Carnal Machines

by D. L. King

  He made no sound, asked no questions, but must have read my expression, because he adjusted it back to a gentle pulse that excited but didn’t make me squirm.

  He rose and walked around me, eyeing me from different angles, his hand coming down to touch the pulse throbbing at the side of my throat and pull the fabric taut against my breasts. “I do have a purpose,” he said. “Although your breasts seem lovely, I’m merely gauging the depth of your arousal by the reaction of your nipples.”

  “What does one have to do with the other?” I asked, although the question was disingenuous. I knew full well that when I played with my breasts, I felt as though a thin, internal rope tugged my sex into arousal.

  “Are you really so unaware?” he said softly.

  I lifted my chin. “I’m not married.”

  “But twenty-three and as well-formed as you are, I can’t imagine you’ve never felt a man’s embrace.”

  “It’s awkward talking about intimate things like that just now.”

  “Because what I am doing is so very intimate?”

  “That’s precisely why it’s awkward.”

  He shrugged. “I must gauge your breasts directly. Is that clinical enough for you? I have a device that will deliver a pleasant vibration to stimulate them.”

  “The clamps? They aren’t painful? I know that Mrs. Smith grimaced when you applied them.”

  “And you stayed to watch her silently thrash upon the table. Did she appear to be in pain?”

  “Of course not.” Although her rapture had been a nearly painful thing to watch. I’d had to concentrate on watching the dials rather than the churning of her body.

  I pulled down the neckline of the gown until the gathered edge rode beneath my breasts. The tips were engorged. When his fingers twirled on the stems, I dug my fingers into the padded squabs.

  “You don’t have to muzzle your cries. In fact, they’ll help me determine the course of your treatment.”

  Freed, I moaned. The sensations he wrung from me, with the warmth pulsing between my legs, the crimping of my nipples, were already richer than anything I’d ever managed on my own.

  Clamps were set, one at a time, on the tips of my breasts. Then he left me to throw up the lever. A humming vibration traveled through the wires delivering the faintest of electrical currents.

  “Astounding,” I gasped.

  “Isn’t it?” he said, his eyes lighting with enthusiasm. “I had to experiment for the longest time to find just the right amount of current.”

  “Who did you find to serve as your subject?” I asked, wondering who had dared to put themselves at risk. But then again, here I sat, my nipples receiving electrical charges, my sex exposed to the lash of warm streams of water. “This is all very…”

  “Stimulating?”

  I snorted, an unladylike action, but one that only made him grin.

  “The hydropathy machine wasn’t my own invention. I merely perfected the delivery system. This next device wasn’t my idea either, but I have worked with metal molds to conform the seat to a woman’s anatomy, improving the sensations.”

  The nozzle was turned off, and I missed the water, which had produced a sensual lethargy that made it impossible for me to stand against any suggestion the doctor might make. “What is the next device?”

  “A vibrating saddle.”

  “Like a horse’s saddle?”

  “No, you don’t ride it, it rides you.”

  The split in the table was raised then shortened to allow my legs to dangle from the knee. My thighs were pushed farther apart. The position alone made my breath hitch. Everything was open for him to see. And he looked. His fingers touched the delicate furls of my inner labia then probed gently inside. His thumb caressed the knot that was fully exposed now and so swollen I wondered if it were possible for it to burst like a ripe berry.

  His lambent gaze rose to greet mine. “You will like this, I think.”

  He pulled down an oval object at the end of a flexible arm that extended from the ceiling and pushed it toward my open thighs. The head of the device was contoured to a woman’s sex. A long, ruffled ridge slid between my folds, a slight protrusion anchored it at my entrance without invading so far it might steal my virtue. Straps were buckled around my upper thighs to hold it in place. When it lay against me, the metal quickly heated. The doctor threw another lever and the device shivered and shook, the hum deafening, which was a good thing because my moans came loudly, one atop the other, although the frantic thrashing of my head had to give him enough response to gauge the efficacy of this particular treatment.

