Clockwork Captive

by Anh Leod

  “My skin is pierced. It’s anchored to me with two bars.”

  He swore, but was too aroused to investigate. The rising storm had darkened the room so completely now that the only light was a single tepid yellow flicker from the wall. Liza moved restlessly as he traced her collarbone, then the lower part of her breastbone, before cupping her breasts and feeling their fine weight. His cock pressed against her thigh as he explored. He couldn’t help thrusting once or twice against her. She made a soft sound but didn’t protest as he nibbled her breasts. But when he touched her nipples with his tongue she bucked. His cock bobbed between her knees and when she shifted he found himself pushing against the sheet between her spread legs. He bit her nipples with tender ferocity until they swelled into huge, dark peaks. Mindless with lust by then, he lost himself in the pleasures of her honey-scented skin, tasting indentations and joints, fingers and toes, until the chime reminded him his time was half done.

  So he lifted himself above her. She put her hands to his hips and together they met, cock to heated chamber. He pressed against her and slowly she opened to him, so wet that he knew he’d truly pleased her earlier. His glide seemed endless, but eventually he found himself seated fully in her tight heat. When he pulled back, she wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingernails into his buttocks.

  One of them at least would bear marks from this encounter.

  As the rain pounded furiously against every hard surface outside, he moved in and out of her clenching warmth. She played with him, lifting her hips to his in obvious enjoyment of his body. He’d distantly heard the chime at least twice more, a little louder each time, before he felt his control slipping. He pulled out from her and pushed her onto her stomach, then knelt behind her and thrust in again before she could offer protest or approval.

  “Yes,” he groaned. Oh, his body had needed this. He offered no mercy as he pounded into her slick channel, one arm around her breasts and the other at her waist. When she didn’t move against him as she had before, he found her smooth pearl with his fingers and rubbed in time with his thrusts.

  Her breath caught and she responded instantly, slamming herself along his cock as he thrust.

  “Liza. Tell me this is real,” he commanded.

  “Brace,” she whispered, but said nothing more.

  Hurt moved sluggishly along his mental pathways, but at least she’d remembered the name of the man fucking her. He couldn’t think more as his body was racing toward orgasm and couldn’t be thwarted. Liza was breathing as hard as he as his balls tightened. He thrust harder. She panted each time he seated himself fully.

  “It’s here,” he blurted, losing control. He released a stream of cum deep inside her. A satisfied roar left his throat, so loud it probably could have been heard in the gaming room if not for the storm. She bucked and shook. He knew she’d found her pleasure with his. Whore or not, he was satisfied by her response.

  His head fell heavily against her neck, his body crushing her into the thin mattress. No pillow cushioned their heads. He rested, enjoying their mingled scents, and wondered when his clerk’s salary would allow him to come to her again. How could he take her from this place and have her all to himself? Surely he could find a way. He had expectations of a large inheritance one day, though considering relatives’ lives were involved, he hoped the income did not come his way for many years yet.

  The medallion at her throat chimed again, much more stridently this time. Liza hadn’t been lying when she said the tone would change. The clockwork could become a harsh master, intolerable as the sound increased. He’d never seen anything like it, and wondered at the devious mind who’d invented it.

  “Five minutes,” she said, her voice muffled.

  He put his hands to either side of her torso and levered off her. “I wish I had the time to harden again and take you between these pretty cheeks.” He patted her bottom.

  She rolled over, looking sweet and rumpled between his thighs as he came to a cobbler’s position. “Next time, Brace. There will be one, right?”

  He nodded. “As soon as I am paid again.”

  “You had better put your clothing on. You don’t want to be dragged out of here by Mrs. Teagarden to dress in the hallway. She’ll do it.”

  “I can imagine.”

