Like a Wisp of Steam by Thomas S. Roche Page A

wanted.
    He pulled me to my feet and pushed me over the table again, roughly this time. The doctor was behaving like an animal; in fact, so was I. I swept several test tubes out of the way as he pushed me down, and heard them shatter loudly against the floor, but I cared for nothing. Each of us was purely focused on satisfying his own needs.
    He was already slick from the touch of my tongue. Without pretext, Dr. Aubrey gripped me by the hips and forced his way inside of me. He was rough and desperate, but I did not struggle. In fact, I froze instantly as I felt him enter me. I felt held there, like a butterfly pinned inside a specimen box. I had no choice but to accept what was happening. Every muscle in my body relaxed as he thrust slowly into me again.
    The doctor reached around to grab me, his wide palm working me in time with his own thrusts. He began to use me then, pushing harder and faster, and I loved the sensation.
    Finally, I was able to give myself up to him. I melted against the table as he drove deeper. The squeezing and pulling of his hand was coaxing me into a frenzy. I could not contain myself much longer. As I heard the unsteady gasps of his warm breath, I realized neither could he.
    He pushed into me one final time, to the hilt, and I came hard. I bucked forward, trembling and covered with a sheen of sweat. Warm white liquid spilled from me and drizzled over his fingers. Dr. Aubrey thrust twice more, pumping his last deep into me, and then relaxed as we nuzzled together, caught up in the final throes of our pleasure. We could not be certain of what would happen next, but in this moment we were content. I wondered silently if we would ever be able to repeat this experiment.
    I no longer knew if I could contain these urges. I no longer knew myself. My thoughts were something powerful and unstable, like the fulminate we had discovered. Because in the flask such things are safe, but release them and you risk a reaction that cannot be undone.

Steam and Iron, Musk and Flesh
    Kaysee Renee Robichaud
    There was nothing more romantic than floating half a mile over the rooftops of a steam-belching, budding metropolis like Fort Detroit, under the brilliant white illumination of a nearly full moon. The skyship drifted on the currents, its three enormous balloons glowing like holiday ornaments with the emerald discharge of the sizeable boiler engine. Sure, the cauldron's brackish fluids were spilling over the skyship's filigreed railing, and the primary emergency whistle wailed the soft beginnings of a soon-to-be-shrill warning, but Trista Pirrup paid little mind because lovely Cecilia's full lips were gently pressuring that sweet place where shoulder meets neck.
    "Oh, CeeCee..."
    Her lips and tongue moved up along the carotid artery, tickling and teasing and sending shivers of delight through Trista's nerves. Such sweet sensations ... As they moved through her, Trista felt a sudden guilt at the realization that she should be reciprocating in some fashion. She should be ...
    What exactly?
    Her brain was overloading with emotional cues; her limbs felt awkward and overlarge. Trista allowed her hands, bound up in tightly sewn lambskin gloves, to caress Cecilia's back in heated circles, drawing what she hoped were curves of passionate fire through the girl's dress. The act felt foolish only one second after she had begun.
    Beautiful Cecilia's hair was golden and wavy, her button nose slightly raised and her eyes a deep blue. Her face was narrow as a fawn's, making her wide eyes enormous. Her bosom was small, tightly bound beneath the hard buttons and soft fabric of her cream-colored dress. Beneath the hem of her ankle-length overskirt and crinoline underskirt, her long legs and tiny feet were bound up in stockings and tight boots.
    She practically defined "dainty" and this only made her somehow more gorgeous.
    Were she not being kissed in the place that raised the heat of every breath, Trista would certainly feel (as she