There’s only a few days left before the Steampunk Bundle disappears! In the lead-up to that heartbreaking moment, we’re running one more hot excerpt from the bundle. This is from 1901: A Steam Odyssey by Lionel Bramble.
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“There is one small problem,” the Captain said, as he took us aside. “My hull-repair crew is now using each and every pressure suit, save one. I shall have to ask the Major to make haste, to return so that Milady may the use it for her share of the necessary task. There is not a moment to be lost.”
“Nonsense,” I said, regarding the huge bulk of the roomy pressure suits, with their oversized domes. “The two of us will share the same outfit. The Major may look over my shoulder and supervise my movements.”
“Milady!” exclaimed the Major. “Such a thing has never been done. The strenuousness of the operation—”
“If I may boast,” I said, “there has never been a question of my fitness for physickal endurance. As to the issue of precedent, I daresay we shall shatter many records before we return to the Earth.”
How prophetic those words!
“Perhaps it might be done at that,” said our practical Captain, eyeing the bulky suit. “Bit of a squeeze. But it could be done.”
I said, “Captain, I take it the suit itself is sufficient to protect us from the vacuum and ionising radiation?”
He nodded in the affirmative.
“To make room inside the suit for two, we cannot allow our garments to encumber us,” said I, removing my jacket and corset and bidding the Major to do the same with his gold-braided blue uniform. “Come, Major—as the Captain says, there is not a moment to be lost. Unfasten those huge buttons!”
At this the Captain blushed. He represented a generation unprepared for the societal changes which accompanied our rapid technological process. I admit to feeling meanly amused by his embarrassment as I stripped off blouse and bodice and corset. I waited till he excused himself before I divested myself of bloomers, pantalettes, etc. and stood naked and shameless before the Major.
For the Major, I had no sympathy whatsoever. After we completed our tasks, I would have him. Or I would know why not.
“Given our shared body heat in the pressure-suit,” remarked I, “we are more than likely to perspire profusely. May I suggest, Major, that you remove that union suit? That’s it. And what is that you’re wearing under it? And there’s still more under that? Good heavens! Off with it, Major. All of it.”
It took some coaxing, but soon he was like myself, clad only in his skull and mermaid tattoos and his neatly matched piercings—and, I could not help but noticing, the rings like Saturn’s still stacked neatly about the root of his manhood. I was touched by this oddly sentimental gesture.
Yes, Reader, I did waggle my bottom enticingly in his face, as I clambered into the suit he already occupied. Now we both faced the same way, looking forward through the transparent dome of the great helmet. And even before I had slipped my legs into place before his, and leaned back into the muscled expanse of his chest, I could feel Saturn’s rings rise to greet me.

“Milady—” he began. “I—I really feel I must speak to you—” His voice came from above my head; he was that much taller than I.
“Certainly, Major. The moment we have completed our respective tasks. I believe the air-closet is this way?” I pointed, and allowed the Major to move the legs of the suit, thus to walk us in the direction I indicated.
The oxygen-intake valves purred satisfactorily as we made our way, by coordinated movements of our limbs, through the heavy iron of the inner air-closet. It clanged shut behind us. Wind buffeted us as the rush of air exited the chamber. The outer door opened silently. We glided outside the ship gracefully, with enough unspoken coordination of our limbs for me to remark, “It is rather like dancing, isn’t it, Major?”
“Very like dancing, Milady.”
I thrilled to feel his body vibrate against mine as he spoke. I daresay my heat alone made him sweat.
Tethered to the gondola, we made our way up the curving slope of the Aether-Ship, and back towards its stern. There we found a pair of thick stubby wings, to which were attached the brass nacelles of the engines that pushed Trafalgar through the inter-planetary void. They burned silently in a night studded with unwinking stars. The engines’ red glow seemed barely contained in the missile-shaped tubing. They smoldered with Hell’s own fire.
With a twist of my hip I indicated our direction, to which the Major gave a low grunt. I assume he sympathised with the burning engines.
The Aether-aerial rose from the edge of one of the wings. It rather resembled the Eiffel Tower, albeit thinner and of more complex and delicate construction.
The Major was correct about one thing: It was indeed strenuous work. I felt the sinews of my muscles tighten as under the Major’s patient murmured direction; I grabbed and retied the broken connections. I forced bent crossbars into shape, and replaced missing contraptions with the replacements clipped to the belt outside our shared suit.
I broke a sweat, and our perspiration mingled inside the confines of the suit. One of his nipple-rings grew warm against my back.
“Good… good girl,” he said, making me feel rather like a prize filly being put through her paces. That image moistened me further, and to my chagrin I discovered that it was now I who must join the Major in exercising restraint, even as I felt his warm thickness harden further against my buttocks.
One of Saturn’s rings poked me, and I felt it begin to spin slowly. That rotation surprised me, in the absence of any obvious ferromagnetic stimulation. The discs must be sensitive to animal magnetism. Naturally, that was a quality the Major possessed in abundance.