  When he had his clothing mostly buttoned up, and her gown covered her again, Liza moved toward him. He noted her manner was almost shy, very unlike the practiced temptress of nearly an hour before. The brass of the casing enclosing her clockwork medallion caught his eye and he squinted for a closer look. While the external, front-facing part was the more attractive metal, it appeared that both the chain around her neck and the clockwork inside was iron. It made for a durable, forbidding piece of tiny machinery.

  Her voice disrupted his thoughts. “Have you recognized me yet, Brace?”

  He frowned and looked up. “Should I?”

  Her lips curved downward. Clearly he’d disappointed her.

  “In truth, I had a couple of flashes of something, but my mind was focused on other things.”

  She grinned and he caught a dimple on her right cheek he hadn’t noticed before. That touched his memory too, something from childhood, but what?

  “I’m Celeste,” she said, in a near whisper.

  “Celeste?” he repeated, trying to put it together. A saucy walk, a dimple. Celeste.

  “We lived near each other. You were a little older than me, but we played in the orchards as children. I was ten or so when my father couldn’t afford the rent anymore and we moved into London.”

  Two braids, he thought. Those same pillowy lips and challenging eyes peering from a child’s face. “Celeste Flaherty,” he exclaimed, as the pieces knitted in his memory. “I remember you now, and your mother. You had a brother, didn’t you? Maybe three years younger?”

  “They are all gone now,” she said, “even Father.”

  He found it unbelievable that bright, intelligent Celeste Flaherty had turned up here. Vague memories of his father’s criticisms of her father drifted though his brain. Fathers had total control of their children. Not a good thing if the fathers used daughters for their own wellbeing at the expense of their offspring. Clearly the sacrifice hadn’t saved her mother for long.

  “I’ll help you leave this place,” he said.

  She looked down. “It would be no use. I haven’t a friend in the world.”

  “You have me. We were friends. It’s just that it had been a decade and you were a girl then, a little girl. I didn’t even like girls yet, you know, in this way. I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I know. I can scarcely hope that you could do anything.” Her hands twisted together at her waist.

  He leaned in, kissed the place where the dimple cradled in her cheek. “Don’t worry, Celeste. I’ll figure out something. We’ll burn those crops in that drawer and you’ll start a new life.”

  He was flattered when she didn’t question him.

  “Promise?” She swayed toward him and he hugged her tightly.

  “Promise.”

  Her head tilted toward him as if to offer a kiss, but then he heard a clicking at her pierced throat as if seconds were speeding up and a noise half the strength of the church bell in their native parish filled the room. He held his ground but it was a near thing as the sound assaulted him. Celeste didn’t even wince and he wondered if her hearing had been affected.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked, stepping back.

  “Three years nearly.”

  “You won’t see a fourth,” he vowed. “I promise.”

  Pounding came at the door. He turned from her as it opened.

  “Time is up, Mr. ‘owell, unless you ‘ave the coin to go h’again.”

  He pulled his shoulder blades together and puffed out his chest. “I’d like a word, Mrs. Teagarden.”

  ~*~

  CHAPTER TWO

  Brace followed the proprietress down the front stairs and into the parlor. The storm ha
d swept in a trio of bushy-bearded men who were muttering at one end of the line of portraits.

  “Best idea I ever ‘ad,” said the lady, satisfied by the traffic. “The men knows what they’re getting but the girls ‘ave a bit of rest between gents instead of entertaining them down here.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like the medallions,” Brace said, far more interested in those than in the portraits.

  She grinned, showing missing molars in the back of her mouth. “I had a protector when I was younger. An inventor. When he tired of me I asked for the clockworks instead of a little ‘ouse.” She waved her arm around. “This came from my last protector.”

  “You had a most successful career.” He found it difficult to see faded beauty underneath the paint, but it must have been there once.

  “Specialties like mine come dear,” she said with a wink. “There’s still men who ask after me, but I’m a creature of business now, as you can see.”

  He had no doubt of that, given her ruinous prices. “Speaking of business, I find myself quite enamored of Liza. I’d like to set her up for myself alone. Might I buy her contract?”

