“I wanted to borrow some of your chalkboards,” he said, “if any of them are blank.”
Her curly head turned purple. “You sent my PCPA flying across the room for chalkboards?! Get out! I’m going to turn you into a chalkboard!”
“But may I–”
“Yes, yes, take the chalkboards! Take all the chalkboards!” She got up and shoved him out the door, pressing on the back of his thighs, her head coming only up to his buttocks. “You and your daft self go take all the chalkboards to do whatever it is you’re going to do with the–” She stopped abruptly. “What do you need chalkboards for?”
Edwin rolled his eyes knowingly. Harriet was terrifying to someone who didn’t know her, but terribly predictable to someone who did. “I’ve had a breakthrough of my own, and I think I may be able to help Clarence.”
“Clarence needs an education now?” Harriet spat ironically.
“More so than you’d think,” Edwin grinned deviously.
Harriet shook her head. “Whatever, Edwin,” she said dismissively. “Don’t take any of the boards that have my notes on them.”
“Thank you, Harriet. You’re a good sport,” Edwin said graciously. “And, ah…”
“Yes, Edwin?” Harriet drawled.
“What’s a PCPA?”
“Post-Coital Phosphorescence Accumulator,” she said flatly. “Now go away.”
Edwin raised his eyebrows, frowned, sighed, and left, shaking his head. Post-conjugal flippetygibbet, whatever that did.
“Oy, Giles,” Edwin said as he met the servant, “I need your assistance moving some chalkboards.” Giles frowned. “I’ve got permission from Harriet already,” Edwin said, “and I need six blank ones.” Giles shrugged and led him to a dark corner of the lab, a veritable chalkboard graveyard where chalkboards that Harriet hadn’t yet found a use for waited patiently for their turn to shine. These six would probably rue the day of their fabrication.
It took almost an hour and a half to haul the chalkboards downstairs and get them set up surrounding one of the beds on the starboard wall of the bipolar energy collection room, and Giles vanished as soon as the task was done. Poor fellow probably got some dirt on him, Edwin thought sardonically. Or worse, semen! He chuckled to himself as he sought out Clarence. He found him where he expected to: in his room.
Clarence turned nervously to Edwin as he entered. “Ed, I’m really nervous about this.”
Edwin blinked indignantly. “That’s ‘Edwin,’“ he corrected. “Never call me ‘Ed.’“
Clarence cringed. “I’m sorry, Edwin; I–I’m just so nervous.”
Edwin smiled and clasped Clarence on the shoulder. “Clarence, my boy, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ve found the perfect woman for the job, and she’s giddier than a lookout in a hurricane. I’ve already told her that you’re not proud of it, and she’s agreed to be gentle.”
A smile slowly spread across Clarence’s face as the realization hit him and the anticipation started building. He dared not appear too excited, but he could not help but let a little of it show. “When?” he asked breathlessly.
Edwin looked at the clock on Clarence’s nightstand. “About ten minutes,” he replied with a closed-lip grin.
Clarence’s jaw dropped, and his breath quickened. “But that’s so soon!” He fumbled with the book he’d been reading, putting it on the bed, then picking it back up, then putting it down again. “I’ve no time to prepare!”
Edwin rolled his eyes and reaffirmed his hand’s presence on Clarence’s shoulder. “Breathe, boy!” he said emphatically. “The only preparation you need to do is to lose those clothes.” He raised an eyebrow. “It just ain’t right for you to be a member of the propulsion crew this long and still cling to your clothes so,” he said in half-jest. “Besides, your Lady isn’t going to want to wait for you to strip for her,” he grinned, winking.
Clarence grinned, then began stripping. Finally, Edwin thought. It had taken almost a year to get Clarence to take off his clothes for longer than a minute before the act. The whole crew would fall over in surprise when they saw him walking down the hallway sans his precious clothes.
Clarence’s clothes doffed and folded neatly on his bed, Edwin led him to the bipolar collection room and into the shelter the chalkboards had made. Scarlett was not yet there. “Wait here,” Edwin said as he departed to find her.
Clarence stood awkwardly. He could see nothing but blank chalkboards on three sides and the wall of the room on the fourth; the bed lay to his left. A nightstand sat on the other side with a large leather-bound book open on top with a fountain pen and ink. It was in this book that the occupants of the bed signed to get credit for their contributions to the ship’s energy. Plugs on the floor awaited the connection of a brass sock, the interface that harvested energy from the participants and fed it to the ship. A clock sat on the back of the nightstand so that the participants could record their check-in time.
The room was comfortable, but Clarence shivered. While this was something he had secretly wanted for years, he had been afraid to admit it to anybody. Now the opportunity was here, and he didn’t know how to take it. Would it be like he’d hoped? Would he botch it? Would the woman be pleased? Who was she? One of the chalkboards groaned and moved out of the way, and she appeared. Clarence gulped as she moved the chalkboard behind her, obscuring the view for everyone else. They were, for all intents and purposes, alone.
“Hello, Clarence,” she said seductively. “Or should I say, ‘slave?’“
His heart pounded. He could feel a hint of tumescence in his groin. He nodded, captivated by Scarlett’s body, voice, and demeanor.