One last “good girl” from the Major, and I turned my attention to the encoder-box at the base of the aerial. I unlocked it with a special key, opened it, and inspected the switches and relays within. Its fine and minute calibration had indeed been jarred off kilter by the collision with the micro-meteorites.
I summoned the proper concentration—the Major’s eagerness now demonstrably matched my own—and reset the encoder so that we could send and receive highly confidential messages from His Majesty’s Government.
Over the short-distance Marconi-Scope, the Major and I reported to the Captain that our respective tasks were complete. The Captain allowed that his crew had also accomplished their tasks, that he had ordered a test of the equipment, and vouchsafed the information that it was operating “as good as new!”
He was eager for us to return to the relative safety within Trafalgar.
“Thank you, Captain,” I said. “The view out here is so lovely that the Major and I wish to linger.”
Indeed, crescent Venus was visible as a distinct sphere. Our blue Earth was almost the same size. I felt suspended in heaven itself.
“Careful, Milady,” the Captain replied. “I’ve recalled all our other skylarkers. Mind the tether, if you please.”
Indeed, as I looked about the gleaming hull of the ship, I could see that the Major and I were quite alone.
“We’ll be careful, sir,” the Major rumbled.
“Yes,” I agreed, “but we may never again have such a fine opportunity for Aetheric sightseeing in our lifetimes.”
“Mind your oxygen supply,” the Captain persisted. “Check your levels.”
“The suit allots us almost an hour,” said the Major. “Perhaps more. We finished our assignment sooner than we expected.”
“Safety measures also suggest —”
It was time for me to pull rank, in a way that the Major never would.
“Captain, the Major and I would like to enjoy our unique vantage of the infinity of Creation in silence for a time.”
I heard the click of a switch. The Captain’s reply, if any, was cut off.
“Thank you, Major!” said I, for it was he who terminated the exchange of Marconi-signals for the nonce.
The silence was enjoyable at that. All I could hear besides the faint hiss of the oxygen intake was the Major’s breathing and my own.
Taking my turn to work my legs into the roomy pantaloons of the Aether-suit, I jumped off the hull. We floated to a point far above the ship, quite literally to the end of our tether.
“Now, Major, I believe you had something you wished to say to me?”
He pressed himself closer against me. I tilted my head back to receive his lips. His mustache tickled as our tongues probed each other. He smelled of spicy cologne and his own perspiration.
“Forgive me, Milady—Cheyenne—for taking such liberties.”
In response I slipped my hand from of the suit’s sleeve, to reach behind myself. I removed two of the confining metal rings, to give myself the opportunity to palpate his bare tumescence. His warm rod was stiff as a bobby’s truncheon. I stroked him up and down, letting my nails linger. With a sharp intake of breath, he said, “I’ll take that as forgiveness.”
His hands caressed my shoulders, moving down to my breasts, kneading them gently as he let my nipples stiffen between his fingers. The motion woke butterflies in my stomach.
I murmured that if he truly sought absolution then he must grant me the relief he had so long denied me.
“Relief, Cheyenne? You speak of relief? Do you know what I was feeling when you switched places with Olive, when it was your tender hand that directed my torment?”
“I have some idea,” I said.
His right hand toyed with my breast as his left crawled down my belly to graze my nether lips. The butterflies in my stomach multiplied, and beat their wings faster.
“Would you like to feel what I felt, tied to that chair while you spun the rings about me?”
“Yes,” I replied, the syllable catching on my increasingly ragged breath. “But we have only an hour.”
“‘To see eternity in a grain of sand,'” he quoted, as his fingers moved in for the kill. He found his way to my pearl and brushed it with the tip of his middle finger.
“Mmmm. Major,” I said, as he continued to strum me gently. “Mmmm. How did you relieve yourself of the pent-up stress after our tantalisation session in the Thunder Child?”
A chuckle rippled deep in his chest. I felt it vibrate against my bare back. Playfully he nipped the lobe of my left ear.
“What makes you think I did?” he asked.
I was astonished. “Then you must satisfy yourself with me immediately.”
I moved my hips to try to engulf him. But he twisted his own hips, and moved just out of my reach.
“I am stoked to bursting,” he admitted, “ready to pop, and I have been for some time now, since you walked in to my life to bedevil me, but I will be deuced if I take my own selfish pleasure before I first wring a grand finale from you, Cheyenne. I have always believed that is how a gentleman must conduct himself.”
His middle finger jiggled almost angrily, drawing increasingly sharp moans from me. He balanced me on a knife’s-edge betwixt fulfillment and continued longing. I squirmed, wet and slick, to prevent him from sending me over the edge just yet. There I allowed him to suspend me. He riposted with tiny swirling movements, and I stretched like a cat against the hard wall of his chest, content for him to subject me to a long session of cunnotage.
“But I don’t need my fingers to make you sing out,” he said.
He removed his slow torturing hand, needing both arms to wrap around me. I cried in surprise as he chose that moment to steer deftly betwixt my nether lips the blunt, broad head of his warm shaft, and thus to impale me.