Erotic Flights of Fantasy:
Collection One
By Riley Owens
Erotic Flights of Fantasy:
Collection One
Copyright ImagineThat! Studios 2012
Published by ImagineThat! Studios at Smashwords
A Taste of Hot Steam
It was only necessary to kill a handful of men to secure the future. As Crispin stood under the shadow of the gargoyle on the rooftop, he reminded himself of that reality. He flicked the first of several levers on the side of his goggles and the distant townhouse came into focus. Now it was his turn to take up the mantle of defender.
Crispin had sat on his father’s knee and listened to stories of Guild assassins and how he had saved the world from the horrors of electricity. The first had been easy—Franklin had been killed in his youth nearly two hundred years before this moment.
Crispin had grown up and wanted to make that much of a difference. Protect those things he held dear. For Queen and for the Guild.
As he adjusted the spread of wings strapped to his back, he realized soon enough he would get that chance. He flicked his goggles back to normal magnification. Through them Paris’ cityscape twinkled. The only light was from the moon and the umber glow of gaslight that lined the streets. All was as it should be. Bought up within the Engineering Guild since he was young, he was sure of himself, his mission and ready for action. Well that was what he told himself.
Yet he wasn’t a complete fool. His skin was goose pimpled and his hands shaking even as they clenched tightly on the controls of his aetherider.
Three other assassins had been sent to kill Nikolai. None of them had returned, and the Chief of the Guild was beginning to wonder if the future would be lost to them.
So when Crispin, the newest member had offered to try where so many had failed, though he had no assassination experience to speak of, he had been given the opportunity. They had nothing to lose.
Nikolai was undoubtedly aware that his life was in danger. He was now beginning to conduct his illegal experiments behind high walls and with the protection of a patron.
Crispin checked the struts of the aetherider strapped to his back once more. He’d conducted numerously experiments in the safety of his lab in London, but this time was different. This time it was a little more important.
The aetherider flicked open with a reassuring snap. Then without further thought Crispin ran forward and leapt off the building. For a brief second, he was sure that he was about to be proved wrong in the worst possible way. And then the engine caught, and the propellant chambers lit. Now he was not falling—he was flying.
Paris whizzed by under him, and Crispin’s heart leapt. If it were not for the very dangerous situation he was speeding towards, he would have let out a whoop of delight. The sensation was delightful and heady. Now he had confirmation—he was a proper engineer.
As the roofs dropped away underneath him, Crispin clenched his teeth. Now he had to find out if the rest of his equipment functioned as well as the aetherider. The roof of the building was steep and surrounded by wrought iron decoration. He banked around it for a moment, girding himself to land. Choosing his moment, he flicked off the propellant chamber and dropped. The shock ran up his legs as he slipped, and Crispin had to scramble to grab a hold of the roof. All the time he was imagining Nikolai below: listening, preparing.
And it was a long way down. As he stood balanced on the guttering Crispin could not help glancing over the edge.
He swallowed hard. After stowing the wings, he shrugged off the aetherider, and tucked it down between the roof and the fretwork. A quick attachment of a rope was all that was required, and then he swung down. Another breath hissed over Crispin’s teeth. So far everything was going as he planned. Hanging outside the window, he managed to lever it open and slip inside.
The house was quiet, only the distant tick of a clock disturbing the peace. Crispin had half-expected the sounds of maniacal laughter or tortured screams. Carefully he unholstered the clockwork rail gun and held it ready. Once he trained it on the inventor there would be no hiding
Tonight Nikolai would be prevented from destroying the future and Crispin Nathaniel Basington would go down in history as its savior.
Yet his prey seemed very allusive. Crispin padded around the top floor, his heart hammering under his ribs, all the while expecting to meet his nemesis behind every door or around every corner. But this top floor was only bedrooms and dusty attics.
He padded to the landing and peered down. The staircase was a wonder of polished wood and thick carpet and appeared to go down further than the three stories of height the building had.
