Bound in Brass (All Steamed Up Series, Book Two)

by Abigail Barnette

  Currently in the pit, a woman, her head entirely covered by a leather hood, bent over a padded bench while an automaton drove into her from behind. Standing on the other side of the bench, a man in goggles and a mask watched appraisingly. He lifted the woman’s head, arching her neck and back unnaturally. It was then that Tallulah noticed the woman’s hands were bound.

  Tallulah stopped with a hand on the rail. Horace could wait a few moments while she took in the spectacle.

  The man in the pit held the woman’s chin on two fingers and reached for a set of laces in the mask. He untied them and parted the bottom, freeing the woman’s chin and mouth. A loud moan issued almost immediately, and Tallulah bit her lip to keep from echoing her. The thought of being trapped as the woman was, hands bound, sounds stifled, blinded and deafened to everything around her, made her grow slick with anticipation.

  The man ran his thumb over the woman’s lower lip, then stepped back and began unfastening his trousers. The crowd politely applauded him as he pulled free his erection and rubbed the tip against the captive woman’s mouth. She sucked him greedily, taking him so deep Tallulah’s eyes boggled. The man pumped his hips, almost in the same frantic rhythm as the automaton’s mechanical hips, while the woman twisted and thrashed between them.

  “Ah, my Peach,” a voice murmured close to her ear.

  She turned to take in the sight of Horace, the Ace of Hearts, clad in his usual leather hood, trousers, and not much else. Between the show in the pit and the firm, defined musculature of Horace’s chest and stomach, Tallulah was certain that if he did not take her to a room right away, she would knock him down and they would engage in a spectacle of their own.

  “Whatever were you watching?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder. He straightened at once and led her by the arm away from the pit, toward a hall they’d never ventured down before.

  “I wanted to stay and see the gentleman reach completion,” she complained, though she could not be entirely sincere in her disappointment. Whatever awaited her would be far more stimulating than simply watching.

  “Ah, well.” he lowered his voice as they navigated the club. “The gentleman is my brother and the woman he was engaged with is his wife.”

  “You don’t mean—”

  “There is an understanding, between my brother and I, that we might from time to time have intersecting paths in the club, and as we’re not ashamed of our activities here, we don’t pretend false modesty. But I would rather limit the amount of time I spend here watching my brother’s wife get fucked by machines.”

  Tallulah tried to subdue her usually raucous laugh, but succeeded only in snorting loudly.

  “This is a way we’ve never gone,” she observed. “Are we going to do something different tonight?”

  “Much different, my Peach.”

  Peach. He’d called her pet before, and sweet, but Peach seemed a bit more…specific.

  He pushed open a door and Tallulah stepped into the most confusing room she’d seen in the club so far. It appeared to be some cross between a bedroom and an office. Striking attention had been paid to detail. There were even figures scribbled in the ledger book and a cold cup of tea on the blotter.

  “Never mind the mess, if you could,” he said apologetically, pulling off his hood. “I didn’t have time to tidy up before I learned that you’d arrived.”

  “How did you—” she began, but shook her head. There were so many wonders in the club, she doubted the explanation would make sense to someone who didn’t have a scientific mind. “What is this?”

  “My office,” he explained, as though the answer should have been clear. “Darling, I own one third of the club. My brothers and I all have a stake in it.”

  “The Ace of Hearts,” she said, her voice lifted on a wave of illumination. “Of course, how stupid of me! The Two Aces, the Ace of Hearts, it’s not just a code name. It’s your job title.”

  “You could say that.” He motioned to the bed. “For example, one of my duties is to test out the new gadgets before the club patrons get their hands on them. And I’d like your help testing this one.”

  She went to the bed, hesitant to behave as a club patron and not an official visitor. After all, the office wasn’t a part of the club, was it?

  Apparently it is, if he brings women here to test out the machines. Something about that seemed utterly repugnant to dwell upon, so she refused to let herself think of the prospect. She had no claim on Horace, though he did intend to court her, and she’d certainly had none before they’d even met. She lifted the device and studied it.

  The cylindrical nature of the object and the oiled leather slit in one end left no doubt who the device was intended for. “I think I lack the proper equipment for testing this particular apparatus.”

  He chuckled. “Of that I’m aware. But I was hoping you’d be so kind as to…use it on me.”

  Her cunny clenched. In all of her visits to the club, she’d rarely had the chance to touch him, let alone wield any of the wonderful devices on him. “Are you willing to up the ante, as they would say in cards?”

  “I don’t play cards,” he said with a rueful shrug. “Never had a head for it.”

  “The Ace of Hearts doesn’t play cards?” she clucked her tongue, then, slowly, brought her finger to her full lips to wet it with her tongue. Slowly, lazily, she dragged her fingertip around her nipple, drawing the hardened peak up even tighter. “I was just thinking how our interactions up until this point have been very one-sided. After all, you’re doing all that work to tie me up and boss me around. Maybe you’d like to switch this time?

  He raised an eyebrow. “I never suspected you would be a dominant woman. But I suppose we could try everything once.”

  She snickered at that. “What will your word be?”

