Succubus Steam

by Lila Shaw

  “Do let me know if you wish to fly with me. I would greatly enjoy your stimulating company,” he says in a voice so low and lazy none but me can have heard it. Despite my efforts, I tremble and lean into his hand. Lyle’s arrogant smirk claims a victory I’ve failed to deny him. Insufferable beast!

  Chapter Two

  Lyle visits me twice more over the next two weeks. He comes first with my sisters. We partake of an evening meal together before my visitors flit off for an orgy with a theatre troupe.

  During his second, uninvited visit, I catch him prowling around my basement when I return early from high tea with the ladies Smythe and Goulding. The man has the audacity to quiz me about what I’ve hidden behind the doors, which I keep locked to deter overly curious servants and unwelcome visitors with prying eyes. He devises some flimsy excuse about having misunderstood the date of my invitation for a second dinner my sisters’ wrangled over my protests. Finding no one at home to answer the bell—a lie—he admitted himself, claiming to be concerned about my welfare.

  After that, the frequency with which Lyle’s and my paths cross escalates. The rate is too shocking to be accidental. The man is stalking me. Perhaps I should sleep with him once more so he’ll move on to his next conquest, but I’m too busy and can’t afford to spend an entire day or more in bed recovering my strength.

  ***

  Today I seek a form of aloe gel to apply to Adam’s artificial skin. Chelsea is my usual destination for such an item and indeed I am successful in finding what I need within my first half hour. Turning the corner, I run straight into the hard wall of a man’s chest.

  “My apologies, sir, I—” The words catch in my throat as the familiar tug and tingle of a potent sex magic grips me. The man’s familiar scent wafts into my nostrils—pure sex and desire. No, no, no. “Lyle. What are you doing here? Are you following me?”

  “Following you? I think not. I was merely doing a bit of, uh shopping.” His hand is on my arm, preventing me from escaping him without attracting undue attention.

  “Right. What could you possibly want in Chelsea?”

  Surprisingly, he reaches inside a bag I hadn’t noticed before and withdraws a nosegay of violets that he presents to me. “Exactly the person I purchased these for. They reminded me of you…Violet.”

  “What do you want, Lyle?”

  “Why do you assume I want anything?” He smiles down at me.

  I cock my head to the side in wry disbelief that he would deny having any premeditated designs on me.

  “Very well. I never could fool you, could I?” He releases my arm, and I shake my head. “Your sisters are of the opinion that you are hiding something of great value to which they believe they might have a claim. I agreed to help them discover if their suspicions were true.” He takes a step closer and leans his head down to mine. “Since you are quite susceptible to my wiles.”

  “What makes you think I’m up to anything? And I’m not that susceptible. I am more than capable of refusing you.”

  He moves his lips to my ear and whispers, “Not if I willed otherwise.” The warmth of his breath triggers a wave of heat through my body like the first flames to kindling. Pulling back, he adds, “But I am a believer in free will. As to the other topic, ever since your great uncle died, you’ve practically become a hermit in that stuffy old house of his. It’s not healthy, Violet, especially for one such as yourself.”

  “One such as myself?”

  “Half mortal.” He takes my hand and draws it through the crook of his arm and we start walking, or rather he propels us both forward. To the casual observer, we are a man and a woman on a leisurely stroll through the vendor stalls of the Chelsea market.

  “Why do you care, Lyle? What am I to you? Have my sisters offered you remuneration if I am discovered to be sitting on a pirate’s booty within the bowels of my uncle’s home?”

  Lyle gives a soft snort and shoots me a sideways glance. “Contrary to what you may think, I do care about you, Violet. I am your most ardent admirer.”

  “I am nothing but a challenge to you, a conquest to be mounted like a stag on a wall. If you weren’t a danger to my well-being, I’d have surrendered to you if only to set you on your merry way to your next trophy.”

  “You wound me with your base assassination of my character.”

