair, stretching her legs in front of her. Her leather corset was cut high on her hips and her bosom both, letting her bend her waist but not her back. It was covered, on the front and both sides, with pockets, hooks and fasteners. Her thick gloves were hung on the left hip, an assortment of spanners from the right.

Both men unabashedly let their gazes slide from her ankles up to her neck as she leaned back in the chair.

She smirked at them.”Oh, la, you two could turn a poor girl’s head.”

***

“It’s the perfect solution! We...”

Gillian gently pushed a finger against Owen’s lips before he could hit his full verbal stride. He deflated.

She gently removed her finger, leaving a thicker smear of grease adding to the slight sheen already present. “You do remember the last time you had an idea, and I asked you...”

“To write it down first so I knew what I was talking about,” Owen completed. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Gillian. If we started now...”

She raised a warning finger. “Owen, you are a genius, your idea for a condenser will make this car viable for a land as parched as this, but Ashton is right about you needing to focus.”

Owen slumped. He was sitting on one of the workshop chairs so he could more comfortably install his prototype governor in the car’s engine. Then he sighed as he wiped sweat off his brow with his already damp sleeve. “You’re right, Gillian. But how can I concentrate on any old mundane thing when...”

“By writing it down,” she interrupted him firmly. “Tomorrow.”

“You are, as always, right, and I am grateful.” Over his shirt, Owen wore a leather waistcoat similar in fashion to Gillian’s corset, with pockets and straps covering the front. It bore a large burn low on the left side.

“Of course I am. Without me, you two would spend half your time arguing and the rest of the time, eating and sleeping.”

Owen had the honesty and grace to nod ruefully. “To say nothing of your skill at fabrication. I swear, half mine and Ashton’s designs only work because you help make them.”

Gillian, standing before him, leaned forwards. “And do I hear your thanks?”

Owen leaned towards her to slide his lips over hers. “Frequently,” he murmured.

“Is that right?”

He kissed her more firmly, their lips parting as they pressed hungrily against each other.

Gillian reached out with her spare hand to seize the back of his head, pulling him against her mouth.

She didn’t let him go until he made an exaggerated choking sound.

“That’s better,” she murmured when there was enough space between them for him to breathe. “You didn’t kiss me properly when you arrived.”

“I was wearing my good clothes.”

“Ah, yes, I remember.”

He rubbed his thumb gently over her cheek, feeling traces of grease without using enough pressure to smear over her skin. “You smell of grease,” he said.

“You smell of man.”

She pulled him back into an aggressive kiss, catching him off guard, then released him entirely. “I need more than kissing.”

A grin split his face as she undid the straps holding her skirt closed. He leaned backwards to undo his fly buttons, then had to struggle a little more with the buttons on his drawers as Gillian, naked from her hips to the tops of her stockings, clicked her tongue impatiently.

His cock, when it finally emerged, was half erect and growing rapidly. Gillian reached down to seize it, purring deep in her throat as she stepped forward over the chair.

He slid his hands up her legs, from her linen stockings to the brief stretch of bare skin above them, before tickling his fingers up to her quim, making her shiver.

Gillian deftly flicked open one of the pouches on his waistcoat, pulling out a small package of waxed paper. The paper revealed a condom. Bending down, she kissed him again as she deftly clothed his cock without needing to look or fumble. With her corset keeping her back straight, that meant having to push her hips back, away from his hands. Snarling with impatience, she gave his sheathed cock a few quick tugs to make sure it was hard enough, then stepped forward as she lifted the fingers of her other hand up to her mouth.

He stopped her. “Let me.” He licked the index and middle fingers of his right hand, making sure they glistened with moisture before he inserted them slowly into her as she gasped, her legs quivering briefly.

He worked his fingers inside her, moving them around, twisting his hand, as she bit her bottom lip.

“In my professional opinion, you’re well lubricated.”

“Then get your fingers out so you can get your thomas in!”

She reached between them to spread herself with one hand and guide him with the other as she lowered herself onto him.

He braced her with both hands firmly around her waist, taking her weight with little strain.

They groaned in unison as she sank down around him. His body shuddered more while her voice quavered more.

Her hand, briefly forgotten, slipped out from between them only when it risked between squashed by her thigh against his. As his arms wrapped around her, hers lifted to drape over his shoulders.

His leather waistcoat, covered with pockets and hooks, pressed against her likewise covered corset. They both moaned with frustration at feeling how many layers separated their naked skin.

“Should have undressed,” he muttered into her shoulder.

“It would take too long to get me in and out of a corset,” she said, then wriggled her hips. “And tell me I’m not squeezing you more while I’m wearing it.”

His reply was not intelligible as words.

She tried to lift herself up with her legs, but the chair rattled forwards on its castors as she misjudged the angle.

“Ballocks!” She snarled. “Keep us still!”

He managed to kick them backwards, towards the car, but every time she pushed down, he had to coordinate.

“Surely we’ve tried this before,” he gasped.

“I can’t remember it, if we have. Push us backwards.”

The chair ran into the side of the car. As it did so Gillian managed to grab hold of part of the engine to keep them in place.

Something on her corset caught on his waistcoat, locking them together.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” He exploded.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she hissed, pulling his head back until she could get their mouths together.

She began rocking her hips back and forth as much as she could as his hands impotently squeezed her waist, barely even denting the thick leather of her corset.

He managed to breath through his nose this time, inhaling deeply, smelling the mingled scents of castor oil, grease, forged metal and her. The smell made his cock, securely and tightly lodged inside her, throb a little more.

She breathed in the clean, slightly spicy, salty scent of him, her nose numbed to the engineering scents but eager for the smell of one of her men. She kept one hand on the engine to anchor them, the other tangled in his short hair as she held his head bent sharply backwards.

He tried to thrust up into her, making her bounce slightly. When she gasped in encouragement, he continued, more energetically, his face growing flushed from the exertion. She timed the rocking of her hips to increase the length of his stroke.

It did not take long for them to be panting more from arousal than from effort, Owen’s body beginning to drive his hips to more energetic thrusting despite complaints from his lungs.

Gillian broke their contorted kiss, rolling her head back past the vertical as she pulled his head against her breasts where they were thrust above her corset.

His arms tightened around her, pulling them harder together, as his thrusts became so hard he was forced to grunt explosively on each one, the sound muffled against her bulging flesh.

His grunting suddenly escalated in pace and volume, reaching a crescendo just as she felt his entire body rear up, quiver, then jerk several times.

When Gillian felt his arms relax, she tenderly brushed hair off his sweaty forehead before trying to stand up.

A sudden tug bought her movement to a premature halt.

She looked down between them, then laughed softly. “Ballocks, I forgot about that.”

***

“Here’s the problem,” Owen said.

After separating and restoring their clothing, Gillian had found a space to sit on the edge of the chassis. Owen was leaning forwards on his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You know I don’t think steam engines can respond quickly enough. They’re also wasteful. Too much steam gets vented, even in my condenser systems. We need some way to store the power they produce, so we can use it more efficiently.”

Gillian listened patiently. She disagreed, but saying “no” had never helped friends make breakthroughs.

“I like your double boiler system, one for quick heating and one for storage, but it’s only a short-term solution. It’s not a fix. We all know Ashton’s solution of a giant flywheel with double gearing wouldn’t work, it would be impracticably heavy.”

Gillian raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent. They all knew Ashton’s suggestion had been sarcastic.

“You suggested compressed air. I like it, but you know and I know it wouldn’t work well enough. But now Planté has rechargeable electric cells!”

He began to sketch shapes in the air in front of him.

“Look! Small steam engine - quick to heat, quick to respond, high speed but low torque, runs a small electrical generator. Generator runs directly into a battery of Planté cells. Battery drives an electric motor. They’re small! I’ve seen the specifications of some of the electric cars demonstrated in Europe! They’re the future!” He jabbed a finger at Gillian for emphasis. She ignored it.

“Steam engines can make continuous power from coal, charcoal, coalite, alcohol, whale oil, anything! Batteries can absorb their output, electric motors to drive the wheels! You can run the steam engine, turn it off, run it again... You can drive off without waiting for it to heat! You can even run an igniter off the batteries!”

He stared at Gillian, his face the anguished mask of one seeking validation, then froze in shock as he recognised on her face the startled expression of someone who has, despite all their trepidations, encountered a good idea.

“You like it,” he whispered, a trace of awe in his voice.

She made as if to speak, hesitated, cleared her throat, thought for a second, hesitated again, then frowned.

Owen almost forbore to breathe.

“Can we test the capacity of the batteries?” She asked at last.

Owen blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Can we test their capacity? Can we know when they are almost full, or uselessly almost empty? Electricity does work like that, does it not? Could we have a... a dip stick for a battery?”

Owen opened and closed his mouth several times, then seemed to crumple upon himself.

Gillian leaned forwards to pat him on the shoulder. “What am I about to say to you, my darling Owen?”

“When you find the problem, you have found the first step to a solution,” he said automatically.

She patted his shoulder again, stood up, then bent to kiss his hair. “Run your tests.”

Owen glumly pulled himself back in front of the engine as Gillian walked quietly away to leave him in peace.

***

Half an hour later, Gillian, unable to concentrate, decided to play tea lady. Owen, stoking the boiler, took a mug gratefully.

Ashton was still ensconced in the drafting room - a long, thin space occupying the far end of the workshop. It had been intended as an office, so its wall had a large window into the workshop. As a drafting room, the window let through more noise than was desirable.

The three desks, facing the window, were adjustable in height and angle by means of small crank handles. By accident of history and habit not design, Gillian used the first, Ashton the middle, Owen the last.

Ashton was calculating how to cut a series of gears with the help of a slide rule, a well-thumbed book of tables, and a waste basket.

He shot Gillian an amused look as she strode towards him, before his gaze settled gratefully on the tea.

One of Gillian’s eyebrows lifted when she glimpsed his expression. “Pray tell, Mr Wallace, what has you so amused?”

“I could not possibly make any comment in front of a lady, Ms Ledwich.”

Gillian stopped in shock, too far away for Ashton to reach his mug of tea. “A lady! Mr Wallace, you should have told me we had visitors! I’m not properly dressed!”

“I see nothing whatsoever amiss about your dress, Ms Ledwich,” Ashton said gallantly.

“Because, Mr Wallace, you are a man who is merely in training to be a gentleman. I will die for lack of female company.” She passed him his mug.

Ashton made an expansive gesture with his right hand, twirling his pencil like an orchestral conductor his baton. “Should you see fit to bring another woman into our small circle, neither I nor, I am sure, my colleague Mr Hunter, will offer the slightest objection.” He drank with every sign of enthusiasm before putting the mug on the windowsill, his desk being angled too far from the horizontal.

“I may object should I be forced to share either of my gentlemen with any new dollymop, no matter how talented she is with her hands.”

“Oh! Do you admit I am a gentleman, or have you been hiding someone from me?”

Gillian showed her teeth in what might have been a smile. “The only man I am hiding anything from is my father. Gears, Mr Wallace?”

“I am trying to devise a continuously variable gearbox that would let a flywheel work, since Owen’s flights of fancies made me suggest the blasted thing in the first place.”

Gillian laughed. “Let me know if you meet with any success! Weren’t you going to insulate the second boiler?”

Ashton’s gaze flicked briefly towards the window, through which the chassis, and indeed Owen on his chair, was clearly visible. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Gillian raised an eyebrow. “You could have joined us.”

Ashton coloured slightly. “Please! A gentleman, I am told, does not intrude.”

“A gentleman might if he had a standing invitation.”

Ashton coughed. “I could not cut in upon a friend’s dance.”

“Very droll.” Gillian casually put her own mug on the windowsill.

With a sudden jerk, she pulled Ashton’s chair away from the table, spinning it so she could drop neatly onto his lap, side-saddle.

Ashton’s attempt at seriousness cracked. Through his grin, he asked, “I’m not complaining, mind, but what do I have to thank for this sudden burst of passion?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Ms Ledwich, this is the age of reason!”

Gillian conceded the point. “You left me all alone in the workshop all morning, leaving me worrying about what two such handsome young men could possibly get up to out there, surrounded by pretty young girls in their summer dresses.”

Ashton hooted with laughter. “Pretty young girls? We are in the factory district of Brisbane, not the parks of Melbourne! The prettiest woman outside those doors is older than my mother and selling tea from a cart. The prettiest women inside are all hiding from the sun and are far too sensible to let the likes of us get close enough to say hello!”

“The correct answer, Mr Wallace, was ‘the prettiest woman inside was waiting for us back at the workshop.’”

“Ah, now, that is an empirical question that requires much more extensive investigation before I could possibly commit to an answer.”

“Think very carefully, Mr Wallace.”

“Although, I believe I could use my limited available information to say, as a rough answer, that I would not be able to find a prettier woman than you in all of Brisbane.”

“A ‘rough answer’?”

“I will have to refine it with more work. I may need to collect more information.”

“For someone so skilled with metal, you can be astonishingly bad with women, Ashton my darling.”

“What could possibly connect those two skills? Find me an engineer who can talk like a politician and I, madam, will find you a perpetual motion machine!”

“Begin work, Mr Wallace! I have been trying to make two such men, and hope for success some time this century.”

“You must introduce me to these men some time.”

Gillian made a sound indicative of exasperation before seizing his head with both hands, twisting as far as her corset would allow, then pushed her mouth forcefully against his.

He returned her kiss with enthusiasm.

When they separated, a little while later, Gillian was struck by a sudden, gnawing wonder.

“Ashton, my Ashton,” she said. “I never dreamed I would find two men so confident in themselves they wouldn’t mind me having the both of them, but where did I find two men so confident I could kiss them with the taste of the other still on my lips?”

Ashton coloured instantly. “I assure you, I can only taste your lips.”

“Were you watching us?”

Ashon’s cheeks became a redder shade of pink. “Certainly not!”

“Then how do you know you can only taste me, if you don’t know what I was doing with Owen?”

Red became crimson. “I can taste you, and only you!”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I know what you taste like...”

“How do you I know I don’t sometimes kiss you with Owen’s spend still on my tongue?”

“I, I, I don’t, I mean...”

“How do you know what Owen tastes like, to separate my taste from his!”

“I don’t! It was a deduction!”

Gillian seized his lapels. “Liar! You’re hiding something from me! Out with it!”

“No! I’m not hiding anything! Truly!”

“Liar!”

She thumped her fist against his leather waistcoat as she bounced on his lap for emphasis.

The chair, a light contraption comfortable for one occupant who did not wish to relax, lost its hold upon balance.

They crashed to the ground beside each other, between the desks and the wall, Gillian spilling off his lap. She recovered first, throwing herself atop his body to keep him pinned down.

“Well? How do you know what Owen tastes like?”

“Ouch,” Ashton ventured, feeling the back of his head gingerly.

“Don’t try to distract me! I bruised my hip, do you hear me complaining? Tell me how you know what Owen tastes like!”

“I don’t, I swear!”

“You lie! You’re blushing like a furnace!”

“This is hardly a topic to not make me blush!”

“Pshaw, sir! How do you know?”

“I only meant I couldn’t taste anything other than you! I assure you, I had no interest in private matters between you!”

“Why not?”

Ashton stared at her in evident surprise. “They were private?”

“Aren’t you interested?”

Ashton’s fading colour re-intensified.

“Surely you’re not embarrassed about what we were doing while you were not disturbing us?”

She wriggled her hips atop his. “I know at least part of you is interested.”

Ashton tried to sink through the bricks underneath him, with conspicuous lack of success.

Gillian, clearly enjoying herself, pressed on. “If you two decided to explore your obvious attraction for each other, I would be begging to hear every precise detail.”

Heat radiated from Ashton’s face.

Gillian froze in mid peroration, staring at him in surprise. “I was right! I thought I was joking, but I was right! You are hiding something from me!”

“No!”

Gillian seized his ears. “What are you hiding from me?!”

“Ouch! I assure you...”

“If my two men have rolled in the hay with each other, I demand to know about it!”

“We haven’t!”

“You were both scholarship boys to a strict boarding school, once. Do not think for one moment I do not believe the salacious rumours told about boarding schools!”

Ashton, remembering he had hands of his own, used one to push an accusatory pointing finger between their faces. “You were in the same position as us, at your ‘finishing school’! Do you expect me to deny all those rumours?”

“Absolutely not, you may believe all of them.”

Ashton’s face adopted a heady mixture of emotions, chief among them shock, disbelief and a wild surge of salacious interest.

Gillian’s face, on the other hand, became wistful with memory. “There were already solid couples by the second year. Few of us did not take the opportunity to at least investigate the possibilities. It would have been foolish not to.”

Ashton was staring at her with a mouth open from surprise and base desires.

Gillian, half lost in memory, rubbed her hips against his again, forcing from him a strangled gasp.

“Did you investigate many possibilities?” He managed.

“Of course! I had to know for sure. We are living in a new world made potent by science, and science tells us to confirm our results!”

Gillian pointed her own accusatory finger at Ashton. “Science also tells us to be persistent in our questions and to not be sidetracked by in-consequentialities, Mr Wallace! I have been honest with you, it is about time you were honest with me! It is gross hypocrisy to entertain shameless thoughts about myself with another woman, but be horrified by suggestions of you with another man, so out with it!”

“I cannot tell you!”

“Aha, a confession!” Without needing to look, Gillian slipped a small parcel from a pocket high on Ashton’s vest. She held it in front of his eyes. “Tell me, and you may get to use this.”

“Madam, that is blackmail!”

“Sir, it is bribery. It is also a threat, extending far into the future.”

Ashton’s scarlet face managed to blanch.

“We promised to have no secrets between us three,” Gillian said with determination. “You two have been keeping one from me.” Her eyes narrowed. “It was you two, was it not?”

Ashton avoided her eyes, until Gillian used both ears to pull his head back towards her.

“It was you two, was it not?”

Ashton laughed with a sarcastic note in his voice. “I do not know what your experience was like in your boarding school, full of young women, but young men do not suffer that sort of deviance. There were boys known to be mandrakes, and boys suspected to be mandrakes. They did not last long. They were bullied until they were removed from the school for being ‘unsuitable’.”

Gillian refused to feel repentant. “That’s a terrible thing to deny. You missed out on so much.”

Ashton avoided this obvious bait. “All Owen and I were interested in was girls. We were among the first to find out how to scale the walls, therefore the first to explore the pubs, get thrown out of pubs, and get our faces slapped by girls within two minutes of meeting them. Neither of us were very good at talking to women back then.”

“My sweet Ashton, you were not very good at talking to women when I met you.”

“See how much we learned in three years?”

“I know full well you learned a great many things in three years, so you must have learned at least enough to progress beyond being slapped.”

Ashton grinned, suddenly more confident. “We didn’t learn how to talk, we learned who to talk to.”

Gillian arched an eyebrow.

“Escapees from your school.”

Gillian burst into laughter. “I should have guessed! Girls from the streets the likes of us escaped to would know all about the likes of you! Girls from my school wouldn’t know any better!”

She gave Ashton a shrewd look. “So who taught you how to kiss?”

“Maxie.”

“And Owen?”

“Also Maxie. Her friend Lenne was too nervous, at first. Maxie started on Owen, while I couldn’t convince Lenne to touch me until Maxie jumped onto my lap saying she would ‘show us both how it was done’. Lenne nearly pulled her off, but I had the basic idea, by then.”

Gillian’s brow furrowed for a brief moment before clearing. “I remember them!” She slapped Ashton sharply. “I remember when they came back, half giggling and half terrified they were pregnant!” She thought for a brief moment. “I think that was when the rest of us learned about condoms.”

“Nobody had told us about condoms!” Ashton objected.

“That is no excuse! Who did teach you?”

“We...” Ashton’s cheeks flushed as he tried to avoid her eyes again.

Gillian seized his ears again. “Tell me!”

“We thought we were hunting,” he said wretchedly. “We turned out to be prey. It was two women who were older than us, perhaps about thirty, who decided we would be fun. It wasn’t hard to convince us, we were so keen we would have said yes to anyone who was half as attractive, and they looked like goddesses to us.”

“Not hard,” Gillian said archly.

Ashton flushed again. “If you don’t wish to hear this story...”

“Think very carefully about whether you want to keep this from me.”

“If you will keep interrupting...”

“You just need to keep talking.”

“A gentleman does not interrupt a lady.”

“That is a flagrant lie and you know it, Mr Wallace.” She slapped his shoulder sharply. “Stop trying to distract me!”

Ashton sighed. “We met them outside a hotel we were trying to sneak into. They needed all of two minutes to convince us to go with them. We got into what we thought was a cab, but they didn’t need to give directions. They drew the curtains.”

“Their names?”

“I have no idea,” Ashton said frankly. “They told us to call them Cristina and Angela.”

“I see.”

“Angela sat on my lap,” Ashton continued, “Cristina sat on Owen. They taught us a lot more about kissing during that short drive than anyone else ever had.”

“’Anyone else’ meaning?”

Ashton squirmed, embarrassed again. “Maxie, Lenne, and, um, Phoebe and Molly.”

Gillian contented herself with a smug chuckle.

Ashton attempted to ignore this. “When the cab stopped, they blindfolded us before leading us out. I remember praying we would never be recognised by the cab driver again. I heard him laugh.”

“Cab nothing, it was their coach.”

“We worked that out later, thank you!” Ashton sighed. “That house was like a palace inside. We didn’t know whether to stare at the furniture, or at the women. They gave us the best brandy I had tasted then or have ever tasted since, then Angela took me to a bedroom. Cristina had Owen on the rug in the drawing room, he told me later.”

Gillian looked slightly disappointed at this revelation they had been in different rooms.

Ashton looked wistful. “She had me for three hours, at the end of which she had taught me even more than she had about kissing, while I could barely walk. They blindfolded us again, then put us back in the carriage, which threw us out outside the school. It was the closest we had ever come to being caught breaking in or out.”

“There is more to this story,” Gillian said with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, there is.” Ashton seemed to be lost in remembrance for a minute. He was bought back to himself abruptly when Gillian, who had been feeling his swelling cock, pressed her hips against his trousers.

She picked up the wrapped condom from where she had dropped it next to his head, then sat up.

She was bought up sharply with a clink of hook against hook. “Oh, confound it!”

Ashton burst out laughing, offering little help as Gillian unhooked them. When she could finally sit up, she managed to unfasten then unwrap her skirt before sliding backwards along his legs to access his fly. “Keep talking.”

Ashton, grinning now, resumed his narrative with more enthusiasm. “The last thing they told us was to meet them at the same place, at the same time, the next week. We could not believe our luck. We exchanged our stories on the ride back, and kept swapping notes through the week, whenever we were able to.”

Gillian opened Ashton’s drawers, liberating his cock from where it had lodged under the bottom edge of his waistcoat.

Ashton tried to settle himself more comfortably on the ground, with little success. “We were, of course, early for our rendezvous the next week, and could barely contain ourselves while we waited.”

Memory, and Gillian’s confident fingers, made Ashton’s cock throb slightly. She tugged his trousers and drawers a little further down, to give her access to his testicles.

“They turned up in their carriage, picked us up, then Cristina sat on my lap, and Angela sat on Owen.”

Gillian made an approving sound, her gaze fixed on Ashton’s face as her fingers toyed with his privates.

“This time, Cristina had me on the rug while Angela took Owen off to her bedroom. Cristina was... assertive.”

Gillian smirked as she felt Ashton’s cock react to the memory. Ashton was too lost in memory to notice.

“Angela had demanded I fuck her. She said ‘fuck’, it was the first time I had ever heard a woman even say the word. She spent three hours telling me what to do to her. Cristina told me to ‘take it like a woman’.”

