by D. L. King
Coating a shiny metal rod with lanolin, she slowly inserted it in the young man’s anus, producing a series of squeals and grunts from behind his gag. She had fastened him well to the pod so there was very little movement of his buttocks, as he tried in vain to escape the penetration. Of course, once the rod had been seated inside him, he calmed. They always calmed once the insertion was complete.
A mass of rubber tubing, wires and straps hung above the pod, awaiting placement. Using more lanolin, she inserted his stiff cock into a rubber sleeve. She pulled it down to his testicles, allowing the head of his penis to remain just above the upper edge of the sleeve, which she corseted tightly with black silk cord.
Flexible rubber tubing hung from a small steam-driven bellows directly above the pod. These she affixed, with spirit gum, to the young man’s nipples, holding the tubing in place until the glue had dried and created a fast bond to his skin. Similar tubing was pulled down from above. This larger diameter tubing was affixed, in the same manner, over the twin globes of Rufus’s balls.
Mei noted the amount of clear, viscous, fluid leaking from the eye of his cock and, returning to the young man’s buttocks, she removed a plunger from the end of the rod, transforming it into a hollow metal tube allowing access to his interior. More fluid leaked from the young man’s cock as she prepared the insert, which was one side of the twin hearts of the collection process. Attaching a small pompom of fluffy cotton fibers to the end of a zinc rod, she dipped it in a brine solution and inserted the whole affair into the now hollow tube inside the young man’s bottom. She knew it had been seated correctly when Rufus grunted loudly and his trussed cock jumped and quivered. A heavy copper wire attached to the end of the steel rod wound it’s way up into the bowels of the machine and disappeared quickly from view.
“Almost done now, Mr. Hamilton. One final preparation left and then your treatment will begin” she cooed to him and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, calming him, although she could hear him whimpering behind his gag. To the head of his cock, she fitted a cotton cap, soaked in brine. Two small copper wires extended from the fabric and were also lost to sight in the massive machine. This completed the preparations required to harvest the electricity his body would expend during the “treatment.”
Checking on Gabrielle’s progress, she noted that Harold’s penis cap was just being fitted to him. Once his preparation was complete, she laid a kiss upon his brow, as well, and stepped to a panel of levers, switches and buttons. Throwing the first pair of switches started the bellows, which produced a strong suction through the rubber tubing attached to the subjects’ nipples and balls. Pressing a pair of small green buttons started a pulsing sensation within the suction. Harold began to giggle behind his bit and Rufus grunted once, tensed and relaxed.
Opening a pressure gauge, the rubber sheathes encasing the two men’s cocks filled with air, squeezing the captive flesh. Once each corseted bladder was sufficiently filled, she set the pressure to hold steady. She threw twin levers, starting the pumping action of each sheath. “Soon your minds will be rid of those unwanted impure thoughts which plague you,” she said. Of course it wasn’t true. The treatment would instill a level heretofore unknown in their preoccupation with thoughts of a sexual nature, prompting them to seek “treatment” again and again.
Soon, their bodies began to twitch and their grunts grew louder. An arc of blue electricity could be seen at the other end of the room. Cautioning the attendants to assure the pompoms inside the boys’ bottoms and the caps on their cockheads were kept continually moistened with the brine solution, Mei made her way through the warren of pipes making up the machine until she reached the site of the electrical spark.
Alessandro Volta was a genius! His experiments in batteries and electrical energy, along with her studies of Galvani’s work, had given her the idea to harvest and store electrical energy. She watched as a blue spark of electricity danced from the large copper plate, at the terminus of the machine, through a huge brine-filled glass tank, to the zinc plate on its bottom. The tank acted as the receptacle of the electricity and became the electric cell, which powered her house.
One healthy young man hooked up to a pod for a period of two hours could easily provide enough energy to power the lighting in her home for a day or two. If both pods were filled, the amount of energy could double, or better. Of course, the amount of electricity harvested depended on each boy’s stamina and level of sexual voracity. Some subjects produced almost twice the amount of electrical energy as others.