“What was that, slave? I didn’t hear you,” Scarlett said, lifting his head with her finger to make eye contact.
“Y–yes,” Clarence stuttered.
“That’s ‘yes, milady,’” she corrected him. “Can you say that?”
“Yes, milady,” Clarence murmured.
“You’ll have to speak up, slave,” Scarlett said, smiling sweetly, but her eyes flashed fiercely.
“Yes, milady!” Clarence said, nearly shouting.
“Such a good slave!” Scarlett praised him. “Now, I understand that you need a firm woman’s touch. Is that right?”
“Yes, milady!” he said eagerly, but he hesitated afterwards; was he being too forward?
“Good. And you’re going to do as you’re told, right, slave?” Her words were reassuring.
“Yes, milady!”
“Wonderful. Very good, slave.” The cord from her brass sock dangled between her legs. “Can you plug me in, slave?” she said, but the tone of her voice told him it wasn’t a question. He hurriedly knelt down to plug the cord from her brass sock into one of the jacks in the floor.
“Such a good boy,” she said. “Now, sign us both in.” As he quickly signed them in, she lay down spread-eagled on the bed. When he had finished, she continued. “A slave’s job is to pleasure his lady,” she told him. “I want you to touch me in a way that you think will bring me pleasure.” She lay back, her head resting on the pillow, eyes closed.
Clarence hesitated. He wasn’t good at this, and he knew it, but he wanted to do as told. He grabbed her breasts and began twisting them, not hard, but not sensuously, either.
Scarlett opened her eyes and rolled them. This was going to take some work, she realized. She thought of how to put her words nicely.
“Slave, you don’t get pleasure from a lady by twisting her breasts,” she said gently. “I want you to do this: take your fingertips and gently rub my nipples with them.” She demonstrated a very light touch on the back of his hand with her fingers. He nodded, and although he was still rougher than she’d planned, the feeling was much better. And the authority to tell him what to do! That got her excited.
“Mmm, that’s much better, slave,” she said. “Kiss me.”
“Where?” he asked.
“On the mouth, of course,” she said, laughing. He clumsily reached over and pressed
his lips to hers, making a kissing motion. The effect was not at all stimulating. She gently lifted him off her with a touch to the shoulder. “Gentle, slave,” she said. “That is the word of the day. Say it with me, ‘gentle.’” She cued him with her hands.
“Gentle, milady.”
“Very good, slave. Now try again.” He kissed her again, this time, gently and tenderly. The sensation hit a nerve in her sex, and she sighed pleasantly.
“You’re learning, slave,” she praised him, “but don’t stop stroking my nipples. Kiss me again.” It took effort, but he was able to remember to keep gently stroking her nipples as he kissed her. Her body writhed softly against the bed. He sensed her arousal. It turned him on. His eyes widened as he felt his dick begin to harden. He’d never been turned on like this before. It seemed so simple, yet it had been so out of reach before.
“Slave, you’ve really got to keep your head in this,” Scarlett gently chided. Clarence had ceased both rubbing and kissing, but before he could recommence, she had a new task for him.
“What’s today’s word, slave?” she asked.
“Gentle, milady,” he recited.
“Good, slave. Keeping that in mind, I want you to stroke my sex. Do you think you can do that?”
Clarence nodded eagerly. He wanted to show her that he could be a good slave, and he reached down slowly and carefully and barely touched his hand to her labia. She smiled and fought back a chuckle.
“You’ve learned well,” she said, “but you can go a little harder than that.” Clarence nodded and stroked harder. Her sex was hairless, warm, and moist. He liked what the moistness meant: it meant he was doing a good job. It meant that she was pleased with him. He wanted her to have more moistness.
“Oh,” Scarlett moaned in spite of herself. “Very good, slave,” she said breathily. She stayed his hand with hers and caught her breath. “I want you to lick my flower,” she told him. “And remember…”
“Gently, milady,” Clarence finished.
“Yes, slave, that’s right.”
Clarence climbed up onto the bed and knelt between her legs. His breathing was labored with excitement. His cock was raging-hard; he’d never been so turned on before, nor had he ever enjoyed himself like he was enjoying himself now. The warmth and moisture of her sex beckoned to him, and he followed the call, as mindless as a cult’s new recruit. His hot breath stimulated her, and she spread her legs subconsciously. The folds of her clitoral hood had begun to rise, like a tiny homing beacon for him to follow. It was there that his tongue made its first delicate contact, sending shivers coursing through her body. The taste was otherworldly; he had never given oral attention to a woman, preferring to get done as quickly as he could so that he could go back to his books. He had never realized how much he’d missed until now. He needed more of that taste, and his tongue greedily dove between the folds of skin in stark contrast to the gentle caress he’d just made. The variation made Scarlett grunt in surprise and pleasure.
“Oh, slave, you’re a natural at this,” she said appreciatively, delighting in the sensations his inexperienced tongue brought to her. “Go in deeper,” she said, and he obliged, sticking his tongue in as far as it would go, burying his nose inside of her. She reached down and held his head there as he tried to pull out. He started to struggle, but she calmed him. “Stay with it, slave,” she soothed him. “You want to pleasure your lady, and your lady wants five more seconds.” His body went limp as his tongue strove to deliver his lady’s wishes. After five seconds, she let him go.
