Steamy Punk: Steampunk erotica.
Too bad blind dates don’t come to your door, delivered like something great you sent yourself from Amazon. Online shopping, something I didn’t think I would become addicted to, was my retail therapy. Other than having your treasure arrive like a present, the best thing about it is still the window shopping. I do like getting a bargain but the chase, the planning, the research and then the discovery of that one, just right, exceptional item!
I wasn’t a fool though. I knew who paid that credit card each month. Me. I could be careful and still buy stuff. The trick was to make sure it really was something I really did need. Most of the time I was successful that way. Books, print books, tended to be my downfall.
A good book is a good companion. Like that blind date but, in this case, he can hold up his end of the conversation. Of course, only my lips were moving.
Until… I had a blind date. Another one. My sister set it up. It wasn’t my worst date but it did get weird when he began talking about his life sized sex doll. Not a blow up doll. A fully functional robot. (I admit, I didn’t ask for details about what fully functional meant). I encouraged him to talk about how he dresses her up, poses her for photographs and other things. At least I wasn’t left carrying the conversation. As time went on he got so excited to tell me all about his sex doll, I just had to smile and nod until the end of the date.
He gave me a little obligatory kiss and a business card before hurrying away home.
I thought he had given me his own business card but it wasn’t. I had one of those soft snort laughs when I read it. But, I did keep it. I don’t think I had any thought about using it, not then. Still, you never know all the little thoughts lingering in the back of your mind.
A few weeks later, another blind date, and a delivery from Amazon at my door. An ok blind date, but I never saw him again.
I’d never had a delivery come in a wooden crate before. Even a solid, metal library cart had come in just a bigger cardboard box. Shipping was crazy expensive. I’d debated clicking the final OK even while I tempted myself with all the possibilities and convinced myself this was something I needed.
As I watched the crate, almost expecting something to happen, I had a minor panic attack. That fluttery feeling in my chest, flashes of cold and warm, and damp palms. So, I didn’t open the crate. Like a lottery ticket, all good and hopeful until you check it. Weeks went by that way. I got used to the big wooden crate I had to walk around in the middle of the hallway. I liked it that way, safe but full of potential I could, someday, choose to open.
Who knows how long it would have gone on like that? I’d nearly paid off my credit card. I’d come up with an explanation friends and family seemed to accept for the crate being there. I even had two more blind dates. No more online shopping though, my budget was blown.
It happened on a Tuesday, a fairly random day. I unlocked my door, locked it behind me, dragged in a couple of bags of groceries and put my purse down at the door. A naked man was sitting on my sofa, watching me.
I froze in stunned indecision. He smiled. A nice smile, nothing dangerous or challenging. I think it was even friendly and hopeful.
I could skip a lot of typing and just tell you it was the robot from the crate and that we ended up in bed, on the floor and out on the balcony, in some order or other. But, it didn’t happen that way. For one thing, I’m not a porn star.
He introduced himself but explained he didn’t have a name until I picked one for him. He didn’t come with any clothes either. Then he asked me why I’d left him in the crate so long.
I was still stunned. We looked at each other for some unknown amount of time. Now I know he was waiting for instructions. Having just an ordinary human sort of brain I needed longer to adapt to sudden change and put things together.
I heard a click, he unplugged himself from the wall, stood up (modestly covering himself in front) and carefully reached around my still frozen self, for the groceries I had entirely forgotten. With the bags on the kitchen counter he started putting things away, figuring out where they should go without asking me.
He had a tea towel wrapped around his middle while he made dinner, hamburgers. I think the smell of meat cooking brought me out of the deep freeze. I like to think it was a predator kind of thing. But, I’m probably kidding myself.
He took my coat, hung it in the hall closet. Putting my hand on his arm, like a proper gentleman, or a butler, he led me to the table, pulled out my chair and pushed it in again when I sat down. Then he set the table for dinner, one place setting.
Who knew a machine, a robot, an android, a male sex doll could make a good hamburger?
After a quiet dinner he cleaned everything up himself. This was the most unusual blind date I’d ever had.
He talked while he worked. Told me about himself. Other than being the youngest blind date I’ve ever had, it turned into the best blind date I’d ever had – and the last. We talked all night. We had so much to talk about! Not just sorting out who he was, how things work and all that. But, he knew about so many things which also interest me. Part of the programming, but he had opinions and different ways of looking at things and pulling ideas together. It aroused me.
