Thursday, July 25, 2013

Steamheat: Beginning Lust

Eliza is in a weakened condition when Captain Malloy finds her stowed away.  What consequences will she have to face? Will he turn around and  turn her in for warrant or something else?  


Steamheat:  Beginning Lust
by
Ben Hannigan
Read part 3 here 
 

     There was a clicking sound in the back of Eliza’s mind; a low gentle sound that interrupted her dreams. Though she couldn’t place it, she felt her ‘Sister’s’ mouth on her neck and sighed sinking into the embrace as the older woman trailed her fingers down her tummy. Her nails scratching over her nipples, her happy squeals echoing around the room.  But still, what was that mysterious clicking noise? 


     The heat rushing to her cunt, her heart pounding and writhing inside her chest, but still she couldn’t escape into the image. Eventually she sighed, swearing inside her head. She would have to wake.  The noise was obviously outside of her dreams, which meant she had gone left not right at the path, that she had not succumbed to the desire formed in childhood, the desire to just sink in her mothers arms and stay there somewhere safe, but instead she sank back into her body and slowly drifting back into the present. She blearily blinked and groaned as the pain hit, her heart pounding as she felt the pain from her injuries push to the forefront of her focus. She was greeted by a man, naked from the waist up covered with a healthy sheen of sweat and the ships thinking machine cogs moving and clicking as it appeared she was deep in the heart of the mechanical beast sweating in the heat of the room below the engine.


     “Good morning, sieur??” 


     She froze for  a second knowing that her real name would trigger the scans and she would be dragged home to her fate as a sleeve for the cock of a drunken abusive gambler, a cum-rag, a broodmare and potentially a chip to wager in the future. 

     “Eli she reasoned she would recognise the first syllable so she would answer easily. “I am Sieur Eli and you are?”


     “I am Captain James Malloy and lad be honest, it’s more Master than Sieur.”


     “Aye"  She finally replied, panicking as the man who saved her listed off the injuries she had sustained. 

     “Thank you. I fled from an abusive apprenticeship, and a master who intended to….” She took a breath. “I was traded between masters as part of a bet, and well he intended to plunder my virtue.” she remembered that the best lie always had at its centre a nugget of truth. After all, she isn’t lying she reasoned, so she wasn't a bad girl. “He tried and I ran and I found the pod, I was hungry, tired and cold, I'd been running since I don’t know when. Thank you, please don’t send me back Sieur Captain, I will do anything…..”


     Though it wasn’t said, the unspoken offer hung in the air like something they could both almost taste, involuntarily she found herself wet at the thought, suddenly soaked and clenching her thighs, riding  a wave of release into the cotton panties. 
     
      As she did he found himself raking his eyes over her slight frame and just for a split second he thought “gender be dammed” shaking his head to clear the image of the young slight boy he believed her to be under him as he filled him, his hand cupping his partner’s rod. “No, I would not, cannot, such an action is immoral, I will neither force, nor allow ANYONE to force you."


     Her thanks explosive and effusive as she hugged the older man. It felt so right that they were both reluctant to break the contact.  They smiled shyly then waited and talked, They shared stories of their lives both editing a little until Eliza asked about the ships features, of the ship for those who were crew rather than play-acting crew. Specifically the bathroom facilities. 

     He grinned and opened a window, and grasped a rope that looped around the rafters. Dropping his trousers and kicking them off he climbed onto the ledge and naked braced himself against the wood and brass leaning out holding to the rope as he pissed down onto the waters of the ocean below. 

     She looked nervous and hid the arousal behind a blush, staring at the thick pipework on display. 

      Seeing the boys nerves he grinned,  “Ok I will teach you confidence the way my first ship's master did with me.” He swung back into the ship proper and half lifted, half supported his patient's rise from the bed. 


     ‘Eli’ lowered his breeches and kicked them off thankful for the long shirt that hid her strapped down breasts and wet cunt and walked towards him gasping a little at the welcome coolness licking around her bare thighs. 

      “Yeah, it’s much too hot for full clothing in this room below the engine bay, I make it a habit of wearing next to nowt unless I be needed on deck with the guests.” he explained. “Now come here” he motioned to the window where he had lashed a second rope, he swung naked into position bracing his legs against the outer brass wall. “Now, just like my master taught me as a cabin boy, I will teach my new cabin boy.  Right, grasp the rope and lean out slow, for your first two or three times I will support you.” 

      She dropped into position almost nestling into his strong chest, she did what she needed, blushing at the fact she could feel so achingly close to her slit his piece. She squatted for a while relieving herself and swung up and into the room spotting the toilet paper hanging off a nail driven into the oak, wiping an throwing the white streamer out into the murky blue depths. She nodded to him “Cabin boy it is captain, I will serve you and work my passage.”