A house of this size should have been bustling with people—at least servants. Yet there was nothing, but the wind gently rattling the shutters and that persistent rhythm of the clocks on every floor. That the master of electricity should have honest cogs and gears seemed… unnatural somehow.
As he crept down the stairs he adjusted his goggles again, getting close up looks through the different lenses. Less and less of the gaslights were lit the further down he went. Crispin passed the ground level and continued on, while a think sheen of sweat began to form on the back of his neck.
But it was not just fear that bought that on; there was a strange harsh scent in the air, and the hairs on his arms were standing erect like soldiers at attention. The atmosphere as highly charged. It was not like the moist comfort of steam, and Crispin’s resolved stiffened. He could not afford to think of himself as young, weak and uncertain. He was the inventor’s doom.
Four floors down, he paused. The stairs stopped at a door, padded and lined with leather. It could not have looked more imposing. Cautiously Crispin pushed it.
It swung open without a single creak, but as soon as he stepped in his breath jammed in his throat. This large room was like stepping into another world—a world that would have happened if not for the Guild.
The light in here was not the comforting bronze glow of gas, but a steady white light that hurt his eyes. He stood there blinking, stunned and unable to move. Tables lined the walls and on them were gleaming panels. Within these panels, the light was moving. It took his brain a moment to work out that they were indeed forming patterns.
He was drawn over, almost unwillingly, to see what Nikolai had created. They were indeed images. As he watched men marched in formation, strange carriageless horses ran on smooth roads, metal cylinders with flames at their rear leapt into the air, and humans seemed to float in space. Crispin’s head tilted, as his brain tried to process what he was seeing. This was not his world at all.
Unable to process what this could mean immediately, he turned his attention to the other devices on the tables. Some of the tools lying in neat lines about he recognized, but many he did not. They had to be some of those instruments banned by the Guild. Despite knowing that his fingers stretched out; the curious engineer in him wanting to just handle them. The faintest of sounds made him jump. Was that a footfall?
Crispin quickly stepped back into the shadows, so that half his body was tucked into the corner behind the massive marble fireplace. He held the clockwork gun ready.
Another door, the match of the one from the stairway, swung open. Beyond light streamed in, bright white light like the devices in here but so much greater. It was impossible for him to make out any details of the room beyond, but the figure standing in the doorway was enough to be going on with.
It was a woman—that much was immediately apparent because she was to all intents and purposes naked. Her breasts, firm and full, captured the young man’s attention for quite awhile. After a couple of heartbeats he was able to tear his eyes away and take in the whole effect.
The woman was outlined in silver, the strange light reflecting slightly off her skin—the effect was completely alien and beautiful—almost a much as her tail. Crispin forgot to breathe as he finally noticed the extra appendage. She has no fur, but she did indeed have a tail and it was lashing against her bare thighs, like an angry cat. What demon she might be and where she could have been conjured from, Crispin could not possibly imagine.
Apart from the skin and the extra appendage she looked like any girl you might see on the street in London. That was if you were on the street of harlots. The view afforded by her lack clothing was more than even the working girls might have given away.
His brain scrambled to hold onto those thoughts, even as the logical, engineer part of it tried to make sense of the silvered skin and the long tail. He did not believe in magic or witchery—but the evidence his own eyes bought him of the demon woman was impossible to ignore.
Her head inclined slightly, but backlit as she was, Crispin could make out no real details of her facial feature. Then the demon closed the door, swinging the padded monstrosity on well-oiled hinges. Crispin let out a breath over his bare teeth, barely the faintest of sounds.
It was enough. The door slammed open, the light flooding the room once again, and the woman sprang into the room. Stealth was now impossible.
He fired the clockwork rail gun, but in too much haste. The gun did not lock properly onto her onrushing form. She swung her arm, catching knocking the gun from his grasp. The weapon was deadly but also fragile. Crispin winced hearing it shatter against the cold floor: the complex brass gears and long tubes bending. It was a prototype not meant for such harsh treatment. Yet he was not totally weaponless.