I kept him in just the tea towel, sat close beside him and gave into curiousity. He felt very human, nicely firm and warm too. We set his features: hair colour, facial hair, tone of voice, and so on. He became sexier and sexier, especially once we had that voice just right. I could feel the deepness of his voice rumble through me. Then he whispered some sweet nothings, knowing his voice was melting me from the inside.
I wanted his touch so I put his hands under my sweater, over my bra. He told me how much he liked my boobs, how long he had been waiting to touch me when he could only watch through a few tiny gaps in the packing crate. He said his emergency battery had finally run low the other night when I had come out of the shower, nude. I’d gotten a towel fresh from the laundry basket and stayed there, drying off, applying lotion, where he could see me. But, he couldn’t do anything. They aren’t allowed to unpack themselves from the crate in any but extreme circumstances.
He asked to undress me and I said, “yes”.
I felt worshipped as he took his time, revealing me like a special delivery from Amazon. Soft kisses, warm strokes and barely there touches in appreciation for every new part of me exposed. Warm breath and nibbles over sensitive skin, my skin and his skin as we exchanged caresses.
The tea towel had fallen somewhere, his cock hard, and just the length, width and shape I’d ordered. I wrapped my hand around his cock and held it firmly, taking possession. His gasp, shudders and squirming excited me. I slipped his fingers into my pussy, spreading around the wetness there. He moved to slip his fingers in deeper and I let him. Perfect male hands with fingers just long enough to feel wonderful pushing inside of me. I encouraged him to slip three fingers in and stroke my pussy, in and out with a little twist of his wrist for extra hotness.
Three big fingers swirling inside my pussy, his thumb teasing my clit while he sucked and teased my breasts, belly and thighs with his other hand and his mouth. I wanted it. I wanted him. I was ready to take what I wanted.
“I want your cock inside of me now, boy”. For a few seconds I missed his fingers in me and all over me but then the tip of his cock was dipping into my hot, wet pussy. There, he waited, for permission to slide inside. His cock, so firm, straining to push into my welcoming pussy, trembling with excitement but staying just between my pussy lips. He was mine to take so I did. I rode his cock, felt it slip inside, pushing into me and making room for the generous width of his cock. I did it my way, slow and deep and then a little twist while holding his cock so deeply inside my pussy I could feel the hum and vibrations of his machinery as his cock filled me. My orgasm came like tidal waves crashing in and then winding down to happy little ripples.
He stroked my back and kept his cock inside me until the last few ripples. I sat up, astride him on the floor and enjoyed looking at him. His cock still firmly inside me, but I was satisfied and just wanted to see him still hard and needy. I moved up and knelt over him, letting him see my pussy, smell it too. He put his hand up, covering my pussy with one finger slipping between the outer lips. I moved and stood up, leaving him hoping for more.
“You can wash me in the shower and then we’re going to bed. In the morning I’m going to open that chest of toys included in the crate.”
“I think I’m still a virgin. Am I? I really was looking forward to sex. Is it really sex if you only allow me to penetrate you?” He asked.
“I don’t know. But, it will be amusing to keep you as a virgin for awhile.”
“How long? Don’t you want to make sure everything works, as ordered?”
I admired his tall, nicely muscular body and his still twitchy, hard cock as he stood up. “Looks like it works for me.” I laughed, pretty happy with this expensive present I had sent myself from Amazon.
Freshly posted to Novel Trove tonight.
I joined NovelTrove last night and posted a story for their contest with the theme, swinging. My story came in last of ten. Maybe due to being entered just as the contest was closing or maybe it just wasn’t sexy/ slutty enough. I liked it. I wrote it in an hour, including the time I pulled it together in my mind before typing anything. Usually I type as I think. This delayed start was better. I had to remember all my ideas and that helped as the story developed.
Click the link to see the story on the site and give it a vote if you liked it. If you didn’t like it, just don’t bother to vote. Seems simple enough to me.
I am sitting alone, still enjoying ripples of an orgasm, when my husband comes back. He has our car keys and doesn’t look very pleased.
“Maybe you’re right. All this swinging is for people not like us.” He passes me my coat. I’m surprised it was right where I had left it, folded neatly on the seat next to me.
