Steampunk Romp

Professor Victor Ashworth was an inventor. A purveyor of all things alchemical and mechanical. Natural science was his playground. His workshop, however, was little more than a hovel. It was a dark basement cluttered with half-completed projects and the faint smell of grease. But it was his to outfit as he pleased, and the professor felt at home around his copper paraphernalia.

He had absolute faith in his genius to produce revolutionary devices for domestic chores and industrial production alike, but a man of his eccentricities tended to ward away more clients than those who had an interest in the finer machinations of science in the first place. In other words, he was broke. What fickle business he did have was limited to mixing up basic salves and remedies for the local townsfolk. No one wanted to see his shoeing machine, nail clamper, or clothes presser, much less the more exciting devices like his electrostatic amplifier or prototype perpetual motion device.

So he'd decided to construct a machine anyone would be begging to try out. Well, any woman anyway. Many a housewife was unsatisfied with her husband's bedroom performance, so he'd designed a machine that would not only put any man to shame but also allow the wife to remain faithful to her other half. Normally Victor didn't concern himself with the carnal affairs of others, but in a town where infidelity could get a woman ravished by an angry mob, he would be foolish to pass up the opportunity for his work to receive some attention.

Building the machine was one of the easiest projects he'd ever undertaken. A little rumble and romp with some attachments to hold the girl steady, and he was marketing a metal pleasure machine before he knew it. Of course, his market was exclusively women, and the less their men knew the better. Fortunately, women were well-practised at spreading gossip without a word reaching their husbands' ears, so the news of his new machine had spread like wildfire. In no time he'd received more stacks of telegrams than he could build machines for, including several from some prominent noblewomen. Even the aristocrats had rough times in bed, it seemed.

His first client was such a noblewoman. Miss Amanda Phoenix, only daughter of the revered baron Richard Phoenix. A young woman with many eager suitors, by all accounts. He found it odd that a girl who yet retained her innocence would opt to lose it to a machine, but he'd never much understood the insanity of females. Business was business, and at present she was the most affluent client he had.

Now, not a minute late, the steam release at the front door hissed to announce her arrival. Making no attempt to make his habitat more presentable to such nobility, Victor climbed the stepladder to his store and ushered the girl inside.

She was a pretty enough thing, he supposed. Beneath the extravagant embroidery and frills, Amanda cut a slender figure in her whale-boned corset and hosiery. She removed her hat as she entered - a ridiculous pincushion of feathers - which gave him a clear view of her demure countenance. She had a soft, glowing visage - maybe she used his salve? - a cute button nose, and wide blue eyes that poured up into his. Her rich chestnut hair was pulled back into a swirling chignon resting against the nape of her neck. As Victor surveyed her she smiled, lifting a slim hand towards him. Realising she was expecting him to kiss it, he did so hastily, all the while thinking how bizarre social customs are among nobles.

"Victor Ashworth," she acknowledged in a smooth voice. Victor mumbled a greeting, then got straight to business. "Miss Amanda. I trust you're here to inspect your investment?" Once he found his voice, he spoke in a deep, sophisticated drawl that made it clear who was the true authority under this roof.

"Inspect, and I hope a little more," she confirmed, still smiling sweetly.

"My lady, I do not operate a house of carnal services. You may inspect and retrieve your purchase below," he said, pointing to the stairs.

A flash of annoyance crossed her features. "I desire a demonstration before any disbursement is given," she said haughtily. Victor regarded her with bemusement for a moment before replying.

"Very well. If you would follow me yonder..."

He led the spoilt girl down to the machine, where her eyes widened in astonishment. It was a rude sight for innocent eyes, he had to admit. The seat of the machine resembled a leather saddle, albeit with the addition of a polished copper shaft where the lady's parted legs would rest. A number of other components surrounded the saddle, and miss Amanda would learn their purpose soon enough.

"Forgive me, my lady, but in your present state you are too encumbered to use the machine."

"What- Oh!" she exclaimed, blushing as she realised what she had to do. Victor turned his back as the girl began the fiddly process of undressing. After a minute she asked, "Will this suffice?"

He turned to see her wearing nothing from the hips down. The short skirt of her dress only barely concealed her modesty, but wouldn't interfere with the function of the machine. Victor nodded, his eyes sliding up her waxed legs. He was reaching middle age, and it had been a while since he'd laid eyes upon a young woman of her desirability. His eyes reached hers, and he was embarrassed to see her coy smile back in place. Mentally shaking himself to his senses, he took her hand and helped her onto the machine before he got any other ideas.