  He considered, stepping close to her. He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip, and she imagined him doing to her what she’d seen the man in the pit—Wallace Sterling, of all the puffed up, buttoned-down—

  “Copper,” he said, flicking his fingers over the canister-shaped device. “Let’s have that be the word.”

  “Copper, it is.” She circled him, viewing him from all sides. “Have we begun, then?”

  “I don’t know, Mistress, have we?”

  She laughed. “Be careful, I might grow to like being called that.”

  It was a heady feeling, the command she now held over him. Knowing that he would capitulate to her desires, and not because he had to, but because he wished to, made her feel somehow more powerful than if she’d bent him to her will against his own.

  She raked her nails across the front of his trousers and the shape of his already hard cock beneath them. He hissed and gritted his teeth, and she giggled. “Take these foolish things off.”

  He complied readily, his huge cock springing up to snap against his stomach. He could barely contain his grin as he asked, “What next, Mistress?”

  She hefted the device in both hands. “Next, we figure out how this thing works.”

  Chapter Seven

  Horace swallowed at the sight of the machine in her hands. He didn’t like giving up control, but Tallulah was a woman he had given serious consideration to fucking exclusively. He owed it to her to explore every erotic avenue with her.

  Still, he worried that he would embarrass himself like an eager schoolboy. What would she think of him then? He’d be swiftly demoted from object of desire to object of ridicule. He could only hope he would be able to hold out.

  “Get on the bed.” She gave his chest a gentle push.

  He did as she instructed, lying prone in the center of the bed. “I apologize for the lack of restraints here. You shall just have to trust me.”

  “I have to confess that I am surprised.” She climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs, the blonde curls over her cunt brushing skin. His cock bounced like an eager puppy. The traitor had no idea how to disguise his motives.

  “I don’t entertain guests here.” He clen
ched his fists, wanting nothing more than to stroke his fingers down the velvety skin of her arms. “Let me touch you.”

  “I’m the one giving orders,” she reminded him. She slipped two fingers into the hole in the device and pumped them in and out, as though it were a real woman’s cunt. When she withdrew her fingers, she made a little “oh!” of surprise and held them up. “There’s some kind of unguent inside.”

  “It’s the lotion we use at the club to lubricate some of the devices for insertion. I assume Richard put some in there so I wouldn’t inadvertently chafe the leather.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You seem to think rather highly of your cock’s impact, don’t you?”

  “Don’t you?” he countered, rising up on his elbows, and she pushed him flat.

  She considered the device a moment then set it aside. “I assume this was designed to make quick work of you, and I wouldn’t want that. Do you have any of that lotion lying about?”

  He directed her to the desk, where she found the pot of unguent and liberally coated her hands. “And what are you planning to do?”

  She straddled his thighs again and gripped his cock, rigid with anticipation, in both hands. “This.”

  Her hands twisted in opposite directions as she slid them up and over the tip of him. At the top she paused, the crimson head of his rod trapped between her palms as she squeezed in delicate flutters, then smoothed back down.

  “You’re very good at this,” he observed, putting his hands behind his head. Though she definitely had a talent, he would be able to control himself a bit more easily under a human onslaught than under the ruthless mechanics of a device.

  “Thank you, it isn’t a skill I’m complimented on every day,” she mused casually, as though she didn’t have his cock in her hands. Her palms paused their teasing flutter before gliding down and twisting up again. “So, you don’t entertain guests here?”

  “Never.” He couldn’t resist the urge to buck his hips a little in time with her stroking. “You’re the first.”

  “I’m honored.” A drop of fluid had appeared at the tip of his cock, and she bent down, pink tongue curled out to catch it.

  One swipe of her tongue was all it took to ratchet his desire tighter in his groin. Unfortunately, one swipe was not all she submitted him to. She opened her mouth wide and sucked him in, rolling her mouth over the wide head, then releasing him with a popping sound.

  She made a face. “I do not like the taste of the lotion.”

  They laughed at that, and it shocked the hell out of him. He’d never laughed with a woman before. At least, not in this way, where it wasn’t a part of a calculated act or simple manners.

  She was the first woman he’d brought back to his private office, the first woman whose company he believed he could truly enjoy outside of the club.

  Why not let her become the first woman to make him lose control? But no, in the planning of it was a kind of control. He couldn’t simply decide to submit to her. She had to break him down as he’d done with her. She would have to take him to the limit of what he could bear, and make him ask for it.

  And he would have to fight it every step of the way.

  “My, but don’t you look serious?” She let go of him to reach for the device. “I hope you’re not concerned about this. It looks harmless.”

  She positioned the cylinder over the head of his shaft and slid it down. To his surprise, the device was large enough to hold all of him, and a larger man, if one existed. His lips quirked with a smug smile that he quickly tamped down. The soft, oiled leather of the interior enveloped him like an oddly cold mouth, and he could barely resist the urge to grab the canister and hold it still to thrust into it.

  Of the same mind, Tallulah moved the canister up and down, the ripples of the loose leather sleeve caressing him like phantom tongues sucking at him as he slid free. If Richard had made the device with only this application in mind, it still would have been his best work. But Horace knew, and dreaded, that the best of it was yet to come.

