Valves & Vixens

by Nicole Gestalt

  “I wish I could learn all the games you want to play,” she said.

  “If that is true,” he said, “I might suggest an arrangement.”

  “An arrangement?”

  She felt him growing stiff against her ass again and she wanted it.

  “The way things are it might be far more practical if we married.”

  “Us marry?” It was the one thing she had never considered. She didn’t see William as the kind to marry.

  “Well you are a damn good fuck and an adventurer.” he said. “I find you companionable and intelligent. As a married couple we could travel together without horrifying the prudish and still partake of the pleasures of our adventure as we have done on this trip. As well as taking you to the outer limits of experience, I’ll teach you my business and we can work together. The world would see you as a fairly independent sort of wife and business partner. In private, or in the company of the right friends, you will be my wonderful slut.”

  “A most romantic proposal,” she said, meaning it.

  “I think it might work well,” he said as he raised her leg and eased his cock into her.

  She hesitated, savouring the way he filled her. “Not a marriage of convenience, but of adventure,” she sighed.

  “Consummated on Gossamer Wings,” he laughed.

  One Cheek Or Two?

  By Regina Kammer

  “Miss Bennett! I need you in the laboratory at once!”

  Delia looked up from steadying the convex glass cover of the massive clockwork while Sebastian screwed in a side bolt, a little flutter of excitement tickling just below her belly upon hearing her name. Professor Edward Ockham’s baritone was like a siren song to her heart. She was powerless before it.

  Except if she let go of the glass it would surely smash into bits.

  “I dare say you’re blushing.” Sebastian’s blue eyes twinkled with mirth.

  “Sebbie, just finish what you’re doing, please.”

  He chuckled as he worked the ratchet. “He’s been in the lab all night, Deel. Some sort of secret. I think it means he likes you if he’s letting you in on his secrets.” One corner of Sebastian’s mouth curled in a teasing smirk.

  “Be quick about it, Seb!” she hissed.

  “DEE-LEE-YA BENN-ETT!” The urgency in Professor Ockham’s voice was not unlike a cry of orgiastic pleasure. She squeezed her thighs together, squishing the swollen wetness between her legs.

  “Done,” Sebastian announced finally.

  Delia let go of the glass. It stayed put.

  “Go,” Sebastian ordered with a toss of his blond head.

  “I’m coming, Professor!” Oh, how she wished she could say those words under other circumstances.

  Sebastian’s hearty guffaw taunted her as she ran out of the workroom. She hurried down the hall, driven by infatuation and duty - and a modicum of pride. That she had garnered a position at the Ockham Steam-Works Laboratory had been quite a coup. Professor Ockham had established a reputation as one of the young Turks of Newcastle’s Third-Wave Industrial Revolution, men and women of brilliance unafraid to bend existing technology to their will, and confident enough to disabuse themselves of antiquated scientific notions.

  Delia had known the chance of her application being considered would be slim. Steam-Works Special Assistant Sebastian Broadchurch was notorious for his cocky recklessness both in and out of the lab, so why would the professor want a scrupulous swot with a touch of priggishness? She had marched into the interview room brimming with earnestness and enthusiasm, hoping that would win them over, then froze and failed miserably.

  She just hadn’t expected the professor to be so damned handsome.

  Yet somehow Professor Ockham had overlooked her stammering and hired her. Over the course of the following year, seeing him at work every day, then knowing he was sleeping just down the hall every night was both enthralling and nerve-racking. Every morning she worried he could tell she had fantasized about him naked in her bed.

  Delia slowed when she approached the door to the laboratory, grateful that the curtains had been drawn over the bank of windows lining the wall next to the door. She smoothed her skirt over her petticoats and plumped her breasts under her black patent leather corset. Ready, she turned the knob, trying to calm the pounding of her heart as she stepped inside the vast space. “I’m here, Professor.” She hated that her voice rang in too high a pitch.