  The old whore brayed. “Not for anything less than two ‘undred.”

  Brace felt a bubble of panic lurch between his heart and his lungs. Was she mad? “Come now, my good woman. Let us be serious. She tells me she’s been with you nearly three years. The bloom is off the rose.”

  “But she’s a specialist, like me. We don’t get used up so quick.”

  “She’s covered with scars,” he countered.

  Mrs. Teagarden frowned. “I’ll have to take a look.”

  “I could pay you fifty,” he said, after quickly calculating how many friends he might be able to borrow from. He didn’t want her investigating, he wanted a deal now.

  “I might consider one hundred,” she said with a sigh.

  Brace doubted he could bring the lady lower than that, and yet he could live for a year on that much money, and no one he knew had so much to lend. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You can see her as h’often as you like, as long as you ‘ave the coin. If you come this early, I’ll make sure you have ‘er first,” Mrs. Teagarden promised. “I think that’s a fair bargain.”

  Clearly his net worth had been calculated and found wanting. Unfortunate that the old whore had such an accurate meter, but after all, men were her business.

  “I’ll be wanting a discount for frequent business,” he warned. How would he ever borrow, beg, steal so much? But he’d need to visit Celeste again to reassure her, and soon.

  “I take care of my customers,” she promised.

  One of the bearded men cleared his throat. Brace nodded to Mrs. Teagarden and took his leave, noting the tall, bulky man dressed in coarse wool lurking in the shadow of the stairs in the entryway. Had he been there when Brace entered? He couldn’t be sure, but clearly the girls were guarded as well as enslaved by the clockwork.

  He returned to his rooms and tried to fall asleep, but Celeste’s perfect face, strong fingers and scars tossed in his brain through the night while the heavy rain assaulted his ears in an irregular pattern.

  *****

  The next day was Saturday, only a half day on his stool at the law office. He fidgeted it away then sidled up to his friend, the senior clerk, as they left. Five pounds was all the man had available. He wandered through a greengrocer’s, two old school chums’ flats, even his uncle’s house on Cavendish Square. The most he could raise was thirty pounds. Not surprised by this amount, he decided to write a letter to his grandfather, who might remember the Flaherty family from the old days and feel inclined to assist. But he would write the letter tonight, after he visited one last friend in Camden Town.

  Jonathan Seton lived in the last of a faltering row of houses with a discouragingly filthy front step. The bricks were stained as if painters had been testing dabs of color on the surfaces for years. A little community of inventors, they shared a distain for blown-out windows and heavy smells, as well as gardens littered with machinery and metal bits, though a tool would never be found uncared for around these parts, especially as most of them had been handcrafted by the inhabitants.

  As Brace climbed the step, he saw something fly from a second-floor window next door. He cupped his hand over his eyes to filter out weak winter sun rays and saw what appeared to be a metal dragonfly circle the yard and fly back through the window again. It gave him an idea. Could he somehow fight technology with technology?

  He rapped the door knocker against the door for a couple of minutes, but wasn’t surprised to receive no answer. Jonathan mostly lived in his workshop out back. Brace went around to the alley and opened the sagging gate. He heard loud banging from the shed at the south-west corner, a freshly-painted building better maintained than the main house, and knew his friend was home.

  When he opened the door, he saw the man in shirtsleeves, waistcoat and leather apron, leaning over a table while he pounded at a silver disk.

  Brace stepped forward with a sigh. “Burned through your trousers again, Johnny?”

  Jonathan shook his head like a wet dog, then went still for a moment before turning. His saturnine features lifted in the always surprisingly angelic smile. “Brace! What brings you by?”

  “Doom and disaster,” he said, wishing he’d brought a bottle of something with him.

  “My specialties. You wouldn’t make your way out here without them.” He held up the silver oval with a gloved hand. “What do you think?”

  “What is it?”

