Thus, when she saw the ad seeking a few good men and women to join the propulsion crew on the HMS Rapturion, the flagship airship of the Air Cruise Co. luxury line, a better fit could not be found, and she spun it as an opportunity to see the world and earn her keep to her parents, who, although reticent, bade her the best of luck as she set out for the interview.
The month since the interview had seemed like it would never end, but here it was: the first day of work. The giant dirigible floated beside the wooden dock, its leather-and-canvas hull gleaming a golden yellow in the morning sun. It was a little past eleven. Eloise’s instructions had been to arrive no later than nine, but she had stayed up most of the night in anticipatory celebration and had missed the piercing bell of her clock, one of the first of Redier’s mass-produced models. The rest of the household had not missed the alarm, and although no one dared wake Eloise, as soon as she was gone, the clock had disappeared to an infrequently used part of the house. Eloise cared not that she was late; the ship was still there, and in her mind, no harm had been done. She casually examined the rich mahogany railing on the gangplank as she boarded the vessel. Not bad, she thought to herself.
She found herself on the top deck of the ten-story vessel. Luxury abounded everywhere, from the electric chandeliers casting their warm glow down the wide hallways to the lavish paintings, and from the statuettes and tapestries to the rich velvet floor, not a cent had been spared in appointing the finest deck on the ship. While Eloise was not a stranger to the finer things in life, the spectacle was enough to impress even her. With an entitled spirit, she took possession of the ship in her stride and carriage. Although she had never been on any airship before, she walked boldly down the main hallway until she found herself against a brass-railed balcony, polished to a mirror shine, supported by ornately carved dark mahogany banisters that gave off a subtle luster and lent a hint of their spicy scent to the panoply. In front of her was an enormous glass window that provided a view of everything outside the bow of the ship. The window extended above her head, letting in the sunlight and giving her an unobstructed view of the clouds as they lazily drifted by. Many floors below her, she could see the bridge jutting out into an enormous atrium that provided the occupants of all the floors a view similar to the one she was now experiencing. The crew was preparing the ship for the takeoff that would commence in just a few minutes. They looked like ants from Eloise’s vantage point. Further below the bridge, she could see the ground through the bottom of the window before the balconies on the floors below her cut off her view. She was at the very top of the ship, and she could easily imagine herself on top of the world at this instant.
Her belly rumbled; she had left the house hastily and had not eaten. It was time to seek out food, and then she could locate her stateroom. At some point, she would locate her employer. A passing waiter carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres caught her attention, and she took one as if it had been brought just for her. The waiter regarded her critically: the young woman’s manners were not the best, and her vestments were not of the quality the waiter would expect of someone in first class, but with Eloise’s well-groomed hair and confident attitude, the waiter surmised that perhaps she was merely one of the first-class passengers who eschewed the manners and high-class dress of the day. Such patrons were, regrettably, becoming more common. Erring on the side of caution, the waiter bowed and continued on his way. A second waiter carrying champagne glasses had much the same experience.
Eloise was enjoying herself. The hors d’oeuvre was impeccable, and the champagne was to her liking. Glass in hand, she decided to discover more of what the airship had to offer. In the distance, she could hear the call of a trumpet and the answer of strings. The orchestra had started performing the William Tell Overture promptly at eleven as a preview and an enticement to the passengers to come out for the whole opera that evening. The airship had its own three-story miniature opera house at its stern, and the first and second-class passengers were all welcome to attend. The faint music blended with the sound of one of Chopin’s newest works on a piano set up in a wide vestibule in the hallway. Eloise casually dropped her now-empty champagne glass off on the piano as she walked by. The pianist did a masterful job of not letting the defilement affect his performance, but his shoulders visibly tensed in irritation. A waiter quickly removed the glass and mentioned it quietly to one of the deck managers, who kept a discreet eye on Eloise thenceforth. Eloise, meanwhile, had located another full champagne glass and had taken it with her as she continued to peruse the ship.
The spa caught her attention next. In her now-inebriated state, she approached the receptionist, flashed a winning smile, and asked to be shown to her room. She obliged and asked her preference for masseur or masseuse, a luxury most spas could not provide, and she indicated the former. She nodded and left, inviting Eloise to make herself comfortable. She quickly stripped, threw her clothes wherever they landed, and snuggled under the sheet. The aromatic candles in the room, the warm, cozy blanket, and the comfortable massage couch, coupled with her already-intoxicated state, led her to quickly doze off, but she was awakened almost instantly by the masseur’s greeting.
“Hallo, ma’am,” he said professionally. “In the mood for a massage?”
“Mmm, yes,” Eloise murmured, wishing the masseur would shut up and get to work.
“Very good, ma’am,” the masseur answered, oiling his hands. He lifted back the sheet, exposing Eloise’s lithe back, where he poured a small amount of the oil and began to work it in with strong hands. Eloise began to doze back to sleep.