  He stood in the middle of the cluttered lab, the floor and counters strewn with tools, gears, and slivers of rubber and leather. He stared at a very large machine, his arms crossed, his head tilted to the right, his full lips pursed - his typical pose when deep in thought. Delia’s heart thumped a little harder.

  Professor Ockham wore only his shirt.

  Well, except for all the other items of clothing like trousers and shoes. But his laboratory coat, waistcoat, and cravat lay forgotten over the back of a wooden chair. His sleeves were rolled up, his front placket unbuttoned to his pectorals. She had never seen him in such a state of undress.

  He was glorious.

  A riot of light brown hair poked out at the opening at his chest, more hair covered his forearms. The rounded contour of his bottom, a superb feature far too often obscured by his laboratory coat, stretched the fabric of his duck trousers. He faced her, his green-brown eyes raking over her briefly, eliciting something akin to a blush on his stubbly cheeks.

  “Miss Bennett, thank you for coming,” he said, his words gravelly. He cleared his throat as he returned his attention to the apparatus. “I’ve finally finished, and I’ve done all the testing I can do - ” he glanced at her, his gaze grazing her cleavage before catching her eyes “ - without actually testing it on a person.”

  Delia flushed from mortified satisfaction that her breasts had caused a distraction for her employer.

  She inspected the curious contraption. It stood silent and still, yet its presumed action was not difficult to discern. The small steam engine would pump the crankshaft that would turn the flywheel that would regulate the gears and belts, that would turn what appeared to be the smaller wheel of a penny-farthing. Fairly rudimentary workings for a machine. Yet somehow all the elements put together was like no other she had ever seen.

  A series of perhaps half a dozen evenly spaced fly swatters protruded like spokes on the small wheel. Each swatter had a paw-shaped end made of thick rubber.

  “What does it do, Professor?”

  Professor Ockham cleared his throat again. “I admit it’s not our usual commission, but, well, beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.” His sigh of resignation almost broke Delia’s heart. “It’s a spanking machine for a girl’s school, more precisely for Miss Debenham’s School for the Study of Ancient Tongues.”

  Spanking and tongues? Delia drew in a steadying breath as her pulse raced at the possibilities.

  “Apparently they have something of a discipline problem. The school mistresses’ palms are sore from all the swatting.”

  “Really? And I thought it was such an exclusive school. I’ve heard they have high standards.” Of wealth and beauty, at least.

  Professor Ockham scratched his head before threading his fingers through his luscious dark brown curls. “It is mystifying, really. But they’re paying very well.” He remained poised as if lost in thought for a moment. “I was thinking about doing a double swatter, you know, for each cheek.” He turned to her and suddenly blushed. Professor Ockham had never blushed in her presence so much before.

  She smiled as if they were having just an everyday conversation between colleagues and not something utterly charged with repressed sensuality. “And how do you need my help, Professor?”

  He sucked in a breath which juddered a little on the exhale. “I need you to play the part of a recalcitrant school girl - ”

  Delia
’s heart slammed in her chest.

  “And bend over so I can spank you.”

  “Oh?” Dampness pooled between her legs.

  “I mean, let the machine spank you so you can tell me if it is hard enough, for, um, punishment purposes.” His cheeks turned yet a deeper shade of pink.

  Delia struggled to keep from looking at the professor’s crotch, hoping and wondering if he was feeling what she was feeling. “I’m happy to oblige in any way you need me to, Professor Ockham.”

  His exhale was accompanied by a slight whimper. “Right. Well, then, I need you to bend over this bench - ” he pointed to a rounded and padded trestle “ - and I’ll adjust the aim of the swatters to your, uh, backside.”

  It wasn’t just an ordinary bench. Leather belt-like straps, attached to each leg with metal rings, lay limply on the floor. Delia sucked in her lower lip to subdue her excited smile. “Yes, sir.”