  My whole body shuddered. My hips danced upon the table, shoving my sex against the device, which did no good at all since the straps made it move with me. “Doctor, there’s a flaw in the design,” I gasped.

  “Is there now, Nurse Percy?”

  “I cannot…thrust against it…”

  “Why don’t you hold it against you?”

  My gaze met his as I grasped the sides of the vibrating saddle and hugged it against my core. I ground and ground but fell back against the table breathing hard and feeling discouraged because I didn’t think I had reached culmination. I wasn’t cooing like a dove. I felt ready to spit and claw like a lioness.

  “My dear, you are a difficult case,” he murmured. “But I am determined to prove that I’m not a fraud. You have two choices. You can allow me to give you a manual pelvic massage or you can help me test my new invention.” His gaze slid to the tarp.

  Mine followed. “I really shouldn’t let you give me a direct pelvic massage,” I said, faintly. “When questioned by any suitor, I wouldn’t want to lie about the fact that I found my pleasure with another man’s hands.” When my gaze returned, his smile stretched.

  “Very admirable, nurse. The machine it is.” He undid the straps at my thighs, lowered the spread platforms and helped me to my feet. The gown fell down around me, cloaking me, but I didn’t care. It was only a sop to my modesty. I liked the way his glance raked my form, lingering on my breasts and the apex of my thighs.

  “I couldn’t help but notice when I probed you that your hymen isn’t intact. It’s not unusual in virgin women, but it’s convenient for our purposes because you will be able to truthfully tell your future suitor that no man’s member has ever entered your body.”

  I quivered at the implication.

  He drew the tarp from the low-lying contraption and I eyed it, not understanding its use. There was a padded bench and a wand attached to a machine that pointed toward the bench.

  My expression must have given away my confusion.

  “Perhaps you’ll understand if I add one of these.” He fished into a drawer at the foot of the bench, where inside lay an array of phallic-shaped ornaments. He selected the smallest and screwed it onto the end of the wand.

  Understanding at last, my knees went weak. “Do you have a name for your device?” I rasped.

  “I do. However, I’ll have to find a delicate one when I add it to the menu of treatments I offer my patients.”

  “What do you call it now?”

  “I call it a fucking machine.”

  The word made my nipples spike hard.

  “When I start the engine, this wand will piston forward and back, mimicking the motion of a man’s hips as he drives into a woman.” His gaze turned from his treasure to me. “Only this machine will never erupt prematurely, depriving the woman of her culmination, and the strength of the thrusts are controlled by the woman as well, so that she can select what pleases her.”

  “What must I do?”

  “Nothing, my dear. Bend over the bench. I will do the rest.”

  The look in his eyes, at once excited for his new invention and curious whether I would comply, made me nervous. I saw no straps on this device. “If I wish to move away after it begins…?”

  “Look over the edge of bench.”

  I bent and spotted a dial marked “Speed” and another marked “Depth”. I twisted both to the lowest
settings but didn’t touch the toggle switch to turn it on. Control truly would rest in my own hands. I cleared my throat. “Must you watch?”

  “However will I determine if it requires adjustment?”

  I stiffened my spine against his crestfallen expression. However attractive the man was, the position I would take before this device would rob me of my dignity. “Can’t I make a record of my experiences?”

  He sighed, but nodded his head. “To adjust the height of the wand, use this turnkey.” He bent and whirled the wand up and down.

  I frowned. “Adjusting it correctly might prove awkward and time-consuming.” I knelt on the bench then rested on the padded platform. “Would you place it for me and then leave?”

  “Of course, my dear.” He inched up the gown over my buttocks, exposing me. “I’ll just lubricate the phallus with a little ointment.” Moist sounds were followed by a whirring while he rolled the wand up and down, then forward so that it touched my woman’s furrow. “You’ve the dials turned low?”

  “Yes,” I said, breathless now and feeling a little intimidated. “What if something goes wrong?”

  “It’s experimental—in its testing phase. It is possible.”

  “Perhaps…” I bit my lip.

