by D. L. King
“Oh!” He wriggled, but he was too hard to squirm out of the ring that surrounded his cock. The belt that held him to the platform allowed him to back away a few inches, but that wasn’t enough. He pushed forward again. The vibrating ring seemed to grip him even tighter.
Immediately, he understood her cunning plan. It was common knowledge that women sought to drain a man’s vitality through sexual congress. He had to resist her evil machinations.
“I know what you’re about, and I won’t let it happen,” Archie told her.
She didn’t speak. Her dark eyes glinted and Archie wouldn’t have been surprised to see a canary feather resting on slightly parted lips.
The vibrations increased. He pulled back before thrusting through the brass ring again. Dire things were happening inside his trousers. The sensitive head of his cock rubbed against his undergarments.
He had to take his mind off the sensations.
“How did you know who I am?”
Her eyebrows arched. “I would tell you, but I feel that you are a man greatly in need of some mystery, so I will leave the explanation to your imagination.”
“Why were you expecting me?”
“Because eventually, you were bound to seek me, or someone much like me. If you believe in fate, you can ascribe our meeting to it. I prefer the more logical explanation, that as my club is across the way from yours, eventually, our paths were likely to cross.”
Archie pushed deep into the ring. When he felt himself reaching a dangerous condition, he pulled as far out of it as he could. He gulped in air as he fought for control.
“You monster!”
“It wasn’t as if I entrapped you, Mr. Fraser. You barged into my parlor.”
“Not that!” Archie tried to twist his hips, to no avail. “I mean this infernal machine of yours.”
She chuckled in that low, warm voice of hers that crept down Archie’s groin and seemed to caress his balls.
“But, Mr. Fraser, it’s you, not I, who chose to continue the process. I told you that you might raise your hands from the orbs at any time to stop the sensation, although in your current state, I can understand why logical thought might be difficult.”
A bit ashamed that he had forgotten, Archie lifted his hands half an inch from the orbs. The lightning disappeared and the vibration stopped. The tingling in his fingers remained though. He touched the orbs. The sensations started again.
“I also told you that should matters become unbearable, all you had to do was admit it to me, and I would make it stop.”
Archie barely heard a word she said as he experimented with the orbs. When only his fingertips touched the glass, the vibrations were so light he barely felt them through the thick material of his trousers. Both palms wrapped around the orbs sent his hips frantically jerking as he eagerly sought the pleasure afforded by the brass ring. The combination of one palm and just the fingertips of his other hand was just about right. It felt good, but not so intense that he had to withdraw. At that pace, he thought he might be able to continue to hump the ring for another twenty minutes.
He was relishing the beginning of a long, slow stroke into the vibrating grip of the ring when suddenly everything stopped.
“No!”
He rubbed the orbs, but the lightning was gone. He thrust into the ring, but its confines were a poor substitute for the thrilling sensations it afforded only moments before.
Panting and frantic, Archie jerked back his head to glare at the countess. “What have you done?”
“You’ve had quite enough.”
“But—”
The countess tsk-tsked like a disapproving governess. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fraser, but I must be firm about this. There is only so much current the human body can withstand per session. You’ve almost reached your limit.”
“Just a little longer!”
She smiled sadly. “You boys always want more than is good for you. “
“Please! I was so close.” Only the stiffest of upper lips could keep his moustache from quaking.
“Close to what, Mr. Fraser?”
Blushing to a deep hue, he lowered his gaze from hers. There were some things a gentleman never discussed with a lady, even if she had rubbed his crotch with her foot and placed his cock into a ring. Despite those events, he was quite sure she was a lady. Besides, weren’t all of the nobility a bit mad?
His hands suddenly tingled much more forcefully than before. Purple and pinks streaks of light branched from the surface of the orbs to the center rods. The ring around his cock hummed audibly. Archie tried to touch the orbs with just his fingertips, then only one finger per hand, but the intensity of the vibration did not diminish. Just as he was ready to beg for mercy, the current switched off. He rested his chest on the platform before him and gasped.
The countess walked behind Archie. She released the belt that held him securely to the padding. As she walked around the device to face him, her fingers trailed up his spine.
“Perhaps this will compel you to answer.” She flipped the switch on the machine’s engine.
Freed from the belt, Archie found he could rut with abandon when the vibrations began again. He knew he should let go of the orbs, but as each delicious second passed, he willed himself to withstand it for just another moment. It felt so good.
The countess shut off the engine.
Archie howled.
“Close to what, Mr. Fraser?”
“Please. Just a bit more. I’m so close. It’s been so long.”
Surprisingly, the countess seemed filled with womanly concern for him. “How long has it been, Mr. Fraser?”
“Ages.” He bowed his head. “Simply ages.”
She stroked his hair and murmured soothing noises. “Tell me.”
Archie wanted to resist her, but when he met her gaze, she seemed so filled with understanding that he was struck with something very close to love. She had complete control over him. He was her helpless prisoner. When faced with such a situation, what could he do but pour out his heart to her?