  “A pendant, I think.” He frowned at the shape. “A chap I know wanted to mount an old Greek coin on silver for his wife.”

  “Glad to see you are profitably employed.” Maybe Jonathan would have a good supply of money to loan him.

  Jonathan picked up an irregular-shaped piece of gold and tossed it at Brace. “See?”

  Brace stared at the small image of a stern woman with curled hair and a battle helmet on the old coin. “Athena?”

  “You bet. That, old chum, is more than a thousand years old.”

  He handed it back. “Wish I had a few of those in a drawer somewhere.”

  “Maybe your grandfather does in an attic somewhere at the Park. They are quite small. Some were minted in Gaul. Not so far away.”

  “Must be worth a fortune,” Brace mused. Jonathan had a point. Plenty of trunks moldered in the attics of his family estate, but he doubted his grandfather’s much younger second wife would allow him to abscond with any treasures he discovered.

  “A small one. Why? Are you in need of a fortune?”

  “I met an old friend last night,” Brace said. “And I need one hundred pounds to get her out of some trouble.

  “Her, eh? What’s she done?”

  “Not her, her father. Now he’s up and died, leaving her in a dreadful mess.”

  “Fathers will do that. So you are here in hopes that I can cough up a few of the queen’s coins for you?”

  “If you have them.”

  “I do not. Put all my ready cash into silver. I’ll get paid when the pendant is done, but no sooner.”

  Brace sat down on an old cane chair and sighed. “You were my last hope. I’m short seventy pounds.”

  Jonathan whistled. “Anything you can pawn?”

  “Not a thing, except my father’s old watch and my mother would have my head if I did that.”

  “It’s not worth seventy.”

  “No. Say, what do you know about clockwork?”

  Jonathan snorted and placed the coin back into a velvet-lined box, then closed the lid. “What don’t I know? I apprenticed in a clockmaker’s shop in Switzerland for two years.”

  “I thought you made talking heads or some such nonsense there.”

  “Not until my last few months there. I repaired many a clock at the start.”

  Brace put his elbows on his thighs and his chin on his hands. “Can you keep a secret for your entire life?”

  Jonathan rais
ed a finely cut eyebrow. “You know I can.”

  “Her name is Celeste Flaherty.”

  “Who is she to you?”

  “A childhood friend. She had a profligate father but her family was as good as mine. You know, younger son of a middle son, distantly related to some baronet or other, the occasional knighting in the family.”

  “Right.”

  “I lost track of her, as one does, when her family moved into London, just about the time I was discovering the fairer sex. I had no idea what had become of her. Hadn’t thought of her in years, though she was the daily playmate of my youth.”

  “But you found her again.”

  “In a brothel, no less.”

  “Oh, dear.” Jonathan wetted his lower lip with his tongue and pulled a long, low table away from the wall. He balanced one boot on the wood surface.

  Brace winced at the sight. “That pose leaves nothing to the imagination. Can’t you find a pair of trousers?”

  Jonathan turned, offering Brace the hint of hairy ass curves under his shirt. “Ah, I have just the thing.” He rustled in what looked like a pile of rags in one corner, then came up with a frayed pair of wool trousers. When he had them buttoned up he spun around. “Fetching, eh?”

  “Ghastly.”

  “I am not the young dandy you are,” Jonathan said, his nose in the air. “At least they cover the necessary. Back to your Miss Flaherty.”

  “Too right. I chose her from a portrait wall. That’s what this place does, offer their young ladies via portrait. I meant to gamble with friends but it caught my eye and the next thing you know I’d paid for an hour. It wasn’t until after that she told me her real name and I recognized her. It had been nearly a decade.”

  “After?” Jonathan chuckled. “You rogue. No reason you’d have known her.”

  Brace didn’t find the situation very humorous. “She’s trapped. Not at all the practiced whore, even after nearly three years. They have some sort of clockwork mechanism literally pierced to her throat. It sets off an alarm if she tries to leave.”

  “How does it work?”