He flicked the switch inside his right wrist—hoping he would have enough time. It was going to be close. Crispin grunted as the woman’s foot punched into the centre of his chest. When he staggered back she spun again twisting his arm and turning him about, locking his elbow behind his back. The abrupt pain made him gasp.
“We were expecting you.” The woman’s voice was surprisingly light, coming out in a hot pant against his neck.
At that moment the gears in his ossisthalion finally began to work, and a jet of steam filled the series of iron pipes in the frame. Crispin grinned, and with his free hand reached over his shoulder, grabbed the demon woman’s and yanked. She didn’t even have time to scream as she was suddenly jerked over the man’s head in a display of mechanically assisted strength.
Crispin only had a moment to enjoy her surprise, because she landed lightly on her feet, her tail flicking out to lash the air. Now by the light of the strange electrical contraptions Crispin could see her eyes were completely blue, a cobalt color that encompassed the entire surface of her eyes. Certainly there could be no doubt she was some kind demon, but she was beautiful; the sharp planes of her face were complimented by full lips. Crispin dare not dwell on any of these things, or her magnificent, unconcealed body, because the look in her face was so fierce as to make his blood run cold.
“Out of my way demon,” he shouted, aware now that all hope of stealth was gone. “The inventor must die!”
“Fool,” she growled in return and sprang again. They grappled this time. Her naked flesh under his fingers was smooth like oiled silk, but the muscles beneath was impossibly powerful—much more than any woman had a right to. If it were not for the strength of the ossisthalion machine beneath his clothing, Crispin would have had no chance. Her tail wrapped like a snake around his calf as they pushed and pulled at each other. The woman twisted, and Crispin’s body clipped the nearest table sending the devilish contraption tumbling to the ground. It made an almighty crash as it flew into thousands of shards of glass and metal. The demon-woman spat out a curse in a language that made no sense to her opponent.
She caught him under the arm, where the structure of the ossisthalion did not run, slamming him against the next table, pressing his face against the smooth wooden surface.
“Look,” she growled, her fingernails tight on his cheek, “see what you would kill—see my world.”
And he did see. The weird flat surface shimmered, and there it was: a city in the sky, white and strung together like it was made of lace. The perspective changed, and now he could see the people walking on those strange glowing bridges were like the demon-woman before him. Not precisely alike—some had tails, some grew horns, some were clothed, others were not. It was like a crazy version of Blake’s etchings.
He shook his head. “Get thee behind me Satan.” Not that he was very religious, but it seemed like the right thing to say at this moment. A flicker of amusement passed across her beautiful, alien face.
“Behind you—oh my young man you should not suggest that.” Crispin felt his face flush bright red as a wicked light flickered in her alien eyes. She laughed. “In my world you would be the Satan.” The way the word sat in her mouth Crispin got the feeling that she knew what it meant, but it was foreign to her. His eyes locked on her lips and warm fire rushed down his spine, straight to his cock. Pressed this close together she couldn’t possibly fail to notice.
The curve of her full lips broadened and for a moment her grip lessened on it. Embarrassed and angry Crispin surged up right, and now it was his to grab hold of her throat.
To him, encased in the ossisthalion skeleton, she was as light as a feather. His hand closed on each side of her slick neck. The demon-woman scrambled and struggled, but his reach was longer. Though her tail wrapped around his forearm there was nothing she could do to move it.
Eye to eye they glared at each other but only Crispin could speak. He enjoyed that. “Stay silent and still!” He gave her a fractional shake to emphasize the point. Her remarkable eyes locked with his, and her breasts shifted in distracting ways. His cock twitched again, aroused by both his moment of power and what was hanging only inches from his body. The Guild had certainly not prepared him for this particular situation.
Crispin was just contemplating what exactly to do next, when a voice echoed out from the open door that the woman had come through.
“Aelia?” the voice was booming, manly, obviously used to command and yet had to be mechanically magnified. The woman’s eyes flicked between Crispin’s face and the far door, but with her throat clenched between his enhanced fingers she could make no reply.
“Is that him?” Crispin whispered to her, and her expression was all he needed to know. He should have killed her, crushed her throat, and thrown her aside. But he was not a natural killer, and the Guild had never said anything about killing demon-women he found along the way. Also there was something in the man’s voice, a note that told him she was valuable.