Gillian, sitting dominantly astride Ashton, barely suppressed a laugh.

“She didn’t even let me touch her unless she wanted me to. I had to call her Sir, and say thank you every time she ordered me to do something. I was too terrified to enjoy myself, but too eager to try and stop her. She made me do most of what Angela taught me, but Angela made me do all the work. Cristina used me like a toy.”

Gillian slid the condom over Ashton’s cock.

Ashton broke off, looking down expectantly. Gillian held up an admonitory finger. “Keep talking.”

Ashton sighed, lowering his head back to the floor. “We were sent back to the school again, with orders to meet the next week.”

Gillian felt Ashton’s cock wilt a little in anticipation of the next part of the story. She countered that with her fingertips on its tip.

“This time, when we got into the cab, they were sitting on the same bench. Angela told us to sit together.”

Gillian’s face bore a hungry expression. She lifted up onto her knees, shuffling forward along Ashton’s body.

Ashton’s face bore the expression of a man who knows he is about to suffer embarrassment only because the compensations will be worth it.

“Cristina told us to kiss each other.”

Gillian moved over Ashton’s cock, pushing down teasingly slowly.

The breath caught in Ashton’s throat for an instant.

“Keep going,” Gillian purred.

“They must have taught us well,” Ashton said, a trifle unsteadily. “Neither of us thought to disagree. We were so drunk with expectation we thought it would be a lark.”

“So that’s how you do it,” Gillian murmured. Ashton tried to ignore what she said, but was unable to ignore the way she was beginning to slowly fuck herself upon him. There was no doubting she was doing it for her benefit, but Ashton could not complain about that.

“Owen asked me which of us should be the lady. I offered to. Cristina told us we both were. We tried to kiss as if we were girls, but it was a total failure.” Again, Ashton ignored Gillian’s snort of fond derision. “Cristina told us to kiss like men kissing a woman. We had to stop laughing first.”

Ashton was managing to settle into telling the story while Gillian was pleasuring herself upon him. Gillian was having no trouble listening while doing so.

“Our second attempt was more successful.”

“Did you find it exciting?” Gillian asked, a touch of glee in her voice. “Lie to me and I shall know it.”

“Putting on a show for them was exciting,” Ashton hedged.

“Not what I asked, little boy.”

Ashton gasped as Gillian clenched about him.

“It was something new,” he admitted when he got his breath back.

Gillian moved one hand behind her.

“It was forbidden. Yes! I admit it! It was exciting!”

Gillian, smiling smugly, released his testicles.

“They blindfolded us again, took us inside, then told us both to undress in the drawing room while they watched.”

“This is a sight you have so far denied me,” Gillian said, meaningfully.

“It was a sight we denied ourselves!” Ashton protested. “I couldn’t look at Owen. He assures me he couldn’t look at me. Cristina told us to kiss again. We couldn’t. If I hadn’t been naked, I might have run.”

“That would have been much more embarrassing,” Gillian murmured, still slowly rising and falling over Ashton.

Ashton avoided the comment. “Angela stepped behind me, taking my thomas in one hand. Cristina did the same to Owen. They pushed us together.”

“I should be making notes,” said Gillian, her head full of the picture Ashton was describing.

“We kissed again. That was exciting.”

Gillian’s cheeks were beginning to colour as her playful fucking became earnest.

Ashton looked as shame-faced as a man can while deep inside an excited woman. “We did not notice that the women had released us, until they ordered us to stop.”

Gillian moaned in approval, her hands clenching onto Ashton’s shoulder as she worked her hips more firmly atop him.

“They ordered us ahead of them to Angela’s bedroom, then onto her bed. Then Cristina said they would not undress until we had made each other spend.”

Gillian shuddered. Ashton, watching her face, could scarcely believe his own actions as he gave her mortifying detail after mortifying detail to feed her lust.

“I felt as if I were dreaming. Owen later said he had never been so drunk while clear-headed. We were so eager for the women we found ourselves eager for each other.”

Gillian gasped.

“I wrapped my hand around his thomas as he straddled me, seizing mine.”

Gillian groaned, her hips moving faster. Ashton was finding it difficult to continue speaking.

Ashton, staring at Gillian’s face, had completely lost all sense of shame. “Owen kissed me with as much passion as I’ve seen him kissing you. I kissed him in kind. I heard Cristina asking Angela which one of us would spend first.”

Gillian was making fast, short sounds, her face straining on the edge of her own release.

“They were watching us closely.” Ashton had to pause to gather enough breath, and concentration, for a second phrase. “But we spent so closely together they could not ... AH!”

Ashton, who had not failed to learn the rhythms of Gillian’s body in their months together, managed to time his climax perfectly with hers.

Gillian leaned heavily on Ashton’s chest with both hands as they both strove to regain even breathing.

“Then?” She gasped.

Ashton could not stop a triumphant smile as he continued, “Then Cristina pushed Owen off me, to lick his spend off my skin. Angela cleaned Owen, before both ladies undressed.”

Gillian leaned back, still sitting heavily upon and around Ashton, to peel some errant strands of hair from her face. “Is that all?” She prompted.

Ashton sighed. He knew when to be gracious in defeat. “They directed us in more play.”

“Sodomy?” Gillian asked, with increased prurient interest.

“No!” Ashton said, with sufficient relief that Gillian, to her disappointment, was compelled to believe him.

“Not even with them?”

Ashton laughed, ruefully. “I can not imagine such as them accepting sodomy, but I can imagine them committing it upon others, by proxy or wooden tool.”

“You might be surprised,” Gillian murmured, the trace of a smile flickering about her lips. “I do not take it merely for your enjoyment. Did you meet them again?”

Ashton, looking briefly sad, shook his head. “No, they sent us away with no word, which we did not realise until we were back at the school. No, I think we disappointed them by not being more eager. They gave us a series of tests, of which we passed two and failed the third.”

“You tried to return to them,” Gillian said with shrewd certainty.

“Oh, we tried! We were as desperate as opium smokers, for a month. We hunted about where we met them, without success, but have not seen either of them to this day.”

“And you did not take your frustration out upon each other?”

Ashton managed a self-satisfied grin, while pinned flat on his back on deeply uncomfortable brick flooring. “We had no frustration. We found ourselves company each time we left the school.”

“Oh, the boys had grown up!”

“It seemed we had been lacking in confidence, not in verbal skill.”

Gillian sighed. “A belief that is sadly common among men.”

“You did not find us too lacking,” Ashton said with affronted dignity.

“I saw through you to your potential, my darling.”

Gillian tried to raise herself off his still proud member, then had to try again, with the aid of her hands, when her legs refused to cooperate.

She flopped gracefully to the floor next to Ashton, restoring her bloomers as he began, with a grunt of effort to raise his head far enough to see, to restore his drawers and trousers.

Gillian gave him a speculative look. Ashton knew he was not yet free and clear even before she spoke.

“I recall this began when you objected to the thought of kissing Owen upon...”

“We did not!” Ashton interjected. “I think Angela and even Cristina knew that might have been a step too far. I suspect that is where we failed.”

Gillian clucked her tongue in disappointment, then pushed herself to her knees.

Ashton seized her hand. “You cannot tell Owen what I have told you”

Gillian raised an imperiously enquiring eyebrow.

“We swore never to discuss it, or mention it, again.”

Gillian leaned forward, slightly, as if to emphasise what she was about to say. “You went looking for them. You wanted to go back.”

Ashton turned white. “Well, we did, but...”

“You are telling me you never, after that day...”

“We spent all our energy on women!”

“On, in and upon, most likely. Never kissed? Never woke up from a guilty dream?” Her eyes, quick and sure, registered the quick flicker of an expression passing over his face. “Aha!”

“Please, Gillian!”

Gillian tugged her hand out of his, then used both of hers to smooth down her bloomers. “I told you we had no secrets. But I will try and convince Owen to confess without confronting him.” She paused, to consider. “Unless I think of something more entertaining.”

With a groan of despair, Ashton let his head fall back to the ground. “Ouch!”

With a sigh known to women everywhere, Gillian pulled Ashton towards her, to cradle his sore head in her lap. “Oh, my thoughtless fool.”

***

Ashton returned to his calculations, throwing himself into them to take his mind off a mixture of guilt and terror.

Gillian, feeling an immense sense of smugness and satisfaction, left Owen alone to his testing as she began cutting slats of wood to shape for the boiler Ashton had been planning to insulate.

Hours later, Owen looked up from his work, satisfied he could find nothing more to adjust or criticise, to find Gillian tidying up from hers.

He squinted at the light coming through the workshop’s windows. “Gillian, my love, what say you?”

“I say we should consider the possibilities offered by the nearest pie van.”

“I was thinking the Cog and Piston.”

“It is only Thursday.”

Owen gave the deep sigh of a man whose taste exceeds his budget. “Of course.”

“I shall go upon an errand. I have not left these walls all day. Is your boiler still full?”

Owen pushed a large metal bucket underneath the car. “I shall be out soon.” He opened a valve, blowing down the boiler with a ferocious gout of roaring steam.

Gillian went to inform Ashton of their plans.

At the side of the workshop, beside the drafting room, a door lead through the massive stone walls into a house that would have been a much greater contrast in comfort and warmth if it bore the marks of occupation, not merely habitation.

By the time Owen had carefully carried a bucket of near-boiling water through the drawing room to the back of the house and into the substantial laundry, Ashton had enthusiastically helped Gillian out of her corset, skirt, boots and stockings.

Owen, to his credit, did not threaten to drop or upset the bucket at the sight.

A large copper tub and a bucket half full of cold water had been placed in the middle of the room. The house had a bathroom, but repairing the plumbing had not been ranked highly on their list of necessary jobs and, being upstairs, it was further to carry the bucket.

Owen, still wearing his thick gloves, poured some hot water into the cold.

“It’s a shame this tub is so small it can only accommodate one of us at a time,” Gillian said brightly as she stepped in. Ashton paled. Owen, who had spent long enough with Ashton to become intimate with his moods, noticed but said nothing.

Ashton rallied enough to pitch in as Gillian, standing in a pose befitting an Egyptian queen, suffered herself to be washed by her men. This may have taken longer than was strictly necessary, but the thoroughness of her cleanliness at the end could not be disputed.

Owen began undressing as Gillian pulled Ashton upstairs to help her into more commonplace, respectable clothes that could pass unnoticed through the streets.

Once Gillian left, Ashton returned to the bathroom to find Owen clean and the water still hot.

Men who had gone through boarding schools together had no modesty in each other’s company, no matter what else their history together. Ashton undressed as Owen began drying himself.

Men who have spent so much time as boon companions do not miss when something is amiss.

Owen began dressing thoughtfully, wondering how or if he should broach the subject.

Ashton cracked first. “Blazes take it! Owen, I told Gillian about Angela and Cristina.”

Owen, intent upon his fly buttons, very carefully closed them before responding.

Ashton’s face assured him the breach of sacred trust had not been taken lightly.

“I trust you too much to jump to conclusions, dear boy.”

“She caught me by surprise, then she started teasing me... Look, I just didn’t manage to hide it. All she had a wild guess, and then she read my face.”

“Women can do that. How on earth did she surprise you?”

“She kissed me. Then she said how grateful she was we weren’t jealous of each other...”

“Wouldn’t risk it,” Owen murmured.

“Then she started wondering why I didn’t object to kissing her when she had just been with you, and, well...”

“Ah. Of course. Understandable. Understandable question, of course. Difficult.”

“Then she started going on about how, us being such good friends...”

“So.”

“Yes!”

“But you did tell her.”

“Owen, I had no choice! She...”

“Ah. Sanctions were invoked.”

“Yes!”

“My dear chap, I completely understand.”

“Owen, you’re a prince.”

“I’d like to think I’m better than some measly prince, Ashton.”

“Quite right, my apologies. You have far more honour than that.”

Owen waved this away. “Think nothing of it.” He paused to think for a second. “I have to ask, when you told her, did she...”

“She enjoyed hearing about it”

“When you say...”

“Absolutely.”

Owen nodded respectfully. “Well, there is that.”

“I couldn’t say no.”

“No man could.”

Owen settled his feet into his slippers.

“There is one thing, though,” Ashton said with blatantly contrived casualness.

“What’s that, old boy?”

“I did let her know that the school had been, well...”

“Strict attitudes to that sort of thing.”

“Exactly! The thing is, she was rather more forthcoming with me.”

“You don’t mean!”

“Repeatedly! It must have been every man’s dream of a Turkish harem, in there!”

“The devil you say!”

Both men shared a moment of quiet reflection that painted upon their faces looks of wistful delight.

Owen emerged first. “I say, you don’t think she might have been putting it on a bit thick?”

Ashton looked shocked. “She was very insistent upon not keeping secrets. She was making threats over it. Pass me a towel, would you?”

Owen nodded slowly as the cloth changed hands. “I do sincerely hope we can take her at her word in this matter, then.”

Both men sighed, their faces wistfully dreamy.

Finally, Owen said, quietly, “You know what this means.”

Ashton nodded.

There was a longer period of silence.

The looks between them became calculating.

Owen sighed. “We’ve both come a long way.”

“Not the same people at all.”

“Not the same beliefs at all.”

Ashton nodded again as he reached for his drawers.

Owen took a deep breath.

Ashton nodded again.

“Of course, we can’t just...” Owen began.

“Of course not.”

***

By the time Gillian returned, a covered basket in her arms emitting steam and mouth-watering smells, the men were, to her great disappointment but not surprise, dressed and sitting in separate chairs in the drawing room.

The thought of convincing both men to join her in bed had kept her distracted for her entire time out of the house. Even if they took it in turns with her but stayed each to his own side, it would be a start. Even the thought of that was making it difficult to walk normally.

Dinner, in the furnished but otherwise quite unused kitchen, passed pleasantly, but too slowly for Gillian.

She tried several times to steer conversation to the status of their living arrangements, now they were beginning to settle into the house, but somehow every time she tried, they ended up at furniture, necessary repairs, or possible modifications.

By the time Owen and Ashton leapt to their feet to argue over who would clear the table, Gillian was nearly grinding her teeth with frustration. She was ordered back to the drawing room to rest while they washed up.

She checked the curtains and lamps in a futile attempt to use up energy.

By the time she heard them leaving the kitchen, she was ready to order them to sit together on the couch and kiss, just to see what would happen.

She stood facing the door, torn between sitting like a queen and standing like an icily outraged headmistress.

She had just decided upon sitting, and was about to throw herself backwards into the chair, when the door opened.

She froze in shock, mouth hanging open, when they marched through the door with stern faces but not a stitch of clothing between them.

“Gillian Canly Ledwich, we need to have a word with you,” Owen said. “Sit down.”

Gillian found herself, for possibly the first time in their company, completely tongue-tied. She looked wildly between them, torn between the fact she was staring at a dreamed-of desire, and the fact it was not going to plan.

“Sit down!” Owen said, more sharply.

Gillian folded at the knees, landing on the edge of her chair.

“Gillian, we are very disappointed,” Ashton said severely.

Gillian felt herself briefly back once more in the Headmistress’ office. The fact she was being addressed by two naked men in a clear state of sexual excitement, induced emotions that completely destroyed her ability to think clearly.

“You have been keeping things from us,” Owen said, a trace of disappointed sadness in his voice.

“Things that forced us to keep things from you,” Ashton added, his voice sharp.

Gillian’s mouth dropped open. Her wits began to rally.

“It seems you could have avoided us all a great deal of soul-searching and secrecy by being honest when we were setting the terms for this relationship,” Owen said.

Gillian nearly exploded like a boiler’s release valve. “How dare you accuse me...”

“Silence!” Ashton said, in a tone so unexpected that Gillian’s mouth closed of its own accord.

“My dear friend Ashton told me about your conversation,” Owen said, now sharp.

“It was the honourable thing to do,” Ashton said.

“I was frankly appalled to discover after all this time that you had been keeping such a desire private from us!” Exasperation slid easily into Owen’s voice.

“We can understand,” Ashton said, with enough sympathy in his voice to unbalance Gillian anew. “In most circles it would be a disgusting thing to ask of a man. I am afraid you put me in such a shocking position I responded the only way I felt I could.”

“However, you have failed to consider the position you put us in by only now revealing this, and doing so in such a way,” Owen said kindly.

The contrast between them, their changing moods, their nudity, the fact they were criticising her in this way while standing side by side with every evidence of sexual eagerness: Gillian found it impossible to grasp onto any point of stability.

“For us to ever suggest such a thing: We couldn’t risk it,” Ashton said. “Without any idea of how you might react, we felt we had to go any lengths necessary to keep such a thing secret.”

Gillian stared at them, her mouth dropping open. “You are not telling me...”

“I won’t ask again!” Owen said sharply.

Gillian visibly shrank back in upon herself.

Owen’s face softened into kindness. “We can understand why you maintained your silence, we really can, but you have to consider the burden this placed upon us! You! You, the central point in this triangle - I apologise for the mangled metaphor - you were in a position to raise the question, or even mention a rumour, to try to gauge our reactions, to test the waters, as it were.”

Ashton was shaking his head sadly, his eyes fixed on Gillian, who did not know whether to burst into tears or laughter.

“To say nothing,” Owen continued, “of the way you have kept from us the lurid details of your own time among your fellow young ladies! Stories that could have kept us all entertained for weeks on end!”

“To think of the nights we could have had, with such fuel to stoke our passions!” Ashton said, a note of glee creeping unbidden into his voice.

This was too much for Gillian. Unable to choose between laughing and crying, she tried to do both at once.

Caring but not guilt-stricken, the men waited for her to stop.

“You swine!” She managed to get out, “you pair of cussed swine!”

Neither man looked at all repentant as she lost control of her voice again.

“That was cruel!” She finally managed to say.

“In discussion with my colleague,” Ashton said, “we consider it was justified.”

Gillian shook again, but more with laughter than with tears this time. She managed to fumble a handkerchief out of her sleeve.

“You lied to me!” Gillian said the next time she had breath.

“Not a bit of it!”

“You told me you two had never...”

“Not since that night,” Owen said smoothly.

Gillian stared at him, then broke down laughing again. The distinction between laughing and crying had ceased to be relevant - the one had caused the other. “You buggers!”

“No, not at all, actually,” Ashton said smoothly.

“You may not have taken it,” she shot back, beginning to recover her wits, “but you have certainly been giving it! Just as I was thinking I knew why you liked that so much, you... Oh, you swine, the pair of you!”

She scrubbed at her face.

“The least you could do,” she said pointedly, “is tell me truly - never?”

They both shook their heads. “Never,” Owen said.

“Why not? Damnation, why not, you’re both gorgeous!”

They both shrugged. “I told you we were not short of partners,” Ashton said. “Maybe if we had been, we might have been curious, but we were not. We left that house willing to look each other in the eye. We only dared to discuss it when we knew our secrecy was absolute.”

“But we did discuss it,” Owen said quietly. “We could not dare to so much as think about it openly at the school, but ... well, perhaps the reason why not is that nobody has asked us for the opportunity.”

Gillian sat on the edge of her chair, staring at her two lovers as she roundly cursed herself for a fool, a timid girl and an idiot.

She blew her nose - the final task that handkerchief would be able to perform - then took a deep, steadying breath.

“I may be prepared,” she said, her voice a little unsteady, “to take what I have just received as fair penance for not being even more, gentlemen, I stress ‘more’, forthright than I have been.” She took another calming breath. “I am sorry. I could have said many months ago that the thought of seeing you both as you are now has kept me warm on cold nights, and given me release on lonely days.”

Cocks which had begun wilting for want for attention began swelling again.

It was on the tip of Owen’s tongue to say they were happy to know they had been of service, but he desisted.

“Yes, Devil take you both, I would like to have you both in my bed, on every opportunity that presents itself, starting right now!” She pointed a shaking finger at them. “So I think the least you could do is let me finally see you two kiss!”

Owen looked at Ashton. Ashton looked at Owen. “Well, the lady has commanded,” Owen murmured.

To Gillian, the two naked men looked like marble statues, their chests naturally hairless, their legs as smoothly shaved as hers in response to the climate, leaving only that upon their groins. She could see muscles shift under skin as bodies built by enforced athletic pursuits at school then honed by hard manual labour in a workshop turned towards each other. She may have given voice to an exclamation found in instincts but not dictionaries.

“Now, how was it? Kiss like you’re men kissing a woman?” Ashton murmured.

Gillian might have noticed a little more hesitation from Ashton than from Owen, but she was hardly paying attention to that. She was trying not to scream at them to get on with it.

Lips met. Ashton’s eyes were shut. Owen’s, merely hooded. Hands moved to the other’s waist as they kissed firmly, defiantly, proudly.

Gillian, her cheeks flushed and her breathing rapid, released a small gasp from between parted lips. She remembered the feeling of both men kissing her like that and the simultaneous memories made her dizzy.

The men drew back slightly.

“I say, sir, you do kiss well,” Ashton said, his voice betraying a shaky laugh but his body up to his eyes clearly excited.

“Not as well as you, sir,” Owen murmured.

Owen put his arms around Ashton. Ashton put his arms around Owen. They both seized the other by the back of the head as they pressed their bodies together.

Gillian could scarcely stay upright. Every cell in her body seemed to be screaming to be between them. She squeezed her hands between her thighs.

Her gaze roamed over the two men, desperate to see everything at once. As it dropped down their bodies, she saw their cocks pressed firmly between them.

She made a sound normally only heard in the deepest throes of ecstasy.

Both men heard, drawing apart by mutual agreement. Cheeks flushed and eyes wide, they turned their heads to look at her.

To Gillian, their combined gaze was a like a blowtorch that nearly made her spend there and then.

“Stand up,” Owen commanded.

She tried, but her legs would not work.

They pulled her to her feet. She managed to stay standing as, with the speed and skill of experienced lovers, they stripped her naked.

They steered her towards the stairs. Staring and swaying as one mesmerised, she staggered ahead of them until they steered her into her bedroom, the only one already fully furnished, tidy, and containing a full-size bed.

She collapsed onto the bed more than she lay upon it, somehow managing to turn onto her back.

As graceful as cats and without saying a word, the men moved onto the bed on hands and knees, stalking forwards until they loomed over her, arms, shoulders and legs pressing against each other unheeded.

She looked up at them, helpless under her own lust, whimpering softly.

They could not kiss her mouth simultaneously, so they lowered their heads to her breasts first.

Gillian gave voice to a helpless “Oh!” even before their mouths touched her.

She had not thought her nipples could be any harder, but they proved her wrong.

Owen had always had a smoother, more predictable touch, progressing through licking, sucking, then light biting, paying attention to the nipple itself to find the most effective way to slowly drive Gillian wild, making her feel joyfully submissive as she was driven to orgasm.

Ashton had always been a little more restrained before sex, then more aggressive during it, taunting Gillian’s flesh with unexpected touches, his teeth biting her nipple too sharply, his hands and mouth behaving in a dominant way to make her feel helpless as her orgasm was wrung from her.

To have both at once was threatening to destroy her sanity, her breasts each recognising the individual touch upon them but her body responding to both simultaneously.

She spread her knees apart, feeling them press into the bodies on either side of her.

Two hands dropped onto her thighs. Her hips lifted off the bed in response.

The hands slid up towards Gillian’s aching centre as she continued to twitch helplessly. They arrived there at the same time, touched, hesitated briefly, then smoothly split, one going down to the bottom of her already damp lips, the other rising to the top. She had no idea which was which until she felt Owen’s subtle, progressive touch upon her clitoris and Ashton’s firm, authoritative penetration inside her.