Taking my hand, something he hadn’t done in a very long time, he led me to the back door and the parking lot. He opened my door first and waited for me to get inside the car before closing the door for me. It was nice.
On the way home he talked about the woman he had ended up with. She was older than she had looked, wore a lot of make-up and he didn’t really like her eagerness for the swinging scene. Three children later and my husband still likes to think he is the sexual guru in our relationship. My disinterest in sex hasn’t really bothered him, other than being an inconvenience at times.
“It’s funny, but you smell like sex.” He says.
“So do you.” I reply.
“I guess so, we were both there after all. Want to stop for a coffee? Make it a bit more of a night out?”
Drive through coffee because neither of us feels like getting out of the car yet. He feels out of sorts and me… I’m just feeling content and languid.
I take the coffee cup and notice the bit of paper I’ve had in my fist all this time. He notices too.
“What’s that?” He asks.
I open it and then push it into my purse. “Someone gave me their phone number.”
“And you’re going to keep it?” He says, startled, a little annoyed.
“Well, I don’t want to litter in the parking lot. I’ll find it the next time I clean out my purse and toss it out then.”
He seems satisfied with that, more or less. I say nothing more about it.
At home I leave him to pay the babysitter and check on the kids, lock up the house and all those other rituals. I strip off my dress in the bathroom. My panties are gone and I’m surprised he didn’t notice my boobs swinging around half in and half out of my open bra. But, I’m the good wife, he only looks at me that way once in awhile.
My clothes go into the laundry basket. I stand looking at my naked reflection in the bathroom mirror while waiting for the shower to get hot. Tonight I want a hot shower. I don’t want anything cold touching me, taking away the feeling of being touched by strong, knowing, and patient hands. My pussy is still leaking. It feels strange after all this time. But, I like it. I’m even a little proud, or maybe it’s defiance.
His idea to go to a swingers party, not mine. His idea to leave me sitting there, the good wife. I didn’t look for anything, other than a cocktail or two. I forget what they were called now.
Stepping into the shower, the steam rises around me and the hot water pours over me. I wash away the evidence while I relive the encounter.
A kiss at the back of my neck. Strong, big fingers stroking my back, making me feel like a purring cat. Something he whispered near my ear that I didn’t really understand. Hands on my hips, under my dress, my panties slipped down. I felt a tall, wide, male body pressed against my back. Then he gently pushed me to lean forward. His fingers just a little cold but quickly warming between the lips of my pussy. Playing with my clit, slow and then a little faster and then slowing right down again as I started the first wave of orgasm. Slowing, slower and so slow I thought the orgasm would stay at the pinnacle of just starting forever. Crashing, thudding and trembling inside of me, so strong I hadn’t even noticed he was gone and I was alone again.
Another orgasm in the shower. My husband coming down the hallway to our bedroom and our king sized bed, the best way to share a bed while not sharing anything.
The Rain at Night by Darla Darling
I love the rain at night.
The sky is so dark and slick looking. Just a little thunder and lightening. The big storm has passed and now the rain just soaks down from the sky.
I like the raindrops running down your bare skin. You’re so white in some places.
Your hair is plastered to your scalp and you are wet right through now. I bet you’re cold too.
“Pirouette boy!” I call out to you.
Putting your arms over your head you turn a circle around. I can see the mud squishing between your toes.
“On your tippy toes, like a ballerina!”
“Now hop a bit, put a bit of a skip into it!”. I laugh quietly. There is humiliation and then just plain meanness. You won’t like it if I’m laughing at you. But, there isn’t a lot sexy about a naked man hopping in the rain. The rain itself though…. I love the rain at night.
You’re cold, wet and I think your lips look on the blue side of pale. Another minute…. but not more than that.
I pull a hot towel out of the dryer and bring it with me out into the rain. I get a few photographs of the rain, the darkness and your wet skin. This is the turn on for me. Not your suffering, or your humiliation. Those are the things you want. I wanted the sensation of the rain, the sensuality of the drops running down your skin, through your hair and your breath in the night sky.
I’m quick, snap, click and a small adjustment of your pose for a last photo of your wet face up close.
I wrap you in the warm towel and lead you to the sliding glass door and the heat and light of the indoors.