  “I’ll face away,” he said quickly, “unless you call out to me.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m over my bout of embarrassment.”

  “Wonderful! How brave you are, dear. You have only to flip the switch now.”

  I swallowed hard and reached for the toggle, and as soon as I did the phallus pressed slowly forward, entering me. I jerked in alarm and turned off the switch. I gave a strangled laugh. “Sorry, I knew what would happen, but the sensation…”

  “You are inexperienced. Nervousness is to be expected.”

  I closed my eyes and backed up to the phallus again then flipped the toggle. This time, I didn’t demur when it pressed inside me. It only swept forward an inch or two before retreating, but the swelling I’d experienced earlier when I was aroused returned quickly. The phallus came into me again and moisture leaked to anoint its head.

  “Oh, my,” I said, slumping against the bench.

  The doctor knelt in front of me, his gaze locking with mine. “I think you can take so much more, Nurse Percy. Your treatment is progressing nicely.”

  “Indeed. Would you?” I said, waving at the dials.

  He turned them, increasing the speed and depth then hurried to the rear of the platform. “I’ll want you to remember everything to document your impressions.”

  I was glad he wasn’t watching my face because I rolled my eyes. The phallus thrust fast and with remarkable precision, but I found I couldn’t move, couldn’t thrash like I wanted to in order to relieve my tension. “Doctor?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “The machine works quite nicely, but I don’t think I will culminate. Perhaps it’s just me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He hurried around the front of the machine and turned it off. “Turn and sit at the edge of the bench.”

  I did so, spreading my legs at his touch. Then he licked the tips of his fingers and thrust two inside me while he rubbed my love knot.

  “You may move and make noises. I love the song a woman sings when she culminates.”

  “I’m tone deaf.”

  His chuckle warmed me, and I followed my impulse and tweaked my nipples through my gown. He growled, his fingers thrust deeper, and the swirling created an intense sensation that had me lifting my legs to fold them over the doctor’s shoulders while I lay back on the padded bench.

  My breasts and belly tightened, my channel convulsed. “Doctor!”

  I culminated, my body writhing, my legs drawing the doctor closer until he braced his arms on the bench as he leaned over me. When the explosions rippling through me muted, I panted and opened my eyes to find him smiling softly down at me.

  When I could find my voice, I said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t have patience to prove the efficacy of your new machine.”

  “Not to worry, Nurse Percy,” he drawled. “We will continue our experiment. I have several new ideas to test.”

  “May I offer a few suggestions for improvements, sir?”

  His blue eyes glinted with pleasure. “My machines await your pleasure, my dear.”

  HER OWN DEVICES

  Lisabet Sarai

  A whisper of silk; a faint click of wooden heels against the paving stones: Lin Xiao Chung strode along Des Voeux Road as swiftly and silently as voluminous skirts and breath-stealing corset allowed. During the day this street would be clogged with pushcarts and carriages but now, on the cusp of midnight, Lin encountered no one. She had released the chair and bearers near Central Market in order to continue on foot. Lin was on the master’s business—delicate business—and the fewer souls who knew, the better.

  Mist haloed the gas flames that lit her flickering way. A sticky fog rose from the harbor, redolent of rotting fish and human waste. Lin ignored the familiar stench, turning uphill onto Chiu Lung Road. Orange lantern-light filtered from the shuttered stalls. Incense from family shrines sweetened the air. As she crossed Queens Road, a carriage clattered by. Her slender form melted into the shadows of a doorway.

  Lin scanned the empty thoroughfare through her veil, concentrating on slowing the heart that beat frantically under her snug bodice. A sliver of moon glimmered overhead. Lin murmured a quick prayer to Chang’e, asking for help in her venture. One gloved hand strayed to the blade belted under her tablier overskirt. It was always advisable to be prepared.

