Infernal Devices (All Steamed Up)

by Abigail Barnette

  “I suppose it would be the polite thing to do, to thank him for this gift. It isn’t as though I could send him a note in kind.” She frowned. “How on earth did he know where to find me?”

  “You went in disguise, didn’t you?” Molly looked worriedly from the note to the open box. “Half of London goes there. If someone recognized you, it would have been easy for anyone, gossips being what they are…”

  The maid was right. Horribly, terribly right. “I should have consulted you before I went in the first place. You could have warned me off, since I don’t have the common sense God gave a housefly.”

  “Perhaps when you go back, we could disguise you! That would be fun!” Molly clapped her hands in front of her.

  “I will not go back.” Even as she said the words, Permilia knew that she would. All of those delicious things he had done to her, the glorious pleasure she had felt… She lifted the exquisite leather, marveling at the softness. “Perhaps just a simple disguise. Nothing that will attract too much attention on the streets.”

  Molly grinned broadly.

  * * * *

  When all the members of the household were safely in their beds, Permilia, clad in the gift from her masked stranger, snuck out the servant entrance, Molly in tow.

  “How exciting,” the maid exclaimed, her eyes sparkling behind the velvet masquerade mask Permilia had given her to wear.

  Permilia shushed the girl and checked once more that her long woolen coat adequately covered her. The leather corset dipped scandalously low, her large breasts restrained mostly by hope and the ingenious design. Tall points near the pits of her arms allowed the front of the garment to plunge in a low scoop, leaving her creamy skin bare. When she’d checked her reflection, the rosy areolas of her nipples had peaked out above the black leather.

  Worse, the stranger had not thought to include any proper undergarments. Or perhaps he had thought, and had purposely omitted them. The fiend.

  A delicious shiver ran over her skin, not solely from the kiss of cool outdoor air on her naked flesh. The huge bow at the back nearly covered her bare rump, but nothing shielded her most intimate part from the eye—and other things. At the thought of her masked stranger running his hands up her stockinged thighs, past the neatly tied garters, to part her already moist and wanting flesh, Permilia trembled.

  The carriage Molly had arranged waited down the street, a respectable distance from the house. The women ran, as well as Permilia could run in the boots the stranger had given her, which forced her to stand on her tip toes, supported only by the stiff vamp and perilously tall heel. This time, Permilia did not need to follow a series of cryptic clues all over London to arrive at her destination. She directed the driver to take them to the alley she’d visited the night before, and the driver’s expression had melted into a leer that Permilia did not find reassuring.

  “I have a pistol under my skirt,” Molly reassured her, loud enough for the driver to hear it and be forewarned. Then, remarkably, she hiked up her skirt to display the clockwork pistol tucked neatly in her plain garter.

  Once inside the coach, Molly breathed, “Do you think they’ll let me in? With you? I hope so. I’m dying for a tumble.”

  Permilia flushed at the maid’s frank words. “Molly, really. A little decorum.” After a moment, she continued, “I hope so. I don’t see why not. I know the password, and I was invited. It seems only natural that I should bring along a chaperone.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop at the end of the alley, and Molly climbed out first to help Permilia down. The boots would be the death of her, she was certain.

  “Your goggles, Miss,” Molly reminded her, pulling a pair of sterling silver and black-leather goggles with red lenses from her apron pocket.

  Permilia fixed the goggles over her eyes and took a deep breath. She thought of the stranger, of his nude body, each muscle straining as though it had been carved from pure sin, metal piercings gleaming in the gaslight. Silky wetness dripped down her thighs.

  “Into the breach,” she whispered, walking quickly up to the door.

  Chapter Seven

  “Ooh yes! Harder!”

  Wallace grinned at the spectacle before him. A slender blonde woman, her tight skin bathed in sweat, straddled the lap of a clockwork man. The automaton’s eerily human face remained politely impassive—it was, after all, a machine—while the exposed gears and coils in the rest of its metal body rhythmically tightened and sprang, driving the machine’s realistic phallus into the woman as she rocked her hips against it. Richard had designed this particular clockwork man to do things impossible for a mere mortal man, and the thick cock not only pumped, but twisted and hummed with powerful vibration as the woman rode it.