I stay outside, by myself and play in the rain. I photograph the sky, up there far into the darkness. How far can the camera see? How many raindrops will be in the photo, captured in that blink of a lens? I want to catch the rain on film before it’s all gone.
You come out, all dry and warm now. You’re wearing your rain coat this time and under it I know you will be dressed in your soft flannel workshirt and worn jeans. Your feet are in Wellingtons now, shiny with rain.
I love your smile as you wrap me up in a big hug and the worn, old quilt from our bed.
“Come inside now.” You say. Your voice is soft, almost a whisper for a man. It’s sexy and you’re warm and sexier now too. I don’t mind leaving the rain behind.
Originally posted to Sex Kitten, October, 2014. Hot Flash Fiction Friday: The Rain at Night
Originally posted: November 17, 2006
He was on the train again. The guy with a shaved head, charcoal grey suit this time and a red silky looking scarf. No hat, he never wore a hat no matter how much it snowed or rained. I always watched him, shy, from my seat. Sometimes he noticed me, sometimes he didn’t.
I hadn’t seen him this past week. One whole week of commuting without seeing him. I had nearly cried on Friday night, thinking he must have moved or changed jobs and I would never have the chance to meet him now. I regretted not doing something, even something really dumb.
But, there he was back again. Same shaved head, same suit and that same smiley face. He was just one of those people who seemed to smile easily. Sometimes he had conversations with the people around his seat. He laughed easily too and it was a laugh that made me smile, even on the hardest days when I felt worn down to a stub of myself.
I had to meet him tonight, finally. I couldn’t let another day pass by. Maybe he had moved and today was one last trip on the old commuter train. My palms were slick and my stomach in knots but I just had to do something this time.
I knew I looked ok, not one of my better days for looks but it wasn’t too bad. Hopefully I didn’t get too wind blown while I was waiting at my stop for the train. I couldn’t quite dare reach up to pat my hair, he might look over at just that moment. Continue reading The Train Not Taken
Originally posted to Sex Kitten (2003 – 2004)
The fine print in the instructions had said “Never push the red button.” …But, always, there was the red button and finally, in spite of whatever the consequences were, she just knew she had to push it.
The fine print in the instructions had said “Never push the red button.” It had been there from day one, she noticed it while she was unwrapping her new toy. The instructions had fallen out as she unwrapped it from the bubble wrap. She had left them on the floor until she had her fill of playing and then tidied up all the packaging. She’d kept the instructions, somewhere. She hadn’t actually read them but they were around if she needed them, somewhere.
But, always, there was the red button and finally, in spite of whatever the consequences were, she just knew she had to push it.
What could happen, really? Her love toy was in off mode, lying on his/ it’s back on the rug by her bed. The red button was tiny, located under his left ear lobe. To push it she would need a needle from her sewing box. She had come prepared. At first nothing happened. Well, he/ it was in off mode. Maybe it only activated if the toy was on at the time. She watched awhile longer but got bored and felt sleepy and mildly disappointed in the lack of drama.
She had a great dream. Better than the dream of having sex with a dragon in mid-flight. This time her toy woke up, really woke up not just powered up as he/ it usually did. He stripped off his veneer of animation and became real. She felt his breath on her skin, as if he were really breathing rather than functioning to please her. She could smell his sweat and his passion, as if he were really aroused. She half opened her eyes as his fingers played with her pussy, stroking the lips and folds. She really, fully opened her eyes as his cock slid inside of her. It was such a great cock, the exact thickness of her specifications. The exact shape, length and fullness she had always needed from a man but never found.
The odd thing was, she was sure she was awake now and yet the dream continued. He was on top of her, riding her, caressing her inner thighs, sucking her breasts, nibbling her skin. Of course, it wasn’t possible. He was only a love toy, bought at her local department store for the off season sale price of just $199.
She ran her fingers through his hair, grabbing a hunk and pulling it hard. He only grinned shamelessly and bit down on her nipple. It hurt but felt good too. He opened his thighs, forcing her own legs to open wider and rise up along his warm thighs to wrap around his waist. His cock felt so good, pumping inside of her. His lips, tongue and hands took their fill of her body, teasing her, making her need more and more. Her pussy ached to orgasm. It was a great dream, but it could only be a dream.