  I stop short and stare up into his eyes, a deceptively benign shade of emerald. “You’re an incubus, Lyle. You can’t help what you are any more than a wolf can help its hunger for a sheep. But you still haven’t answered my question about my sisters. Why are you helping them? What have they offered you?”

  “Ah, my dear. You have it backwards; it is they who are helping me. You and I both know there are no treasures in your uncle’s home those two would find of any value. I had only to plant the seed that there might be to bring them to London and in turn have them bring me to you.” He releases my arm, tips his hat and bows. “Good day, dear Violet. I’m sure we shall meet again soon.” And with that, he melts into the crowd and is gone.

  Chapter Three

  A week passes and Adam is finally ready for his maiden voyage, the one that will end his virginity, if such can be bestowed on an automaton.

  “How are you this evening, Adam?” I wind his gears and add a brick of coal to his inner burners. Even and steady warmth to the touch is a critical design element I have taken great pains to perfect.

  But my greatest source of pride lies in Adam’s ability to converse and express intense satisfaction. I do adore vocal encouragement. His moans, groans, grunts, pants and shouts of pleasure are programmed to randomly erupt upon the stimulation of certain trigger points. I have also bestowed him with the ability to learn from the feedback I offer. In short, the more time I spend with Adam, the more I will enjoy him. For his part, there is no displeasing Adam. Ever.

  “Adam?”

  “Yes, Madam?”

  “I am desirous of your copulatory skills. My itch requires release and my body its nourishment.”

  “As you wish, my love,” he says. When in pleasure mode, he no longer refers to me as Madam but as My Love, a finer touch that pleases me highly.

  He moves toward me, his steps catlike in their grace and silence. I watch with both the proud eye of his maker and the lustful eye of his lover.

  Into his open arms I move, and he envelops me. His coal furnace clicks along nicely with the rhythm of a human heartbeat as his skin warms mine, neither too hot nor too cool—perfect. His full, sensuous mouth descends for a kiss. He feels exactly as a man should—hard and powerful, yet with a gentle touch in the press of his palms against my sides. His lips apply pressure to my lips, his artificial tongue, flavored with peppermint and chocolate, sweeps against my own.

  I pull back to offer verbal encouragement. This I enjoy, because the more we interact, the more superb his lovemaking skills. “An excellent kiss, Adam. Do it again only, this time, swirl your tongue with mine then run it along the inside of my teeth. The kiss may then travel to my jaw, ear and neck, especially my neck.”

  Adam executes my commands with thrilling results. His tongue sweeps and dips and lays tracks of desire that end at the hollow of my throat. I feel the tightening of his arms about me and arch back to give him greater access to my erogenous zones.

  “Continue on the other side,” I prompt.

  He does, finally returning to his home base at my lips for a kiss that ratchets my own internal combustion engine into a higher gear. Heat courses through me and liquid desire pools in my sex. My scalp, fingers and toes tingle. Part of me wants to command him to take me, release me, feed me, but slow and steady must be our game plan as I train him.

  When my knees are nearly jellified from his interactive kissing instruction, I whisper my next command in his ear. “Undress me, slowly, paying homage to my body as you reveal it.”

  “Oh yes, my love,” he says in a mimicking whisper.

  Nimble fingers, themselves works of art that my great uncle would admire were he stil
l alive, untie and loosen the laces of my dress. It puddles to the floor at my feet, leaving me in my corset and bloomers.

  “Over on the bed.” His forceful demand surprises me. I don’t remember adding that command to his repertoire. The serendipitous thrill sends a frisson of pleasure through me as I move to my bed.

  I lie back upon the immaculate bedclothes and gaze at my creation. He is gloriously nude, a work of erotic art to rival even the great Da Vinci. His erection bobs as he saunters lazily toward me, his eyes scanning my remaining garments. He should be computing the means for disrobing me, face fiercely determined, but instead he smiles. Another niggle of astonished pride courses through me.

  He rolls me over onto my stomach, his weight upon my thighs as he straddles me. The laces whip at lightning speed from their eyelets and soon the corset loosens, and then falls to either side.