  The pair were displayed in a pit on the common floor of the club, cushions strewn about them and two of the club’s handlers at the ready, should the woman require their assistance. All around the perimeter, men and women seated on chairs and delicate sofas watched, touching themselves and each other while stifling their moans so as not to distract from the truly beautiful sounds of passion the blonde woman made as the machine fucked her.

  A low wail emerged from her, building in intensity until it became a scream, and the scream went on and on. Her legs trembled, her back arched, thrusting her firm breasts upward. Perspiration trickled between them, streaming from her throat to her belly, and her mouth froze open in a howl of pure release. The spectators applauded politely, murmuring their approval and eagerness to try out this new invention themselves.

  They would have to wait their turns; the blonde ground her hips against the automaton and panted desperately, “More!”

  One of the handlers stepped forward, a busty young woman with close-cropped raven hair. Around her lean hips she wore a harness, and dangling from that, an imitation phallus. She greased it liberally and knelt behind the blonde, guiding her cock into the cleft of the blonde’s firm ass.

  Wallace groaned and reached into the loose linen trousers he wore, freeing his cock and pumping it in his fist. He closed his eyes behind his goggles, just for a moment, and opened them, startled, at the touch of a timid hand around his.

  Permilia, Ophelia, as she had named herself, stood beside him, clad in the naughty black leather he had sent her. The tight curls that shielded her mound already glistened with desire, and he released his shaft to run his hand between her thighs, over the damp silk stockings she wore.

  “Ophelia,” he murmured with a nod of his head. He lifted her knuckles to brush the leather of his mask in a mimic of a kiss. “I had hoped to see you tonight.”

  Her cheeks flushed almost as red as the lenses in her goggles, and she tossed her glossy black curls, letting the hair trail over her skin the way he wished his fingers were. “I came to thank you properly for this lovely gift.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” he purred, curling one finger up to delve between her velvety petals. “But I fear the pleasure is all mine.”

  Her teeth caught her lip as she looked around the club. Her presence drew stares from women and men, and strangely, Wallace found that completely unacceptable. “Perhaps we could go view a different spectacle. Somewhere more…private?”

  As though she hadn’t noticed what went on in the shallow pit in front of them, she turned her head and gasped. The blonde’s back was arched, her arms thrown back to twine about the other woman’s neck as the two kissed passionately. With one hand on the blonde’s hips and the other cupping one of her lush breasts, the raven-haired beauty fucked her ass with an enthusiasm that almost matched the mechanical drive of the clockwork man.

  Wallace knew what wicked thoughts warred in Permilia’s head. He doubted anyone could look on one of Richard’s creations and not strongly desire to try it out. Even Wallace himself had been with a clockwork man, and the memory of that thick cock stretching his ass, the strong vibrations shaking him to the core, only made him crave the experience more.

  Tonight, however, he devoted himself to Permilia, and her
pleasures. He tucked his aching erection into his pants and stood, taking her hand in his to lead her away from the viewing area.

  “I had no idea,” Permilia said, her voice rasping with unsatisfied curiosity, “that…that could be done.”

  Wallace led her through the club, toward the Voyeur’s Wing. “What’s that?”

  Permilia’s fingers flexed in his. “I didn’t know there was…more than one way for a woman to be penetrated.”

  “You have much to learn, I think.” He selected a door with a red ribbon looped around the handle. This indicated that the room was unoccupied and awaiting a voyeur. Or two. Or three.

  When he and his brothers had designed the club, it had been Wallace’s idea to have private viewing rooms, and he was quite pleased at how they had turned out. Inside, a padded bench sat adjacent to a large window covered with a red velvet curtain. Other than that, the room was entirely empty.

  “Oh,” Permilia said, a little sigh of disappointment.

  A smile curved Wallace’s lips beneath his mask. “Something wrong?”

  “Oh, no.” Her eyes darted about the room, in search of some exotic delight, but they found nothing. “No, it’s perfectly lovely.”