Gillian opened her mouth to scream in ecstasy, screaming that did not stop until she spent with a convulsion that lifted her bodily off the bed.

As she lay gasping on the edges of delirium, she barely registered Owen saying “You first, dear chap.”

She was not able to see Ashton about to object before he realised that this was no time for affected modesty or self-effacing humility.

The firm mattress shifted only slightly as Owen moved away and Ashton, his mouth finally leaving Gillian’s breast, her nipple aching with a form of exquisite soreness, settled between her wide-spread legs.

She moaned in happiness, expecting already to feel Ashton’s cock penetrating her.

It was a pity she was not quite able to watch as Owen, waving away Ashton’s hand, bent to slide a condom onto Ashton’s cock, first making sure to thoroughly check it for firmness.

Gillian’s head briefly cleared enough, as she realised she was still unfilled, to see Ashton, as he knelt between her legs, seize Owen for another firm kiss, Owen’s hand holding Ashton’s pectoral muscle as he would a breast. Her head spun again, but the image was so vivid she was absolutely certain she would never forget it.

Then Ashton leaned forwards over her, both hands supporting him, as Owen helpfully guided him inside.

Gillian’s legs rose to wrap around Ashton’s waist, holding him so strongly he had to restrain a gasp of pain before he set to fucking her so hard she would not be able to maintain the grip.

Ashton held himself off the bed until Gillian, her arms as forged in the workshop as were his, pulled him down upon her, crushing her breasts between them.

He kissed her, pressing her head back into the mattress with as much fierceness as if he were still sparring with Owen.

Gillian’s grip around his waist did not loosen as the slapping of his hips against hers rose in volume.

Owen, finding himself briefly surplus to requirements, spontaneously slapped Ashton sharply on one buttock at the peak of a withdrawal.

Ashton’s startled buck in response produced from Gillian a squeal that escaped even the seal of their mouths.

Owen grinned then tried it again, on the other buttock. Ashton roared like a bull to match Gillian’s escalating squeals of delight.

Ashton’s hips were moving too fast for Owen to establish a solid rhythm upon every thrust, so he timed it for every second. Then, a wolfish grin upon his lips, he began timing it unevenly, to every third, then second, then fourth, then third, then rapidly on successive thrusts, Ashton not sparing the air for bellowing but grunting explosively, the sinews standing out around his neck.

Gillian, made sensitive by her first orgasm, achieved her second first. Ashton, no stranger to the sounds of Gillian in the midst of ecstasy and not unmoved by them, followed shortly after. Owen, by luck as much as timing, struck Ashton a ringing blow upon his already crimson buttock at precisely the right moment.

Ashton tried to rear up, bodily lifting Gillian off the bed with him for a brief instant before crashing down upon her.

The two clung together as their breathing slowed, Ashton’s face buried in the mattress and Gillian’s locked in a blasphemous version of an angel’s ecstasy upon seeing God.

Owen, unfulfilled but with a true friend and lover’s lack of jealousy, idly stroked the back of Ashton’s leg, feeling a joyous sense of wonder that the touch was nearly as exciting as was the touch of Gillian’s naked skin.

Gillian’s limbs relaxed with a convulsive shudder, falling limply to the bed. Ashton groaned, trying to stir.

Gillian’s hand, nearest Owen, blindly sought for him. He took it off the bed to tenderly kiss the palm. It clasped about his face, pulling him towards her, into a kiss that was a little uncoordinated on Gillian’s part but not lacking in passion.

Ashton courteously, but a little weakly, rolled to the side, remembering at the last moment to keep a firm hold on his condom as he slid out of Gillian.

Gillian seemed to regain energy with an unnatural speed, her kiss becoming more confident, her other arm rising to seek out Owen’s groin.

Owen lost a brief internal battle against breaking the kiss long enough to say “Are you sure, my lady? If you feel that recent exertions have been too much...”

His response was an animal growl, a kiss delivered with heightened strength, and a grip upon his cock that made his body try, for a second, to fold around it.

Ashton, sitting up on the second attempt, fetched a wrapped condom from the pile Owen had left upon the bedside cabinet.

He began unwrapping it, but Gillian, clearer of head now, waved him to stop.

She pushed Owen away from her, onto his back, then slid down the bed.

“Ashton, kiss him,” she commanded as she moved to kneel between Owen’s legs, one hand securely around his testicles.

Ashton complied with more willingness than he had before, holding Owen’s head down with one hand across his forehead so he could control their kiss.

Owen reached for Ashton, wanting to feel his skin, as he felt the first touch of Gillian’s breath upon his cock.

He tried to respond to Ashton’s aggressive kiss in kind, but when he felt Gillian’s lips close upon the head of his cock he groaned and submitted to being kissed, his hand falling back to the bed from Ashton’s waist.

Ashton smiled fiercely against Owen’s mouth, feeling a flush of triumph that made his recently sated cock stir again.

Gillian, sparing some of her attention from giving pleasure to Owen, saw this. She smiled even with Owen’s cock sliding to the back of her throat.

Gillian was an enthusiastic student of pleasure, and as attentive to the responses of her partners as either Owen or Ashton, so she had soon pushed Owen into a mental state not far from where she had herself been with both men attending to her nipples.

Whether Ashton contributed to this was not certain, but it was certain that Ashton took advantage of it, taunting Owen’s mouth with his as Owen gasped for air and another kiss, sliding his hand possessively over Owen’s chest to knead each breast in turn as he would a woman’s.

When Ashton’s fingers first toyed with, then sharply pinched and tugged, one of Owen’s nipples, Gillian felt Owen’s cock pulse inside her mouth.

She drew back, a determined look in her eye.

Ashton, a grin upon his face, offered her a wrapped condom.

“Get behind me,” Gillian ordered as she took it. “I said I want both of you, and both of you I shall have.”

Ashton’s eyes widened before he scrambled eagerly to obey. Owen blinked in stupefaction as he tried to comprehend what he had just heard, but he recognised the feeling of a condom being put upon him.

“Wait!” Gillian ordered, when Ashton was abreast of her. One hand not leaving Owen’s cock, she lifted herself until she could move to Ashton, quickly giving his cock the same oral treatment until it was glistening with saliva.

Gillian crawled up Owen’s body for a deep kiss of her own, which he gave with returning agency and enthusiasm.

When she raised her hips, Ashton reached between them, lifting Owen’s cock into place. Gillian sheathed herself upon Owen with a deeply heartfelt groan from him and a long moan from her. She wriggled until she felt she could not take him any further inside, by virtue of her limits and his hips.

“Ashton!” She said, a little breathless, as she folded her knees up beside Owen’s torso.

Normally firm and assertive, Ashton knew when and how to be gentle.

He eased himself inside her arse carefully, giving Gillian time to adjust.

With much gasping, groaning, the occasional encouraging imprecation from her, and a hiss of breath from him, he worked his way until he was ballocks-deep between her buttocks.

To Owen, buried deep within Gillian but with no movement beyond the shifting of her hips and involuntary clenching of her inner muscles, the wait was exquisite torture. He occupied himself by licking sweat off her chin and insinuating his hands between them so he could cup both her breasts, beginning to squeeze them firmly every time she squeezed him.

Ashton felt the quivers of Gillian’s body as she sought to restrain her impulse to thrust back painfully upon him, but Owen could also see, from his position, the whites of Gillian’s eyes as they rolled back in her head. It was only by exerting the greatest exercise of will that Owen prevented himself from beginning to fuck Gillian soundly.

When both men were hilted inside her, Gillian managed to draw breath enough to focus.

“On reflection,” she said in a quavering voice, “I am not sure how this is going to work.”

“Lift up a little,” Owen said. “Let us move.”

Gillian, whose intent had been to be in command, relinquished it with a whimper, her head sinking to Owen’s shoulder, biting into the muscle there by habit more than intent.

Owen, looking over her shoulder, locked gazes with Ashton. They began slowly moving, fucking Gillian with patient, perfectly synchronised care without taking their eyes off each other.

Gillian made a pleading sound mostly smothered by the meat of Owen’s shoulder but loud enough for both men to hear. They responded. She gasped with joy.

Ashton’s fingers curled tightly into her hips. Owen’s curled into her breasts, squeezing not too tightly but enough to add to the delirious feeling of being given pleasure too great to deny.

Neither man noticed when they stopped attending to her because they were focussed on each other. Gillian certainly did not notice that she was merely between them, the object of their fucking but not their attention.

Neither man could bear to blink unless the other also did, and neither man would look away. Owen, with the weight of Gillian pressing upon him, could see Ashton’s naked, sweat-coated chest. Ashton could see little of Owen but knew himself to be kneeling triumphantly on top.

They stared fixedly at each other, fucking hard enough for Gillian to be making helplessly ecstatic noises but no harder, as they each imagined themselves to be fucking the other.

Gillian, helpless between them, neither knew nor cared about their fixation as she approached another orgasm. Ashton, who had already spent once and felt himself more sensitive because of it, and Owen, who felt his testicles tight with frustration, were at least as close as she.

Gillian came first, releasing her teeth from Owen’s shoulder so she could properly give vent to an appropriately loud scream.

The men, who had entered an almost fugue state as they mentally warred with each other to not be the first, were pushed almost immediately to their own climaxes, arching their necks as they roared in concert.

***

They lay across a bed barely large enough to accommodate them, both men sprawled on their backs, Gillian on her side with arm and leg thrown over Owen, sweat cooling upon all of them.

“I,” Gillian announced, sleepily, “am sore all over my body, and very satisfied about it.”

Ashton grunted in recognition. Owen, feeling it incumbent upon himself to say something since Gillian’s face was next to his, managed a more articulate grunt.

Gillian, moved by a sudden surge of love, lifted her body far enough to kiss Owen on the cheek. She fell back with a wince and a rueful “Ouch,” as Owen turned his head towards the kiss too late.

Ashton, hearing this if not watching it, chuckled.

Gillian tried to turn over to kiss Ashton, but stopped halfway, lying on her back with a rueful moan of pain that made Ashton, chastened, begin to apologise.

“Apologise for nothing!” Gillian ordered. “I will heal, but I am overjoyed to say the memories will linger. And do not doubt we will be doing that again!”

“I am your humble servant,” Owen managed.

Ashton chuckled, a leer in his voice. Gillian, showing remarkable aim as she reached up without looking, tweaked one of his nipples sharply, producing a yelp of surprise.

“We shall make each of us servants,” she said meaningfully. “That did not proceed according to my plan. I was fully intending to take control, not have it taken completely from me. Don’t think I’m complaining, but don’t think I will not demand the opposite.”

This time, they spoke in unison. “We are your humble servants.”

Night Flight

Crysta K. Coburn

“So who’s your boss?” Mika Grayburn asked, brassy brows raised slightly.

From that expression, Harold did not think he would be able to con her. He didn’t really know how to con anyway. He was an honest man, a good worker, and this was the first time his boss had asked him to carry a package for him all the way from Pallets City to New London.

“Smith,” Harold answered. She did not believe him. “Garson Smith! He’s a real person!”

Mika pursed her lips and studied Harold from his yellowed cane, hat with the red and blue band all the way to his scuffed black shoes. She did not look impressed and Harold couldn’t help feeling offended. Mr. Smith had told him to wear his best clothes when seeking passage on an airship, and this was it. Who was she to judge him anyway, in her black trousers with patches in the knees, shabby blouse and checked grey and white vest? She was young, sure, but no great beauty with black coal smudges beneath her eyes and goggles perched on the top of her blonde head. She was also the only woman at the docks at the end of Market Street (a common place for people to find quick and private passage by sea or air). Harold had found her less intimidating than the men, thus he’d approached her.

“You got the money?” Mika asked.

“Right here.” He defiantly opened an envelope filled with notes.

“Please don’t flash it around,” she sighed, then continued her interrogation (or so it felt to Harold). “Is this Mr. Smith human?”

“Of course he is.”

“Yeah? Because you look like a goon. Are you some Other’s lackey?”

“I’m not a goon!” Harold fairly shouted and immediately regretted it as there were a number of smartly dressed men around who most probably were. “I’m not a goon,” he repeated in a whisper.

Mika chuckled. “I didn’t really think you were. I just wanted to make sure. We don’t really like goons on our ship.”

She gave him a knowing nod, which he returned automatically. A lot of working class humans didn’t like the Others, and the goons who worked for them, though fully human, often meant trouble. Harold had seen goons, of course (he was currently surrounded by many of them), but never had anything to with them. He was a respectable person. He’d also never seen an Other. He knew they were supposed to resemble humans, though he’d been raised by parents who insisted they were, emphatically, not anything like humans. Others only came out at night (they used the goons as day men), and Harold always did his business during the day, so he didn’t think he’d ever be likely to run into one either.

“Alright,” Mika finally said. “You’ve got yourself a cabin. Give me a third of the fare now, and the rest when we take off. It’s a small ship, but fast. You want the particulars?”

Harold considered that for about two seconds. He knew nothing about ships that sailed through water or air. “Not necessary. When should I meet you?”

“We leave tonight just before sunset. Is that too soon?”

“No, that’ll do fine.”

She nodded curtly. “We’ll be east of the main airfield, away from the commercial ships. You’ll see signs, then you’ll see me. Ok?”

“Uh,” he stammered. “I think so?”

“Just take the steam shuttle to the airfield and get off at the last stop. Ship’s called the Mermaid’s Revenge. We’ll be by the woods.”

“Right. Got it.” he said...at least, he hoped he did.

***

Harold arrived at the airfield well in advance of sunset. He was the only one left on the shuttle as it reached its final stop, a fact that made him nervous. Had he made the right choice? What kind of name was Mermaid’s Revenge? It sounded like a pirate name. He spotted the ship instantly as the shuttle approached. It was completely on its own out there. After disembarking, there was still a fair bit to walk. Refusing to feel daunted Harold raised his chin, clutched his valise, and started to walk.

He soon spotted Mika who was checking items off on a list with a half-chewed pencil. She glanced up at his approach and held out a hand. He gave her the envelope with the rest of his fare, which she quickly counted.

“Excellent!” She grinned. “Welcome, Mr. Green, to the Mermaid’s Revenge. I’ll take you aboard.”

The ship was, indeed, small and Harold questioned whether it could carry much cargo. There was a short, squat foredeck and no aft to the gondola. A short set of steps led to the upper deck and next to it was a similar set that led down into the hull. This second set of stairs is where Mika led Harold. The hallway was tiny, and six slim doors opened onto it. Mika opened the middle door on the right and gestured for Harold to go in ahead of her. As soon as he stepped through, he stopped dead.

“Is this it?”

She shrugged. “I warned you it was small.”

“This. Is a closet.”

“Lucky for you it’s a short trip.”

Harold dropped his valise onto the slip of a bed and slumped his shoulders. Mika patted his back.

“Buck up, boyo,” she said. “Three meals a day, and once we’re in the air, you’ll have use of the upper decks. You’ll be so in awe of the view, you won’t want to spend any time in your cabin, I promise you. But until we’re in the air, you’ll have to remain here. There’s a lamp by your head.”

She closed the door behind him and Harold sank to the bed.

***

When it came time for take-off, Mika gave a rap on his door to warn him. There were no windows in the cabin, so he could see nothing of the procedure. He imagined there was a lot of wind as the lines were cast off and the engines started up. The gondola pitched fiercely two or three times, so it was probably better that he was inside. A singular gas lamp that hung from a hook in the ceiling swung so violently from the shaking that Harold turned it off and took it down from fear it would break and leave him permanently in the dark.

He noticed that the rumbling never quite stopped, but the ship seemed to even out at some point. He wondered if it would be safe to leave his cabin, but Mika never reappeared. Deciding a peek couldn’t hurt him, he cracked open his door, but stopped when he heard voices he didn’t recognise, listening a little more closely he recognised them as belonging to a man and a woman. Perhaps it was more of the crew and he would be chastised for exiting early. That didn’t stop him from listening in, however.

“...perfectly safe...” Harold made out from the woman. The man’s response was lost. The woman’s tone was confident in its reassurances. This was Harold’s first airship ride. Had something gone wrong? Should he be worried as the other man seemed to be? Sweat trickled uncomfortably down the back of his neck.

He fumbled in the dark for his valise. The package that Mr. Smith had given him was still there. Somehow, this helped to reassure him. Though what anyone on this ship would want with a packet of business papers, he didn’t know. Still, if they were taken from him, he would be lost. Stretching out on the bed, Harold prayed this was an honest ship and it really would be a swift and comfortable voyage.

***

The next morning, Harold was woken by another rap on his door and a quipped, “All clear!”

Harold was relieved to be able to leave his cabin. He changed his shirt and trousers and ran a comb through his hair. There was no mirror and he hoped this was enough to make himself presentable. He found Mika on the foredeck with a pot and a small stack of bowls in her hand. She ladled steaming brown slop into the top bowl and handed it to Harold along with a spoon she’d had in her trouser pocket.

“Breakfast?” he asked weakly.

“Breakfast,” she confirmed.

It looked awful, but it smelled surprisingly delicious, like cinnamon and something else he couldn’t identify. There was no chair in which to sit, so he settled on the stairs leading to the upper deck. The wind was strong and tousled his hair every which way.

A moment later, a tall woman in a burgundy jacket emerged from below. She greeted Mika and accepted her own bowl of slop. As the two women settled together on the deck with crossed legs to eat, Harold eyed the scenery over the railing. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look over the side, and he was afraid of being blown off balance besides. They were higher up than he’d imagined, and the countryside before him was laid out like a painting. It didn’t look real!

“Hey!”

Harold almost spit out his food. He looked up to find the woman in the burgundy jacket standing only a few feet away. Her hair was short and red and danced in the perpetual wind.

“I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Captain Belladonna Grayburn. Mika says you’re Harold Green flying from Pallets to New London.”

Harold bobbed his head, fumbled with his bowl (the spoon almost flew over the side), and stuck his hand out to shake. The captain’s grip was firm and transmitted confidence. He realised this was the woman he’d heard the night before.

“Pleasure to be aboard, uh, Captain.”

She nodded her thanks. “I hope it’s a pleasant stay. Only one stop to resupply, then we’ll be in New London.”

“Yes, thank you. You said your name is Grayburn?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you and Mika sisters?”

The two women exchanged a look that Harold could not decipher.

“Sure,” Captain Grayburn answered. “We’re sisters. Enjoy the view, Mr. Green.”

With that, she returned below decks. Mika gathered the breakfast materials and appeared ready to follow her.

“Miss Mika, wait!” Harold called and rose from his perch.

She looked up expectantly.

“I was just curious, are there any more passengers on board? Another man, for instance?”

She raised a brow. “Well, there’s the Gentleman in the engine room. He doesn’t really have a name. We just call him the Gentleman. I don’t think you’ll see him, though. He prefers to keep himself. He’s... A little crazy. Are you done with your bowl?”

While Harold took a moment to digest that information, Mika took his bowl and spoon from his limp hand and pushed past him. Suddenly finding himself alone, Harold didn’t know what to do. It was terribly windy, true, but open air might be preferable to a cramped, dark cabin. He wished he’d thought to bring a newspaper.

***

Harold lounged on the deck, still afraid to get too close to the rails, and was almost slumbering when an explosion rocked the deck. He scrambled to his feet and whipped his head back and forth looking for another ship. Were they under attack? Were there pirates?

He saw nothing in the air beyond puffy white clouds and the occasional bird in the distance. He was still standing there feeling quite unsure of himself when Captain Grayburn appeared.

“Ah, Mr. Green, there you are,” she said. “Just wanted to assure you that there is nothing to worry about. Just had a little trouble in the hold.”

“Trouble?” Harold echoed. “So we aren’t under attack?”

She raised her auburn brows. “Attack? No. And there is nothing wrong with the engines either.”

“Is it the work of that crazy man Miss Mika was telling me about?”

The captain coughed into her hand and cleared her throat. “If you mean our engineer, then yes. It’s just something he was working on. Nothing to worry about.”

Harold smiled weakly.

A little while later Mika appeared again on the deck with food for the midday meal - a leek and potato stew with bread - and Captain Grayburn again joined them. Nothing more was said about the explosion, and no engineers, crazed or otherwise, made an appearance. Mika and the captain discussed where they would land to resupply the next day, and Harold added that it would be nice to stretch his legs. This seemed to amuse both women, though Harold was mystified why.

After lunch had been cleared away, he decided to nap in his cabin and was still dozing when Mika rapped on his door to announce dinner. He wasn’t very hungry, but he went up to the deck anyhow figuring that, having paid in advance, he might as well get his money’s worth out of the trip.

He was disappointed with dinner, however, as it was a rehash of lunch with a lump of dry, brown meat in the middle of the bowl. Still, it was food, and he had paid for it. The usual trio had barely dug in when there was yet another boom and the deck rocked.

Mika cursed, slammed her bowl down, and jogged down the stairs and through the door to below decks. Captain Grayburn sighed, rose to her feet, and suggested Harold finish his dinner in his cabin. After the threat of twice now almost being tossed over the rail, he was only too happy to oblige her.

***

A short time later, Harold heard footsteps and voices in the hall again. They were the same as before. Harold cracked open his door. The captain and mystery man seemed to standing at the far back of the hall, where Harold had thought he’d seen another set of stairs leading down earlier that day.

“...explosion? ...was worried...” came the man’s voice.

The captain was clearly there to reassure the man, which meant he probably wasn’t the crazy engineer who’d caused the incidents. So who was he? Harold strained to hear more wishing he could get closer to hear better.

“...imperative we arrive... no delays...” the man went on.

“There won’t be.” The captain’s voice came through clear and firm, like she was putting all of her energy into convincing him that all was well. “We’ll arrive in New London with no more distractions, I promise you.”

The man’s response was too soft to be heard, then a door was closed, and Captain Grayburn went down the stairs to the deck below. Harold waited to see if anyone else stirred. He was too awake, now, to return to sleep, and he’d spent enough time in his cabin. Slowly, quietly, he slipped into the hallway and crept up the stairs to the foredeck, where his heart nearly stopped beating.

There, along the port rail, was a pale, thin woman in a flimsy white dress and matching scarf. Her hair was woven into a single dark braid that flapped in the wind like a loose rope. When resting, her hair must have been down to her hips. She looked like a ghost and Harold was frozen to the deck in terror. But no, her breasts rose and fell with each breath, and she occasionally raised and lowered her shoulders, shivering in the cool night air. She was no ghost.

Still, it took a few moments for Harold to gather his courage and approach her. He didn’t want to frighten her either, being right up against the rail as she was. He was just wondering how to get her attention when she turned to him and smiled. It was a beautiful smile with full red lips. He stammered his greeting.

“Hello. I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be up here. Or that anyone else was on board. Besides the captain and whatever Miss Mika is. And did you know there’s a crazy engineer in the basement? Not the basement. They don’t have basements on airships, do they.”

The woman’s smile broadened and she giggled. Harold couldn’t keep from smiling back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should probably start again.”

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m See...”

Her lips froze and her gaze seemed to shift over Harold’s shoulder. He turned to look, but saw nothing there. The woman (was her name really See?) then stepped swiftly past him and toward the door to the hallway.

“Oh! Wait!”

Harold stumbled in his haste to catch up to her. When he reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed open the door, she was gone. She must have disappeared into one of the other six doors. Had she returned to her own cabin? Was it impolite to go knocking on doors? Considering this was the middle of the night, it probably was rude. Harold returned to his own cabin and lay awake most of the night pondering this mysterious passenger. Mika definitely hadn’t said anything about other women being on board, only the crazed engineer. Nor had the captain. He would confront them in the morning. He didn’t like being kept in the dark. And with that decision made, he turned out the lamp and went to sleep.