  A tickle of hair (his mustache?) grazes my back between my shoulder blades before his lips brand me with their heat. His hands hold either side of my torso, thumbs sweeping in a semi-circular motion. My skin rouses to his touch. He slides those hands down, down, down until they slip beneath to untie the drawstring at my belly. The fabric loosens enough to slide down over my hips, but there is no quickening to his pace, no matter how much I squirm beneath him. The hands retrace their paths to either side of my hips then around to cup the flesh of my buttocks.

  A groan rumbles against my back. I don’t remember that being part of his lesson plan either. Perhaps I accidentally brushed one of his trigger spots?

  “My love, you are exquisite.”

  That, I did teach him. The delivery in his bass register brings a purr to my lips.

  He draws off my pantaloons and I am clothed only by the warmth of his hands and the soft press of his mouth. His mustache tickles my thighs, the backs of my knees and calves.

  “Adam, that is both heavenly and maddening at the same time. Are you registering all my responses?”

  “Oh, aye, my love, aye.” More soft kisses. “Shall I bestow the same pleasures upon the flip side of your body?”

  “Oh, aye, Adam, aye.” I adore his hushed word choices and repeating them will lock them in his memory for future use.

  He picks me up and, with a random spark of sauciness I hadn’t expected, tosses me onto my back. His body covers mine, his weight propped up on his elbows that rest by my shoulders. A kiss, a gentle bite on my chin and he lifts up and slides down.

  I present my breasts to him, but he pushes back onto his haunches and stares.

  “Oh no,” I murmur. “Please don’t let his clockworks have wound down. Not now. Not yet.” I raise up on my elbows, ready to pop open his inner workings panel when I notice a flicker in his eyes.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers before he takes my offerings in each of his hands.

  I fall back with a small squeal of happiness. His dark head drops to my right breast where his tongue flicks out to torment the nipple. It hardens and strains toward him like a sunflower to the heavens. He captures it with his mouth, his tongue laving the sensitive tip before he suckles. The ministrations of his mouth and tongue have found the secret wire that connects my nipple to my pleasure spot, that shuttles sensations from his hot wet tuggings straight to my sensitive core. With a pop, he releases it and treats my left breast to similar clever attentions.

  “Ah, Adam. That feels … so good.” I growl the last word and he raises his eyes from the pillow of my breast and smiles. The sight of his grin unleashes a new flood of warmth between my legs, a juncture already drenched.

  “I am deeply gratified that I please you, my love.”

  “You please me very much.” I close my eyes and sigh.

  The bed rocks. I open my eyes to find him looming over me. I close them again as his weight presses me into the downy softness of the mattress. A new perfume saturates the air of my bedroom, that of my own musky scent, the scent of arousal, the scent of invitation. Adam’s olfactory workings should be processing these triggers. I await his next move.

  “Shall I take you now, my love? Shall I slide into your velvety depths and savor your delicious wet tightness about my cock?”

  “Oh, merciful savior, yes!” My voice is strangled and hoarse. “I mean, yes, I would like you to do that, Adam. Gently at first, though.”

  “I shall enjoy pleasing you, Letty,” he whispers in my ear.

  My eyes fly open. When did I teach him my nickname? His pace of learning has accelerated with unsettling rapidity. I must have left his audio sensors on and my communication system engaged one day, and he simply overhead my sisters or Lyle. My alarm dissipates and I luxuriate in how wicked the familiarity sounds on his lips.

  “I adore how you feel, my love.” I opt not to use his name but an endearment to assess the impact.

  “I adore how you feel too, Violet, my love.” His hands continue to caress my breasts, my sides, my belly. They tiptoe to my sex and part my folds. “Your sex is a rainforest of delight, my angel.” He nips my neck where it meets my shoulder and triggers another wave of warmth to my quim.

  My eyes shutter and I moan, “Aye … rainforest … lots of rain falling.”

  “I like you this way, trembling under my touch, blooming like a flower in the afternoon sun.” He nips the other side of my neck, then the breast below it. “Mmm.”