Crispin strode to the door, the woman still held in his grasp. It was an impressive feat, and the engineer in him thrilled to this display of the success of the ossisthalion. For the first time since leaving the Guild Crispin felt in control, powerful. He kicked the door wide and peered down. Another set of stairs curled down an impossibly wide cavern. Light blared up from below as the voice called again, “Aelia!” Whatever was laid out in the room behind him was just the beginning—Crispin had to go down into the belly of the beast to find his prey.
Aelia dangled from his outstretched arm, her hands clamped around his fingers, only just holding off strangulation. It could not have been a comfortable sensation, but her face only betrayed the barest of strains. Strangely she did not struggle, only using her upper body to keep the weight of the rest of her off her throat.
“Not one word,” Crispin growled as he proceeded down the stairs, trying to keep his footsteps as light as possible. He hoped that whatever value Nikolai placed on the demon-woman it would be enough to keep his hide intact—at least until he got close enough to strike.
Crispin needn’t have worried. The inventor was in the laboratory at the bottom of the stairs, engrossed in his own work. The younger man certainly knew how that felt.
The contraptions down here were even more impressive and terrifying than those upstairs. The majority of the large space was occupied by a towering machine standing twice as tall as a man that was topped by a strange circular device. It ran with lights and filled the room with a strange vibration he could feel in his bones.
Aelia’s eyes darted towards it, but she remained limp in Crispin’s grasp. His heart was racing at a gallop because he knew that the tiny, powerful mechanism of the ossisthalion was running down. Soon his strength would ebb away, and then the tide would turn in favor of the woman. He had to kill Nikolai before then.
Yet he was not so much of a cad that he would strike a man from behind. So he cleared his throat. The scientist did not take any notice, his tall frame bent over a table of gleaming implements. The younger man shuffled his feet for a second, not quite sure of the etiquette of assassins and again cleared his throat.
“Yes, yes!” The scientist waved his hand but did not turn. “One moment…I am nearly done here.”
It really wouldn’t do! “Nikolai!” Finally Crispin spoke, his voice cracking with both anger and a slight tinge of embarrassment.
Finally, the older man turned. The inventor was no raving madman as the Guild had portrayed him. He was indeed rather dapper and handsome—with thick dark hair that curled slightly at his neck, paired with a neatly trimmed mustache. The expression he fixed on Crispin was neither surprised nor afraid. In fact if he had been able to quantify it the young engineer might have called it…expectant.
“So, you are finally here.” His voice without magnification still commanded attention. The accent only added to its appeal.
Crispin shook his head to clear it. This man was only fractionally older than he was, and unarmed; yet, it was time to do what he had been sent here to do. The woman Aelia presented a problem—if he let her go there was no way she would let him simply kill her master. Just as Crispin drew back his arm to throw her clear, and hopefully unconscious against the wall—he learned a very uncomfortable truth.
Never underestimate a woman with a tail.
He hadn’t been watching that part of her anatomy, and while he was distracted with Nikolai it slid up inside the back of his jacket and found the turn-key for the ossisthalion. The loss of strength was immediate and packed full of consequences.
Crispin sagged and Aelia took her chance. As he dropped her out of his grasp and sagged back in shock, she swept out her leg and knocked him down completely. In an instant she was on top of him, her breasts and crotch pressed against him.
“My turn,” she whispered, in a pleasant tone, as if taking a turn at croquet. Her tail once again locked around his throat, as strong as a South American anaconda. The turn of the tables was that sudden and unpleasant. However conversational her tone, the demon-woman obviously was taking a great deal of pleasure in the reversal of fortune.
“One twist,” she said as she touched the side of his face, “and I’ll break your neck. Just so you know.”
Awkwardly, she guided Crispin back to his feet to face his would-be target.
The inventor inclined his head to Aelia. “Thank you my dear.” He examined Crispin, as the light flared along the strange upright lengths of metal. The snap and sing of the electricity capturing the renegade inventors mood it seemed. He made a tsking sound under his breath. “Is the Guild so desperate that they are sending children now?”