***

The next morning at breakfast (more of the same brown slop), the captain did not join them on deck, so Harold could only confront Mika, which he honestly found less daunting then the two of them together.

“I never said you were the only passenger on board,” she protested between mouthfuls. “I said the only other man was the Gentleman. Which is true, in a manner of speaking.”

“Well, speak more plainly then,” Harold retorted.

She fixed him with a look. “You’re the only passenger I have to worry about feeding or getting sunburned.”

He opened his mouth to reply, stopped, and considered her words carefully while she went on eating.

Was it possible that woman, that pale, too lovely woman with the luscious red lips wasn’t human? Was she an Other? Sweat slithered down Harold’s spine.

“But you said you’d never have goons on board!” he burbled.

Mika shrugged. “Goons are bad news. I hate goons. Did the person you saw look like a goon?”

Harold coloured. “No.”

“There you are then.”

“There...? What? Why did you allow me to think I was the only passenger when there are at least two more?”

“Because,” said Captain Grayburn from behind him. “You didn’t need to know. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t babble on about it. Some people like their privacy.”

He turned and saw her standing with arms akimbo. “I’m sorry,” Harold stammered. “I didn’t mean any offence. I just felt...”

“Like we were cheating you?” the captain demanded.

“No! Not that. I just...” Harold felt foolish. “I just don’t like being lied to.”

“World’s full of lies and half truths,” Captain Grayburn answered. “If you didn’t know that by now, we’ve done you a valuable service.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Mika put in, handing the captain a bowl of breakfast. “We’ll still get you to New London. There’s a latch on your door if you’re worried about someone coming in at night. And if it makes you feel any better, I will personally vouch for your safety for the duration of your stay on the Mermaid.”

Captain Grayburn nodded her agreement. Harold regarded the two women who ate in silence. They seemed totally unconcerned. Perhaps he really had nothing to be concerned about. He apologised again, and the women both shrugged.

***

Later that afternoon, the Mermaid’s Revenge landed near a human farming community to pick up supplies. A small group came out to greet them selling sweets, trinkets, and snacks. Harold purchased a bag of nuts and a journal to read later.

He noticed a tall, spindly man talking to a local who looked like a mechanic. He wore a grease-stained leather apron, and his long hair was tied back in a thick ponytail. He hadn’t removed his dark goggles from his eyes. Harold could hear his high-pitched cackling laugh from across the field. That had to be the Gentleman, he decided, and it was definitely not the same voice that he had heard in the night speaking to the captain. His assumption was confirmed when Mika started yelling at the man to get moving. He obediently loped off to do her bidding. There was no sign of the two mystery passengers.

***

That night, back in the air, Harold stayed awake with one ear pressed to the door, hoping to hear the woman (whom he’d come to think of as See) pass in the hall. There was never even a whisper outside his door. Eventually, he decided he may as well go in person and see if she had appeared. He was fairly certain now that she was not a ghost, though if she were an Other, he might have new reason to worry.

But See didn’t look inhuman. In the stories his mother had told him, Others always had glowing eyes, mouths full of razor-sharp fangs (the better to devour naughty children with), and their hands were supposed to end in knife-like claws. Maybe he had, indeed, seen Others in his life, Harold mused, and simply hadn’t recognised them. They were supposed to be fabulously wealthy and lived in an entirely different world alongside the humans with whom they shared the planet Nyx. Harold went to the foredeck, hoping to meet See again, and perhaps if she were there he could ask her if she really wasn’t human.

When he crept onto the stairs, gently closing the door behind him, Harold did find See waiting at the rail as she had before, only this time she was not alone. A man stood at her side, cradling her hand in his. He had short brown hair and wore the finest pinstripe brown suit that Harold had ever seen. This man was either an Other, or the richest human on Nyx.

Harold crouched low, using the stairs to the upper deck to hide himself from the pair. Bits of conversation floated his way.

“Are you worried?” the man asked See. His voice matched the one Harold had heard in the hallway speaking with the captain.

See smiled at him. “Should I be?”

“No, of course not.”

Harold could see that his words were meant to comfort her, but there was a look in the man’s eyes that intimated he was less assured than he wanted her to believe.

“Nico,” See admonished. “Then why the secrecy?”

The man, Nico, drew her toward him. “I just want to be careful, that’s all.”

See wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed. They stayed together like statues for a few moments, embraced by the half-light of the moon. Harold didn’t even try to take his eyes away, they were so beautiful together.

“You’ll have me forever,” See told him as they at last parted.

A feral smile crossed Nico’s face. He nudged See’s head to one side and gently pressed his lips against her neck just below her ear, then again further down, leaving a trail of kisses down her white neck. See’s body went rigid for a second, then she relaxed with a moan into his arms. Harold’s face burned, but he felt frozen to the spot, watching, unblinking.

With one arm still wrapped firmly around her back, Nico ran his free hand slowly down her side, tracing with one finger the curves of her waist then hip. See rolled her body in response to his touch, as if trying to press herself further into him.

“Ah!” she gasped. “Shouldn’t we go back to our cabin?”

Nico snorted. “Too small.”

Both of his hands moved to twist her hips, and she turned to face away from him, giving him full access to her breasts and the button between her legs. See threw her head back as one hand pressed against each spot. Nico pressed his lips again to her neck. See’s legs shook and her hands flew to the railing to prop herself up.

And then he wasn’t just kissing her. Harold wasn’t certain at first - maybe it was just a trick of the light - but the sweat dribbling down his spine told him he was right. Nico’s mouth was latched onto See’s neck, and while she shuddered and wobbled against him, he didn’t move. He wasn’t human.

Harold told himself that he should flee. His cabin door was only a few steps down the hall, and Mika had told him there was a latch to lock it. He tried to move, to crawl even, but he couldn’t even get his legs to twitch. His eyes were glued on the pair at the railing as if enchanted.

Nico unclamped his mouth and trailed kisses along See’s shoulders and exposed upper back. He snaked one hand down See’s thigh and bit by bit pulled up her glowing white dress. She bent a little at the waist and stuck out her rear. Gathering her skirt up over the small of her back Nico pulled See’s lace panties down to her thighs (Harold’s face and ears burned.). He then unbuttoned the front of his trousers and, judging by the way See’s jaw dropped and her body jerked, entered her quickly.

Nico’s arms wrapped firmly around her as they ground together so she wouldn’t fall. Harold could see the man - the Other - was strong. He didn’t think he could hold himself up, let alone another person had their roles been reversed.

Just as Harold felt pulled together enough to perhaps inch his way through the door toward the safety of his cabin, See let out a shout, then a moan that rose and fell. Her elbows bent, straightened, then bent again and she lowered her head, spent. Nico gave a few more thrusts, then settled against her. He kissed her back, her neck, withdrew himself, pulled her panties back up and lowered her dress. As he buttoned up his pants, his eyes slithered over to Harold’s hiding spot, a terrible smirk on his face.

The bottom of Harold’s world dropped from beneath him and he bolted.

***

He couldn’t sleep. He was too terrified and turned on. How could these two opposite emotions coexist in his trembling body? He wanted to splash cold water on his face. Hell, he wanted to jump in a cold lake! But mostly he lay pinned to the bed straining his ears for footsteps that never sounded.

And then it came. A third explosion rocked the Mermaid. Harold nearly passed out. Moments later, Mika rapped on his door and announced: “Emergency landing. Stay in your cabin until further notice.”

Emergency landing!? An absurd giggle welled up inside Harold and spilled over his lips. Emergency landing.

***

The Mermaid’s Revenge landed safely in a clearing in the middle of nowhere. Bright moonlight made it easy to see, even through the sparse trees that surrounded them. Once he’d disembarked, the crew ignored him. Mika was busy with securing the ship while Captain Grayburn screamed at the cowed Gentleman. Harold happily wandered away from that scene. He went to the trees, where he relieved himself, then followed the sound of running water, hoping to get that cool splash of water on his face.

It was there that he found his fellow passengers. See stood by the edge of a stream with Nico by her side, a protective arm around her. He seemed wary, as if he feared some kind of ambush. Harold started to leave when the man called out to him.

“You needn’t leave,” he said.

Harold stopped, one foot raised. “I thought I’d give you some privacy,” he stammered back lamely.

Nico’s chuckle was deep and rumbling. “No need. Come and refresh yourself.”

Harold mumbled his thanks then circled wide as he approached the water. He knelt with relief, unsure he could hold himself for too long on his shaking legs, dipped his hands in the cold water and patted his flushed face.

“What is your name?” Nico asked.

“Harold.”

“Just Harold?”

Harold eyed him warily. “What’s your name?”

Nico smiled. “Well met, Harold.”

“Sir.”

Harold didn’t really mean to be terse, but he was afraid and embarrassed.

“So much for getting us to New London without further interruption,” Nico went on. “Eh, Harold?”

Harold looked up at him. A small smile played about the Other’s face. His amber eyes sparkled.

Harold looked away and splashed more water on his face. “Yeah. Do you think we’ll be able to take off again?”

“I certainly hope so.”

There was a grit in his tone that puzzled Harold. Then he realised dawn was approaching.

See spoke for the first time since Harold’s arrival at the stream. “Everything will be all right.” Harold saw her reflection turn toward Nico. “You told me so.”

Nico smiled gently and gave her arm a squeeze.

“We should pass the time together,” she continued, her tone almost childlike. “Harold, are you stopping in New London, as well?” She fixed her bright eyes on him and smiled sweetly.

“That’s right,” he answered.

“Pleasure or business?”

“Business.”

“What is your business?” Nico asked. His tone was less conversational.

Harold debated whether or not to answer. His silence intensified Nico’s gaze, however, and Harold finally blurted. “I’m a courier. I deliver things.”

“For whom?” Nico again.

“Garson Smith.”

Nico’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “Of Pallets?”

“That’s right. You, uh, know him?”

“I am acquainted with an associate of his. Will you return to him when your business in New London is completed?”

“I plan to, yes.”

Mika interrupted them. Harold hadn’t noticed her approach.

“We’re so sorry for the interruption.” She sounded tired. “Everything has been handled and the Mermaid is prepared to fly. If you’d be so good as to follow me.”

***

It turned out their little adventure hadn’t put their timing too off, and the Mermaid’s Revenge arrived in New London late the next evening. It was an enormous city and Harold stayed on the deck, mouth agape, gazing down for as long as Mika would let him. He didn’t catch a glimpse of neither See or Nico until they were landed and ready to disembark. He waited at the rail, against his better judgement, hoping to see them.

Finally, when Nico silently mounted the stairs to the foredeck, See trailing behind, he actually smiled upon seeing Harold, and approached him with an outstretched arm. Surprised, Harold held out his own hand for a firm shake. And there was something else. Nico had pressed something into his palm. Harold immediately slid it into his pocket without looking at it.

“Well,” said Nico. “It was nice meeting you, Harold. Quite the adventure we’ve had. May you have a safe journey back. And might I suggest you find alternative transport?” His strange eyes were sparkling again.

The corner of Harold’s mouth quirked up into a half smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Nico stepped aside and See wrapped her arms around Harold in a very unexpected hug.

“Thank you so much,” she said and released him.

Nico tipped his head and they departed.

Harold didn’t know what she’d thanked him for until he remembered the paper that Nico had slipped him. Perhaps that was it. He took his valise, thanked Mika for the ride, and went in search of the inn Mr. Smith had recommended to him.

When he was safe in his room with the door bolted, Harold took out the paper. It turned out to be two papers. One was a folded letter with “G. Smith” written on the outside. The second was a 100 note bill - payment for delivery, Harold supposed, though it was quite high. Why had Nico slipped it to him in secret? What was the letter? Should Harold be worried? He’d never carried anything for Others before. The couple had clearly been running from something. Was it something dangerous? What had Harold been pulled into? But the letter was addressed to his employer, Mr. Smith, so whatever it was, Harold might already be involved.

Harold went to the water basin, splashed his face, and stared at himself in the mirror.

“Pull yourself together,” he told his reflection. “You’re a professional.”

When he felt that his reflection agreed with him, Harold stood tall, squared his shoulders and prepared for bed. 100 notes aside, he did owe Nico something for spying on them. He would deliver Mr. Smith’s letter when he returned - by train - to Pallets City.

Harold thought back over his ride in his first airship and the mysterious fellow passengers. His face flushed as he remembered See’s cry and moan that night, how the moonlight had played on her dress and skin. He turned out the light, lay down in bed, and did not fall asleep for over an hour.

Be My Doll

V.C.

Beijing, China 4020

“Wake up, my broken darling.”

My eyes flickered open. I tilted my head; it felt as light as a butterfly in flight. Instead of flying, my brain was dead. Or so it seemed, for a brief moment in time. Until I opened my eyes wider. I breathed. Sucking in that first breath choked out a coarse and shaky cough out of me. I blinked again, my eyes flickering more wildly in panic, and then in peace. I was thinking to myself---

“You are alive.”

That voice. It wasn’t mine. Whoever that voice belonged to , they declared those very words that I said in my mind. Then I heard a sound. It was that of a ticking clock. More than just one. It sounded like a whole army of ticking clocks. It sounded like they were marching. Where was the war?

I was distracted by my eyes. They felt heavy and big, somehow. They travelled around this strange and unfamiliar place that I was in. The first thing I saw was the ceiling. It was decorated with bronze eyes---like evil eyes---the pupils, a sparkling silver. They were staring at me; I could have sworn that I even saw those bronze eyes blinking at me. I shook my head to cast out that very notion, turning my head on the left side. Something else was peculiar. All over the place was giant clock gears, air-plane wings, bronze and silver wheels, golden ceiling fans, and other parts and pieces. I couldn’t decipher where they had come from. It was a wonder why any of it was there in the first place. Where the bloody hell was I? In a junk yard of broken pieces? Was I a broken piece too? The air was warm here. A little too warm. It was heavy too. It was steam. And the light---it was coming from the sun. But I wasn’t outside. I saw a window; all I could see was a golden sky and pink clouds floating there, sailing like ships, then sun bursting through them . I was starting to freak out. Was I in a plane? But that would be impossible. It didn’t feel like this place was moving. It didn’t sound like I was inside of anything flying. I turned my head to my right. I saw something else amongst even more giant clock gears, air-plane wings, bronze and silver wheels, golden ceiling fans, and indistinct broken parts of unfamiliar things in the background. My eyes were staring at the face of a woman.

She looked to be a woman of Asian origin. Baby-faced. Slanted eyes. Fair light skin. Her shiny raven black hair was tied up in a gigantic bun. It gave off the illusion that it was her crown. There was a duo of shimmering golden chopsticks stuck in there as if her hair bun was a pin cushion. Emerald green jewels were hanging at the end of those chopsticks, matching the bright emerald green aviator goggles that she wore above her forehead. It was hard to tell how old she was; she looked ageless. Her skin. It was so flawless and as fair-white as a lily. Her brown eyes were like jewels. Shiny. Sparkly. Rich. Her red lipstick was shiny, sparkly, and rich too. It made her thick lips succulent. And so was her outfit, of what I could see of it. It looked like a hanfu. It was sapphire coloured. Long sleeved. Shiny because the fabric was silk. Sparkly because of the golden buttons that zigzagged from her neck to her waist. Rich not because of the price---though I gathered that this woman might have expensive tastes---but because of its ancestry. Unique to her culture, but all the more unique on her. It complemented her body---every curve of her, the back of her, and the...humongous bust of her. My eyes couldn’t help but freeze on that. Her outfit covered her breasts, but it was clear to see how big and round they were. I couldn’t blink; I could only smile at them. I heard a bubbly chuckle; it came from the woman. She carefully lifted up my head as if it was so fragile that it could easily break. She had me looking up at her face instead of on her breasts. I heard that sound again. The sound of ticking clocks, of oiled gears grinding, creating that noise of a tick-tocking war. It was louder in my ears than it was before. Why was it pounding into my brain as if it really was my brain? I couldn’t get it out of my head. Ding-dong. Tick-tock. Ding-dong. Tick-tock. Ding. Tick. Tock. Where were these clock-voices in my head coming from, and why couldn’t it stop already?

“Welcome to this century, darling,” the woman spoke. “You are home.”

“Home?”

Home was a familiar word. A vague place. I couldn’t remember if I ever had one.

“Who are you?” The sound of my voice. It sounded high in pitch. More feminine than masculine. “And where am I?” I looked around at my surroundings again, baffled. “And why am I here?”

I suddenly realized that I was lying on a cold slab. I looked up at the ceiling again. Those eyes. They really were blinking. Oh my God. Was I hallucinating? Was this place alive or something?

“You ask a lot of questions, my doll.” The woman chuckled in a deep tone.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s good. I programmed you that way.”

“Programmed me?” my body shook a little. The way she said it, so matter of fact, was frightening to my ticking ears. She sounded strict and serious. “I’m not a robot... am I?”

“Oh no, that you aren’t,” she shook her head with a sweet smile. “You are a doll.”

“I am a human,” I shook my head, convincing myself, and her, once again, “I am male.”

She brushed the tip of her emerald green polish coated finger over my shaking lips to silence me. Speaking softly as she continued to smile at me so sweetly, “No you are a human doll.”

“I don’t understand,” I grimaced. “Oh bloody fuck...” there was that incessant ringing noise of clock-work and grinding gears bursting in my brain again. It was louder than ever before. “Where is that blasted sound coming from?” I groaned.

“You.”

“What?” my voice dropped.

“I built the inside of you out of gears and clockwork. The inside of your body is like a machine now even though the outside of you is as normal, as doll-like and human-like, as it seems.”

“I think I am going to be sick...” My head was dizzy. Floating like the pink clouds outside.

She let out a laugh. “You don’t have the ability to be sick. I programmed you to never get sick. You will never go ill. You will never age; you’ll be forever young. And you will never die.”

“So I am immortal now?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“As a...” I gulped thickly. “A human doll?”

“Yes. My beautiful human lady-boy doll.”

“A human lady-boy doll? Wait, are you saying?” I nearly panicked, my hands roaming down my body.

“You still have your boy parts silly,” she slapped my hand away from my crotch.

I sighed with relief. “So then why do you call me a human lady-boy doll?”

“You are still a boy. You only look like a girl. You are a spitting image of a China doll. Beautiful. Curious. Strange. Wonderful. Just as I programmed you. Not really human, but still having that human look and charm. It took a good five years to build you just right.”

“Five years?” I choked out. “What year is it?”

“4020.”

“4020?” I gasped in fright. For some reason, I couldn’t remember whether or not I ever had a home, and yet, I could remember precisely what century I had come from. “I was born in the year 1857.” And I also could clearly remember one other thing. My age. “I can’t still be twenty.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I know everything about you from the day of your birth to the day you died.”

“I died?”

“At age twenty.”

“Why don’t I remember anything about my past?”

“I erased everything from your memory on purpose. Well, almost everything, except for the year you were born and the age you passed on. That was necessary to keep; the rest was useless.”

“To you, but what about me?”

“There’s no use for the past,” she scoffed. “The majority of what you once were, and where you had come from, is gone, my dear. Every memory of yours, is all in my keeping now.”

I thought she was completely joking, but she wasn’t. She really did must have erased all my memories---my past. My mind felt empty. It had no past. No present. I doubt it had a future.

“If it’s in your keeping, you could possibly give it back to me?”

“I can, yes, if I wanted to. But for now, that doesn’t matter. Today, you’ll take your first steps, like a baby. You’ll be starting all over in this new world. But don’t you worry, you won’t be alone. I am your creator and your mistress.”

“Your name, mistress?”

“Fang. You’ll call me Madame Fang.”

I saw why. She had real fangs. Like a vampire. Otherworldly. Strange. Sexy.

“Madame Fang,” I echoed. “What a beautiful name.”

“I know. Now, sit up, Jia.”

“Jia?”

“That’s your name now. It’s a traditionally unisex Chinese name.”

“Are we in China?”

“Yes. Beijing.”

“Was I born here?”

“You were originally born in England in a city called London.”

“How did I get from there to here, mistress?”

“Enough questions, my sweet. Do what I commanded you to do. Sit up,” she said in a more dominant tone of voice that gripped my attention. I obeyed immediately. I sat up, slowly.

“My body feels heavy.”

“It will for now. Once you get used to walking, you will feel lighter, more human-like.”

I took Madame Fang’s word for it. She rubbed my back as I sat up straight, me being afraid that I really was going to break. It was when she continuously rubbed my back that I realized that I was naked. Beads of sweat dotted my chest caused by the hot steam filling the room. The sweat-pearls trickled from my chest down to my torso. She was right. I did still have my male parts. They were limp, sleeping. I touched my face. It felt soft and feminine. My fingers were touching round and full cheeks, a little nose, a smooth chin, little ears, and thick lips. My hair. It was long. Its length was hanging past my shoulders. It was blonde in colour. I touched my head. Something suddenly happened. The tick-tock of my brain. It had stopped.

“I can’t hear that sound anymore. Is that a good thing?”

“Yes. That means you are working. No longer broken.”

“Was I badly broken?”

“You were, but now, you are brand new,” she said with such pride.

“Is the sound gone forever now?”

“No, it will be with you forever. You’ll hear it every day, especially before, during, and after lust and passion. It does that because sex---it will all be too much for your brain to handle. And, that sound will also commence when, if ever, you fall in love. It won’t sound the same though. It will sound like music. It’ll be the most beautiful sound of music you’d ever hear.”

“I’ve had sex before, right?”

“With women and with men.”

“And love? Have I ever been in love?”

“Hush,” she said loudly

“Sorry Madame Fang,” I looked down, then up at her. “I ask too many questions.”

“That’s because I made you to be wonderful. Now---” she stood in front of me.

Finally I was able to see what she her face on, she wore a long-flowing black skirt that was ruffled at the hem of it. It was different from silk. It was shinier. It looked like vinyl material. Yet somehow it had movement; it swayed and flowed to her body motion. The only skin of her I could see was her ankles. She was wearing bronze boots that were adorned with clockwork gears. They were shaped like stars, but sparkling brighter than the actual stars. They looked heavy, like the way my body was feeling. My face was aligned at her bust again; but I tore my eyes away and looked up at her face instead.

“Be my doll,” she cooed. “My baby doll. That’s what you are now. Make your first step.”

My feet touched the ground. Madame Fang held onto my hand gently. Bless her for doing that, because when I stood, I felt like an anchor that was about to plunge into a boisterous sea.

“Oh God, how much do I weigh?” I was heavy. Oh so very heavy.

“The less you think about it, the less you will notice. Pace yourself. Take your first step.”

“How can something so simple be so hard?” I murmured.

That first step felt painful. I heard a squeak. It must have come from me. I assumed that was normal. Lifting up my foot was like lifting a ton of bricks. However I did what she said and I paced myself. I took my first step with one foot. I did the same to the other. I sounded squeakier, feeling even heavier. But I did it.

I put my left foot forward, then my right foot forward. I succeeded.

“That’s my doll,” Madame Fang chirped so joyfully, standing by my side, holding my hand. “Take as many steps as you are able to handle,” she said softly against my ear. “Don’t rush. Let your body absorb you darling. Absorb everything around you. This will be your home now for a while. I will take good care of you, not as your mother, but as your Mistress. Is that clear?”

“Yes Madame Fang.”

“Would you like me to let go of your hand?”

“No, please don’t,” my voice quivered wearily. “I still feel too heavy.”

“I won’t let go then. For now.”

I looked around the room like I did when I first woke from...

“Madame Fang, was I sleeping?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yes.”

