{"id":1762,"date":"2015-10-13T15:20:38","date_gmt":"2015-10-13T15:20:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/?page_id=1762"},"modified":"2021-04-07T07:24:18","modified_gmt":"2021-04-07T07:24:18","slug":"like-clockwork","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/?page_id=1762","title":{"rendered":"Like Clockwork"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>ebook $5.99
\nWords: 41,800
\nISBN: 9781885865809<\/p>\n

[wp_eStore_add_to_cart id=104]<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Also available from:
\nSmashwords,<\/a> Amazon<\/a>, Barnes & Noble, Kobo<\/a>, and more.<\/p>\n

Seven stories of erotic steampunk, exploring worlds of clockwork people and their relationship to their <\/span>creators. If a mad, or not-so-mad, scientist of the steam age, were to create his or her own being, what <\/span>desires would be reflected there? Follow up to the best-selling anthology Like A Wisp of Steam<\/strong><\/em><\/a>.<\/span><\/p>\n

Like Clockwork includes the stories:<\/span>
\nThe Yearly Scientifiction Colloquium<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>by Eric Del Carlo
\nCaged Dragons and Explosions by Helena Weiss<\/span>
\nThe Succubus by Elizabeth Schechter<\/span>
\nConcerning the\u00a0<\/span>Ars Mechanica<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>by Michele Poirier
\n<\/span> Nightingale<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>by Jason Rubis<\/span>
\nThe Clockwork Theater at the<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>Midnight Fair<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>by A.N.Cortez<\/span>
\nThe Beast in the Machine, by Lionel Bramble<\/span><\/p>\n

Read on for a steamy excerpt from THE SUCCUBUS by Elizabeth Schechter…<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