“For years now, I haven’t been able to obtain a, uh, er, gentleman’s satisfaction without being thoroughly spanked. This is the first time I’ve come close.”
She continued stroking his hair. “This is a problem for you.”
“There would be a huge scandal if anyone found out.”
“I can imagine.”
“May I please have a few more moments with the device? Please?”
Such a gentle smile; it was a shame it meant that her answer was no. “I never lie, Mr. Fraser. When I say you’ve had almost as much electricity as you can take this session, I mean it. I have no desire to harm you, after all.” Her gloved hand pushed away the tear that trickled down his cheek. “However, never let it be said that I lack compassion.”
Archie pressed his lips to her hand. The calfskin opera glove was warm and soft under his tentative lips. He had only a moment to wonder why a lady would chose to wear gloves of such an odd material during the evening before a sudden slap stung his cheek.
“There is a small matter we must settle before you leave, Mr. Fraser. You have needlessly wasted my time. I demand…” Her hand made a gesture as if she expected it to snatch the word she sought from the cloying air of the room. “Satisfaction.”
Perhaps she had a Byzantine sense of humor, but from the mischievous turn of her lips, Archie felt as if she were offering him a grand game. Damned if he didn’t admire this woman. And if it meant he might relieve the urgency in his trousers, he was willing to play along.
“What fiendish torture do you have in mind, countess?”
Her eyes sparkled approval. “Something horrible.” She ran her pink tongue over her obscenely plump lips as if she relished the thought of it. “Something thoroughly English.”
Archie waited for her to explain. He suspected she took great delight in making him wait for the final resolution of his discomfort.
“I believe you attended public school, Mr. Fraser?”
The countess held a sleek cane in her gloved hands. The way she ran it over her palm was exceedingly lewd. If she didn’t stop, he was going to fill his undergarments with a hefty dollop of his gentlemen’s vitality.
If they were playacting, it was obviously up to him to continue the game. “I’ll report you to the authorities!”
“You would be ridiculed. Isn’t scandal what your fear most?” She leaned close to his ear. “After what happened at university, do you really want people to know that you were found with your bottom soundly thrashed and your penis engorged?”
“How did you—?”
She stood. As she paced, she smacked the cane against her palm. Each delicious sharp report sent shudders of anticipation through Archie’s body.
Archie closed his eyes as he felt tugging on his trousers. Quickly, expertly, the countess bared his bottom. With her silk skirts pressed to his skin, she reached under the platform to move a different arm of the device under it. His bared cock was soon held in a snug tube.
She stepped back. Her warm, leather-clad hand slid over his buttocks. If only it were her ungloved hand instead. He lifted on his toes and arched his back to follow her touch.
She walked beyond Archie’s field of vision.
A whoosh of air was the only warning Archie received before the cane landed on his buttocks. He screamed more from surprise than from pain. He knew that the initial sting was nothing compared to what would come. Rather than fading, the pain increased to a deep throb.
Another blow landed parallel to the first. As the pain reached a crescendo, her warm hand caressed his buttock. He wished she would keep doing that. It was comforting. The dean’s maid hadn’t been that solicitous of him during their sessions. While the pain and humiliation were what he craved, the affection sank into his parched soul and sated a thirst he’d never realized he had.
“This is what I enjoy about the English. You’re so fair, but your bottoms turn such a lovely dark shade of pink. Have you had time to catch your breath, Mr. Fraser? Nod if the answer is yes. You only have to endure several more, this time. Further misdeeds will result in more blows. Ah, a nod. Very good.”
The third blow was like a whiff of smelling salts. He rocked into the tube that encased his cock. When the forth blow came, he rutted forcefully. His balls tightened.
“That’s the stuff,” he muttered. “More. Please, Ma’am.”
He heard the rustle of her skirts. She walked to the device’s engine and kicked the switch. Vibrations like shock waves ran through Archie’s cock. She raised the cane, and brought it down on him with deliberate, loving, cruel force. Archie jolted into the stand as he screamed and came.
Archie knelt at the countess’s feet on the floor of her laboratory. His trousers were still down, but he liked the cool air on his burning bottom. It was, he felt, a most tranquil domestic scene. He lifted his head from her lap to watch her.
The countess sat in a desk chair. In one hand, she held a vial with Archie’s vital fluids; in the other, a shot glass of vodka. She poured his elixir into hers. With one gulp, she drank the mixture down.
The sight made Archie’s cock begin to swell again.
“Did your device allow you to see into my soul?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Fraser.” Her hand rhythmically smoothed his hair as if she were patting a lapdog. “It told me that you and I are about to embark on an adventure unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You may call on me next week, same time.”
“Not sooner?”
She chuckled. “Anticipation whets the appetite.” She rose and glided to the door, leaving behind only a trace of amber and myrrh.
After he was certain she would not return. Archie came to his feet. He dressed, taking great care not to disturb the welts on his backside. He gingerly took the stairs to the foyer, where the hall porter handed him his hat.
Archie reluctantly took the steps down to the street as the door shut behind him. He glanced at the Adventurer’s Club, shook his head and strode off into the London night.