She slid onto the saddle with surprising ease. The vertical shaft slipped inside her without resistance, making Victor wonder just how innocent young Amanda actually was. Either way, she was in for a shock. He placed her ankles in padded groves on either side, closing metal shackles over them to ensure their stability. Then he began to calibrate the machine.

Steam hissed through metal pistons and extended the ankle holders slowly outwards. Amanda drew a quick breath, alarmed at her body moving of its own accord. But the machine stopped once it detected too much strain, which left the girl balanced on her crotch with her slender legs stretched out horizontally, her toes pointing in opposite directions. Now the next component was applied: thigh guards. Metal plates slid over her thighs on either side, just below the hips, preventing her from lifting off the saddle.

Now perversely splayed and filled, Amanda's heart was beginning to race inside her chest. The uncomfortably tight corset was restricting her breathing - this attire was never designed to facilitate any sort of exertion. She grabbed Victor's arm, pulling at her girdle to indicate she wanted it off. He nodded, nimbly unlacing the back of her dress to gain access to the hazardous garment. Once it fell loose she breathed deeply in relief, aware that her only remaining clothing was her bra but far preferring this to choking to death.

"Thank you," she breathed, regaining her composure. It would be embarrassing to fall apart before the machine really got going!

Victor's response was to slap a collar around her neck. Amanda shouted in protest. "Hey! What did you put that on me for?"

"Calm yourself, miss. This is simply another part of the machine. I call it an arousal reader," he said. He placed his hand on her chest, where her heart was thumping within. "It reads how fast your heart is pumping - the faster it pumps, the more aroused you are, you see. The neck is simply a convenient place to detect that pulse."

"Oh," she said quietly, embarrassed to have made such a fuss about it. She flexed her neck, trying to get the new accessory comfortable. A thought suddenly struck her. "But... Why do you need to know how aroused I am?" She couldn't help blushing as she spoke those words aloud.

Victor laughed. "I don't. It does." He caressed the copper machinery in question. The way he said "it" almost with a sense of reverence sent a chill down Amanda's spine. And she wasn't easily spooked.

"Is it ready yet?" she asked, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice.

"Almost. Could you reach behind the machine, please?" She put her hands on the back of the saddle, feeling around for some switch or knob she imagined was there.

"Thank you," he said as he bound her forearms snugly together behind her back with several belts.

"Hey, now I'm sure that was unnecessary..." She wriggled her fused arms around in frustration, her chest bouncing around in the bra.

Victor shrugged, indifferent to her struggles. "It's all part of the experience."

"Urgh!" she suddenly exclaimed, attempting to jerk away from the saddle.

"What is it now?" he asked patiently.

"This thing just leaked something inside me!"

"It's probably just grease," he said soothingly. "Never hurts to have a bit of extra lubricant." She calmed down slightly, but still looked wildly perturbed at the idea of her womanly orifices being rubbed with actual grease. He decided not to tell her it was just a harmless lubricant.

There was just one thing left to do, now, and it was a good thing Amanda couldn't resist him any more because she wasn't going to like this part. He pulled a lever, and a large glass globe lowered from the above, encasing the girl's entire head and clicking shut around her collar. The helmet was ventilated, of course, but only in such a way that allowed fine control over the air supply and noise level. She shot him a glare through the curved glass, mouthing something only she could hear.

"Excellent," he said. "I believe you're finally ready. Commencing steam cycle in 5... 4... Well, you look ready to me." He activated the main power, and the saddle beneath the young noblewoman rumbled to life as steam gushed through its innards. Amanda doubled over, her heavy breathing reverberating around the glass prison as she gasped at the sensations below.

The entire saddle was shaking now, and the copper shaft inside her was warming up with the steam pressure powering its vibrations. But another part of the machine had yet to begin its torment. A small propeller-like wheel began spinning in front of the saddle, each blade tipped with a soft velvet cushion. Now it moved against her crotch, licking at her sensitive lips a dozen times every second. Animalistic moans echoed from the glass helmet as the girl rocked from side to side in ecstasy.

It was all a bit much for the middle-aged bachelor to handle. With uncharacteristically fumbling hands, he unclasped his client's bra and let it fall to the ground. He was now staring at the fully exposed and heaving body of an aristocrat's daughter as she moaned away in her personal world of bliss. Her shapely breasts danced to her tuneless melody, and her navel clenched and relaxed as she rolled in the throes of another climax.