Noting the extraction was running smoothly she once again retired to her writing. She would return toward the end of their cycle.
Back at her desk, she marveled at the strength of the light now shining on her writing.
The almost limitless amount of power produced by the average young man’s libido is amazing. If the force were put to a good cause, rather than simply the random thoughts and actions of the young male, as he matures, one marvels at what might be developed. It is unimaginable that I should be the first to discover and develop this potential. However, due to the sensitive nature of my experimentation, it would be difficult to publish my findings. I’m sure others are experiencing the same problems disseminating their work, as well. Oh, if only we few scientists knew of each other and might collaborate…
The lamp on her desk grew brighter still, until the glass bulb containing it exploded, surprising Mei such that her chair toppled over backward, propelling her to the floor and keeping her from sustaining more than two small cuts from the shattering glass.
Racing back to the third floor, she found that the machine initially seemed to be functioning at optimum levels. However, taking a closer look at Rufus, she saw the way his gluteal muscles rhythmically convulsed around the metal tube protruding from his bottom. His hips strained against the restraints holding him to the pod and a thick sheen of perspiration coated his body. His hands flexed and formed fists, over and over and, with nostrils flaring, he panted behind his gag.
Harold appeared to be undergoing what she had come to realize was a normal experience in his pod. Obviously in the throes of sexual fervor, his body was laboring in its continuous climb toward the fulfillment of ultimate pleasure. But Rufus appeared to be in a sexual frenzy. So intense were his physical labors that Mei feared for his personal safety—surely for the safety of the machine, as she now realized that it was just this level of intensity that caused the power to spike so dangerously.
The insidious nature of the machine was such that it sent its subjects on an ineffable journey toward ultimate sexual fulfillment, but didn’t allow consummation of that goal—not until power down, which was controlled by the attendant.
A decision had to be made and made quickly. Mei rushed to the glass tank and checked the gauge. It showed a full cell with the needle well on its descent into the red. Quickly, she raced back to the pod controls and simultaneously pressed two buttons. One button forced Harold into his much-needed climax. The other button was the emergency shutdown for the other pod. It stopped all stimulation in Rufus’s pod completely.
Harold moaned into his gag and, with a twitch of his cock, the force of his semen propelled the bit of fabric covering his penis away and, in four spurts, coated the outside of the deflating rubber sleeve encasing his penis.
Rufus, on the other hand, could be clearly heard to scream, “No!” behind his gag. There was no decrease in the tension in his body. He fought to keep himself on the edge of orgasm, striving for that very necessary release of sexual tension.
“I’m sorry,” Mei said as she ripped the cotton cap off his very purple cockhead. Using a small pair of embroidery scissors, she cut the cord of the rubber cock corset and peeled it away from his very hard shaft. “The machine was overloading. I had to shut it off.” He moaned behind his gag.
On her knees, by his pod, she quickly enclosed the top half of his shaft in her mouth; he was too large for her to take him fully. Wrapping her tongue around the head of his cock
, she sucked and swirled until she could feel his cock expand even more inside her mouth. With a no-nonsense motion she twisted the rod in his rear end, nudging the small gland inside him with purpose. The force of his climax was something for which she was unprepared. The first release of ejaculate pounded against the back of her throat, almost making her gag. She quickly removed her mouth and watched him spurt his seed into the air.
Mei looked at Rufus and saw visions of full cells, stacked up and awaiting use. She removed his goggles and unfastened his bit gag. As his body calmed, she said, “My dear young man, in my professional opinion, you would do well to seek treatment twice a week, at the very least. You have built up quite an excess of energy, which, for your own safety, should be tapped at once!”
He blinked up at her from his pod and smiled.