INFERNAL MACHINE
Elias A. St. James
Gently, I slipped my tool into the opening, easing my way down the tight passage. I made sure to restrain myself, knowing that as eager as I was, I might damage something if I simply rushed in. Instead I moved deliberately, seeking the treasures hidden within….
“Blast!” My probe clattered to the floor as I jammed my bleeding thumb into my mouth and glared at the machine in front of me. Across the room, my lover looked up from his book.
“Elijah?” he asked, clearly wanting an explanation.
“The infernal machine savaged me,” I grumbled around my thumb. I turned so that I could look at Sasha, a much more pleasant view than the obstinate machine that now seemed to be laughing at me. Aleksandr Andreyevich Koslov, affectionately called Sasha, was sprawled indolently on our bed, looking very much the dissolute Russian nobleman. I’d been dizzy in love with Aleksandr since our first day at L’Académie des Sciences Mécaniques in Paris. And, for some reason I never understood, he loved me in return. It couldn’t have been my breeding; compared to his bloodlines, my own pedigree was pure peasantry. My father was a rabbi in a small village just outside Calais, my mother a rabbi’s wife and the daughter of another rabbi. I was the oldest of six children, and until two years ago, the one destined to follow in my father’s footsteps. Until the day I took apart the boiler in my mother’s kitchen and redesigned it so that it was twice as efficient and used less than half the fuel. When my father saw what I had done, he decided that my younger brother would be better suited to the life of a rabbi. I, Elijah Moyse Saloman, was to be an artificer, the first ever from our village. I’d arrived in Paris without even the barest hint of the world I was going to be thrust into—wild, wicked Montmarte, with its cabarets and music halls, and its whores of either sex; and wild, wicked Sasha, whom I loved like I loved no other.
Sasha swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, crossing over to sit down on the floor next to me. He was incredibly handsome, his long, dark hair hanging loose around his shoulders, his shirt hanging open to better face the heat of the summer afternoon. He frowned slightly at the machine and then poked me in the shoulder. “So what is this thing? You’ve not told me yet.”
“I haven’t?” I frowned, thinking back. Surely I’d mentioned something…?
“No. For four days you’ve barely said a word to me. You haven’t eaten, unless I was feeding you. The only times you’ve come to bed was when I picked you up and put you there myself, usually after you’d passed out on the floor. So what is this thing that you are so enamored of? Other than being the most singularly ugly chair that I have ever seen?”
I grinned at his very apt description; it was a singularly ugly chair, if that was all it was. Surely, that was all that the iron-monger had thought it, or else he’d never have let me have it for the pittance I paid. I reached out and ran my fingers over the now-bright brass. “It’s a Carstairs machine.”
“It isn’t!” Sasha gasped, leaning closer. “How can you tell?”
“The hinges. Look at them; no one but Carstairs used that odd box hinge.” It had been that detail that had caught my eye and sent me scrambling after the cart. “That was my first hint. Then I found his mark when I was polishing the brass. There, where the seat casts a shadow. Do you see it?”
Sasha nodded, “I see it…but none of his other works are this ugly. His work was always simple and elegant.”
He was right, of course. Carstairs had been the artificer’s artificer, and his work had always been simple in form. The complexity, he’d always said, was on the inside. The design on this chair was elaborate, with brass scrollwork ornamenting nearly the entire construct. “An early work, do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Sasha shrugged. “What does it do?”
That was the question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. “I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “I’ve cleaned and polished the entire thing, I’ve made certain that the boiler and the tank work, I’ve replaced anything that looked like it might have needed to be replaced, but I can’t get into this compartment.” I tapped the panel that formed the pedestal for the seat. “It does open…I think. There is a seam here and hinges on the edges.”
Sasha leaned in close enough that I could smell the light fragrance of the soap he used. He nodded, “I see. Well, that is annoying. You can’t tell what it does without opening the case, and if you break open the case, it might not work at all.” Sasha looked at me with his fabulously wicked grin. “Have you fired the boiler?”
I shook my head, “Not yet. I wanted to be certain that everything else worked first.”
“And everything works now?”
“As far as I can tell.” I glared at the recalcitrant chair. Without a word, Sasha got to his feet, fetched the pitcher from the washstand and ceremonially poured water into the tank.
“Then we shall fire this Carstairs machine and see what the master wrought and what the student rescued!” he declared, throwing an elaborate bow in my direction. I laughed and went to fetch some kindling.
It took time to get a good head of steam. When finally the gauges showed that we had adequate pressure, Sasha came to stand next to me in front of the chair to watch the show.
Nothing happened. We watched and waited in nervous silence for nearly five minutes, then Sasha coughed and looked at me.
“Is there…a switch? A lever? Some way to turn it on?” he asked.
I shook my head slowly, “Not that I found. You look. Maybe I missed it.”
He knelt down and crawled around the blasted chair, hunting for a switch that I already knew didn’t exist. When finally Sasha was convinced, he sat down next to me on the floor, shoulder pressing against mine, and cursed roundly in Russian before repeating himself in French.