He pulled his head out, gasping for air, but his tongue was soon buried again, tasting her secretions and feeling the ridges of her vagina as her arousal increased.
“Such a good slave,” she murmured, and then tugged on his shoulder. “Kiss me,” she breathed, and he lay on top of her, his face pressed to hers, tenderly caressing her lips. She reached out with her lips and gently nibbled his lower one. His eyes sprang open in surprise and delight, and his cock throbbed as an electric rush flowed from his lips through his chest and into his testes. He tried the same, nibbling her lower lip, and her reaction was much the same. Breathlessly, she whispered, “It’s time, slave.”
Without a word, he pressed himself into her. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to fight to keep an erection. For the first time, he genuinely felt pleasure in what he was doing.
“Press up a bit, slave,” Scarlett instructed. As he did so, he pressed against her g-spot, eliciting a loud moan from her. Her vagina contracted, squeezing hard against his cock, and he, too, moaned.
“Faster, slave,” she said. Unseen to either of them, the gauge that monitored their power output was at ninety-six percent. Their orgasm was near.
“Faster, slave!” she ordered loudly. The repeated command, issued this way, made Clarence’s chest jump, and he drove in and out faster and harder than before.
“Yes, slave, yes!” Scarlett cried. The gauge read ninety-nine percent. She pulled his head by the hair to her nipple, and he took the hint, sucking on it for all he was worth, forgetting the word of the day. The stimulation sent her over the edge. The needle in the gauge swung hard to the right, pressed against its glass enclosure. Her body bucked against his, sending him over the edge, and both cried out in ecstasy as his fluids and hers met and collected inside the brass sock shortly before it ejected itself, taking Clarence’s cock with it. He collapsed on her, and she stroked the hair on the side of his head, softly murmuring, “That’s a good slave. Such a good slave.”
Edwin sat on a bed on the other side of the chalkboards. Several couples had seen the chalkboards, and, their interest piqued, had stopped to listen. The sounds of pleasure and the occasional command from Scarlett had gotten everybody aroused, and all around were people producing energy for the ship. Harriet would be pleased, Edwin thought to himself. He certainly was: his gamble had paid off, and he had once again succeeded in improving his crew’s performance, not only for Clarence and Scarlett, but for all these voyeurs making out like rabbits around him. Yes, he was quite pleased with himself.
As the couple emerged from behind the chalkboards, everybody stopped and applauded. Scarlett blushed crimson, and Clarence hid behind her altogether, but the warm reception and a hearty hug from Edwin instilled confidence in both as they made their way to someplace quieter to discuss what had just happened for both of them. In the days that followed, Clarence would come to follow Scarlett around like a puppy. While they were free to play with others, and both found themselves in demand for their unique talents, they found that they were both happiest playing together.
The HMS Rapturion glided silently through the night sky. Those in first class would be treated to a spectacular view of the aurora borealis in a few minutes, completely unaware of the experience they had missed many decks below them.
*****
~Volume Three~
Eloise loved to fuck. When she’d heard that there was a job that would pay her to do just that, she’d leapt at the offer. The inspection had been a bit uncomfortable, and the ritualistic touching of her breasts between the examiner’s hands had been very uncomfortable, but this was it: the chance for her to finally fuck to her heart’s content. Like that was ever possible, she thought sarcastically to herself.
At twenty-one years of age, Eloise was young, cocky, well developed in body and in endowment, self-confident, and horny. Always horny. Unlike most of the propulsion crew of the HMS Rapturion, Eloise came from an upper-middle-class family and had more than enough opportunities for work or a life of luxury, if she’d been willing to take them. By pulling a few strings, her parents could even probably have swung putting her through Oxford, or perhaps sending her overseas to Harvard or Yale.
But Eloise didn’t care to go. An only child, accustomed to getting what she wanted and completely self-absorbed, Eloise just wanted to screw anything that moved — and that meant anything. Her father had even caught her touching herself in a family chair, completely disrobed. Too shocked
to speak, her father had just turned away in a daze and never brought it up. To Eloise, that meant it was okay, but the chair didn’t really excite her, and her treatment of it would have given any potential fling a preview of coming attractions: she utterly ignored it afterwards, not deigning either to write or call on it ever again. One of the servants, the poor thing, had gotten the unpleasant task of cleaning up after her when the results of the encounter were discovered some days later.
Aside from her promiscuous ways, Eloise loved to drink and eat. She maintained her form only through God’s gracing her with a fast metabolism, and surely by her thirtieth birthday, that grace would expire. She was a hedonist, and her self-satisfaction increased with the number of hedonistic endeavors she could manage at once. Her record was single-handedly drinking four bottles of port over eighteen courses of the finest French cuisine her family could afford, followed by a deep tissue massage with more wine and a deep-tissue massage of her sphincter by the masseuse. All of that was before lunchtime.
Steampunk Desires: An Erotic Romance (The Complete Collection) Page 5