LUCIFER EINSTEIN AND THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE CARNAL CONTRAPTION
Tracey Shellito
I set the ornithopter down on the patio with hardly a bump. Earnshaw’s broad smile and pat on my shoulder signaled her pleasure in my almost perfect landing. The umbrella-like lift mechanism gave a final double thump as I cut the power and steam hissed as I released the pressure. Only then did the under butler hurry forward with the disembarkation ladder. Once the device was set, he scurried to close the doors on our workroom lest the demon dust get into the delicate mechanisms stored there. Morrison, my butler and de facto housekeeper in my absence, opened the ornithopter door and offered a hand to assist first Earnshaw then myself to alight, then walked a respectful pace behind us back into the laboratoire.
“Has Monsieur Dupin returned yet?”
“No, madam, he sent word that he has been detained by the Prefect of Police. It seems there might be a mystery that could use his particular talents.”
“Excellent! Then we shall likely have work soon. Prepare the thinking room.” Earnshaw rubbed her gloved hands in anticipation and we shared a complicit smile. “I hope this case will be as fascinating at the last, old friend. Forging that letter to replace the purloined original was the most fun I’ve had in ages.” I peeled off my own gloves and shed flying goggles and jacket, accepting a basin and towel from Collins, the under butler, to wash the grime from my face. Earnshaw scooped up my discards and bustled away to her own rooms, via the laundry.
“Madam has a visitor.”
I fixed Morrison with my most piercing glare. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Anybody I considered a friend was well aware that this was my personal time, when I went riding or practiced flying. Morrison’s face showed thinly veiled annoyance that could mean only one thing. Mother. Bugger!
“Where have you put her?”
“In the solar, madam. I gave her to assume you would be somewhat later returning than is your usual wont. Situating her thus meant she would be unlikely to hear the ornithopter’s arrival. You might perhaps have several moments to change your attire…”
“Tedious man, why on earth should my daughter need to change… Mother of Mercy, what are you wearing?” Morrison rolled his eyes and hurried away from the approaching harridan. “What mannish monstrosity is that?”
“My flying garb, Mother. What are you doing here? I thought you were assisting in some wedding preparations?”
“That is perfectly true. And it is also my reason for being here. Much as it galls me to admit it, I need your help.”
It isn’t often I get to see her squirm, so I folded my arms across my ample bosom and tapped an elegantly booted foot and waited.
“Hell-born child, your father named you well!”
“Mother!”
She harrumphed a few times then spat it out. “Cressida has refused to marry Sir Douglas.”
“What? She was positively rabid for it a month ago. I remember everyone thought she was pregnant….”
“Yes, well, it would appear not. But things have taken an uncomfortable turn. It would seem that three nights ago the girl received, shall we say, a visitation?”
“Mother, what are you talking about?”
“Luci, please don’t make me speak of it! You have to come back with me now, today. You have to hear her with your own ears. I am at a complete loss. Perhaps you can find some way, with your ratiocination, to solve the mystery.”
How could I refuse? As I sat beside Earnshaw, opposite my mother, on the passenger deck of the dirigible, I considered the known facts.
Cressida Waltham had been a contemporary of mine in finishing school. Dreadfully spoiled, she was a daddy’s little darling who could have whatever she wanted. And what she wanted had been Morton de Witt, my cradle betrothed. The girl had been positively addicted to the pleasures of the bedchamber, an awful scandal at school. I hadn’t believed he’d fall for her dubious charms, yet faithlessly he had. Needless to say, mother had called our arrangement off and I’d been married to my dear Ferdie. But my happiness was short-lived. Ferdie had been run over by one of the newfangled automobiles on the way to the railway station to join me for our honeymoon. After that, I had thrown myself into my researches and together with my childhood companion, the mute but ever faithful Earnshaw, had begun assisting the consulting detective Monsieur Dupin in Paris, as far away from the memories of both my lost loves as my allowance would let me flee.
That had been six months ago. I hadn’t seen the witch Cressida from that day to this. Earnshaw had flown back and forth across the channel to fetch anything we needed from home, along with letters from Mother. Which was how I’d learned Cressida had got herself betrothed to the richest man in England. (Hardly a surprise. The only thing the gold-digging wench loved more than bed-sport was money.) I also learned that my mother had been asked to assist in the wedding preparations.