  The nearer end of the bench was precisely at the bend of the tops of her thighs. A slight bump raised her buttocks a little higher. The length of the bench perfectly measured to just below her breasts. Her bosom hung over the edge, the abundance barely restrained by her corset and the loosely tied bow at the neckline of her puffy shirt. She tried to pull the garment up as much as she could.

  Professor Ockham grabbed her hands, his pinkie grazing a leather-clad nipple. The peak tightened in excitation.

  “To get the full effect, I’ll need to strap your arms down, Miss Bennett.” The muscles of his forearms flexed seductively as he fitted the leather straps around her wrists. “You know, for science.”

  Delia would do anything at that moment for Professor Ockham’s science.

  “Your ankles, too.”

  “Yes, sir.” She parted her legs until the tips of her boots touched the metal rings. Cool air drifted across her damp knickers to torment her labia heavy with arousal.

  Professor Ockham handily moved the platform with Delia and the padded trestle, positioning it just so, then pacing behind her, humming in thought.

  “No, that just won’t do.”

  “What won’t do, Professor?”

  “I need to see the force of the machine. I’ll need to see how and where it strikes you.”

  “Can’t you just watch from behind?”

  “Yes, but you’re wearing all that lace.”

  “You mean my petticoats? You can just lift those up.” Please lift them up, pretty please!

  “No, no. The white lace.”

  Delia giggled. She was wearing her frilly knickers. Mama had taught her to always wear pretty knickers because one never knew who might see them. Mama probably had not envisioned a scenario of being spanked by one’s terribly handsome employer.

  The heat of Professor Ockham’s palm hovering above her bum penetrated through the lace and silk.

  “May I?” His voice had dropped an octave.

  “Yes, Professor.”

  His breath came hard and fast as he gripped the cinched band at her hips.

  He pulled down.

  Delia swallowed a gasp. She was bared before him.

  He continued pulling the knickers down, his fingers grazing the backs of her thighs, tickling the naked flesh above her stockings. He grabbed one foot to thread it through. She waited for him to lift the other, but he left the frilly pants drooping around her boot.

  Had he seen the wetness in her crotch? Like a gentleman, he said nothing as he fastened the leather straps around her ankles.

  He stood with an exhale, his heated breath fanning between her parted thighs. If he breathed on her any more like that, she’d probably come.

  And she so much wanted to come for him.

  ***

  Edward stared at Miss Bennett’s bent form, trying to steady his quickening breath. She really shouldn’t allow him to do such things to her. She really shouldn’t. Perhaps he should have hired an assistant who would have protested in a lady-like manner and made Sebastian handle the more physical experiments.

  He shook sense into his head. Why the devil would he have done such a thing as that? Miss Bennett was a terrifically perfect addition to the Ockham Steam-Works Laboratory.

  She’d been with him and Sebastian for just over a year and he’d kept his notice of her charms under wraps pretty well. On the first day she had walked into his laboratory, her perfume had tantalized his olfactory senses, her smile had seduced his gaze to sweep across her curvaceous body, from the raven curls bouncing against her rosy cheeks to her trim ankles in thigh-high boots. That Miss Bennett was quite the stunner had surprised him awfully. Her letters of recommendation had only praised her intellect, curiosity, and geniality.

  As the strange stirrings had continued to spark his loins, Edward had dismissed the nagging erotic thoughts, believing he just needed more frequent tumbles with Sebastian. But the build-up of repressed desires eventually broke through the dam of continence, and Miss Bennett’s lusciousness began to inhabit his nightly masturbatory fantasies.

  Now before him was a most glorious arse, pillowy and pale, and exquisitely feminine. His mouth watered. He wanted so much to lick the ivory flesh and trail his tongue through the hirsute cleft from the shadowed depths to her coccyx. The fine hair at the v of her crotch was damp - just as her knickers had been - and a whiff of her arousal shocked his prick to tempered iron inside his drawers.

  Miss Bennett’s enchantments were everything he’d imagined a perfect female buttocks to be. Which was peculiar, as hers was the only female buttocks he had ever seen.