  “Yet you seem dissatisfied with the offering.” He slid his loose linen trousers down, baring himself completely for her. “Isn’t this to your liking?”

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, a reluctant smile curving her lips. “You know it is.”

  “I don’t,” he reminded her, wagging a finger. “You didn’t stay.”

  “You were quite rough,” she reminded him.

  “That I was. I promise to be nice and gentle this time.” He patted his knee. “Come, sit. Watch the show.”

  Permilia moved to obey, but asked, “The show?”

  He nodded to the velvet curtain, which dropped rather suddenly of its own accord, triggered by the couple on the other side of the large glass panel it concealed. A short, plump little redhead with a delicious smattering of freckles across her shoulders stood just inches from the window, bare as the day she was born.

  “That’s Molly!” Permilia shrieked, covering her eyes.

  “She can’t see us,” Wallace assured her, “though she knows that someone can see her. It’s part of the thrill for some. Being watched.”

  The delicious softness of Permilia’s bottom grazed his erection as she relaxed on his lap. On the other side of the one-way glass, Molly stared at her reflection, patting her curls into place, then smoothing her hands over her belly and hips. Behind her, a man with a tattoo of a heart on his hip worked to adjust the settings on a machine that Wallace knew his intended would find interesting. He only hoped that she wouldn’t mind too terribly when she learned that the man who would fuck her friend tonight was his brother, Horace, the second of the Two Aces for which the club was named.

  The sound of Molly’s naughty giggle drifted to them through the fluted brass tubes that connected the two rooms for the purpose of funneling every passionate sound the exhibitionists would make for the delight of the observers. The redhead’s hand drifted lazily across her breasts, stopping to roll a pink nipple between thumb and forefinger while her other hand stroked the fiery curls at her center. Wallace studied Permilia’s face as she watched the other woman, and he lifted her breast free of the black leather to mimic the actions of Molly’s hand on his partner’s breast. When the redhead slowly lifted one finger to her mouth, wetting it with her tongue before returning it to her nipple, Wallace turned Permilia slightly sideways so he could lower his head and close his lips over one perfect, pebbled nub.

  Permilia arched her back, her eyes fluttering closed, and he grasped her chin in his hand. “Watch.”

  She opened her eyes, but leveled her gaze at him instead of the woman behind the mirror. “Yes, Master.”

  Her words shot straight to his already straining cock. If he’d been a different sort of man, perhaps he would have been disturbed to see the woman he wished to marry submitting so easily to a “stranger”. Instead, it thrilled him more than any spectacle he’d ever seen at the Two Aces. He felt a powerful urge to rip off his mask and kiss her, had to physically restrain himself from doing so, lest he reveal his identity.

  Unaware of how profoundly she affected him—which only added to her charm—she asked, “What is the word this time?”

  Damnation! He’d forgotten to establish a word to protect her during their play. Long-time members had been banned from the club for such a mistake, and he of all people should have known better. “Music box again, if you please.”

  He didn’t know if he would be able to concentrate enough to remember a new one.

  On the other side of the glass, Molly worked the tips of the fingers of one hand in a circle over her mound, her eyes closed in concentration, full lips pouting. Breathy moans escaped her as she pleasured herself for their enjoyment.

  “Touch yourself,” Wallace commanded, and Permilia readily complied, parting her folds with two fingers that closed like a vise around her clit. She’d come to the club already wet in anticipation, and he felt a gush of her cream against his thigh, beneath her bare bottom. He turned her to face the window once more, forcing her to straddle his leg, and she jerked her hips as she rubbed herself. The motion was torture. He would rather she ride his cock and not his thigh, because he was sure he would burst if he didn’t come inside her soon.

  In the exhibitionist room, Horace had made the final adjustments to the machine, and he rolled it on its casters so that it was positioned as close to the glass as possible. Permilia gasped, though whether it was because she had deduced the purpose of the machine or because she approached her release, he didn’t know.