When he grunted and orgasmed inside of her she really woke up. This could not be a dream. He wasn’t supposed to orgasm without her permission and he certainly wasn’t supposed to orgasm before she had her own pleasure.
His hard body fell over her, trapping her underneath his firm, warm flesh. His hot breath warmed the side of her neck while his cock softened, still inside her. “You pushed the red button didn’t you?” He laughed.
She said nothing. What do you say to a toy come to life?
“I’m so glad you did.” He levered himself up, reached into her bedside drawer and pulled out her favourite handcuffs. “You might regret it but I never will.”
Originally posted to Sex Kitten (2003 – 2004)
That was when she looked at websites about disposing of bodies. Not that he was quite a body, he was still breathing after all. But… she was only curious really.
His head was heavier than expected, kind of like a really big cabbage she’d once cooked for making cabbage rolls. She had a hard time fitting it into the pot, the cabbage, not his head. Although, cooking him was an alternative under consideration.
What do you do with an extra husband after all? Once the marriage was over, he became kind of disposable, like an extra toaster after the wedding. You could always give it away, but somehow that seemed so small minded. Why saddle someone else with your spare toaster? Even more so with a used toaster, one you had cleaned up after, slept with and all that other labour and time not so well spent. Maybe, it was really more like having a sixth finger than an extra toaster. Imagine how awkward that sixth finger would be? Holding a pen would be like a wrestling match and typing would be, well… interesting. Continue reading My First Divorce
Originally posted to Sex Kitten (2003 – 2004)
Can you die from a wet dream?
Max was cold. Calling a succubus had seemed like a good idea at the time. That was hours ago now. Lying naked on the floor, his altar of sex toys around him, waiting and yet dreading that some mythological creature would come for him. He felt like a willing victim to his own sacrifice. But, he was willing, more than willing after eleven years of celibacy. Even now, just lying naked on the cold floor, his cock was rock hard, pointing straight up and even angling back. No man in the world was more ready for sex right now than Max.
Nothing seemed to be happening though, other than his own growing arousal. There was something about preparing yourself for kinky sex that made you need it all the more. Just lying down in the midst of his altar had brought him to full arousal and kept him there. Thinking, half dreaming, of having a succubus appear and begin taking his body was almost enough to finish him off. But, he wasn’t quite there. He wanted more than his own thoughts, his own hands stroking the well known patterns over his cock. He wanted a woman, even if she wasn’t entirely real or at all predictable. Continue reading Death by Dreaming
Originally posted to Sex Kitten (2003 – 2004)
The house had history, atmosphere and music. It also had a ghost.
“Every house has it’s own music, you just have to listen.”
“You’re full of it. Spouting that philosophical nonsense when we need to focus on getting out of here. What does any of that namby pamby crap matter now?”
“It matters.” Kate settled down cross-legged on the cellar floor. She ignored the cold cement, the mustiness and her husband’s temper. It wasn’t her fault the door had swung shut and stayed that way. Sure she had brought him here to explore with her but she wasn’t the one naive enough to expect every door that opened once would open again on the other side.
“Shut up, just shut up while I figure this out.” Steve seemed to always be grumpy.
The cellar was dimly lit, just the early morning light managing to filter in. But she could see with more than her eyes. The house had history, atmosphere and music.
It also had ghosts. Not the Halloween movie type ghosts. These were real ghosts. Quiet, watching and wondering who was disturbing the abandoned mansion. They were part of the music too, the history, the very wood, marble and bones of the house. It was an easy listening song but with undertones of something slightly gothic. Kate wrote gothic romances as a hobby, she understood gothic well. Or, as well as anyone could be expected to. Continue reading House of Music
I wroteand thought it was a complete story. But, I had a request for a part two. So here it is…
He said his name was Fred. Of course it wasn’t. I found that out when I noticed a pile of mail on a side table by the door.
I’ll call him Fred because he does look something like a caveman and his expectations were primitive too. Fred was freshly cleaned up and showered but he had not done much about brushing his hair, cleaning under his fingernails or timming his finger and toenails. Poor grooming has always been a turn off for me.
As it turns out most other women feel the same way. That was how I had met and become friends with a few other local Dominant women. We were all annoyed with the local men who expected so much and returned so very little. Not even bothering to dress up or clean up, as if we should be satisfied with so little. Continue reading The Fly in the Room, Continued by Request