“I know this is my home, but where are we exactly mistress?” I looked towards the window. “Why does it feel like we are up in the sky?”

“Because that’s where we are. It’s a house in the sky. It’s towered off the ground.”

“That’s very...not of this Earth.”

“Oh, we are still on that planet. It’s far different though from the century you came from.”

That I could already tell. I was smitten by that sky outside. It was still gold, and the clouds, they were still pink. It was phenomenal, very pretty. I knew that I wasn’t hallucinating. It was real.

“Is this the entire house, Madame Fang?” I asked her as I slowly took another step. Wherever we were, it was so claustrophobic, so cluttered. It was a wonder how the floor was so clean when the walls were so junky and that ceiling, oh that ceiling, I couldn’t look at it again. It was too creepy.

“Far from it, my China doll. This is my work room.”

“What do you do for work, mistress?”

“I’m an inventor,” I caught her smirking. “The most acclaimed inventor in Beijing.”

“That I know,” I lifted my chin up. “You invented me, practically, after all mistress”

“Another trait I programmed into you. A bit sassy and cocky. Very attractive.”

I wasn’t sure if that was her giving me a come-on, or her just stating a matter of fact. I didn’t know Madame Fang yet, but if there was one thing I gathered already was that she was very cryptic. And boy, wasn’t that sexy as hell. I smiled a little, trying hard to not look at her bust again as I made another step. Oh. That step. A tiny bit of weight was dropped from me. Or was that just my imagination? I took another step again, one foot forward, another foot forward.

“I feel like we are floating now.”

“Didn’t I tell you? The less you think about the weight, the less you will notice.”

“You are always right, Madame Fang.”

“I know.”

She squeezed my hand. Suggestively, perhaps? I felt my cheeks blushing. I had feelings?

“Just because you are a human doll doesn’t mean you don’t have a heart, Jia. You can feel.”

I blinked, stupefied. “You just read my mind.”

She laughed. “You caught on that quickly.”

Her laugh. It sounded so sensual, slightly demonic, with a hint of evil and lust all rolled into one laugh. It made me wonder if she wasn’t all human either. Human on the outside, but not on the inside. I wondered what she was made of, and what she was. Those fangs alone told me that perhaps she was not of this world either. If only I knew, but not knowing was part of the thrill.

“Are you ready to go upstairs?”

“I think so mistress. I think I can do it.”

“Going up those steps will be a struggle though,” she admonished urgently. “You might collapse, and I might have to carry you like the little baby doll that you are.”

“I sure hope not Madame Fang. I want to be stronger than that.”

“Easier said than done, for now, but you can try. I programmed you to be strong as well, full of courage. We’ll see soon enough if that part of your program works.”

I really did hope so. Not that I knew that she’d be disappointed if my strength and courage did fail me, but I sure as hell didn’t want to find out. This aura about her told me that a disappointed Madame Fang wasn’t going to amount to anything good, and that it would amount to only one thing:

Chaos.

I continued taking my baby steps, my hand held by my Mistress’s soft hand. I felt lighter, if only in my mind, as I took those steps towards a stairway. It was black, intricate-looking, exuding the style of the Victorian age, the era of where I was born, but couldn’t remember anything much about. Not a face. Not a memory. Not a mother, a father, a sister, or a brother. Not a lover. Nothing. Not even myself. Whatever existence I once had, it was nothing.

“We are almost there,” Madame Fang spoke gently. “You are doing very well Jia.”

How proud of me she sounded. It made me smile. My baby steps quickened towards the stairway. The grip of my hand was tightened as Madame shouted, “Pace yourself Jia!” She said that in Chinese. My mind translated it as if I was born knowing that language as my native tongue. “You are walking too fast!” she said in a louder tone. I couldn’t stop myself. “Stop!”

“Yes Mistress,” I had to stop myself. We were in front of the stairway. A light was shining down on it, bringing more life to the Victorian design of the stairway. It was a work of art of itself. It almost took my breath away. If I had a breath, that is. I breathed. I could breathe. Like a human.

“Now, don’t panic if your weight overwhelms you and makes you collapse. It’s very normal.”

“I don’t want that to happen. I want the program to work. It’s a reflection of you.”

“Silly doll. So sentimental. Take your first step on the stairway. I’ll be right beside you.”

I obeyed. I was determined to have that first step be something more than just a step. I wanted it to be a leap. Like reaching out to the universe, one that was even more fantastical than this one. I tried, oh, I hoped that Madame Fang saw that I tried.

When I took that second step up the stairway, the inevitable happened.

My body. It tightened. It was heavy like an anchor again. I felt like I was drowning to the sea, crashing to my second death. I was sinking to the ground as I cried, “No!”

I burst out that word in Madame Fang’s language. It was the first word of Chinese I ever said.

“Don’t panic,” mistress said it like a warning. “You can breathe Jia. Breathe.”

I panicked. I couldn’t breathe. All I saw was darkness. Flickers of glitter. My head. Dizzy. Ticking rhythmically. I must have fainted, when I became aware again my feet weren’t on the ground anymore. I was being carried. I was held in Madame Fang’s arms. What a weakling I was. I was warned, but how I hated myself for succumbing to the inevitable defeat. My eyes flickered; I didn’t stare at the ceiling. All I cared about was mistress’s face. She was looking down at me. I noticed the tiny features on her face that I didn’t see before. She had freckles on her cheeks. It looked so adorable. She wasn’t wearing any make-up other than the lipstick she wore on her lips. She was a natural beauty. No, more like a ravishing divinity. She flashed her fangs at me. It gave me a tiny fright, because up close, they looked monstrous, definitely not of the human kind. They looked as if they could kill. When she licked them, I almost feared that she’d prick her own tongue with it.

“Don’t you worry, my doll.” She read my thoughts again. Teasingly she wiggled the tip of her tongue against the pointy tip of her right fang. “It doesn’t hurt me. I don’t bleed.”

“Are you a vampire, Madame Fang?”

She blinked. “What’s a vampire?” she raised her eyebrow at me.

“Never mind. Just a silly question, that’s all.”

“I programmed you to ask silly questions sometimes that even I won’t know the answers to.”

“Why’s that?”

“It makes you interesting and exciting. I’d rather be damned than to make a boring toy out of you.”

That was the first time she ever called me a toy. That, I knew for sure, was about sex. A faint thrill rushed through me at the thought.

“I want to be the best toy I can be, Mistress.”

“In time, you will. You’ll be well-trained and will become the best human doll in all of China.”

“Yes mistress.”

My eyes darted sideways. I saw that we were now in the upstairs of her home; my new home. We were in the kitchen. It had all the fixings of a kitchen, nothing out of the ordinary. Just like her work room, every material was made of brass or silver. The ceiling in the kitchen had eyes too. Still scary, but I was starting to get used to those blinking ceiling eyes. They became the new normal for me already.

“Why does your ceiling have eyes, Mistress?”

“Everything in this world has eyes. Everything is watching you. It puts you in your place.”

“Even for you, Mistress?”

“I know my place. It only watches you.”

She was right about that. They were watching me. I ignored them, focusing on the only pair of eyes that didn’t make me afraid. But they still put me in my place: Madame Fang’s dark eyes.

“You like being carried like this, don’t you?” her smile, and her fangs, made me blush.

“I don’t mind standing, Mistress.”

“You won’t be able to walk now. The weight is too much. If you thought you felt heavy before, you will really feel heavy now. Remember, you are only a baby. Relax as I give you the tour.”

“Yes Madame Fang. I would like that very much,” I smiled.

I enjoyed every minute of it. She carried me to the “media room.” It had fine red velvet couches, golden carpeting, and many windows that overlooked the outside world. There was a strange invention there. It was a flat screen, rectangular shaped. Very peculiar, so strange looking.

“What is that there, Mistress?” I pointed at it.

“It’s called a television,” she replied.

“What is it for?”

“It shows moving images. It entertains you.”

“Will we watch it often?”

“Yes, we shall watch all sorts of things. Comedies. Tragedies. Anything I’d like to see, you will watch.”

“I look forward to that Mistress.”

She then showed me to her office, which was so whimsical in its quaintness. She had another work room. It was in that work room where a door led to the outside. She opened that door carefully while still balancing me in her strong arms and stepped out onto the balcony. We were a part of the golden sky, so high that I felt like I could almost touch the pink clouds. The air was as hot as the steam. What a view. It was unbelievable. It looked like we had the most splendid aerial view of Beijing, perhaps the best skyline view on the planet. I could see these tall buildings. I asked Mistress what they were; she said they were skyscrapers. I pointed at other buildings; she said they were towers. One of them was the Beijing Watch Tower. Another set of buildings were called temples. One of them that she pointed at was called the Temple of Heaven. Everything----the skyscrapers, the towers, and the temples---blew me away. I couldn’t blink; I didn’t want to miss a single first sight at them.

“What are those things in the water?” I stared at a purple sea far below us.

“Those are metal ships. They are propelled by sails powered by the sun and the moon light.”

“And what are those things up in the sky?” I looked up.

“Those are airships. They are powered by steam. One day, I will take you for a ride on mine.”

My mind. It started ticking. And not in a bad way., but because I was thinking. Madame Fang’s words---I will take you for a ride---not sounding remotely suggestive at all, made me think of only one thing: sex. My cock started to stir. Just a little bit. A nagging twitch.

“Oh, I can’t wait for you to take me for a ride,” I beamed.

“And you aren’t meaning my airship,” she chuckled. I blushed at her acknowledgement and understanding.

“Sorry mistress. My mind wandered there...”

“I programmed you to have a mind such as that for a reason. Don’t be shameful of it.”

What that reason was---as curious as I was---I didn’t feel that it was the most appropriate opportunity to ask. Not that it mattered. She could read my mind. She answered with a smirk.

“The last stop of the tour is my bedroom.”

“The best room in the house, I can imagine.”

“It’s where all the sorcery happens.”

I could already feel that magic when she carried me there. It was beautiful. The bed was giant; it looked like it could fit up to five people. I could well imagine that Mistress had more than that many people in there. There was black chandeliers; covered in black diamonds, making it shine and sparkle without the light needing to shine on them. The walls were decorated with actual clockwork gears all over it,and there was a mirror. I hadn’t yet seen what I looked like. I didn’t have to say that aloud of course she took me there. I closed my eyes tightly, afraid at first to see what I looked like. I had no recollection of what I looked like . I didn’t remember what my hair colour was or what features I used to have. If I knew absolutely nothing, it was a wonder why I was so frightened at staring into my own reflection. I was afraid of what would be looking back at me. I knew I wasn’t a monster. I couldn’t have been hideous. But I wasn’t a human. I was a doll. A China doll. A toy. Looking more like a...

“Open your eyes.”

I had no choice but to obey. My eyes. They were abnormally huge. Bright blue. Glossy. Vacant.

“Are my eyes actually real?” I blinked.

“Yes.”

“Why are they big like this?” I marvelled.

“Doll eyes like yours are the most adored in this country. Exaggerated. Dramatized. Not too expressive, rather vacant. Cute. Precisely like yours.”

I stared at them. They were strange, and yet, so wonderful in their eccentricity. “They really are cute.”

And so was my face. It looked like it was made of porcelain, so fair with not a crack of a blemish, misfortune, or imperfection on it. So perfect, I had a cute as a little button nose. My ears weren’t too big but not too small either; it was an even balance. My lips were plump and full. Pouty and a little seductive. My cheeks were baby-like in their smoothness, thick, round and rosy coloured. I already had known that my hair was blonde but looking into the mirror I saw how thick and luminous it was like bronze twisted with silver. Out of all aspects of me, my hair, especially, was what made me most doll-like. I wasn’t wearing any make-up; my face was a blank canvas, only hinting to the possibilities. If my face looked like a female without make-up, not even my wildest imagination could envision how pretty I’d actually look with it. I could only picture how it would accentuate and exaggerate my features.

“I’m going to let you stand on your feet now,” mistress broke my concentration. “If you feel faint, don’t worry. I will catch you.”

“Yes Mistress,” I nodded. “I trust you to always catch me.”

She set me down on the floor. I stood tall on my two legs. Wobbled a little as if about to fall over, but balanced myself, as my eyes stuck at my reflection in the mirror. I looked at my body from top to bottom and back to front. It wasn’t just my face that was feminine. My body looked feminine too. It had curves, hips and a round and voluptuous bottom. The only thing that was all male about me was my thick and long sleeping penis and my soft and velvety ball sack. If I tucked my balls and my penis far back between my legs, I’d truly look like a real human girl doll. I did that to myself. The other reflection I saw was of Madame Fang. She stepped back, admiring my reflection with me. I could feel her eyes on my faux-pussy. She smiled seductively. I let my balls and my cock go, having them set free from my playful tuck. My cock, suddenly, became wickedly hard.

“I’m sorry,” I gulped, looking down at myself. “I don’t know why I’m hard right now.”

“You are turned on by your own reflection. That was exactly what I wanted to see. If you can’t be turned on by yourself, who else will?”

“Did you program me that way too?”

She shook her head. “That’s all you, Jia. That’s the only thing about you that is organically you.”

“You say that I can still function as if I were a human?”

“Yes in all ways.

“That’s a relief,” I sighed. I gritted my teeth. There was that sound again. The army of clocks pounding my brain. “Mistress,” I gulped thickly. “May I relieve myself? The clock voices. It’s overwhelming. And so is my...” I looked down at myself. I was so long and so bloody hard.

“I want you to wank yourself. That is all. And I will watch.”

“Will I see you naked, mistress?”

“How greedy you are,” she snorted. “You think you can get what you want that easily without earning it. You will not see me naked, not today. You will one day make love to me, but only when I’ve moulded you into the most perfect China doll that the entire country will just adore.”

“Aren’t I already the perfect China doll? My reflection says---”

“You are just a baby. You were only born today. All this is only the beginning.” She stepped closer to me, gripping my behind, her claws digging into my flesh. I gasped when she growled in my ear, her voice sounding not human, but demonic, “One day, I’m going to make you into a star. That was why I made you. I’ll nurture you, mould you, and train you to be everyone’s doll.”

“Yes Mistress,” I breathed slowly with a shake to my voice.

“But for now, you are my doll. Be my doll and play with yourself.” She spanked my bottom. “Oh, by the way, Jia. This will be the best wank that you will ever have, my dear.”

I could already feel it, the divine sublimity of what would be the first orgasm of my new life. It had, after all, been...I calculated. 2,163 years since my last one? Fuck. No wonder I was so horny just by looking at myself. It wasn’t only my reflection that sky-rocketed my arousal.

My mistress was the keeper of my flame and my desire.

She lay on her bed sideways, in that position alone my eyes wandered along the curvature of her body. What a figure! Those she-devil eyes. They suggested such exciting debauchery. I gulped as I wrapped my hand around my cock. My body was still heavy but it was so easy to ignore as I jerked myself off, slowly I couldn’t draw my eyes away from Madame Fang, to my joy her dark eyes, they were locked on me too.

“That’s my doll,” her voice sounded like the hiss of a slithering snake. “Savour yourself.”

I obeyed, slowly engendering the motion of my tender wank. My lips trembled excitedly when my Madame unbuttoned a button from her hanfu. Just one button. That was all she did. Her bosom was still not exposed. Only the nape of her neck, nothing more. Just that little exposure of her divine flesh, it made me quicken myself . Oh, how Madame Fang was teasing me! She lifted up her ruffled vinyl skirt, exposing only the flesh of her ankles, her boots gleaming.

I let out a sharp gasp, biting down on my lip. My breath quickened. Her skin. Those ankles. That neck. My eyes darted at her bust; my perversion drove me wild. I pictured her nude breasts flashing before my eyes. I let out a girly squeak, gripping onto the length of my thick shaft harder, squeezing it more firmly, and moving my hand faster.

“Oh yes,” Madame Fang purred. “That’s my doll.”

She lifted her skirt just a bit higher, exposing just a glimpse of her thigh. That was it. The sublimity.

I closed my eyes and let out a cry as I came. I cried even harder as I continued to come, the ticking in my brain sounding like an earthquake had just shattered and I was suffering the vicious aftershocks of it. Oh my head, it was pounding unbearably, but it was all worth it.

When I opened my eyes, I practically came for the second time. On the bust of Madame Fang’s hanfu was...my cum. The colour white of my cream popped against the sapphire blue of it.

She looked down at it, collecting a drop of me with the tip of her finger. She stuck that finger in her mouth, sucking on it, just the tip. Savouring me. She hummed, “You taste very sweet. Try it.”

“Is it really sweet?” I stepped towards her, feeling faint, but fighting against it. “Is come supposed to taste sweet?”

“Your come is. I made sure of it that you would not taste salty and bitter like normal. It has a buttery texture and a candy-like sweetness that is too delicious, almost addictive to the tongue.”

How delightful that sounded. I had to taste the flavour of me for myself.

I collapsed on my knees---not on purpose, the weight of my body had me fall naturally. My face landed straight into Madame Fang’s pillow-like bosom. I kissed my seed off of her hanfu before licking it. Then I tasted it,again, as usual, Mistress was right. My come really did taste sweet. Like a nectar. And it had a buttery texture too. My tongue was addicted to it as if it were a candy. I kissed and licked every drop of me off her. I was about to swallow that last pearl of my sugary sweet, but Mistress, she cradled my face into her arms, rocking me. And then, her lips pressed against mine. Her tongue, oh, what a tongue! It stole that sugary sweat pearl of me out of my mouth so that only she could savour it for herself. She sucked on my tongue, savouring even the after-taste of me in my mouth. I moaned loudly into her mouth as she did too. Our kiss. It was as addictive as my own nectar. If it weren’t for her prying my lips off hers, our kiss could have possibly lasted forever.

“Jia,” she moaned softly. “You’re already making me so proud.”

“Why is that mistress?” I blushed with pride.

“You are still just my baby, but already, you’re becoming my most perfect doll.”

I nuzzled my nose against her bosom. She pulled me up on the bed beside her. I was facing her and she was facing me. My doll-eyes looked up at her. No words were spoken between us. There didn’t need to. Eyes had a way of speaking a language of their own. I still couldn’t tell if in those eyes was good or if all was there was evil. Either way, in that moment, I didn’t care. All I saw was my mistress, and I drank in every inch of her face. She cradled my face into her bosom, stroking my hair, coaxing me into such a peaceful state of mind. There was not a sound. No ticking. No gears grinding. Silence. There was not an army of clocks making war in my brain. The sweet silence. I embraced that sublimity. Just like a real baby that is lulled to sleep by a lullaby, I dozed off with the rocking of my mistress’s arms. Then, I peacefully fell into what was possibly and most likely the first real blessed sleep I had in over two-thousand years.

***

Waking up was a new beginning.

I could hear the army of clock gears ticking in my body. Except it wasn’t an army today. It wasn’t loud to my ears. It was quieter, softer, not as jarring and frightening. I looked around; I was still in Madame Fang’s room. She however wasn’t. And I wasn’t in her bed anymore. I was in...a confined space. It wasn’t a closet. It was more like...a box. Four rectangular walls surrounded me; it was made of gold brass. In front of me was glass. I couldn’t move. It was a wonder to me that I could even breathe; however wasn’t suffocating in this claustrophobia. I wondered how long I had been in this box. Was it my prison and my home?

I heard a creaking sound. It was Madame Fang stepping into her bedroom. I kept my mouth shut but it sure was tempting to have it drop to the floor. She had her hair in big and bouncy pig tails, which were held by what looked to be brass flower pins. She wore a black corset that was shimmering with gold clock gears. It pushed her breasts up so high; they were as humongous and round as I imagined them to be. The natural bounce and sway of them; what a menacing melody. Her neck collar matched the colour of her corset; it seemed to elongate her neck. She wore black and gold stripped pants that were tight around her, showing off the wave of her curves in such a smashing fashion that I almost wanted to whistle. That was, if I could actually whistle. She wore shiny black boots that reached up to her knees, the heel so tall, making her tower over everything. Making me feel weak. It was Madame Fang’s doing. Just the essence of her presence did that to me. It broke the strength in me, but I didn’t dare show it. I just stood still in my box.

She opened it, “Welcome to the dawn, my Jia doll.”

Leaning in she embraced my waist with one hand and helped me out of the box. Placing me down on the ground to stand on my own two feet she allowed me the honour of being able to stretch myself. My body. There was no squeaking, no loud ticking. No more of that overwhelming heavy feeling. I was as light as air. I took a couple of steps. I could walk like a human, it felt like I had wings. I sprinted and leaped into the air feeling as if I was flying. Madame Fang watched me like a proud mother, smiling so wide. I looked at her and said, “Mistress, am I not a baby anymore?”

“Not anymore. You are now a young adult. You will never grow old, you will remain the same age that I wished you to be. Dolls are immortal.”

“Are you immortal too, Mistress?”

“I am for as long as my inventions are immortal with me.”

“I am honoured to be your invention.”

“I am proud. You are one of my greatest inventions. I can’t wait to show you off to my friends and my suitors.”

“When will that be, Mistress?”

“Today.”

“Today? Why so quick?”

“Because they can’t wait anymore as can’t I. We want to play with you so badly. Especially me.”

“Will that be as soon as your guests arrive, Mistress?”

“It starts now by me dressing you.”

She took my hand and led me out of the bedroom down the hallway toward a set of stairs I hadn’t seen the last time,. . It was as if it had suddenly appeared and I wondered how I had missed it. This time, I wasn’t too heavy and didn’t faint going up the stairs. Even then, Madame Fang was by my side, holding my hand.

We ascended up the stairs and suddenly there we were in what was the most whimsical room of all.

“This is the play room.” she announced with a touch of pride in her voice.

It was a play room in the round. The ceiling was made of glass, dome-shaped. The chandeliers were a champagne pink and yellow, glowing from the sunlight that was streaming through the glass ceiling. There were chairs and couches that looked more like thrones. A night-stand that had brushes, combs, hair accessories, and a giant mirror, and of course there was a bed. It was in the round too. Around the edges of the wall was a standing rail that held clothing. Clothes that were as stunning as those that I had seen Madame Fang wear so far. Clock-work style corsets in all the colours of existence. Skirts and dresses---some were long and some were short, some were straight and some were ruffled or puffy, and they were in all the colours of the world as well. Collars, like the one mistress was wearing as well as some that were Victorian in its style---dramatic, elegant, and supreme. And cuffs too. And mitts. Bondage-style clothing,Top hats, Aviator goggles, lots of bows Everywhere I looked there was something new to see. It was a dizzying number of clothing and accessories that made my eyes widen and my head spin.

“Are all these clothes for me, Mistress?”

“Yes.”

“They are works of art.”

“Of course they are. I made them.”

“You did?” My mouth dropped open.

“Don’t you ever forget my doll, I am the inventor and you are not my only creation,” she smirked slyly.

“I’ll never forget it.”

“You are excited.”

“Pardon mistress?”

Her eyes darted down at my cock followed closely by mine. It was hard. Overwhelmingly hard, already glistening with pre-cum.

“You will not dare touch yourself.” That sounded like a threat. It made my cock twitch.

“I won’t mistress,” I gulped.

“Now, it’s time to doll you up. No pun intended.”

She took my hand and excitedly led me towards the night stand. She had me sit in a chair. It was the only chair in the room that wasn’t throne-like at all. It was a stool. I saw my reflection in the mirror, I looked the same as yesterday even though I felt so much more comfortable with myself. . My hair, as shimmery golden blonde as ever, was so thick and full, pristine. Mistress took a comb, running it through my locks. That look on her face. It was bubbly, so full of life, as if she were a child again. If she ever was, that is. It made her look even more beautiful and sexy to my big, round, and vacant eyes. After she brushed my hair with many smooth and tender strokes, she carefully wound brass curlers into it, winding it tight enough so those curls would be sure to set. Madame Fang let out a squeal.