  Distracted by the noise as Horace positioned the machine, Molly had abandoned her teasing show and turned to survey the apparatus. A long, padded bench, shaped rather like a loaf of bread, the machine was equipped with an adjustable saddle, through which a large, long phallus protruded. Below the saddle-like seat, two wide restraints would hold the user’s legs in whatever position the dominant partner desired, and below that, the wheel-arm that controlled the phallus sat motionless, waiting for fuel.

  “Are you ready for your riding lesson, Miss?” Horace asked, his voice muffled by a mask similar to the one Wallace wore.

  Molly giggled in response. “Yes, Master.”

  “Hmmm. He’s eager to get started. Usually, he tells them suck his cock.” Wallace arched a brow. “Is that something you would like to do?”

  A shiver went through her. “If my Master commands me.”

  He slid her off his thigh, her soaking cunt leaving a gleaming trail of wetness on his skin, and stood perpendicular to the glass, so her view would not be hampered. “Get on your knees. Suck my cock.”

  She whimpered, clamping her thighs together as she sank to the floor. Timidly, she reached for him, and he sank a hand into her carefully piled curls, jerking her head back to meet her eyes behind her red lenses. “I gave you an order.”

  “Yes, Master,” she replied obediently. Then, opening her mouth wide, she took the head of his cock in.

  It was Wallace’s expert opinion that no one gave perfect oral pleasure the first time they performed, but whether it was his desperate state of arousal or some natural talent on her part, Permilia came quite close. She licked around the head, murmuring low in her throat as she tasted the salty drop at his tip, then sucked him past her lips, sliding her mouth down as far as she could before dragging it back up. It was almost too sensitive when the ridged roof of her mouth rolled over the head of him, and he hissed.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered reverently, freeing her glossy black curls with a twist of his hand and a shower of pins. “Take your tits out.”

  She flushed bright red, but did as she was told, releasing his cock with a popping sound from her lips before reaching to pull both of her breasts completely free from the corset. The low-scooped front and high sides forced the globes of flesh together like ripe, round
fruit in a painting, her brown nipples pointing up eager and hard.

  “As you were,” he reminded her gently, and her “Yes, Master,” reply was somewhat garbled as she drew his cock into her mouth once more. With her right hand, she pumped him eagerly, while her left caressed her own flesh between her thighs.

  “Don’t come,” he commanded. “I don’t want you to come until I’m inside of you. I want to feel you shudder around me. I want to feel your beautiful cunt grip my cock until I explode in you.”

  She whimpered again at his words, but obediently dropped her left hand.

  Horace had unrolled a male shield over the phallus-- a necessity in the club, as protection of their clientele was considered by all three brothers to be their most important priority— and now he set about greasing it. “Up you go,” he said, giving Molly’s round backside a squeeze. Horace loved his women plump, and the larger, the better.

  Molly’s breasts swayed as she threw one leg over the machine and settled her cunny over the tip of the phallus. She squealed in delight, “It’s huge!”

  “Not too big, I hope,” he responded, then, slowly, he drew down the tight leather breeches he wore.

  Permilia, watching the scene, sputtered, releasing Wallace’s cock. “My God!”

  That was a bit annoying. Though none of the brothers were anywhere close to what could be described as small, Horace was by far the most anatomically gifted of them. It had never bothered Wallace much before—“As long as it comes, it works fine for me,” had been his personal motto during all bouts of brotherly teasing—but this woman was his fiancée!

  Her eyes glazing with lust, Molly eased herself down on the false cock, whimpering as it stretched her. Or perhaps it was disappointment that she wouldn’t get to fuck Horace’s huge organ. She obviously didn’t know his brother very well.

  Once Molly was firmly seated on the device, Horace went to the far wall of the room, where a metal brazier full of glowing coals stood at the ready, as well as several cartridges of aether liquid. Using tongs, he dropped a few coals into the metal drawer of the machine and slid the aether cartridge into its chamber. At once, the machine began to squeal to life. Molly squealed as well, as a jet of aether steam hit her clit. Aether liquid turned to steam at a much lower temperature, and Richard, genius that he was, had designed the release to serve a double function. Molly squirmed under the steady puffs that blasted her sensitive nub, and rocked her hips as the wheel arm began to pump the machine’s huge cock into her.