Through a dry, strangled throat Crispin gasped out, “I am twenty-three—and I volunteered.”
Nikolai raised one eyebrow in the demon-woman’s direction. “He is just as you said he would be.”
Aelia’s was low and husky. “And talented too.” She jerked off Crispin’s jacket, and then tore his perfectly new shirt from his back. The ossisthalion was revealed, and there wasn’t a thing the young man could do about it.
Nikolai circled him, taking in the workings, running a finger over the control box strapped to the engineer’s back. It only took a minute for the older man to figure out the controls. The long arms of the ossisthalion slipped loose from Crispin’ limbs and the inventor pulled it loose. It dangled from his grip like a dead sea-creature, and he stared at it with interest.
“A clever contraption, my dear—” he paused and stared at his would-be assassin.
Crispin, well raised and infinitely polite, answered on reflex. “Crispin Nathaniel Basington.”
“A lovely name,” Aelia said, her tail slithering on his neck, warm, strong and muscular. The scent of her this close was intoxicating, like lilies and clean sweat, and in utter embarrassment Crispin could feel his body responding. The swell in his pants and the sweat on his neck was testament to the curious desire she woke in him.
“Three other assassins have tried to kill me you know.” Nikolai beckoned them over towards the machine. Crispin struggled a little, but a twitch of Aelia’s tail and her hand twisting his arm behind his back, persuaded him otherwise. “And three of Aelia’s kin died so that I might live.” Nikolai looked at the demon-woman with soft eyes. “I can only hope to prove worthy of such devotion.”
“You are the key to our future,” she replied with a slight dip of her head, “so they died to save all of our kind.”
“Then let us be about this great work.” Nikolai turned to a mass of dials and levers set into the side of the towering machine. Around them a circle of vertical spikes rose up from under the floor. When they clicked into place they stood eight feet tall. The ribbons of electricity now danced towards the tips of the spires. They changed to pinks and blues that were terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time.
“With all your assassination attempts,” Aelia growled pulling Crispin closer to her, “by killing any that would further the field of electricity, you and your Guild have broken the timeline—and all the good that my people would do has been taken away.”
“How…” he cleared his throat, distracted by both the improbability of the question and the sensation of her skin against his. “How can that be?”
The tips of her nipples were brushing against his back. “You cannot possibly grasp the complexities of time travel, Crispin—unlike Nikolai.”
The inventor spun about. “I had to come up with an answer you see. A way to keep both the glory of your steam and cogs and the wonder to come of Aelia’s world.” He gestured up, to where the curved standing wires nearly met. “The Temporator Machine will realign the time stream, forging something new. But,” he undid his tie, cast it aside and then unbuttoned his shirt, “there are a few more elements that are needed.”
Aelia’s tongue ran down the length of Crispin’s neck, soft and warm. He jumped even as a wash of pleasure ran through his body.
“We need you,” she whispered before nipping the place she had licked lightly. The points of her teeth were sharp but drew no blood. Realization was beginning to dawn on the young engineer. She had done something to him, for he could feel his body drowning in the scent of her. The lights around them bloomed brighter and his skin shivered where she touched. Her tail still held him in place, but he also had the feeling it was all that was holding him up.
“What do you mean?” he gasped, feeling his anger dwindle to the rising heat in his crotch.
Nikolai slipped off his shirt, exposing a pale muscled chest and stepped into the circle of snapping electricity. “I could never get the voltage high enough to change the time line. It was Aelia that came up with the solution.”
The woman chuckled, her hands sliding down Crispin’s chest, and made him let out a sound; little groan half protest. She turned him around so that he could look into her beautiful, alien eyes. The silver sheen on her skin was sweat—and this was where her intoxicating scent was coming from.
Nikolai slid behind her, pushing the thick mass of her hair away from her neck, and gliding his other hand around her waist. His face was only inches away from the young engineers now. “She said there was one final source of electricity.”