  The moon disappeared, blotted out by a giant airship on its way to the dirigible port in Repulse Bay. The bulbous craft sailed over Victoria Peak and out of view in a matter of seconds. Lin’s brows knotted into a frown. Christopher Burton’s revolutionary hybrid engine had cut the England to China voyage from months to weeks—for military as well as civilian purposes. Every day now, the British tightened their hold on the Imperial throat.

  Lin didn’t really care about politics. Now, however, Burton had applied his engineering genius on a more intimate scale, threatening her master’s fortunes. This concerned her very much indeed.

  She paused before the granite façade of Burton’s house, catching her breath. According to the master’s spies, the butler and housekeeper should both be off duty this evening. Burton was reportedly a strange creature, unlike the other white barbarians. Despite his enormous wealth, he kept only a small staff. He preferred hiking the scrubby, solitary hills of the island to the balls and card parties frequented by the other English. It was rumored that he was fluent in the dialects of both Canton and Peking.

  Lin brushed the dust off her gown and arranged her features into a mask of composure. The doorbell echoed in the bowels of the house and, after a moment, the heavy door swung open.

  “Well, then! What a delicious surprise! What brings you to my threshold so late, my pretty?”

  The figure in the portal was shorter than the average Englishman Lin had met, clean-shaven, with cropped silvery hair. Brilliant blue eyes burned in a tanned, mostly unlined face. A broad smile revealed unusually white, even teeth. Despite the hearty friendliness—indeed, the inappropriate informality—of Burton’s greeting, Lin sensed a challenge, a wariness that fit with her knowledge of Burton’s checkered history.

  The owner of the house wore well-fitting wool trousers and waistcoat, his shirt open at the collar and rolled up to just below the elbow. Lin noticed a gold loop piercing one shapely ear. The rumors were true. This was no gentleman.

  Lin’s English was precise, with only the faintest trace of an accent. “Please accept my apologies for disturbing you at such a late hour, sir, but I wish to confer with you on a private matter. May I enter?”

  “Of course. Please. Where are my manners?” He stood aside, making a gesture of welcome. “Come into my parlor. I was just reading and enjoying some sherry, which I would be delighted to share. My servants are off tonight,
however. We will be completely alone. I hope that you are not overly concerned for your reputation.”

  Lin could not miss the mockery in his voice. Of course no respectable woman would show up on a strange man’s doorstep in the middle of the night. Drawing herself to her full height, Lin gathered her skirts and hustled past him, through the shadowy hall and through a set of double doors into the warmly lit space opposite the entry.

  The parlor offered a peculiar jumble of Eastern and Western elements. A daguerreotype of the English queen hung over the mantel. Stiff-looking mahogany armchairs with scrolled legs sat on an exquisite Mongolian carpet with a peach-blossom motif. A chaise upholstered with golden dragons stretched under the windows, which were draped in burgundy velvet. Matching curtains hid a portion of the opposing wall. In one corner reared a bronze horse; another sheltered a porcelain figure of Kwan Yin. The wall between them was lined with shelves, crammed with books and various exotic items: a bleached animal skull; an enameled egg; a carved and painted mask; a dagger sheathed in silver filigree; a clay tablet scored with hieroglyphs. A marbletopped table near the cold hearth was cluttered with pieces of gleaming brass—gears, springs and tiny bellows—along with a loupe and some tools. Sharing the wall with the stern portrait of Victoria Regina were several erotic Indian prints whose explicitness made even Lin blush. She suspected that the juxtaposition was deliberate.

  Burton followed her into the parlor, closing the doors behind them. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured toward a chair. Lin deliberately completed a circuit of the room before seating herself as indicated. She removed her bonnet and gloves, placing both on a side table that already held a miniature orrery, an alabaster bowl and an opium pipe.

  “Some sherry, my dear?” Burton’s eyes sparkled. Clearly he was enjoying this mystery visit.

  “Do you have anything stronger?” Lin met his gaze with a boldness no lady would ever adopt.

  “I’ve rum, gin and some exceptional scotch whiskey.” Her host was already opening a cabinet next to the fireplace that held several decanters.

  “Whiskey, if you please.”