While Mother is an acknowledged social butterfly with all the right connections, I had been astonished to hear she’d lowered herself to helping the bitch who’d ruined my original nuptials. Clearly my absence had been more of a trial to her than I’d imagined. Or perhaps she had planned to upstage the little strumpet by showing that the Einsteins were a family who could rise above such defeats as we had suffered and be so much better than her? Whatever the reason, I was in no small part pleased to hear Cressida’s own wedding was in some doubt. If I had to come back to this godforsaken country for something, at least it would be as a success—something she could not take away from me.
I watched the white cliffs of Dover drift by beneath us and cracked my knuckles thoughtfully while mother gave a moue of distaste. Earnshaw had already begun the diary of our adventure: The Curious Case of the Carnal Contraption. I was looking forward to it.
“I had been treated for hysteria before, but this machine was different,” Cressida said, wringing her hands. I had partaken of several vibration devices from more than one quack purporting to be able to heal the grief of my bereavement; I knew whereof she spoke.
“Different? How so?” She cast a look in the direction of both our mothers staring avidly from across the room. I stood. “Perhaps you should show me where the incident took place? There might be clues.”
She grasped the sop thankfully. “Yes, yes. I have not, that is I could not bear to… The room has been locked up since it happened.”
“Excellent. Come, Earnshaw. There is not a moment to lose.” Then when our mothers began to follow I raised a hand. “I’m afraid I must insist you remain. Too many feet trampling the scene could ruin vital evidence.” Both looked crestfallen, but returned to their seats. Earnshaw and I followed Cressida to her bedroom, where she became markedly reluctant to unlock the door.
“The carnal engine is still within, isn’t it?” She began to splutter protests. “Enough! There could be no other reason you would lock the door and forbid so much as a maid admittance. And the only reason you would think to refuse marriage to Sir Douglas is because you had something which would satisfy you more than he could.”
Cressida’s blush was eloquent. Earnshaw took the keys from her hand and unlocked the boudoir. When she attempted to be the first inside I held her back.<
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“No, this is for us to do. I did not speak lightly when I said that evidence could be eradicated. Simply tell me where you have secreted the device and Earnshaw and I will do the rest.”
“You will not… Promise me you will not dismantle it!” Her lower lip was trembling. She truly was addicted to this infernal engine.
“Unless it is necessary to establish its provenance, I will not.” She looked relieved. “But you must immediately tell Sir Douglas that you were merely having cold feet and that the wedding is still on. There is no reason why you cannot enjoy the pleasures he provides as well as this contraption if you are circumspect. If men were to discover how well a mechanical device could pleasure a woman, do you not think all such instruments would be destroyed? How then would the ladies suffering from hysteria find surcease from their problems?” I could see my final words were falling on deaf ears. Once told that she could have both and whatever his money could provide her, Cressida had no need of the bigger picture. She never was the brightest student.
“It is in my wardrobe. A hatbox with pink stripes.”
“We shall find it. Go now. We both have work to do.”
Earnshaw locked the door behind us once we were inside. The room was dim, the curtains half drawn leaving a dusky light that emphasized the musky aroma of sex. I could not begin to imagine how many times she had used the device on herself to leave the room smelling so ripe. While I ignited a gas lamp, the better to see what evidence might be gleaned, Earnshaw sought out the hatbox.
I needed no magnifying glass to see the muddy footprints on the floor leading from the drapes to the foot of the bed. But I was surprised by their size; they were hardly the marks of an average man’s boot soles. The lock of the window had clearly been jimmied, and quite expertly from outside, a small hole—probably cut with a diamond-tipped scribe—revealing where a hand had been inserted while the intruder had squatted on the generous ledge to do the deed. As I examined the pane, something blew across my vision. I espied a rope, dangling from some mooring on the roof above, down which the intrepid visitant had climbed and presumably the way by which he had returned. That implied that the miscreant was one of the household staff or a guest here for the wedding.