“You look adorable already!” she jumped. “And I am just getting started with you, my doll.”

I flashed a smile at her. Her eyes were focused on my lips and suddenly her lips moved against mine. She sucked my bottom lip into her mouth, her humming making me swoon with ecstasy.

“I am going to paint your lips gold like your hair,” she whispered. “It’s going to sparkle and shine.”

“Like you, mistress?”

She caressed my chin, pushing my face upward. I looked into her eyes that were far from vacant, yet, they were void of all emotion . They were dark. Menacing. Gorgeous.

“Purse your lips.”

I obeyed her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her snatching up a lipstick applicator, revealing its shimmery gold colour. She applied it to my pursed lips. Thickly, I could tell, by how many strokes she made with it.

“Ooh,” she cooed. “Stunning.”

She wouldn’t let me look in the mirror to see myself yet. Not until I was all dolled up.

Next was the eye-shadow. She let me see it before it was applied, it was the colour of her hair. “Close your eyes.”

I obeyed and felt a brush dusting my eyelids with that black eye-shadow I also felt a thin and wet tip gliding along my eyelids too,. And the gentle stroke of a brush against my eyelashes. Another brush stroked me all over my face. It was a powdery substance and I could feel it coating my skin. Then it stopped. I heard Madame Fang’s voice. “Now you open your pretty eyes.”

I obeyed.

“You can look in the mirror. Now.”

I turned my head towards the mirror and gasped. My face. It looked like a doll-face before when it was in the nude, but with make-up on, it was so close to that of a doll that it was unreal. But I was real, I touched my nose to remind myself that the reflection was not an illusion. It was really me. My eyes. They looked bigger and wider with the heavy black eye-shadow and mascara. It made me appear even more animated than I already was without it. Even my blonde eyebrows, so perfectly arched, were out of this universe. My cheeks were a rosy pink, like the colour of my natural lips. My lips really did match the colour of my hair, except it sparkled. The texture of my face looked and felt as smooth as a pancake. Fair. Flawless. Extraordinary. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of myself; I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t an illusion. I was real.

“You are real.” My Mistress read my thoughts once more.

“You make me look---and feel---that way.”

“Now what to dress you in. Stay where you are while I pick your attire.”

Perched on the stool and watched Madame Fang skip towards the towering number of fashions that she had to choose from. How was it possible for an inventor to choose the best of her creations?

Madame Fang made it look so easy. She grabbed one of the collars first. It was a Victorian style one. Skipping over she showed it to me and had me feel it. It was fuchsia cotton, thick and sturdy in its material, trimmed top and bottom with long-flowing frilly fuchsia lace On the front was a stunning giant clock gear brooch that was encrusted with champagne diamonds. There was a O shaped ring in the very centre. On the back side was shiny gold buttons. She unbuttoned them buttons to open the collar. She had me lift up my chin as she put it on me. With a snap, it was around my neck. My neck felt like it was caged.

Precisely as Madame Fang wanted it, I presumed.

She grabbed a corset that went with that collar, It was fuchsia and gold too. Clockwork gears was its embellishment; it shimmered and sparkled like my lips. The corset had straps at the bottom like garters. She put it on me in such an eager fashion that it made my cock jolt, but again, I didn’t dare touch myself, and with all my power, I stopped myself from even thinking about it. Then she grabbed a skirt. It was parted in the middle whereas the rest was bustled. She slipped that on me too, up to my waist to where the straps of my corset were beneath it, lying on my upper thighs. The parting in the middle of the skirt was there for a reason. As I looked I could see it was for the exposure of my loins, and for the easy access of it. My cock was a pistol; how badly it wanted to shoot, but I didn’t dare engage it.

Madame Fang grabbed a pair of stockings. They were gold and fuchsia stripped, sheer in its fabric, shimmery by the light. She rolled them up my leg; the garter clipping into place to hold them up. The last article of clothing Madame Fang had was the shoes. They looked so scandalous. I took a deep breath when she showed them to me. They were dark fuchsia with gold trimming completed with moving clock gears . as if they were keeping time. . And the heels lit up gold. Sparkling like the most splendid of all light shows. Even Madame Fang took a deep breath as she admired this great invention of hers. She admired them all the more as she slipped them on my dainty little feet licking her lips in lustful hunger.

“Walk,” she commanded. Rising up from the ground to watch me.

I didn’t know if in my past life I ever walked in a pair of high heeled shoes, a corset, stockings, a skirt, and a collar. However perhaps I did, I walked in them naturally, not missing a single step. The fashion I was wearing---it made me feel so good, even hornier, as if I wasn’t already turned on enough. I strutted across the room with a light shake to my hip and a jaunty wiggle of my bottom. That excited Madame Fang quite a bit. She pounced on me, holding me tight and close to her. It made me gasp and giggle all at once as she declared, “Oh Jia, my doll, I made you just right!”

“Am I really perfect?”

“Not just yet. There’s one last thing I need to add to you before my friends and I play with you.”

She grabbed one of the gloves. They were in the same fashion as the collar around my neck. The wrist of each had a clockwork broach with champagne diamonds all over it finished off with an O ring under both. They may have looked elegant, but they exuded bondage. I already felt bound in them when Madame Fang slipped them on my wrists, adjusting them tightly.

“Now you are perfect.” Her voice had the slithering snake sound to it again. “My perfect doll.”

Her hands reached out to my hair and carefully unrolled the rollers. I felt the curls of my golden locks fall and bounce freely above my shoulders.

“Now you are even more perfect!” Madame Fang squealed. “All your hair needs is an accessory.”

Walking me back to the night stand she picked up the waiting hair accessory. It looked like an Asian-style fan except that it was gold and bronze. Each feather-shape of the fan had giant pearls on it and engraved clockwork styles etched at the bottom. It appeared heavy but it was light. When she clipped it on my hair, I couldn’t even feel it. It was marvellous. It complemented everything: my hair, my make-up, and my attire. My every perfection.

Madame Fang stepped back to admire me, and declared with joy in her voice, “I could just come right now by you just standing there, Jia, my most perfect doll. How you arouse me so!”

What could I say to that? I blushed, and simply bowed at her, like a proper gentle lady-doll.

“I’m ready to play. And oh!” The clock gears in my head suddenly started to turn and ring. “So do my friends. Come in, everyone, it’s time for us to play with my spanking brand new doll!”

The turning and ringing of the clock gears continued to grind noisily in my brain; it was possessing my body. Unable to stop myself , I limped to the floor lightly, leaning against one of the chairs, my arms and legs limp and stretched out with my cock tall and pointing at the ceiling. My eyes were wide open; I couldn’t blink them no matter how hard I tried. They were stuck that way. All I could do was look around. I looked over to the doorway and I in that instant that Madame Fang opened the door and out of nowhere arrived her friends. It was two women and one man.

The first woman that immediately caught my eye’s glance was one that stood no more than four feet tall. The colour of her hair was red like blood as were her lips. I could only see her slanted shiny dark brown left eye; her right eye was covered by a golden bronze eye patch that was shaped like a heart. A bright red bow tie was around her neck with a clock broach in the middle of it. Her top had a plunging neckline that revealed big,round breasts. She was a short and petite little woman but she had curves, an impressive bust and a shapely round ass. Her skirt looked like it was made of red satin; it was embroidered with black designs of letters that I had never seen before. I assumed they must have been Chinese letters,. She wore shoes that didn’t add any height to her stature. Just as she most likely wanted . She didn’t need to be tall to be beautiful, sexy, and alluring. The way she walked in with a screamed confidence and showed that pretty loud and clearly. Madame Fang immediately opened her arms to this little woman; they were both speaking in Chinese. I could only translate the name of this woman for they were speaking far too fast for my mind to keep up. The woman’s name was Xiao Lèqù. Some part of my mind translated it into “Little Fun” . I assumed that wasn’t her real name. Just her play date name.

Her other guest was a tall woman that matched the height of my mistress. She was slender with dark purple hair that fell well past her shoulders with bangs over her forehead. She wore a green and black bustier that pushed her breasts up high with a tight-fitted skirt that also showed off the curves that she was blessed with. She wore emerald green shoes that looked sharp and killer. Just like those eyes and those lips of hers. As dangerous as sin.

Madame Fang jumped into her arms instead, calling her by the name Tūn, meaning “Swallow.”

Their two gorgeous bodies meshed together made my breath stop for a second. It was such a beautiful view. Somehow, such beauty couldn’t be matched by Madame Fang’s last guest.

He looked to be as tall as I was, being only perhaps a couple of inches shorter than Madame Fang and Tūn. He was a slim and slender lad, so dashingly handsome and pretty all at once. His slanted dark blue eyes were magical in that they stole my glance, almost to the point where I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. His hair was in thick black tendrils, adorned with clockwork jewellery in the centre of each strand. His face was pale, evidently patted with white make-up to bring out his feminine features. His lips were a light colour of rouge. He wore mascara and black eye-shadow; it was a light coating , just enough to bring out the intensity of his mesmerizing eyes. Around his neck was a sparkly pair of black and gold aviator goggles. He wore dark orange pants striped with gold with a matching vest that went over his white shirt that was ruffled at the wrists. A matching orange and gold coat that went down past his bottom. He removed it to hang it up; it was then that I realized just how tight-fitted his pants were. It showed off his firm round bottom and his bulging crotch. My eyes were stuck on those areas, but especially on him. This man; he exuded the thrilling confidence of Madame Fang, Xiao Lèqù, and Tūn combined. Danger. Adventure. Excitement. Unimaginable sex. It was all contained in that one man who went by the name of Mányú, meaning eel. I could easily guess why Xiao was called “Little Fun.” It was because of her short mini-stature and stupendously fun nature. Tūn was probably called “Swallow” because she most likely had the most experienced skill at sucking anything that she wanted and needed. Food. Lips. Fingers. Breasts. Ass. And cocks. But Mányú, that name was an enigma. He didn’t look like an eel. He had to have been called one for a reason. It sparked my interest in him even more.

He hugged Madame Fang, Xiao Lèqù, and Tūn and laughed in a sensual-sounding voice. He lifted them all up from the ground in his embrace, evidently having the strength to carry even more women than that should he have wished. If I could smile, I would have done, for how happy it made me feel inside to see the four of them together. They all looked very happy together, paying me no mind at all, as if I was invisible. The door was closed; and they stood in the centre of the play room, talking about mundane affairs, blatantly flirting, and cackling obnoxiously amongst each other, but not for too long.

As one, all of their eyes were staring at me.

“She really is a doll!” Xiao, as well as her breasts, jumped up and down.

“She’s the finest creation you’ve made yet, my love!” Tūn gushed.

“I want to play with her now,” Mányú hissed softly like the way my mistress hissed when she cooed. He planted his hand on his groin, gyrating into it with the horniest smirk.

“Patience Mányú, patience,” Mistress patted his crotch with him. “I have to show her off first.”

When the four of them stepped towards me, it was as if each step of those eight pairs of feet were possessing my body, making the army of clock sounds charge in my brain again. It was loud and exciting, reflecting my anticipation, especially the one that was rising more between my legs.

Madame Fang picked me up gently from the floor, cradling me as the day when I was first born. She showed me to them as she cradled me, looking down at me and me looking up at her naturally by the way she had me positioned. I still couldn’t blink or move my arms or legs; I was limp and unable to control anywhere of my body except for the movement of my eyes. Madame Fang lowered herself down at Xiao’s level so she could take a closer look at me first.

“Oh, Fang, she is such a pretty boy and an even prettier girl. Splendid make-up, hair, and costume on her. Even this is splendid---” She eagerly grabbed my cock. “Can she ejaculate?”

“Yes,” Madame Fang flashed her fangs as she smiled. “A lot too. Her come is very sweet, like a nectar. And it’s as addictive as the sweetest huangjiu. You drink a drop, you just can’t stop.”

Xiao licked her lips. “And you know how much I can’t stop drinking come.”

Everyone laughed, especially Tūn. “I can’t wait to have a suck at her.”

“You can have a sample,” Madame Fang grinned. “Even her cock tastes sweet.”

“Don’t suck too hard Tūn,” Mányú said sharply as Tūn lowered herself down to Xiao’s level too. “We all want a taste of Jia. It’s not just about you.”

“I know, how you keep reminding me, you hypocrite,” she snickered at him.

He scoffed at her comment with a laugh, responding with “That’s only because my appetite is bigger than yours.”

She responded with a light nod. And then...she wrapped her warm hand around my cock. She had the entire length of me in her mouth. Her sucking power was so stupendous that finally, at last, I could blink, and I could move my arms and legs. I was tensing up, my hips bucking, my mouth opening in a girlish shout. If I could produce tears, which I figured out I couldn’t just then, I would have done. It was so intense; my cock was throbbing in her mouth, wanting to explode there.

“Her smile,” Xiao chirped. “You gave her the most adorable smile Fang.”

“And that face,” Mányú smiled with me. “It’s so precious that I could just eat it up now.”

“That’s enough Tūn,” Madame Fang slapped her cheek, essentially slapping my cock too.

I felt that; it made my cock jolt with a pleasure that sky rocketed me to the crystal moon of this new world. Tūn released my cock from her supernatural mouth, wiping her drool from it.

“Her cock really is sweet,” she licked her lips. “I want more...”

She was going to suck the entire length of me in her mouth again, but Mányú stopped her. He grabbed a fist full of her hair. Pushing her aside he stepped in to take her place , standing at Xiao’s level. He took a good look at me, caressing my cheek and my lips with a dreamy smile.

“Are her lips sweet too?” Mányú asked Madame Fang.

“No,” she said. “It’s normal.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Mányú leaned in and kissed my lips. His lips were so soft, his breath was so warm. It was scented and flavoured with peppermint. His tongue touched mine. I could move my tongue; it danced against his. Our dance was eternal. I didn’t want our tongue dance to stop. I didn’t want his lips to part from me. I wanted our kiss to be forever. As he kissed me, he gripped onto my cock, wanking it. I felt another hand wank me too. And another. And another. Somehow four hands were wanking me. Someone’s hand was also caressing my bottom from up my skirt. Someone inserted a finger in my ass. I felt myself clenched around that finger. And then another finger slid in. My anus clenched around two fingers. Or was it three? Another one entered me, stretching me. Someone’s mouth was suckling on my cock-head. It wasn’t Tūn’s. I opened one eye and saw that it was Xiao. She didn’t suck me as remarkably strong as Tūn but she was just as phenomenal. I clenched my eye back shut as Mányú moaned, caressing my bottom and giving it a soft squeeze.

His lips parted from mine. He looked at Madame Fang and purred, “I say her lips are very sweet.”

“Her cock sure is!” Xiao declared. “You have to try it Mányú.”

“How hyper it makes you,” Madame Fang giggled. “Didn’t I tell you what a sugar high she is?”

“Her lips alone have made me high,” Mányú sang.

“May I hold her too?” Tūn jumped. “Please, Fang.”

She handed me to Tūn. Instead of cradling me in her arms, Tūn had me stand on my two feet.

“Can she walk?” she asked Madame Fang.

“She sure can. It’s a turn on.”

“Can she eat?”

“Only sex and pleasure nourishes her.”

“Does she need it every day to function?” Xiao asked.

“If she goes longer than a day without sex and passion, she’ll die. Not literally, for she is immortal, but she will be useless, that is, which is as close to death as she will ever get.”

“She can breathe?”

“She breathes like all of us. It’s as if she really were a real boy.”

“Can she fuck like one too?”

“I haven’t tested her out on that yet, but I designed her to fuck like a man.”

“Can she impregnate a womb?” Tūn asked.

“What a silly question, of course she can’t!” Mistress laughed. “Dolls can’t procreate.”

“Splendid.”

“Can she fall in love?” Mányú asked.

“She can, but it will hurt her tiny heart.”

“Well we don’t want that.” Mányú went behind me, slapping his hands on my ass, giving my cheeks a harder squeeze. “Walk for me Jia,” he said in my ear, his tongue gracing my lobe.

It was there that I realized why he was granted the name Mányú. I didn’t notice it while we were kissing. Maybe he hid its length from me on purpose. But not anymore. His tongue was as long as an eel. Snake-like. It made my legs shiver, the way his tongue travelled from my ear and my neck quickly, spontaneously. He gave my ass one more squeeze, letting me go. I obeyed his command, walking for him. Modeling my body from head to feet. My cock bouncing up and down to my body’s freeing rhythm.

“She walks as if she’s dancing,” Xiao clapped.

“Her whole body is so graceful and entrancing,” Tūn whistled.

“Oh, I can watch her all day,” Mányú eyed me closely. “What else can she do?”

“She can talk,” Madame Fang bragged. “Jia, speak.”

“Yes mistress,” my voice spoke.

“Even her voice is so pretty,” Tūn glowed. “It’s like a song.”

“Like the prettiest song I ever heard,” Xiao swooned.

“I could hear her all day too,” Mányú stroked his bulge. “How much will Jia be worth for a day?”

“What do you mean by that, your majesty?” I asked him before Madame Fang had a chance to respond.

Instead of looking at me, he looked at Madame Fang. She responded, “I’ve a price set but I’m not revealing how much until she has more experience being played with, and when I’ve trained and moulded her far more than she is now. Don’t worry. She will be affordable to all the rich.”

“Money is no object. I know plenty of men who will shell out any hefty price for her.”

“And I know just as many if not more women,” Tūn said.

“I’m honoured that we are the first to enjoy her, Fang,” Xiao said. “Before she’s on the market for renting.”

I blinked again. “I am going to be rented for play?” I asked aloud.

Everyone laughed at me. What was it that I said that was so funny?

“Clueless toy. Does Jia realize that she’s a slave doll, Fang?” Xiao asked.

“Evidently not,” Mányú responded. “I like her innocence. It’s charming. She’s as innocent at heart as she is with her looks. That alone is worth more than gold and rubies, that’s for certain.”

“Just how I programmed her. She’s naïve. She won’t ever get it.”

“I am a slave doll?” I asked aloud. “I will be a slave to others?”

“See?” Madame Fang laughed. “She’ll ask a lot of questions but even when they’re answered, she still won’t understand. She will always be put into her place and do exactly as told.”

“Yes mistress,” my voice spoke without my control.

“That’s my doll,” Madame Fang smooched my lips. “Now Jia, the real play time begins.”

The droning in my brain again. The sound of clocks marching. It was possessing my helpless body. I could still move, blink, and breathe, but my body was moving without my control. As if really dancing, I walked towards the bed in the round, going on it myself. My back laid against the bed, and then my whole body went limp and unmoving again. I was a prisoner in this body position, only being able to move my eyes only again. My eyes were stuck on my four masters.

Madame Fang, Tūn, and Xiao were all over Mányú, as if in heat. They unbuttoned his vest and removed his shirt. They licked him all over with their long, dancing tongues. His muscles were glistening when they were through. He kissed all three of them, that eel-like tongue seeming to go far down their throats. As he kissed each of them, he undid their corsetry, having the most dominant squeeze on everyone’s breasts. When I saw Madame Fang’s breasts for the first time, the gears in my brain squeaked louder than it had ever done. They were so beautiful; my heart skipped a beat. So were Tūn and Xiao’s naked breasts. So big, round, bouncy, and perky. After Mányú revealed those hidden treasures, the ladies took turns sucking on each other’s breasts. Mányú picked up Xiao so she could face Madame Fang’s breast-level. Xiao, for such a little mouth, sure could suck a lot of Madame Fang’s breasts, her little hands squeezing around them. She sucked on Madame Fang’s left breast as Tūn sucked on her right breast. Mányú was evidently playing with Xiao up her dress by the way she let go of Madame Fang’s breast, letting out a shout of “Oh Mányú, harder, deeper, oh!”. He kept doing what he was doing, his eel tongue wrapped around her ear as he continued to drive her bonkers with pleasure.

Then it was Xiao’s turn to have her breasts pleasured. Madame Fang and Tūn sucked on Xiao’s breasts. Xiao screamed with such ecstasy; I felt the bed shake a little beneath me.

Mányú removed his hand from Xiao’s skirt; he was licking his fingers hungrily. Apparently I wasn’t the only one that tasted sweet to his lips. After he made that motion, he had Xiao behind his back, her hands holding on around his neck as he seized his moment to suck on Tūn’s breasts with Madame Fang. They devoured Tūn’s breasts with such wild passion. Meanwhile, Xiao lowered herself. She went from being on Mányú’s back to being on his waist. Being the sneaky devil she was, she unbuttoned and unzipped him, releasing his cock out from his pants.

My eyes widened. What an impressively long cock that Mányú had. Not as long as his tongue, but it was still long enough to make me watch in awe and wonder at every inch of him. He was thick too. Xiao’s hands ran up his thickness, the size of her hands making him look even thicker. Mányú let out a shout of passion as she wanked him, having him release his mouth from Tūn’s breasts. It was only then that Madame Fang and Tūn noticed that Xiao had released his cock from its confinement.

“Oh yes, the beast is back!” Madame Fang squealed, giving it a squeeze.

“And I want it in me,” Tūn stomped her feet in demand.

“No,” Mányú said gently. “Not until it’s been in Jia first.”

“The doll is so spoiled already,” Xiao jumped on the floor on her two feet.

“Oh, she will be,” Madame Fang said. “She is my greatest invention.”

“And she will be your most sought-after possession soon enough.” Mányú’s eyes were all over me.

In a blink of an eye, he was on the bed, on top of me. His lips were against mine. He wasn’t kissing me; he was speaking to me. He hissed, “You want to be my doll?”

“Yes,” I moved my mouth in total control, saying it again. “Yes Mányú, I want to be your doll.”

“Be my doll and suck on my cock. Make it wet for you so it can be ready for me.”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s my doll,” he smiled, showing off his fangs that were as sharp as Madame Fang’s.

He picked me up from my spot to replace himself, lying flat on his back, his legs spread open. In a blink of my eye Madame Fang, Xiao, and Tūn were on the bed surrounding us. I was between Mányú’s legs, on my knees, my lips against his cock’s head. I opened my mouth as wide as I could. Mányú thrust his hip, penetrating my mouth with that simple hip-jerk.

He cried out “Oh her mouth is so warm and wet...”

He continued to thrust his cock into my mouth and even down my throat, every length of him being a part of my body. The clockwork sounds in my ear was so loud that I could hardly hear the sound of the four kissing each other. As I sucked, I saw their tongues slapping against each other. Their hands were all over each others breasts. All asses were smacked. It was drowned out by me slurping on Mányú’s cock. I thrust my head up and down on him, savouring his every length as if it was as sweet as sugar. It wasn’t, but it was warm and wonderful, so thick and hard in my mouth. It gave me a sugar high making me feel amazing. He kicked his head back, grabbing hold onto the bed sheets. as I bobbed my mouth up and down on him faster.

“That’s enough Jia.” He slowly pushed my head away from his wet and lubricated cock.

“Stand on your knees Jia,” Xiao commanded.

“Hands behind your back, Jia,” Tūn snapped.

“And then Mányú can play with his doll,” Madame Fang murmured.

I obeyed everyone’s strict simultaneous commands. With my hands behind my back, I felt something being latched to the O-rings of my gloves. It was a padlock. Madame Fang had me bound. I couldn’t move my wrists; and could only wiggle my fingers.