Well, she seemed content with the machine. He might as well collect the payment. Ruffling through her discarded dress, he found the bundle of money owed to him along with an elegantly penned note. It read:

My dearest Amanda,

I eagerly await the hour at which we may again join in the delightful embrace of lovers. You are the cherry of my eye, my love. Your father has no right over your sweet nubile body, my dove, and he need not know of every indiscretion you impart. Shall I see you behind the wine merchant's store under the new moon this evening?

Yours in love,

David.

Sickening coquetry aside, it was a revelatory note. He'd suspected the little nymph wasn't as virtuous as she made out to be, but here was hard evidence of her "indiscretion." Continuing his search, he found no less than eight similar notes, all written in different hands, all implicating an ongoing physical relationship between the tactless writer and Victor's oblivious strumpet. A few of them even called her "Mandy." Her wealthy father would undoubtedly reward his diligence tenfold more than what he was asking for the machine, but there was another option even more enticing than money and an extremely dissatisfied client...

Shoving the letters back where he found them, Victor released a valve to let steam rush out of the system, bringing the machine to a grinding halt. He lifted the glass helmet from Amanda's head, smiling as he saw what a mess the prim-and-proper noblewoman had become. Her face was flushed red and shining with perspiration, and her formerly-neat hair hung in matted clumps all around her.

"Satisfied with your purchase, then?" he asked the exhausted girl. She beamed and nodded happily. Then she frowned, realising her breasts were no longer covered and tried to pout in protest. With the rest of her heaving form still locked down, a disapproving expression was as far as she got before giving in and laughing at the whole absurd affair. After all, in contrast to her mundane experiences with men, he'd just blown her libido a mile up the pleasure scale, so she must have decided to let it slide.

"You've been a busy girl," Victor began accusingly, retrieving one of the incriminating letters. He read it aloud slowly, pausing at every cringe-worthy metaphor. "This one has a promising career as a poet, I can tell." Amanda just hung her head in shame, her face reddening with every word.

"Now, there's no reason to be ashamed of these," he told her, softening his tone as he lifting her chin. "A pretty girl like you always has admirers, and how much you choose to indulge them is up to you. In fact, it would be unhealthy to deny your nubile young body the promiscuity it craves." He had her full attention now. His next words could make or break a relationship that would be mutually beneficial in the long term.

"But I think you would agree that there are certain ears that should never hear of these liaisons. Ears belonging to your father, for example." Her eyes widened. Victor could tell she expected extortion. "What I propose is something you might call a payment plan. You return here every week with a portion of these bills," he said, holding up the currency in question, "in return for another session on that machine. Once the whole sum is paid, you get to keep the machine as agreed."

Amanda was underwhelmed. She'd been expecting far worse or humiliating requests, but a payment plan? That was something some people did normally anyway. Never her, of course. She'd always had the means to pay upfront and in full.

"I don't understand. What's the catch?"

"No catch," Victor assured her. "Just come by with your weekly payment until the machine is rightfully yours to take. Oh, and let's say you have to stretch it out over a few months at least," he added, eyes twinkling.

"Well... Alright, I guess I can do that," said Amanda, still mildly bewildered. She started to look around, examining the machine's restraints and her outstretched legs, wondering how she was actually going to get out of this thing. She was still too embarrassed to ask for help.

"Excellent! I tell you what, since I interrupted your session just now I'll let you have a bit more time with it. How does that sound?"

Amanda looked unsure of this idea. She'd begun to sober up again after losing herself in that lustful frenzy. She should really get home and put her father's suspicions to rest. If he had any suspicions, that is, which she always assumed he did in order to play it safe. On the other hand, she could definitely take more of this...

"Oh, please," she said, grinning her deceptively innocent smile. "Do I look that delicate to you? I've slept with more men in one night than most proper ladies have in their life, and made love long into early hours of dawn."

Victor grinned back. Now that was a challenge his machine could handle. She didn't even know about half of its features yet. He wondered if she'd ever been taken from behind. "Well, missy, love has nothing to do with what this machine will do to you. As for the sleep part... I don't think that's going to happen either."

Before she could say another word, he slipped the glass hood back over her head with a satisfying click and fired up the engines. Amanda Phoenix's body was once more a faceless voluptuous figure squirming helplessly at the fire in her loins, her moans only vaguely audible as if at the other end of a long tunnel.

Victor Ashworth laid back and watched his client's struggles intensify as her endurance and stamina were tested beyond all reasonable expectations. If only he'd finished building that picture box already. Ah well, he'd plenty of time for that over the coming months.

He wondered what delights the next client held. It might even become difficult finding time to work on his inventions at this rate. But for now, he was content to watch the entrancing contest between minx and machine unfold before him. He knew which one he'd be placing bets on.