     "Excellent" he grinned, "now all the sailors on this demented pleasure cruise do a spell in the boiler room, and you and I are no exception.  I do the first as a demo and I do the last allowing them to prance around getting into their uniforms to appear dashing. Come on, we have a lesson to prepare. He grabbed his lightweight linen shirt and scavenged for something similar for his cabin boy, handing her a tight cotton pair of leggings, dressed and ready they walked to the main deck, on the way he briefed her on her duties in the attack, he grinned at the fact that his new crew-mate was willing to play the role to the hilt. Playing both the captured victim needing the captain to duel for his safety, but also the example to the guests, a crew-member taught by “THE BLACK CAPTAIN” The dashing, confident, dirty fighting, honourable officer. He found she could handle a blade and a pistol and grinned punching the numbers in the thinking engine for a scenario not done since his own master piloted the ship.


     The captain stood on deck in his long frock-coat, shirt, and leggings. The cabin boy scrambling up the rigging to the great bell, the bell that the guest/crew had been briefed to expect, the noise that signified playtime was over and the ‘work’ was to begin. With a nod from her captain, Eliza lept onto the long rope hanging from the clapper of the great bell that hung under the nose of the airship gas blimp. The bell easily thrice the height of a man and five or six times width echoing, swinging off the rope she dove down and back flipped onto the deck to stand next to her master. Her gymnastics as a child helping with the showmanship. 


     The captain nodded to her and she hit the button that created the simulacrum first mate who stood to the captains left. “Alright Maggots, you all be worthless rats but you WILL be silent when our Lord and Masterthe Captain speaks.  Aboard this vessel, He is god, he is judge, he is jury, he is in control. 


     “That will do Christian” he nodded at the flickering image with practiced ease and began to speak. “Welcome to the Cloud Dancer. She is MYship and you will respect her. We have one small matter of discipline to deal with and then I will show you the duty you will all have to do at some point in this voyage.” He nodded to Eliza who gulped as two simulated hulking great Marines appeared and dragged her towards the crowd. “We have a stowaway,  though he is now signed onto the crew-list as my Cabin Boy, he must be flogged.” the Marine held her down and the other produced a wicked cat  ‘o nine tails and began to methodically, mechanically strike her with the fearsome weapon. 


     She held her breath as the first blow hit feeling a pulsing shock, and the second, and third, her heart pounding in her ears.  It took five blows of the twenty before she felt the strangeness in a way that she understood. Rather than pain she felt the thinking machine find the strongest unfulfilled feeling pulsing through her, the naked lust and desire for the Captain.  The blows rained down as her thighs pulsed and she gasped and winced with each blow. The bows shredding her shirt as far as the customers could she. She got hotter and clenched her legs together as the machine manipulated her pleasure centers as if she was being roughly tongued by her lover till finally, she collapsed in what appeared to be pain but was instead the screaming, begging, teary eyed throes of an orgasm.  The machine's tendrils in her head better than anything she had ever felt before, slumping to the floor in a pool of sweat and exhilaration she collapsed shaking, the source and focus of her desires watching and smirking inwardly at the reaction of the crowd and what he naively assumed was simply a flair for the dramatic in his Cabin Boy.


     After the frightened murmurs of the crowd subside and the shakes and tremors subsided she stood nodding shakily and mumbled a short but sincere “Thank you sir.” Looking down appearing to be the very image of a contrite and somewhat overawed freshly punished young half boy/man, with the impromptu show dealt with, he moved through the crowd beckoning them to follow his cabin boy at his heels looking down. 

     They moved down, down, down through twisting tunnels of pig iron and brass till immersed in the very bowels of the ship. The cavernous coal store opening out into the boilers, the flaming mouths gulping hungrily at the coal in them before their eyes. The crowd stood restless as they realized they would have to spend an eight hour shift shoveling, feeding these great belching beasts to earn their cheap route. Their panic subsided like a wave as hey heard the captain's words and saw him begin to demonstrate the shoveling, the smooth constant motion required to stoke the furnaces.  They watched as his hands blurred shoveling the coals, his cabin boy slowly matching his rhythm, no one wanted to be the first to leave, to break the spell but eventually after fifteen minutes the two were alone.


     The rhythm pounded as sweat oozed off their frames, the captain soon discarding his shirt and breeches, wondering why his cabin boy did not do the same. 

     She simply sweated and over the next twenty minutes began to slow; breathing hard, struggling to suck in each lungful of hot, sticky, muggy air. Fighting to keep from panting, panicking, thinking, there being no way to drive the air into her lungs. Sucking, gulping and flailing at the end as she collapsed.  The man she lusted for in the secret recesses of her dreams, rushed and caught her before she stumbled, saving her from splitting her skull on the piled fuel. Seeing her laid not breathing he sliced the shirt open to access the cabin boys chest finding rather than bare skin a series of bindings over her lithe body. Raising her up to unwind the crudely tied linen, he was confronted with a budding pair of breasts; small, crushed, and delicate. Resolving to find the excuses and origins of this “boy” later, he placed his hand on the centre of her chest and rolled his hand across her sternum. Her small breast cupped in her hand as he forced air into her lungs, so obviously overcome by heat. 