  My heart races a little faster with his every moan. “Adam, please fuck me now,” I pant. “I cannot bear much more.”

  “As you command, my love.” His voice rumbles against my breast before he surges up against my body, the hairs on his chest stroking my skin.

  The tip of his cock, hot and heavy prods against my body, probing, seeking my center. I move to align us and when he’s settled into the sweet spot, he pushes forward.

  “Oh, Violet!” He pushes in further. “My Violet.” His cock penetrates my depths and stretches me. “Violet, you are perfection, so warm and snug. We fit like a hand in a glove, but I must move within you, my love, I must.”

  His unexpected diction thrills me, but when he begins to grind his hips against mine, I shoo those thoughts away for later analysis. “Yes. Just like that, Adam.” I draw my legs up and around his back and he responds by moving deeper still. “Easy thrusts at first then building in intensity.”

  He obliges, and like the well-oiled machine that he is, pumps his hips in a rocking motion, stroking my inner walls.

  I throw my head back into my pillow and just feel. Feel his rhythm. Feel the friction of our bodies moving together and apart. His sensors trigger his own groans of pleasure.

  I ride wave after wave of delight, approaching the shore. My body tenses in preparation for my release. Muscles coil tightly like the warming up of a symphony awaiting the conductor’s baton for that first explosive note. I am his instrument; his quickening movements play me like the fingering of frets.

  Close, so close.

  And then he pulls out.

  I whimper with frustration. What glitch made him compute that this would be what I’d want? I bite my lip trying to hold back my scream of irritation at his ill-timed malfunction.

  My consternation is short-lived because he’s in motion again. He rolls to his back and takes me with him. With a wicked grin I’ve no idea where he found, he raises me by my waist, aligns the head of his cock with my opening, and then drops me. I gasp at his abrupt intrusion. He throws his head back and laughs, yes, laughs, another action I have not knowingly taught him.

  His laughter dies and he refocuses on me, eyes locked with mine. And then he begins to move again.

  He raises me and presses his own hips down before he drops me and surges up simultaneously. The impact nearly winds me; he is so deeply impaled in my body.

  “Move for me, Violet.”

  I do. I dance my hips within the cradle of his, my legs on either side of his supine form. When I lean forward to vary the angle of his organ against my nubbin of pleasure, he seizes a nipple in his mouth and suckles. Hands that had previously guided my hips in their u
p and down motions, move to caress my thighs, his fingers alternately splaying and clenching.

  I accelerate my movements, squeezing, tightening and bouncing on the plateau of his body.

  He’s so hard inside me, so hot, and I grip him with the possessiveness of a jealous lover. My muscles one by one relay a message of impending bliss. The tension grows and builds again.

  “Yes, Violet. Ride me, my love. Ride me hard. Wrest your pleasure from me.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and listen to him urge me onward, to ride him, up and down, back and forth.

  I stop and, keeping as much of his blessed fullness inside me as possible, reverse my position.

  “Lean back. I’ve got you,” he whispers and he does. His hips rise and he thrusts into me from below.

  “Oh…” I cry, but my voice shakes, a staccato as his pumping grows more ferocious. I crane my neck to look to the place where we join and marvel at the glistening sheen that encases his driving member. I drop my hand down to feel his point of entry, to touch the skin that wears my slick lubrication, far superior to any oil that courses through Adam’s inner workings.

  “Do I please you, my love?” His voice is gravelly and strained, like he’s forcing his words out from behind clenched teeth. And still his cock moves within me.

  “Yes, Adam. You please me very much.” I can barely get my own words out because all my energy, my being, my senses are marching to where he is coaxing my nervous system into burnout.

  Higher and higher I rise. His hands hold me firmly as he drives, and drives, and drives himself into me.

  The cliff’s edge looms then spins closer in a dizzying rush. Adam delivers a final shove and I fall over the edge. My insides somersault as I plummet into a chasm with no bottom. An unrestrained cry of completion pierces the room and I float in for a landing. I’ve no servants present to hear the evidence of my rapture, not tonight.