Some minutes later, she felt a soft nudge from the masseur, who asked her to roll over. Eloise thought to herself that a massage couch should be made to flip the patron over without any effort of her own. As the masseur’s muscular fingertips worked Eloise’s arms, biceps, and temples, Eloise happened to gaze upon the masseur’s face: he was a Swedish man in his early 30s with blond hair and bright blue eyes, the corners creased in concentration. Seeing Eloise’s eyes open, he smiled warmly and continued to work. Eloise counted the hours since she’d last had someone; it had been at least ten, she decided, and that was long enough. The masseur began to wrap up the massage.
“Sir, you’ve missed a place,” Eloise said.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am?” the Swede asked, looking puzzled.
“There is a place on my body that has not received your excellent attentions, my good man, and I should very much like for you to pay it the same care.” She glanced significantly down at the blanket covering her lower torso.
“Oh, of course, ma’am,” the masseur replied. “Most patrons do not care to have their legs massaged, for modesty’s sake.” He carefully moved the blanket off of Eloise’s right leg, expertly keeping Eloise’s privates covered. Eloise rolled her eyes and huffed to herself. The masseur’s hands felt good on her legs, but the sensations so close to her groin began to stimulate her and tweak her lust further. The masseur’s bottom looked inviting, she thought.
Finishing one leg, the masseur covered Eloise and repeated the exercise on the left leg. Again he began to wrap up the massage.
“That was most relaxing, sir,” Eloise said, bringing out her finest manners, “but I’m afraid there is still a place that has not received your attention, and now more than ever, I should like very much for you to give it the same care.”
The masseur looked perplexed. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said, “but I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
Eloise used her hands to frame her feminine flower under the covers. “In this region, sir,” she said eagerly.
The masseur started, and then recoiled indignantly. “Ma’am!” he said, taken aback, “This is not that type of establishment, and I am not that type of masseur!”
Eloise concealed a scowl and adopted some additional charm. She’d encountered people like this before. Nothing a winning smile and some sweet words couldn’t handle.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said innocently. “I th
ought that after having provided such excellent service, you’d be interested in going beyond the call. Of course, if you really were disinclined to provide the service that my body needs,” she continued, flashing her smile, “I’m sure we could work something else out.” She made a light thrusting motion beneath the covers.
The masseur’s jaw dropped, he took a breath, and then left. Eloise scowled at the empty room. She was horny, and it was that masseur’s fault! Oh, well, she thought. She could take care of herself here…
Before she could even do so much as touch herself, the masseur and the deck manager entered the room.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get dressed and come with me,” the deck manager said brusquely but with careful textbook courtesy.
“What’s this all about?” Eloise asked in feigned shock.
The deck manager was unmoved. “I must insist that you get dressed and come with me at once, ma’am,” he said firmly.
“My good man,” Eloise protested, sitting up and covering herself with the blanket on the couch, “I am taken aback by your rudeness! Will you or will you not tell me what this is about?”
The deck manager dropped his polite affect and spoke bluntly. “You have taken hors d’oeuvres and champagne reserved for a private party, you callously discarded your champagne glass on the piano, and you requested sexual favors from a world-renowned masseur. In short, you have exhibited such exquisite rudeness that we feel that it is best that you retire to your stateroom.” The politeness returned. “I will be happy to show you there, but once again, I must insist that you don your clothes immediately, or I shall have to call for security.”
With the force of evidence laid against her, Eloise knew she was beaten and quickly gathered and put on her clothes. As soon as she’d finished, the deck manager escorted her out of the spa.
“May I see your boarding pass, please?” the deck manager asked politely but purposefully.
“Here it is,” Eloise said, handing the man her employment contract.
The manager took it, scowled, and said coolly, “I will escort you to the correct deck, ma’am, and rest assured, you will not be seen on this deck — or any other deck besides the one to which I take you or to which your supervisor assigns you — or I assure you, you will spend the rest of the voyage in the brig, followed by the workhouses of the foulest sort upon return to port.”
He took Eloise by the ear and escorted her down the long hallway to the aft end of the ship to a stairwell and down seemingly endless flights of stairs. Placards marked the floors as they descended: First Class; Second Class, Floor 1, Floor 2; three decks of third class; a floor marked “Crew;” a floor marked “Engineering;” and finally, a floor marked “Propulsion.” As they descended, the quality of the stairwell and the floors they saw decreased. Far from the rich extravagance she’d just enjoyed, the propulsion deck’s labeling was stenciled on in black letters above the doorway. Gone were the mahogany and brass handrails, replaced by industrial metal painted white. Gone was the carpet, replaced by plain white metal that clinked under her feet. Couches, chairs, beds, and tables littered the wide-open area that stretched out before her, terminated by a wall at the far end that extended from port to starboard. A row of buffet tables set up along the length of the wall offered fare that was nowhere near the quality of even the hors d’oeuvre she’d eaten. Her fancy clothes stuck out in stark contrast to everyone down here. Most of them wore no clothes at all, and the few clothes that were present were tattered and threadbare. Her jaw dropped, and she tried to turn to leave, but the deck manager’s grasp on her ear prevented it.
“Oh, forget it!” Eloise said hotly. “I don’t need this job anyway!”