Madame Fang positioned me to where I was bent down on my knees, my chin pressed against the bed sheets, my ass up very high in the air, and my legs spread to make it easy for everyone to have access of me. Or, I should say, to have me, their human doll slave, in excess, until they’d drop, best of all I looked forward to it.

The tick-tocking of my brain started to flow; it was loud, it was mind numbing, but it was pleasantly fulfilling, like my heart, whose desires were being filled just as much. I kept my eyes wide open when I felt Mányú’s cock-head rubbing against my tight anus. I sensed that Madame Fang, Xiao, and Tūn were staring, eagerly waiting for Mányú to penetrate me.

“Oh, Jia’s anus looks so very tight!” I heard Xiao declare.

“It won’t be when I’m through playing with her,” Mányú’s voice deepened with lust.

“Are you sure you will be able to fit it in there?” Tūn said. I guessed that it was her that was caressing my balls that were getting increasingly heavy with desire.

“It will fit,” I heard Madame Fang growl. “Loosen her up Mányú.”

I felt Mányú’s hands claw up my skirt, grabbing hold onto my waist. His fingers sunk into my skin deep as I felt his cock head being pushed inside me. The first push was gentle, the second was a powerful thrust that made me wail in both pain and ecstasy. My wail was not nearly as loud as Mányú’s cry.

“Fang,” he groaned. “Her ass feels as amazing as the real thing. Fucking unbelievable.”

And how amazing he felt inside of me. He filled me up, stuffing me to my ass’s limit. Every thrust he made with those powerful hips of his made me want to come---but I didn’t. Madame Fang must have programmed me to do this too---do not come unless your mistress tells you that you can. All I could do was enjoy the sensation of Mányú taking my ass. I could feel him stretching and widening me. I was throbbing all around him. As he fucked me, I felt Xiao and Tūn slapping my balls and wanking me off. I held myself back from releasing my nectary sweet. But oh, how badly I wanted to be free, but it was Madame Fang who had that ultimate power to either let me remain inhibited or to set me free. She moved in front of me laying down on her back , her breasts jiggling before my eyes. She looked at me and said, “Suck on them.”

I had control of my every movement when she said that. My mouth latched onto her nipple, suckling on them as if they were filled with milk for me to drink. I was thirsty---thirsty for her. My mistress’s breasts were nectar to my mouth; oh, how divine her luscious breasts tasted! She opened her mouth and let out a moan that was neither human nor demon; it was nirvana. Her breast in my mouth muffled my loud moaning as Mányú continued to thrust his mighty cock into my ass, his fingers digging into my flesh so deep that it seemed as if the clockwork inside my body was about to break. He thrust into me faster and harder just as Xiao or Tūn ran their hands over my cock just as fast and hard. I sucked on Madame Fang’s other breast hungrily and aware that all this was the only nourishment my body needed to live. I wanted to live! I was alive in my mouth’s embrace of my mistress’s breast. I filled her up with so much pleasure; and oh, how evident it was that she wanted so much more.

“Mányú,” Madame Fang cried.

“Yes Fang?” he panted while still thrusting into me.

“Fuck my Jia doll while you are lying on your back, and I will fuck her with you.”

He obeyed, holding me close to him as he leaned on his back, spreading my legs out as he pounded into me with such a fury that made me roar to the ceiling as did he. Madame Fang rose up from her spot and pounced on me, her pussy sitting on my cock, pushing down on it faster than my eyes that blinked. The dual motion of my mistress riding my cock and Mányú riding my ass---it made the clockwork in my brain grind faster, harder, and louder that I had nearly gone deaf. The menacing sound continued to break my ears when I caught sight of Xiao and Tūn.

I lost sight of the moment when Tūn was fitting herself into a strange contraption. It looked like bronze knickers. But it wasn’t. In the centre was a hole. In that hole was a giant dong. It was trapped in tight; it was Tūn’s cock now. Xiao was lying on her back beside Mányú, her legs spread and the lips of her pussy spread too, in wanting for Tūn to penetrate her cunt with her cock. Tūn slammed her cock into Xiao, making her wail in excruciating pleasure with me. I was not alone in it. Nobody was. Pleasure reigned above us all---even my goddess-devil creature, Madame Fang.

Madame Fang’s come was dripping down my throbbing cock, lubricating it more for her to only ride me with even more ferocity. She made me feel as if I was about to faint. Was I?

My sight was darkening when Mányú cried out that he was releasing his seed inside me. I felt his seed filling in the depths of me. Then, suddenly, my sight went black. My body went limp. I was spinning around in circles in my mind. I was falling---falling in vertigo. All I could hear was that ringing and ticking of clocks. It was war. In the infinity of my lost mind, I thought that this sound of victory would never end. It was only the beginning.

***

“Wake up, my heavenly darling.”

My eyes fluttered. I knew precisely where I was when my eyes widened to the dawn.

I was in my box. My prison. Its door was open. The sun was bright; it illuminated Madame Fang’s bedroom, having it shine as brightly as the presence of Madame Fang herself.

She was dressed in a simple pink and purple hanfu that accentuated her most heavenly voluptuous figure. Her hair was falling straight down her back; she didn’t have it styled in any kind of fashion except natural. She looked as if she had just woken up too. Even in that state, she was the definition of perfection. I smiled as I gazed at her with my freshly awakened eyes.

“Good morning, mistress.”

“How is my most exquisite Jia doll?” she caressed me.

“I’m wet.”

I looked down between my legs. My translucent nectary sweet was dripping out from my semi-hard cock. I looked around; none of her friends from yesterday were there anymore.

Mistress smiled. “You’ll be wet more often than not Jia.”

“Even after an all-night festivity of passion?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“What happened to me last night?”

“Do you remember anything?”

“I remember everything. Except for...”

“You fainted.”

“Why?”

“When the heat of passion becomes too much for your body, you’ll faint. That will always happen.”

“Is that good, ma’am?”

“It’s hot. We took advantage of you all night while you were sleeping in your faint.”

“What did the four of you do to me?”

“We dressed you up some more after we took a moment to have some tea and supper.”

“Is that all?”

“No. We played with your hair and your make-up too. We dressed you and undressed you. We dolled you up over and over again. If only you could have seen yourself. You were beautiful.”

“I was really unconscious that entire time?”

“Yes. You looked so peaceful. As a human doll should be.”

“That’s my doll,” she patted my cheek. “That is what you are and what you always will be. A human on the outside, a machine on the inside, a slave doll from within. It’s the core of you.”

“Is that why you made me, mistress? To be a toy for others to play with?”

“Of course.”

“Then why did you give me the ability to think, talk, feel, and...possibly...love?”

“I could have taken all that away from you, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not, mistress?”

“I guess you could say that I was fond of you as I was building you. You may have been dead but your heart was still so pure, so alive, broken but easy to mend back up again.”

“How did I die, mistress?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“All I remember is fire,” my lips trembled. “And how it burned.”

Mistress’s face. It instantly went pale. Her lips were tight. Unafraid, but concerned.

“And I remember,” I blinked. “This boy,” I said slowly. “He was a beautiful Indian boy.”

“Impossible.” Her eyes darkened. “You are making up stories Jia.”

“But I remember. I see it. It feels so true. I can almost see...everything...”

I closed my eyes. I could see it, feel it---the fire. And the Indian boy. He was my---

And we were burning in the---

“I knew the program would have a defect,” mistress snapped. She growled, “No matter. I will fix it. Your ridiculous stories ends now Jia, and soon, it will be permanent.”

“Will it hurt me, mistress?”

“Telling these stories and remembering them will Jia.”

“But I don’t feel pain.”

“You will if you don’t stop. So stop, or else I’d have to program you from scratch again.”

“I don’t want that mistress. I like me as I am now.”

“Me too,” she said softly, her eyes oh so tender. I saw emotion in her devil eyes for the first time. “You are more than my greatest invention. You are my doll. No matter how many of my customers buy you for rent for however long as they’d like, you will forever be my doll Jia.”

I was reminded again of my ill fate. I was not a human. Not anymore. I was not only a doll. I was a slave. A property. A possession for renting. A star---Madame Fang’s star in the making. About to be born. Again. Deep down the part of me that remembered the past that should have been forgotten soared with delight at the thought of it all. This was truly what I wanted.

“Last night was only just the beginning. You are perfect, but I have more plans in store for you. You will be the doll that all creatures of my kind will wish they can be. You will be the doll that will reign above any other human doll that comes after you. You will be a star under my wing Jia. I believe in you. I can see it. I can feel it. Oh, how the victory tastes sweeter than you.”

She said that with such hope that sounded far greater than all the hope in this new world. Far more hope than my old world. Even greater than the world that I was in now. Its current carried such warmth; I fed on its nourishment as delightfully as I did for passion, for lust, and for sex.

“Mistress, I hope I never disappoint you. I always want to make you proud.”

She cradled my face into her big bosom, caressing my cheek. “Always remember, my Jia doll, I’ll always be there to catch you when you fall.”

I smiled as she rocked me in her embrace. My face fell into her breasts, landing into such a blissful place. The way she cradled me soothed me in such a way that it erased everything. The curious story I just told. Everything, so vivid. And now, suddenly, it was gone. That had to have been Madame Fang’s doing. She erased the story---my past. I hoped her intention was good. I felt that she did it for a reason. She didn’t want me to be tainted. Or far worse:

Flawed.

I was far from being that when she took me out from my box and carried me in her arms. I was limp and unmoving in her arms and only because I felt so peaceful, as if being carried by a dream. She sat at the edge of her bed, cradling me still as she looked down at my face and caressed my cheek, gracing it with kisses that filled me with the greatest hope of all. I hoped that one day, I would have the honour of loving my mistress so the greatest sound of music will rejoice in my head. And I hoped that possibly, maybe, she could love me too, if she could possibly love.

That was a future that I could only hope for. Whether or not it would actually ever happen, I’d never know. I was in the now. Now---Madame Fang and I were elevated in an intimacy that was more divine than lust, sex, and passion. It was her maternal instinct that made us whole again. It put us in a trance as she kept rocking me in her arms, calling me her sweet and wonderful Jia doll. Her words made me feel blessed. I was a doll, but she still gave me feelings, emotion, and the ability to think, wonder, and to constantly ask questions. There was no more questions for me to ask when she simply told me, “You are the invention I’ve been waiting for years to build. And here you are. I invented you for a reason Jia. Five years of my life was dedicated on making you.”

“And it was all worth it,” I murmured softly.

I closed my eyes with a smile that sealed my respect and my honour to be my mistress’s greatest invention of all her greatest inventions.

All was quiet. Eerily quiet. As if time---and this new world---had stood still. Then suddenly...

I heard it. This glorious sound. It was the music. The most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

Emily’s Basement

Magz Wiseman

Emily Bradshaw was the very epitome of what one would expect a Victorian girl to be. Although demure and polite to a fault, most who encountered her often felt slightly uncomfortable in her presence and would hasten to end a conversation with her as soon as was acceptably proper. Emily, for her part, seemed quite oblivious to the reactions of those around her, preferring instead her own company.

She lived in an elegant three floor town-house in the respectful district of Mayfair, London. Her sister, Millie, had moved out several years ago to marry a rather ugly but successful bank clerk and her brother, Henry currently served as a British Army officer in India. Her mother and father had lived in the house too, but they hadn’t been there for a long time.

Emily wasn’t alone in her big old house though; there was Maid and Butler who made sure her clothing was clean and that she had food to eat. Aside from them, she had her friends who lived in the basement.

***

Emily swept in through the solid black wooden door of her house, a wicker basket swinging from her arm.

“Good evening, Miss Emily,” Maid curtsied as she held the door open for her. The hour was far too late for any respectable young lady to be out roaming the streets.

“It is indeed a good evening.” Emily smiled back, her mood light and excited.

“Yes, Miss, that it is.” Maid took a nervous glance down both ways of the street before closing the door tightly shut. She took particular care to lock it, securely sliding home each of the heavy bolts. She was sure that one of these days, someone would notice her young Mistresses’ late night excursions.

“I shall take tea in the parlour,” Emily announced. She removed her somewhat tattered shawl and hat and tossed them onto the carved mahogany hall stand. Like much of the furniture in the house, on closer inspection it was a little tarnished and worn around the edges.

“Will you be wanting some cake, Miss?”

“Oh, yes! Cake!” Emily clapped her hands with delight. Although in her sixteenth year, her behaviour often reflected that of a younger child.

“Find anything interesting tonight, Miss?” Maid asked, eyeing Emily’s basket with curious trepidation.

“I did! It is a surprise for Priapus.”

***

After Emily had had more than enough tea and cake, she stood and picked up her basket.

“Butler, fetch me the key. Why have you not lowered its hook yet? You know I can’t reach it!”

Butler, who had come in to supervise the clearing away of the tea things, shared a glance with Maid.

“I will do it in the morning, Miss,” he rumbled in his deep voice.

“You always say that, yet you never do!” Emily pouted at Butler as he reached up to retrieve the heavy iron key from its place above the ornately tiled fireplace. She snatched the key from him and made her way out of the parlour.

“Shall you be wanting supper later, Miss?” Maid called to her.

“Perhaps, I haven’t decided yet,” Emily’s singsong voice floated back from the hall.

***

Standing before an unassuming door under the stairway which led to the floors above, she eagerly slid open the bolts on the chipped door and slipped the key into the lock. After the Shoreditch incident, of which no one spoke of, they had found that such precautions were sadly needed.

“That girl should be in bed,” Maid commented as she and Butler hastily retreated to the kitchen where they would wait until summoned.

***

Soft, warm gaslight lit a cavernous basement. Cluttered wooden workbenches lined the room. Jars and bottles of all sizes perched on overstuffed shelves amongst hefty leather tomes. It was best not to look too closely at the things contained in the jars as Maid had found to her horror whilst dusting several years ago. She had never ventured down since.

This was Emily’s favourite place. The world outside offered little opportunity for a woman such as her to advance in the sciences she loved so much. Here she could experiment and play to her heart’s content.

A tinny scuttling sound came from behind a massive bookcase.

“Priapus, I have something for you to play with!” Emily smiled her voice coaxing.

A small machine in the vague shape of a dog appeared from behind the bookcase. Its intricate and highly polished inner workings, made from a variety of cogs and springs, were interwoven with tiny tubes which acted as veins, carrying vital life extending fluids to its remaining organic parts.

It shuffled towards her trying to wag a pointed spike of a tail with was obviously too heavy for its small body. From her basket, Emily produced a large rat which she proceeded to put on the floor in front of the dog-construct. The rat was groggy, waking from a chloroform induced slumber. As it regained its wits, it immediately scurried off in fright. The construct, grinding and wheezing, chased after it as fast as its cumbersome legs would allow. Emily sighed as she watched. As one of her early experiments, she realised now how crude Priapus was and made a mental note to refine it; after all, her skills had advanced somewhat since those days.

***

Over the last year or so, Professor Edward Worthington had noticed with increasing frustration, items from his University’s storerooms periodically going missing. Coming to the end of his tether, he determined to wait for the rogue and finally catch the scoundrel red-handed.

Edward had shone during even his early days at Eton and had blossomed throughout his time at Oxford. His talent for fine engineering was second to none and he thoroughly enjoyed the well-deserved place he had secured amongst his academic peers.

The high precision equipment vital for the continuation of his work cost both him and his University’s benefactors a small fortune. The rich elite loved their toys and demanded an ever increasing progression of new innovations and ways to amuse themselves. It was known that Prince Albert was a staunch supporter of the Mechanical Arts and had discreetly donated considerable sums of money towards Professor Worthington and his colleague’s research. Queen Victoria’s stance on the matter however, was not fully known.

For the third night in a row, Edward lay in wait, hoping to apprehend his nocturnal intruder. He was becoming both angry and desperate. He hadn’t dared report the thefts to his superiors; the last thing he wanted was to risk discovery of his ‘private’ research, unwittingly funded in its entirety by the University.

Just after 2am, Edward woke from a disjointed doze to the sound of a faint noise. Not quite instantly alert, he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. Hardly daring to breathe, he threw off the thin blanket he had used for warmth and watched from his hidden post behind a pile of discarded and rusty pieces of metal.

After a moment or so with no revelation as to the identity of his thief, he was on the verge of assuming the noise had merely been made by an errant rodent. Disappointed and in a fit of reluctant despondency, he decided to return to his chambers for some much needed sleep. As he tensed his muscles to move from his cramped position, he froze as he once more heard a distinctive noise.

A small grating, set near the floor of the storeroom, shuddered. The sound of iron against stone set Edward’s nerves on edge. Fascinated, he watched as a glimmer of moonlight fought its way through grimy barred windows set just above pavement level. It shed just enough light to illuminate the grating as it slid slowly out of place.

He could just make out what could vaguely be seen as two wiry arms lower the heavy grating to the floor. There followed wriggling movement as something emerged from the open vent.

Edward’s fear of the unknown combined with curiosity. He wondered at the nature of such a creature as would dare permeate his most inner sanctum.

The unknown thing dropped fully onto the floor and emerged as a butterfly from a filth ridden cocoon. Edward’s breath caught in his throat as the creature pulled itself upright to its full and devastating form.

Edward was powerless to do anything other than watch in fascination. The woman, as he could now clearly see, carefully picked her way through his assorted supplies. Some she picked up to regard carefully before replacing gently back. Others, she considered for longer whist a few she immediately selected, placing them into a small canvas bag slung over her shoulders. The strap of the bag pressed the fabric of her blouse firmly between perfectly proportioned breasts highlighting them with tasteful perfection in the pale blue moonlight.

Transfixed, Edward merely watched unaware of how much time had passed since her arrival. All too soon, she made her way back towards the vent. Climbing in backwards, her delicate fingers were the last he saw of her as she pulled the grate back into place.

***

“I thought I told you to lower the key, Butler. I want to be able to reach it on my own.” Emily said with a hint of irritation.

“Of course, Miss Emily, I shall do that tomorrow,” Butler bowed respectfully.

“I want it done now,” Emily whispered.

“Very well, Miss Emily, I shall fetch my tools.”

Emily expected to be obeyed. Her doting parents, who had cherished and loved her, had told her long ago that her needs and wishes were paramount. She too had cherished them in return and swore to be a most dutiful daughter. Unlike her treacherous siblings she had dutifully kept this oath, nursing first her mother, then her beloved father as they had hideously languished in the grips of the dreaded Cholera which had swept through London.

In due course, Butler lowered the key hook to a height where Emily could easily reach it. Delighted, she would never again need to rely on Butler to fetch the key.

“Thank you, Butler! You truly are the best!”

***

In the ensuing nights Edward had taken up position in the University storeroom eager to catch another glimpse of his divine intruder. He had requested several days’ leave of absence from his tutorial duties in order to sleep during the day in preparation for his nightly vigils.

Whilst heavy red velvet curtains ensured light could not permeate his bedroom, they had no such power against his tormented dreams. Each time he rested his head upon his soft, down pillow and attained a restful dream state, visions of his ethereal thief in the night would haunt his tired mind. During such times, he would arouse to a half wakeful state, his skin afire with burning fevers of desire and his member erect and swollen, painful from lack of release.

On the third night, Edward watched in silence. His breath already quickening in anticipation, he could barely tolerate the endurance of another night without seeing her.

A soft noise set his heart pounding with anticipation. Skeletal white fingers slipped delicately through the grating, tightening themselves around the bars.

Edward’s heart skipped several beats.

Again, the grating was lowered gently to the ground with hardly a sound and out once more slithered the creature of Edward’s captivated dreams.

***

Emily shook her hair, eager to be free of the small vents grime. Carefully she picked her way through the cluttered storeroom. She would stop every so often as something new and wondrous caught her eye. She spotted a small, rusty cog. Pulling it carefully from beneath a pile of detriment, she moistened a finger with a small amount of spittle and rubbed it over its dull surface. Holding it against her linen blouse she rubbed it gently against her chest.

Edward’s breath rasped in his throat. So confused by lack of sleep was he, he half believed this to be nothing more than a fantasy constructed by his fevered brain. He felt himself bulge against the restraints of his small clothes. Before he could over think it he rose slowly, unwilling to frighten her.

The creature looked up, as startled as a thrush caught in a cat’s gaze.

“I mean you no harm...” He reached out a hand in gentle supplication.

Emily’s heart froze with fright as a shape loomed from the depths of shadow. Her muscles tensed as her instinct to run kicked in. She dived back towards the beckoning promise of escape offered by the small ventilation shaft.

Sharp edges scraped her delicate skin as she scrambled over a pile of twisted metal and rusted valves. Her foot became painfully ensnared in a tangle of scrap and she emitted a small squeal as she clasped a hand over her ankle. Despite her best efforts to pull herself from that iron grip, she was held painfully fast. As she stooped there frightened, shadows moved closer and she could do nothing.

***

Edward moved over to help the woman but found he couldn’t get a strong enough grip on her ankle and the piece of metal until he managed to pin her fast. Calming words didn’t work and each time she wriggled the metal cut deeper. He kept a tight hold of the metal, pulling himself atop the wriggling girl until he held her securely beneath him. Releasing his hold on her ankle at an opportune moment, he shifted his grasp to her flailing arms. Breathlessly, he used his weight to control her. Eventually, she ceased her struggles and lay submissively beneath him.

***

Emily lay still. Her eyes scrutinised the monster above her which had emanated from the shadows, frightening her into a desperate bid for escape.

Narrowing her eyes, she finally saw it wasn’t a monster after all but a man. In the gloom of the storeroom, it was difficult to tell how old he was, however even in the murky light, his features were pleasing if not somewhat plain.

Gradually she became aware of his weight pressing down upon her. In particular, she could feel a distinct hardness between her legs. Her curiosity increased as she noticed her reaction to such pressing matters. Her breathing increased significantly and she felt hot moisture accumulating around her most sacred of places.

The man’s eyes bored into hers, his face so close she could almost feel the heat emanating from his lips. She wondered what those lips would feel like against her own. An overwhelming compulsion arose within her and she raised her head, her mouth opening a little, eager to taste him.

***

On the verge of covering her mouth with his, Edward hastily withdrew, gripped with sudden fear. He climbed off and scrambled back from her. She remained lying for a few seconds longer, apparently unaware of her sudden release. With a swift, fluent movement, she fled, disappearing back through the vent from which she had come.

***

Over the next few days and especially nights, Emily found herself pondering continually about the mysterious man in the University storeroom.

In the depths of the early hours, unable to fully sleep, she found herself attempting to recreate the sensations she had felt that first night. She balled her hand and pressed it strongly between herself, however she could not fully emulate how it had truly felt. In her mind’s eye she tried to imagine his weight upon her once more and struggled to understand the unusual yearning of her body.

Although she had plenty of cogs and gears, the urge to return to the University for further supplies was quite overwhelming.

***

Edward could barely concentrate. His eyes were red through lack of sleep and his face waxen and pale. He did not notice the glances his students exchanged or their surprise at his unkempt appearance and disjointed lectures.

How were they to know of his torment? How could they possibly understand the sleepless nights waiting eagerly in the depths of the storeroom in the hope of casting his gaze once more upon his Angel of the Night? Angel or Daemon, he knew not the difference. Nor did he care.

His waking days were filled with the memory of her very essence permeating his senses whilst his nights consumed him with such lustful longing of an intensity he could not bear. During those times, brought to the point of physical agony, his only hope was to seek relief in unspoken and forbidden ways.