  The one time he’d been with a woman it had been in the dark, her figure known to him only by feel. She had been too skinny for his tastes, which made him wonder if his tastes extended to women at all. Then Sebastian joined his lab. Sebastian’s bum was round and firm, warm and welcoming, and usually available, all of which just made it easier for Edward to conclude his own predilections were for men.

  Of late however Sebastian was spending his nights having a bit of rough in Newcastle’s foggy Roman quarter, leaving Edward to satisfy his amatory needs by his own hand.

  He muttered a curse as the sweat of restraint moistened his brow. He really needed Sebastian to be around later that night to suck his cock.

  “Professor?”

  Her plaintive query broke his thoughts. Bollocks. He had been staring at her. Edward bit his lip to tether his fantasies to reality, trying to convince himself he was looking at her nakedness for science.

  He fumbled with the spanking machine, turning the wheel to see where the swatters would skim Miss Bennett’s backside.

  “Now, where does one properly spank a recalcitrant schoolgirl?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I should have made a double swatter,” he murmured. “This is only going to hit one cheek. Unless it’s meant to hit between the cheeks?”

  She giggled. Music to his ears. “I think it should be just one cheek rather than between, although it’s been a few years since I’ve been a recalcitrant schoolgirl.”

  A shiver of mortification ran up his spine. “Miss Bennett, I didn’t mean to besmirch your character,” he said under his breath.

  “Oh, but you didn’t, Professor,” she laughed. “I was a model student. But next time you need spanking advice, may I suggest Seb? I’m sure the marks of discipline still mar his bum.”

  “Right.” Edward chuckled. Indeed, Sebastian had been kicked out of university for “pranks of a most wicked nature” a talent which only benefited his laboratory.

  He squatted to push the platform containing Miss Bennett closer to the wheel of swatters, fussing and fumbling as he positioned it into place. Satisfied, he looked up and nearly fell backwards. He was eye-level with her fabulous bosom.

  He stumbled to the coal scuttle and hurriedly tossed the chunks into the firebox under the machine�
�s small boiler, watching them smoulder and catch fire like his desire for Miss Bennett. The indicator on the pressure gauge dial pulsed, then surged around to point straight-up, jittering until it found the precise measurement where it remained fully erect.

  Like his cock.

  He sighed and flipped the switch to the “on” position. Gears creaked against gears as they turned the leather belt setting the wheel in motion.

  She wriggled her bum as the rubber tips of the swatters slid limply across her pale cheek. Was it for his benefit? A provocation? An invitation?

  Of course not. She was merely adjusting herself in a need for comfort.

  Her movement jostled the mass of black petticoats causing them to cascade over her bottom. He pulled them up, smoothing them against her waist, only to have them slide against the slickness of her patent leather corset.

  “Miss Bennett, may I be so indecorous as to tuck your petticoats under your corset? To hold them in place.”

  “Please.” It was tinged with a little moan.

  More provocation? His fingers trembled against her body, her heat seeping through the black-and-white striped puffy shirt, the thin cambric the only thing keeping him from feeling her bare skin.

  It had been maddening enough stripping off her knickers trying not to touch. Now he had been given permission, he wanted to caress her, kiss her, breathe her in. To fuck her.

  “Is that as hard as it gets?”

  “Sorry?”

  “The spanking. It’s really not that painful. It’s rather annoying actually.”

  “Oh.” Edward checked the gauge. The pointer hovered at almost full steam, but even at full steam the swatters wouldn’t do much more damage. He had let his qualms of hurting aristocratic young ladies interfere with his work. Miss Bennett’s cheek sported a quickly fading pale pink flush.

  “Crikey,” he muttered as he switched off the machine, disappointment building with each sputter of the dying pistons. “Right, then. Back to the drawing board.” It hadn’t been a total flop. He had seen Miss Bennett’s magnificent bottom.