  “I do think this is a bit one-sided,” she mused, pumping the device up and down. “I’m going to make you come, but what will you do for me?”

  “Anything you tell me to.” His cock surged at her words. He had no doubt that she could make him come. If she kept it up, she could do it with her words alone.

  She inched her way up his body, leaving the canister laying on his stomach, his cock still twitching inside. She rose with a knee on each side of his head. Slowly lowering herself over his mouth, she commanded, “Make me come.”

  He gripped her ass and pulled her sweet cunt down to his lips, delving his tongue into her folds without hesitation. She gasped, her hands cupping her own breasts as she rode his face, her cunny growing wetter and wetter with each lap. He folded his tongue to a cupped point, trapping her bud and sucking upon it at the same time, pumping his hips futilely. He wanted to be inside of her, wanted to dissolve and become a part of her. She tasted better than any wine he’d ever had, thrilled him more than any other woman, and now he wanted more than anything to thrust into her, to hear her scream and pant and writhe with him. Without restraints, without restraint. Without any machine or gimmick other than their own bodies.

  But that would come later.

  He worked his tongue over her, the same motion over and over, holding her hard against his mouth as she bucked her hips in a seeming attempt at escape. She swayed on her knees and, with a loud, throaty moan, trembled above him. Her silky juices coated his chin as he devoured her, like the very same fruit that he’d named her after. She rocked on him, wringing out her climax for every last drop of pleasure, then climbed off him.

  It took her but a second to compose herself; she had as much a talent for subterfuge in sex as he did.

  “Very nice work, if I do say so,” she said, wiping a few sweat-damp strands of hair from her forehead. “I suppose that demands a reward.”

  She moved down the bed and gently tilted the canister, so his cock stood straight up with it. Her fingers caressed the toggles, teasing them as though he would feel the pleasure of it. And he would, as soon as she flipped one of the damned things. She hummed to herself, a sing-song rhyme as she deliberated which to choose. “I suppose, since I don’t know which does what, I should start with the first?”

  She flipped the toggle and the device shuddered to life, the pistons starting off slowly, then achieving a steady pace, pumping the sleeve up and down. It did not feel, to Horace, like a woman’s channel. Somehow– and he’d never thought he would hear himself think such a thing– it felt better. The up and down motion and generous amount of lubrication created a torturous suction. All too soon, he felt the familiar tug in his bollocks, the warning that he was too close, ready to spend.

  “If you’d like this evening to continue, Peach, I would suggest you flip that switch.”

  Her fingertips lingered on the toggles. “You mean this one?”

  He most certainly had not meant that one. Rather than turning off the device, she’d flipped the next switch, and the canister jerked, the sleeve inside sliding up and down now at different speeds on either side. He thrust his hips up involuntarily. Sweat stood out on his forehead. “I think I should have made myself clearer. If you don’t turn this contraption off, I’ll embarrass myself.”

  “There’s nothing to be embarrassed of.” She raked her fingernails up and down his thighs. “The point is to take pleasure. Isn’t that what you told me?”

  His knuckles turned white as he gripped the sheets, trying to resist the growing need to let go. A witty retort had formed in his mind, but before it could make the trip to his mouth, the relentless stroking wrenched his climax from him. His body went rigid and his vision clouded as he shot his essence into the device. He was vaguely aware that the noise issuing from his own mouth did not sound at all poised or in control, and he bucked his hips as the last of his seed emptied from him.

  “Oh, bravo,” Tallulah teased still scratching her nails up and
down the insides of his thighs. “I dare say that was the most genuine I have ever seen you.”

  He reached down, but she slapped his hands away. The device still worked over his too-sensitive member.

  “You could always say your word, if you want to stop.” She leaned down to lick a wet swath across his knee.

  “What about mercy?” He gritted his teeth, the pleasure turning to outright pain as the sleeve continued to erratically stroke him.

  “You’ve never had mercy on me,” she observed placidly, her hands venturing from his legs to his stomach, then his chest as she climbed over him. “We still have one switch to go.”

  “I will give you one hundred pounds if you do not flip it.” He realized how truly pathetic he sounded, and he cared not a fig. His every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. He thought he might actually cry.

  But he would not say his word. Never, in the history of the club, had he once uttered a word to end an encounter, and he never would.

  Unless his penis was being scraped raw by a torture device. He was beginning to see some room for reevaluation of his personal priorities.

  “I happen to know what this switch does,” she said with a grin. “I confess, I did flip it, before I put the device on you. Only for a moment. I was just so curious. Please don’t be cross with me.”

  “What does it do?” he asked, not bothering to hide the note of panic in his voice. Unbelievably, his cock was hard again, or still hard, he couldn’t tell which, from the machine’s ministrations.

  With infuriating calm, Tallulah positioned herself over the device, pressing her bare cunny to the metal canister. Then, she flipped the switch.

  The whole thing vibrated and shook like an over-sized piece of lightning glass. Tallulah moaned in relief and ground against the device.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” she gasped, her fingers digging into his thighs for balance. “You never seem affected at all while you do this to me. I could have come a thousand times watching you.”