***

Emily sat in her basement, slumped over an immense volume of Human Anatomy. The tome had fascinated her for as long as she could remember, even before she had learnt to read. She vaguely remembered her beloved father poring over this and other such books in his capacity as a physician. As a child, she had sat upon his knee carefully tracing her fingertips over the intricately drawn lines of countless illustrations of the human form. He had spoken to her as she had done so, naming each part in a language she had not understood. Eager to understand those exotic words, she had later taught herself Latin and still rejoiced in those complex but melodious names, although the memory of her father’s voice had long since diminished. Ever since she had been intrigued by the mysterious secrets of the inner workings of living things and had endeavoured to study them to the best of her ability. This knowledge she combined with her love of all things mechanical. She adored delving into, and experimenting with the intricacies of both fabulous machines and the delicacy of life itself. It was because of this, her sweet Priapus remained her faithful companion and pet and always would.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft scuttling. She looked down to see her mechanical dog staring upwards with baleful, rotting eyes.

She slid from her stool and crouched next to the creature.

“Oh, my dearest Priapus, I feel I have ignored your needs, somewhat.” She patted its metal head. She filled a syringe with a viscous liquid from a large glass vat. Returning to the dog-construct, she opened a small valve and pushed the syringe into it. The construct shuddered as she injected the ‘life-giving’ fluid into it. The cells of its eyes began to regenerate and fill out once more. “I am sorry. I have had a lot on my mind these past few days. I promise I won’t let it happen again.”

It had taken her a while to perfect the formula which sustained organic cells and organs. Her previous childish attempts had sorely lacked the precision she had later achieved. Regrettably, it had come too late to preserve her father, taken all too soon from her by cruel disease. She looked regrettably at a topmost shelf in the far corner of the basement and once more felt a stab of sorrow.

***

Edward, on the strict orders of his long time friend and colleague, the Honourable Forbes Cumberland-Renwick found himself strolling through Regent’s Park.

“What troubles you, Eddie?” Forbes asked. He had been hoping his uncommonly sullen friend would reveal to him the nature of his malaise without prompting.

His question was met only with silence.

“Are you ill?” Forbes probed gently, attempting not to show how deeply alarmed he had become regarding Edward’s condition. “If so, I will ensure you are seen by the finest physicians in the Empire.”

Edward shook his head. “I know you mean well, however my infliction cannot be cured by worldly means.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Edward raised his bleary eyes. “I am most surely possessed.”

Forbes, not knowing how else to react, laughed. “Possessed?”

“You mock me, sir.” Edward growled and strode away, his hands clenched by his sides. Forbes ran after him and grabbed his arm.

“No, of course I don’t. I would never mock you.” Forbes felt a new fear growing within him. “Let us sit and discuss the matter.” He gently guided Edward towards a vacant bench.

“Tell me of that which has possessed you?” Forbes asked quietly. Skilled in the sciences of the brain and its mysterious functions, he now felt at least vaguely on familiar territory.

Edward sat for a few moments, his head in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he sat up straight in preparing to reveal the true cause of his distractions.

As he stared across the park at the many people taking their mid-morning strolls in the unseasonably good weather, his eyes widened. “It’s her...”

He leapt from the bench and ran off across the grass. Forbes stared after him with amused shock. Edward had never been one for physical activity, even at Eton. Forbes felt the glimmering of understanding.

“Ah...” He whispered to himself. “I believe I have an inkling of what is going on now!” He smiled and pounded after Edward. Within seconds he had caught up with his poor, gasping friend. The girl in question had looked alarmed as Edward had approached her from behind. On closer inspection, it was clear she was not the object of his obsessions. Bowing his apologies, he returned solemnly to Forbes, his shoulders slumped with disappointment.

***

Later that evening, sitting opposite Forbes, Edward lounged despondently in the luxuriously overstuffed leather armchair nursing a very large brandy. There were only a few others in the private lounge set aside for the exclusive use of the Professors.

“It’s all very simple, my dear chap!” Forbes grinned, reaching for a cigar.

“It is?” Edward asked his features pale and anguished.

“Why yes!” Forbes laughed. “All you need to do is have... intimate relations with the tramp, then you will be free of her hold.”

“She is no tramp, she is an Angel.” Edward’s eyes became like steel.

“Of course,” Forbes agreed, sipping his single malt whiskey.

“Am I correct in assuming you have never had intimate relations with a female of the species before?”

Edward glared at him. “You would be correct.”

“Then the obvious solution for your current malady is to satisfy yourself. After which, you will most surely return to your natural state of mind.”

Edward gazed into his glass and smiled. Through the soft amber liquid, he could see the eyes of his Angel Daemon reflecting back upon him.

“She is such a delicate thing. A creature of ultimate beauty and...” Merely thinking about her set his heart into thunderous desire. He could feel his member begin to throb and enlarge.

Embarrassed, he drained his glass, leapt up and all but ran from the room. Several of the other occupants of the lounge looked curiously towards Forbes and raised their glasses with amusement.

***

Emily dropped down into the basement of the University, but not as silently as she would previously have done so.

None of the gears and metal rods she had stockpiled in her basement could be used to repair the damage that a horrid rat had inflicted upon her poor Priapus. She would not admit to herself that she had not looked too closely amongst the stash she had previously acquired from the University storeroom.

Her eyes already used to the murky light, she scrabbled amongst the treasures cast so carelessly away.

As she reached for a part that may just be useful, a hand clasped her wrist. She gasped and tried to pull away but the grip was strong.

Her heart pounded as she gazed once more upon her captor.

His eyes were different this time. Hiding behind the gentleness she had witnessed before, she now saw a fevered lust which reflected her own. Her hands took on a life of their own as they slipped downward to feel between his britches. She knew by her anatomy books what was tucked away there. Now, she wanted nothing more than to turn her theoretical knowledge into practical experience. A longing rose within her to see what it felt like in the flesh, to hold it in her hands and taste it within her mouth.

***

Edward, his heart burning with never before felt passion, snaked his hands intuitively upward beneath her blouse. His shock at encountering her full and pert breasts was matched only by Emily’s own scandalous reaction to his caressing fingers. She pulled her blouse off, exposing herself fully to her stranger’s attentions.

Edward’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes hungrily took in the fair and devilish body before him. Her nipples had become so hard and sharply pointed that he was rendered powerless to fight the overwhelming urge to dip his head to them. Slave to his passions, he pulled those deliciously sharp points between his lips, his tongue playing over them as he sucked and caressed them.

Emily pulled at the laces of the man’s trousers.

Edward’s member burst forth as soon as its leashes were unfurled. Throbbing and erect, he pushed himself against his Angel Daemon, forcing her legs apart to allow him entry into her most inner sanctum.

Emily, driven by a primeval need she was helpless to deny, pushed him beneath her. Straddling him, she felt her juices flow as she lowered herself over his bulging member. To her frustration and confusion, there seemed not enough room to accommodate him. Puzzled, she pressed down a little further, but felt an immovable blockage.

As she began to question whether the texts she had read upon the subject had been correct, she gasped with sharp pain as her final fragile feminine defence burst as Edward pushed all the way into her most inner depths. She raised her head in the purest of pleasure as she bore down upon him with an intensity which brought a similar cry of fulfilment from him.

Edward’s senses imploded as she surrounded him tightly, gripping him with sweet promise.

Emily pressed her hands upon his chest, feeling course hairs beneath her skin. They reminded her ever so briefly of the fur on her old terrier, Priapus. They also reminded her of the feel of her father’s chest as he breathed his last.

She sat fully upon his fully engorged manhood writhing in a natural sensual rhythm. Leaning down upon him, her mouth clamped onto his as she sucked eagerly at his tongue. At the same time she clenched herself against his member as she pulled him even deeper inside her. Her hands ran along his skin tantalising him with her fingertips, setting his nerves on fire.

Edward was lost, his senses enraptured by this creature who held him hopelessly captive in mind, body and spirit. Words were beyond him as she took him from one new sensation to another, filling his soul with unbound ecstasy.

Emily increased her internal contractions as she deepened her kisses. Her nipples were needles against him as she coaxed him further and further into blissful euphoria.

Neither could hold back any longer. Edward exploded inside her, his seed filling her fully. Their mixed fluids overflowed from between her legs and onto his already lubricated member and upper thighs.

Barely able to breath, Emily raised her face from his, her eyes alight with passion unleashed. She kept hold of him within her, teasingly contracting herself around him for a moment or so longer. She reached between them and dragged a finger through their sticky cream and touched it to her lips. She sucked upon it, enjoying the taste of their hot combined fluids.

Edward, unable to talk, knew he was her captive in more ways than one. Astonishingly, he felt himself grow hard once more. Emily smiled as she felt him swell once more within her. She teased his mouth with the tips of her breasts, pulling them away just as he was on the verge of kissing them. Her delighted laugh rang through his ears and he knew the entire purpose of his existence was to worship and pleasure this Divine creature forever joined so intimately to him.

He cried out as once more he spurted his juices within her. Spent and exhausted, he slipped into a deep slumber. When he woke several hours later, his Angel Daemon had gone.

***

“You seem a little better,” Forbes said cautiously, although if anything his friend appeared even worse than before.

“I do feel better,” Edward responded. “She is magnificent, Forbes, truly magnificent.”

Forbes’ smile faded somewhat.

“Who was?”

“She was incredible.” Edward’s eyes were fired with fevered passion.

Forbes felt his heart sink. Rumours of Edward’s continuing loss of grip on sanity had begun to circulate around his peers at the University.

“I’m sure she was, Edward.” They strolled through the park in spite of the mid-autumn chill and gathering clouds overhead.

Forbes pulled the collar of his woollen coat up around his neck. He made a mental note to bring a warm scarf next time. Edward seemed unaware of the cold regardless of his open coat. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes wild.

“What is her name?” Forbes asked gently.

Edward stopped in mid-stride. “Her name?” He looked around as though the grass upon which they walked held the answer to the question. When the ground beneath his feet failed to provide an answer, his head snapped up and his eyes bored into Forbes’ in sudden panic.

“I know not her name.” He struggled with the concept for a few seconds. “How can one so unearthly possibly possess such a thing so mundane? Even the names of Angels could never fit such a Divine Being.” Edward laughed at the mere concept.

“I’ve been thinking,” Forbes announced carefully. “It would do you a world of good to take your leave of London for a few months. Get away from the pressures of academia and relax for a while.”

“Leave London?” Edward grinned and shook his head. “I could not possibly dream of such a notion! My Beloved waits for me here. She would surely pine and wither without me.”

Forbes sighed. “Of course. How foolish of me...”

They continued their walk, Edward extolling the virtues of his miraculous lover. Forbes remained silent throughout, his fears for his friend deepening.

***

Butler and Maid had become concerned for their young Mistress. They had pondered upon her change of mood as of late. Over the past few weeks, she had become more withdrawn, continuously refusing food and preferring to stay for longer periods in her basement. Although she still behaved as she had, her eyes now told a very different more confident story, one they both agreed chilled them slightly.

Her formally infrequent midnight soirées out into the streets had become almost a nightly occurrence and often she would remain away from home far longer than she previously had.

***

With growing dread, Emily had noticed certain changes in her secret lover. She recognised the symptoms and it terrified her to the core. She had seen her parents die of those same symptoms.

She had proved it could be done many years ago when her precious terrier, Priapus had been caught under the wheels of an automatic carriage. She had taken the broken pieces of her small dog to her basement, transferring the vital internal organs, including its tiny brain, and built a clockwork body around them thus preserving her sweet pet for eternity - or at least for as long as she maintained him with the fluids that allowed it to continue existing.

Alas, she had not been so successful with the preservation of her father, although she had learnt many invaluable lessons along the way. With the knowledge she had gained, she determined that she would never lose her beloved.

***

The professors were served breakfast in their private dining room while their students broke their fast in the halls below.

Forbes’ worry over Edward had increased and although his friend’s health had taken a turn for the worse he had insisted on not seeking the advice of a physician. The other professors were also taking keen note of Edward’s condition and were actively avoiding him whenever possible.

After their morning meal, correspondence was next on the agenda. A liveried manservant discretely moved through the room carrying a silver tray piled with letters delivering them to their recipients.

Edward, with no close family and few friends out with the confines of the University rarely, if ever, received anything. Forbes looked up in surprise as Edward was handed a delicate cream coloured envelope. He watched with interest as Edward opened the letter.

A smile crept over Edward’s features and he held the letter to his face, smelling it deeply much to the nervous amusement of his fellows.

“It’s from her.” He explained to Forbes. “She requests that I visit upon her this very evening.” He tucked the letter inside his waistcoat pocket, relishing its closeness to him.

“We have an important dinner tonight,” Forbes said. “With the sponsors of our department, do you not recall?”

Edward snorted. “I’m sure you will handle the situation quite well enough without me.”

“Surely your ‘beloved’ would understand how important this meeting is for the future of our continued funding...” Forbes appealed to Edward’s academic side.

“I cannot and will not let her down. What sort of gentleman could refuse such a request? Would you have such a delicate creature wait alone in the darkness, subject to all manner of danger and yearning for my arrival whilst I bore the insignificant babbling of crusty old men?” The rapturous look on his colleague’s countenance was one that Forbes had noticed all too frequently since this nonsense had begun and was quite frankly, rather alarming.

Forbes sighed. “I shall see if I can arrange an alternative date for our meeting.” Although he understood that Edward’s presence would be vital if they were to gain further funding, it was his increasing curiosity that outweighed his better judgement, swerving him to compromise on this occasion.

For the rest of that day, Edward continuously consulted his finely engraved silver fob watch, pulling it from his waistcoat pocket with habitual frequency. The watch, given to him by his now estranged father, had fired the glimmerings of his childhood’s fascination for intricate mechanical workings. Now it represented only the moments between his next liaisons with his lover. The mere thought of her delicate skin upon his, her probing fingers and inquisitive tongue made him shudder with such sweet anticipation. He felt himself stiffen and harden much to the bemusement of his students.

***

In her basement, Emily cast her eye carefully over her arrangements. Her preparations were complete and everything was ready.

She felt a hard intrusion on her leg. Looking down, she smiled fondly at dear Priapus who was in the process of humping her. She laughed with delight. “Oh, my poor sweet thing!” Now fully aware and understanding of the creature’s unforgotten bestial needs, she had constructed a small copper appendage with a tiny tube through the centre to allow the beast to relieve its most basic of instincts. Although the creamy liquid which spurted from the tip of its doghood was merely a simple concoction, it seemed to serve its purpose.

The grandfather clock chimed the hour. Emily hurried up the basement stairs, hardly able to breathe as anticipation threatened to engulf her.

Maid met her in the hallway. “Will you be requiring dinner, My Lady?”

“No! That will not be necessary,” Emily grinned, her face flushed and her breath slightly ragged. She grabbed her shawl and wrapped it around her thinning shoulders.

Both Maid and Butler had spent long hours talking about the state of their young mistress’s health. They had noticed her lack of appetite over the last few weeks and her increasing insistence of spending more and more time in her basement.

“Of course, Ma’am. Just ring if you change your mind.” Maid had her own theories about Emily’s behaviour which mainly consisted of the presence of an unknown man in their Lady’s life. Butler scoffed her notions, putting her odder than usual behaviour down to more physically mundane reasons and, of course, the hysterical nature of women in general.

Emily turned just as she reached the front door. “I want both you and Butler to remain in your quarters until I summon you.”

Maid bobbed a respectful curtsey, hiding a small smile. “Of course, My Lady.”

***

Edward hurried through the night time streets of London to the appointed meeting place near St. James’s Park. In the flickering gaslight, he searched eagerly for the first sign of his beloved amongst those partaking of their evening strolls and illicit meetings.

His mind focussed only upon his upcoming encounter. He had no inkling that Forbes had followed him and was now observing him from a safe distance.

The chimes of the hour echoed through the streets as still Edward waited, his impatience becoming more apparent as he paced up and down the pavement.

It seemed to Forbes that his hypothesis of Edward’s behaviour was correct. The man was obviously suffering from an as yet undiagnosed malady which had undoubtedly warped his grip on reality. He suspected there was no secret lover other than that which lived in the poor fellow’s deluded mind. He would speak to the head of the University in the morning and request the immediate intervention of the physicians. With luck, they may be in time to help set him back on the road to recovery. Recent advances in the sciences of the brain and supplementary surgery had helped no end of similar sufferers. He could only hope his friend’s sharp intellect and intelligence would remain untarnished, unlike many others who had undergone such pioneering treatments.

Just as Forbes was about to confront his colleague and insist upon his return to his rooms at the University, a young woman scurried towards Edward.

Astonished, Forbes witnessed the two briefly embrace. She appeared almost ethereal in the flickering gaslight and Forbes wondered whether she truly was Angelic in nature as Edward had always insisted. A near skeletal hand pulled Edward’s face towards her own and they kissed deeply. Scandalised, Forbes watched. With no consideration of decency let alone decorum, Forbes noticed her other hand clamp itself around Edward’s crotch. Unable to drag his eyes from the shocking scene, Forbes found himself reacting to the spectacle in a thoroughly undignified manner as he felt his phallus begin to engorge. Still he could not stop looking. Never before had he felt such stirrings and never before had he felt the sharp stab of jealously and want that coursed through his very being.

The figures disengaged and the girl, her hand pulling a delighted and helplessly captured Edward, disappeared into the city’s depths.

***

Forbes had no idea how long he had remained nursing his sudden and unexpected needs after Edward and his Angel had vanished into the darkness.

He recalled the time as though it were still yesterday although fifty years had now since passed. So many changes had befallen the world since then. Automatons, those tricky constructs that he and Edward had begun to pioneer so long ago were now commonplace. The quiet, fragile airships which had roamed the skies had been replaced with massive monstrosities whose mighty engines tore the air asunder, shaking the very ground upon which they stood.

Sometimes age and position allowed certain comforting concessions; such as the one he now enjoyed which was quite simply to sit comfortably in the Professor’s Lounge. Over the years, he had insisted that the same chair he had sat upon as a young man in the University be saved from numerous refurbishments. In spite of being well past retirement, he continued to teach a new generation of Mechanical Engineers. Regrettably, it was those very students who were responsible for this noisy new and overwhelming world. Often he felt partially responsible for the harsh replacement of a far more elegant era.

A tartan rug covered his knees. His brass replacements stiffened terribly when the seasons grew cold. They had been the only enhancements he had allowed himself.

An Automaton approached, its gears and mechanisms whirring softly, barely noticeable. Amusingly, it wore the same livery as the manservant who had delivered Edward’s letter on the day he had disappeared. Forbes stared at the handwritten, cream coloured envelope which lay upon a silver tray; thankfully, at least some traditions remained.

His gnarled hands grasped the letter as he opened it with a delicately engraved paper-knife.

“Do you wish help, Sir Forbes?” The Automaton’s voice grated somewhat. Forbes felt a pang of regret that they had never truly perfected the subtle nuances of the Human voice.

“I can manage perfectly well.” Forbes remembered his manners. “Thank you for offering.” These days, there was strict etiquette on how to address Constructs and Automatons, even for those who had created them.

He read the letter, and then read it again. Holding it to his face and inhaled deeply.

“Help me stand...” He demanded.

The Automaton obliged its gears and gyroscopes allowing it to compensate for the additional weight as Forbes pulled himself up.

“Hand me my walking stick, if you will,” Forbes asked, pointing to an old fashioned silver topped wooden cane.

“If I may suggest, Sir Forbes, there are many far better walking aids available. Indeed, you are entitled to full leg replacements.”

“This does me well enough,” Forbes replied a little testily. “Now fetch my hat and coat.” Several of his colleagues regarded him with astonishment. Forbes never went out of the confines of the University anymore. “And my scarf,” he added as an afterthought. “It looks a little chilly out there.”

***

A good hour or so later, Forbes stood before the Mayfair address stated in the beautifully scripted handwritten letter. His knees ached with the long walk however he refused to use modern modes of transport, finding the soulless carriages both below and above ground to be both uncomfortable and cramped, packed as they were with commuters going about their isolated busy lives.

The three floor terraced town house looked considerably shabbier than its neighbours. After a brief struggle with the few steps leading up to the front door, he rang the rusted bell. He was beginning to think there was no one at home when the door opened slightly and a stooped old woman in an old fashioned maid’s uniform peered at him with narrowed eyes.

“I believe I am expected,” Forbes informed her. After a moment of careful consideration, the woman swung the door open for him to enter.

He shuffled into the hallway. It appeared nothing had changed since the 1840’s and there was a distinct musty smell of age.

Maid closed the door behind her. Now in full view, Forbes could see that both the woman’s arms and one leg had been replaced with finely engineered replacements. He was quite taken aback by the quality of the workmanship. There was no sign of the shoddy efforts that today’s high demand and fast output demanded.

Butler trundled into the hallway to greet their visitor.

“Ms Emily told us of your arrival,” the old man bowed his head respectfully. He sat upon a wheeled brass chair which was moulded onto his lower body. “The Mistress awaits you in the basement.” Butler indicated a doorway beneath the stairway. “I’m afraid I cannot accompany you down and Maid has an aversion to the place.”

Maid nodded her agreement.

Forbes cringed at the thought of tackling a stairway; however his curiosity would not allow any other action. His heart hammered at the recollection of the beautiful unearthly creature he had briefly witnessed all those years ago.

“Emily.” He mused, enjoying her name upon his tongue. “Edward never knew her name...”

Butler produced a heavy iron key from a compartment built into his conveyance and unlocked the door.

Forbes made his way slowly and carefully down the stairway which led to the basement. It took his failing eyes several moments to adjust to the gloomy gaslight. He peered around the dusty workshop taking in the array of fabulous half built machines that lay around. Each new piece he examined filled him with wonder and awe as to the level of craftsmanship. Such exquisite wonders put the work he and Edward had struggled to perfect during their early years to shame.

So taken was he by each new delight, he failed to notice the lithe creature which hovered on the edge of shadow.

“Welcome, Forbes.”

The unexpected voice caused him to jump with fright. He quickly recovered as a soft laugh that would melt the coldest heart of stone tantalised his ears.

“I was worried you would not come,” the sweet voice continued.

“How could I refuse?” Forbes whispered. “You said you had news of Edward. Does he still live?”

There was a soft sigh.

Forbes felt a hand rest gently upon his shoulder. Turning as quickly as his arthritic joints would allow, Forbes stared into the tired eyes of his old friend.

“Edward...” Forbes shook as he regarded the Construct before him. Although finely crafted, it appeared old, it’s gears and cogs not as well-oiled as they should have been. Its still human hands look aged as did the wrinkled appendage dangling from between its legs.

“What happened to him?” Forbes asked.

“Cholera was about to take him from me,” Emily explained, still remaining in shadow. “I fixed him.” Even though so many years had passed; her voice still sounded that of a vibrant young woman. “But now I’m dying, Forbes and I can’t look after him anymore.” The divine voice could not hide a tremble of despair. “Will you help us?”

“Of course, but what can I possibly do?” Forbes took one of Construct Edward’s hands in his own and felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he already knew the answer.

***

Many years later, long after Forbes had passed away, a three floor terraced town-house stood proudly in fashionable Mayfair. It now looked every bit as grand as those fine dwellings surrounding it.

Ownership had exchanged hands numerous times however none of its occupants, including the charming family who now lived there, ever suspected that below the floorboards and fake foundations, lay an old dusty basement in which the remains of a woman and a rusty Construct lay entwined together in an eternal love which knew no boundaries, a small faithful clockwork dog forever lying at their feet.

About the Authors

http://nicolegestalt.blogspot.co.uk

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Cover

Front Matter

Title Page

Publisher Information

Valves & Vixens Volume 2

Clockwork Toys

His Fortnight Man

Mender Cotton’s Daughter

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Auntie Midnight

Her Humble Servants

Night Flight

Be My Doll

Emily’s Basement

Back Matter

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