“The ship has sailed, and unless you can pay the £50 for the amenities you just stole and for third-class lodging, you are in debt to Air Cruise Co., and I strongly recommend that you take the position to try to work off your debt,” the manager replied icily. “The Americans may have ended slavery, but indentured servitude is still alive and well here.” He paused, and then added, “And given a woman with your lack of manners, Air Cruise Co. is not likely to extend credit to you.”
Eloise fumbled through her pockets. Her mini-purse! She’d left it at home. She glowered at the manager but said nothing. The two stood on the stairs as a middle-aged, white-haired man approached.
“Oy, what’s this?” he asked. “Charles! What’ve you got there?”
The manager addressed the man with carefully measured politeness, just enough not to be rude, but not enough to convey any message other than that speaking to this man was beneath him.
“This hooligan mistress was caught making advances on the masseur in first class after stealing champagne and hors d’oeuvres,” he said. “Upon questioning, I found that she’s been assigned to your charge.” He handed Eloise’s papers to the man, who frowned, looking over them. He looked down at Eloise, who had freed herself from Charles’s grasp on her ear and stood haughtily sulking next to him. The man sized her up and frowned again.
“So, you’re the one,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at a clock high up on the wall. It read 12:30. He glanced back at Eloise, an eyebrow raised in judgment. “You’re almost four hours late,” he said at length. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll take her from here,” he said, and Charles quickly departed.
Eloise regarded this man, whose name she still didn’t know. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed and as white as his full head of hair. He was of average height and brawny, as though through years of physical work. He wore clothes, nicer than the others’, but not as nice as the ones Eloise wore. His carriage was confident but not arrogant. Eloise sensed she needed to be careful with this one; he didn’t strike her as someone who was easily manipulated, but she would give it a shot nevertheless.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Eloise said, flashing her golden smile and extending her hand. “I’m Eloise.”
The man eyed her but shook his hand. “Edwin,” he said. “Not Edward, not Eddy, not Ed.”
Eloise smiled. This might be easier than she thought. “Look, all this is a big misundersta–”
“Don’t sell me a dog,” Edwin said curtly. “You come down here four hours late, half-rats, after stealing from first class and making the move on the masseur, telling me it’s a misunderstanding?” He eyed Eloise’s clothes. “With clothes like that, you don’t need this job,” he continued irritably, his hazel eyes flashing. “What did you think, that you were gonna come down here buggering and guy-sneakering?”
Eloise swallowed. That’s exactly what she’d thought. No, that’s what she’d known! She bristled.
“Yes, that’s precisely why I’m here. That’s what I was hired to do, and I’m going to do it!” she said brashly.
Edwin’s tone was cold and grim. “No, I think you’re going to start on bed duty. If you behave yourself, maybe you’ll earn the privilege of getting buggered yourself.”
Eloise’s jaw tightened, and her face turned red with anger. “Now, see here,” she said, raising her voice, “do you know who I am? I’ll have your job for this! And I decide when and with who I will do the buggering; nobody tells me when to get buggered!”
Edwin snorted. “Whoever you think you are matters not to me. On this ship, you’re a thief, a debtor, and my subordinate. Keep it up, and I’ll see to it that the only sex you ever see is the crunchy post-coital drippings of the crew.”
Eloise’s anger had swiftly turned to rage and fury. She cocked her arm and swung. This old man was not going to interfere with her plans! Edwin saw the blow coming even before Eloise wound up to deliver it. He sidestepped, taking hold of Eloise’s collar and belt as he did so, and using the upstart’s forward momentum, Edwin effortlessly sent her sprawling on the floor several feet away. Eloise’s chin hit the hard metal, and she bit her lip, drawing blood. She groaned. A crowd of mostly naked plebeians had made a circle around the two of them. Eloise had never been bested before, certainly not this i
gnominiously, and she didn’t like it. Her chin hurt, but her pride was mortally wounded.
“Edwin, what happened?” asked one of the crew, a soft-spoken woman with large eyes and no clothes.
“Just a difference of opinion,” Edwin said mildly. He put his foot in the small of Eloise’s back. “Right?” he asked, and Eloise nodded. “Go on about your business,” Edwin said to the crowd. “She’ll be fine.”
After the crowd had dispersed, Edwin hauled Eloise to her feet. “Feel better?” he asked ironically. Eloise sulked.
“Good. While you’re sulking, you can start changing beds,” he said, prodding her in the back towards the starboard side of the large open room. They proceeded down a hallway that ran bow to stern, lined with doors to cabins on the left and head-height portholes to the right, until another hallway split off on the left. They turned down this hallway, which extended from port to starboard, and proceeded halfway down. To the left was a door marked “Bipolar Collection Room” with the symbols for Mars and Venus interlocked. To the right was a door marked “Female Collection Room” with two Venus symbols interlocked. They turned to the left and entered the room. Rows and rows of beds laid out in a grid appeared before them. Some were made while others had the sheets mussed or removed and stacked on top. There were a few couples in the room, in various stages of copulation. Eloise’s jaw dropped in amazement. So it was true! She had no time to think about it, though.
Steampunk Desires: An Erotic Romance (The Complete Collection) Page 6