     Eventually after false starts that chilled him he was rewarded with the tortured first gasp weak as a newborn. He left the filling of the boiler to the arcane servitor in the corner take the slack before carrying her with care back through the labyrinthe through to his chambers. Laying her gently down to rest he slowly began to undress his patient, bathing each strip of skin unveiled with great tenderness till she was naked and clean before him. Feeling her heart beating with the joy of one just saved, he sat in the chair conflicted, not sure whether to be angry at the lie or aroused by the vision of heaven he faced.



     Naked, laid on the hammock, the rough sisal and hemp fibres covered by his silk lined cloak as she breathed hard her chest rising, she was cream skinned as if always covered but her hands had a  healthy glow as did her neck and face. It was clear that she was no stranger to hard work but there was also evidence of a rough past, faint half faded scars littered her legs and spine; marks from whips, belts, and feet, with a few small licks from a blade --a marking of a brand. A brand of ownership, a challenge, the mark of a family as if a signet ring was allowed to glow white before she was thumped, that mark on the inside of her hipbones. 

     Suddenly things said, things whispered began to make sense.  She wasn’t running from a marriage as the groom but the bride. He took a guess and ran her name through the thinking machines with just an initial. Seeing not only the warrant for arrest for running, she traced back to her mothers death and her fathers murder, there were rumors of mistreatment from her uncle, the nunnery putting forth their concerns about her bruises,  her feral nature, and as he read he sank into a bottle astonished at the cruelty shown to her.

      The woman had been used as a toy without breaking her value, the nurses marking the injuries and old damage and slowly beginning to fix her body, her mind -- well that was a longer undertaking the nunnery challenging her but not pushing her. A relationship with the others of love as they built for her the family she so desperately needed, he read of the love shown in her health and sickness, he blushed heavily stealing glances at the girl “to just make sure she is ok” he told himself, even as his mind was awash with the images from the reports.

     Frank reportage of the relationship Eliza shared with her ‘sister of the heart’, the Mother Superior not only allowing the relationship to remain monogamous because of the love-starved girl’s need for a devoted supporter, but encouraging it. The other girls sharing and swapping affection in their prayers easily and despite the rivalry and frustrated complaints of several of the others at the nunnery, the other girls demanding and sharing their dreams, desires, and bodies as their desires fit. It came to blows several times, Sister Lucy scratched and attacked by those who were jealous at the blanket refusal of her young love to ‘help’, the more forceful girls having to be pushed away and causing feral responses. 

      The girl who crept into Eliza’s bed one night and holding her down and forcibly digitally penetrating herself with her hand as she returned the favour, was attacked by the girl as she woke, scratching and gouging at her eyes; the bright eyed, supportive, loving, well educated woman with iron strong faith returning to the wide eyed feral seven year old, recoiling from any touch, biting at those who reach for her, stealing food and climbing into the rafters, squeezing her way into the smallest overhead cupboards, laying in the dark, shaking and watching warily.

     He read, deeply sickened at the horrors and cheering in his chest for the actions of the Mother Superior taking the girls involved to task, explaining the terrors that the girl had seen. Those who were old enough to understand, the woman shaking with anger as she tore strips off those who had attempted to use the girl for their own ends, she screamed her anger in her tone, in her movements, describing each and every act they knew had happened.  Using the thinking machines to place each and every attacker, each and every woman who touched her without consent into the attack only for a second as they felt the pain, the terror, the fear, in that one flash in her eyes as they reached for her after she had said no, they felt the agony of being trapped in old memories.



     Working off impulse without thinking he sent a vocal message to two people, talking to the woman who saved her and also the woman who loved her as a partner, as a whole person. Letting them know that she was safe, that she was ok and she was safe and almost, in some ways asking permission of the parent and the best friend to attempt to court this angel, her hair short and jaggedly cut, her body showing her inner strength, her breasts small and budding full but small yet somehow large for her frame. She was to him perfectly formed. He remembered the delicious nervousness when they brushed against each other, the comforting warmth, feeling her against him when she required support and when he carried hr slight form through the bowels of the ship.
      He watched her as he talked, as he left a message -- more prayer than request --feeling his body burning with nervous energy and lust, his eyes devouring her body as if without her he would die of thirst. His body flushed and frustrated, he unbuckled his breeches and stroked desperately as he lost himself in hopes exploding on his hand, his chest sticky with sweat and relief. He didn’t notice in his frantic pumping of his hand the two eyes wide in the darkness watching and the small hitching moans as he exploded, nor her confusion, deep confusion at why he didn’t simply take her.  Then it cliked as she came. He was like sister Lucy!  He wouldn’t take unless she wanted and at that point as he covered his chest with his come, she desperately wished she could taste him off his chest, feel him rushing in to put out the fire, his whispered conversation with her  “family” and the frantic pumping of his hand had ignited.   The brushing against each other, the shy glances, the tension, all tinder for the flame; the flame fed by his trust, his support his iron will and movels and the spark provided by that conversation, him asking permission to even try; and fanned into life by watching his impending release. She NEEDED him.

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