The fourth floor is usually quiet, with only the hum of machinery and the distant voices <\/span>from the floors below. The men do not return to the fourth floor after their initial encounter <\/span>with me. They desire something more familiar, more in keeping with their personal fantasies. <\/span>More safe. So I wait, alone, and the silent servants tend to my needs. This evening will be <\/span>different. I know it already. I can hear Madame’s familiar step on the stair, and another, <\/span>heavier step with her.<\/span><\/div>\n
She enters first, the train of her evening gown sweeping the floor as she moves to the <\/span>table and lights the lamp. The man lingers in the door, peering into the gloom. He wears <\/span>pristine evening dress, and the lamplight picking out the gold links in his watch-chain and <\/span>the gleam of the ruby on his left hand. The walls have already whispered his secrets to me: <\/span>the second son of a Duke, one who was never expected to take the reins of power. One who <\/span>came, all unexpected, into an inheritance that was never meant to be his. His older brother <\/span>was dead of typhoid, gone without a son to succeed him, and so the younger son was now <\/span>Earl Hathaway. It was no surprise to us that the late, lamented Reginald Warwick, Earl <\/span>Hathaway had died without issue\u2015he had also borne the collar and lock in this house, and <\/span>had shown a definite preference for the third floor. It will be interesting to see what the new <\/span>Lord Hathaway prefers. His name, the walls have told me, is Nigel.<\/span>
\n“You can come in,” Madame says. “She won’t bite you.” She laughs, and leaves the lamp <\/span>to go to the far wall, and the switches there. She throws them, one at the time, and light floods <\/span>the room.<\/span>
\nI hear him gasp, and I know what he sees. The ceilings in this room are high, and <\/span>although they try to hide it with draperies, you can still see the machines that tower <\/span>overhead, disappearing into the shadows above the lights. The machines hum and churn, <\/span>gears half the size of a man moving in the eternal dance that gives me life. Occasionally they <\/span>release puffs of fragrant steam into the air, making the entire room warmer than would <\/span>normally be considered comfortable. There is very little furniture in the room, most of it <\/span>covered with drapery against dust and future need. And then there is me. Shining silver and <\/span>chrome, gleaming brass and copper, I lie in wait, reclined on the wide couch as might a <\/span>goddess whilst she awaited her worshipers.<\/span>
\n“But… it’s clockwork!” he blurts out, stepping into the room. He looks around, expecting <\/span>to see a living woman. But, of course, there is no one else in the room.<\/span>
\nMadame sniffs slightly, “Of course she is. I did explain that to you, did I not?”<\/span>
\nLord Hathaway has the grace to look embarrassed, “You did, but… the others all look… <\/span>alive. This one…” he gestures wildly.<\/span><\/div>\n
“She was the first, created by my late husband,” Madame says, walking over to my couch. <\/span>She brushes her nails over my shoulder and continues, “The others came later, and I refined <\/span>the forms to make them more… approachable. Despite her form, the Succubus is the most <\/span>complex of all the automatons.”<\/span>
\n“How can that be? It looks like a statue!” He takes a step toward the couch and points at <\/span>me. “It\u00a0<\/span>is<\/span>\u00a0a statue!”<\/span>
\nMadame runs her fingers over my gleaming silver skull, “Oh, this is just the focal point, <\/span>Your Lordship. The Succubus encompasses this room.”<\/span>
\nHe looks around, his eyes wide, “The whole room?”<\/span>
\n“The whole of this floor, actually. As I said, she is very complex.” Madame makes her way <\/span>back to the wall and stands near the bell-rope. “Now, it is customary for the first appointment <\/span>to be with the Succubus. Did your brother not tell you this?”<\/span>
\nLord Hathaway shakes his head. “All Reg told me was that I would not believe what I <\/span>found here. He wouldn’t say more.” He swallows, looking nervously at the figure on the <\/span>couch, and then back at Madame, “Is it safe?”<\/span>
\nMadame laughs, “My dear sir, you’ll be as safe here as in your own mother’s arms, if that <\/span>is your desire.”<\/span>
\nHe looks at her sharply, “What does that mean?”<\/span>
\nMadame just smiles, “You’ve seen what we offer. Surely it’s no surprise to you that there <\/span>are some who prefer an element of risk. Don’t you agree?”<\/span>
\nHe does, although I doubt that any would see it but me. His breathing quickens, ever so <\/span>slightly. The flush in his cheeks heightens, just a touch. He looks at me again, studying me, <\/span>silent. After a long moment, he turns back to Madame, “What do I have to do?”<\/span>
\nShe draws from the reticule that hangs from her wrist one of the shining silver collars, <\/span><\/div>\n
the black lock dangling from the end. She smiles at my soon-to-be paramour, “Take off your <\/span>clothes.”<\/span>
\n****<\/span>
\nHe balks, of course. They always do. Disrobe in front of a woman? Unthinkable! Even <\/span>though the woman is the proprietress of the most exclusive brothel in London, they simply <\/span>can’t. I think that Madame enjoys their discomfort, and that is why she does it. Eventually, she <\/span>tires of his protests and rings for one of the silent servants. <\/span>
\n“Lay your clothing there,” Madame says, and points to a chair near the door. “The servant <\/span>will guard the door and make certain that you are undisturbed. And I will have a room made <\/span>up for you.”<\/span>
\nNigel looks startled, “Will that be necessary?”<\/span>
\nMadame smiles, “The Succubus likes to take her time.” Then she leaves, and the door <\/span>closes behind her with a soft thump. Nigel stares at the door for a moment, then starts to <\/span>unbutton his waistcoat, turning away from me in what must have been an automatic gesture. <\/span>He has already removed his tie and unbuttoned his high collar so that Madame could lock the <\/span>collar around his throat. <\/span>
\nA voice is nothing but air through valves. I can have any voice I choose. This time, I <\/span>choose a girl’s voice, light and gentle. “I can still see you,” I say softly. “You needn’t try to hide. <\/span>I like to watch.”<\/span>
\nHe spins, startled, looking for the owner of the voice, “Who… Who said that?”<\/span>
\nI answer, “I am the Succubus. And my eyes are throughout this room. So you need not try <\/span>to hide from me.”<\/span>
\n“You speak?” He starts edging towards the door.<\/span>
\n“I do a great many things. Isn’t that why you’re here?” I pause, and he stops moving. <\/span><\/div>\n
Good. Time to begin. “Do you enjoy being frightened, Nigel?”<\/span>
\n“No!” he says quickly. “How did you know my name?”<\/span>
\n“I know many things about you, Nigel,” I keep my voice soft and low. “I know you seek <\/span>an escape from the madness that your life has become since your brother died and you <\/span>assumed his title. I know that you wish for a return to the carefree days of being the younger <\/span>son. Your life has become structured, regimented. You want excitement.” In actuality, I know <\/span>none of these things. I do know that he is the younger son, much younger than his brother. <\/span>Younger sons are allowed some leeway in their dealings, and it is all overlooked since they <\/span>will not bear the title. And… he is here. If he was looking for a mistress, he would be at the <\/span>opera, or the theater. If he desired a simple coupling, a push-in-the-dark-here’s-a-farthing-<\/span>never-see-the-girl-again, he would be in Whitechapel. He wants neither of these. He wants <\/span>some excitement, but something that carries no risk of scandal. I can tell now that he needs <\/span>something more than a simple tryst.<\/span>
\nThe chair hits him right behind the knees, and he sits down hard, the breath exploding <\/span>out of him. I have him in a trice, bindings snapping closed around his legs, waist, and chest. <\/span>Cables catch his wrists and pull them into position for the bindings that fix his arms to the <\/span>chair. He is mine.<\/span>
\nHe struggles for a moment, opens his mouth to protest, and his breath catches when he <\/span>sees the mechanical arm rising from the floor between his feet. The knife blade at the end <\/span>shines in the harsh lights, the edge glittering as I move it this way and that.<\/span>
\n“It is very sharp, I assure you,” I say. “Do not struggle.” <\/span>
\n“What are you doing?” he whispers, looking like a bird facing a snake, his glassy eyes <\/span>never leaving the blade.<\/span>
\nI don’t answer, lowering the knife back towards the floor. I wait a moment, letting his <\/span>breathing quicken, then slip the blade into the leg of his trousers, brushing against his skin <\/span>before I begin cutting. His fine trousers part easily as I work my way slowly up the seam, <\/span>tracing the blade lightly over the inside of his thighs as my blade travels up each leg. He <\/span><\/div>\n

moans, closing his eyes and trying oh-so-valiantly not to move or even to breathe as the blade <\/span>lays his skin bare. His arms are ticklish, and he yelps as I cut away his fine silk shirt and trace <\/span>the blue veins under his skin. When I am done, his skin is shining with sweat, his breathing <\/span>quick and shallow. His cock, freed at last from its linen and wool prison, stands proudly like a <\/span>soldier at attention.<\/span>
\nI pitch my voice so that it seems to come from behind him, and add a puff of air so it <\/span>seems to Nigel that I am whispering in his ear, “I see that you appreciate my handiwork.”<\/span>
\nMy dear Nigel’s only answer is a whimper; his eyelids flutter open, then he gasps in <\/span>surprise to see the knife a scant inch from his nose. He swallows and struggles to control his <\/span>need to pull away as I stroke his cheek with the knife, then move lower, tracing the pulsing <\/span>vein in his throat. I prick his collarbone lightly, not even enough to raise a welt, then gently <\/span>brush the blade over one of his erect nipples.<\/span>
\nThat is all it takes. Nigel wails like a girl, thrashing in his bonds while his seed splatters <\/span>over his chest and legs and onto the floor. Then he goes limp, his eyes close, and his head lolls <\/span>back as his chest heaves. I pull the knife arm back into the floor and consider my next move. I <\/span>hadn’t expected him to spend quite that quickly. As Madame said, I like to take my time.<\/span><\/p>\n

To read more, download the book today!<\/em><\/p>\n

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ebook $5.99 Words: 41,800 ISBN: 9781885865809 [wp_eStore_add_to_cart id=104]   Also available from: Smashwords, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and more. Seven stories of erotic steampunk, exploring worlds of clockwork people and their relationship to their creators. If a mad, or not-so-mad, scientist of the steam age, were to create his or her own being, what … Continue reading Like Clockwork<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":871,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1762","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1762","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1762"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1762\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4269,"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1762\/revisions\/4269"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/871"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/circlet.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1762"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}