1 comments/ 4243 views/ 6 favorites Strangers on a Steampunk Train By: kimchi90 Hey there! I usually write silly things, or purely fantasy things, so here is my first attempt at sexy. Based loosely on a real encounter, sans monsters ;) ***** The train slowed to a halt, sparks spitting into the smoky air. Metal groans and clinks against metal. The passengers of the sparse car bumped up and down in the dim light. Ding. Emeline pressed the pleats of her deep purple dress obsessively. Her green eyes wandered curiously around the car, taking in the faces of her fellow passengers. Two elderly individuals, one in an old-time blazer, the other reeking of musty rose. "Westkreuz," the friendly voice chirped over the speaker, cuing the stragglers to stand. She pulled a small bronze pocketwatch from the insides of her billowing shirt. 3:39. She sighed, stretching her neck, an unladylike pop of bone echoing off the muffled, tapestried walls. Steam filled the outside world as the train again lurched forward. She returned the watch. She rolled up her shirtsleeves just past the elbow, revealing a fresh streak of scars around her dominant arm. The velvety red of the tarnished seats shimmered in the twitching gray light. Long blond curls pressed against her thighs as she leaned forward, placing her chin in her hands. Even in the black of night, the vision of endless quarries and wasteland stretched for kilometers without sign of movement. The gilded corners of the next platform came into view through the darkness. Cement and golden trim were lit by a solitary lamp. Emeline rolled to her feet gingerly. She stood tall in her thick leather boots, but remained a head below the men moving across the platform. Approaching the door, she drew a square metal hook from the leather satchel clinging to her waist. Wrapping the steel around the handles of the train door, with one delicate twist of its heavy dial, the square shrank against the door handles, its inside exhaling mechanically. The next station came into vision: only a few late night workers, oblivious to the world around them, brains likely numbed by lack of oxygen in the mines or, worse, the heavy drugs of the subsurface labor force. All the simpletons who had no idea what was happening in Car #4 of the Westbound train on a weekly, now, almost nightly, basis. Again, the train ground to a halt. She took her seat and turned her back toward the mine worker pulled at the train door, fruitlessly: it wouldn't open. "Grunewald," the voice indicated and the worker dashed to the next car. Emeline reached again for the pocket watch. Click. Her stern green eyes searched wildly. The handle to the next car was turning. The door opened, letting in a freezing wind and the shriek of metal wheels. The same downcast young man bounded across the open piping and slipped through the door. He took a seat in the corner. A paper thin red shirt clung to his muscular arms. Classless, dirty brown trousers haphazardly tucked into worker boots betrayed his station. Soft blond hair tressed down from beneath a sooty cap over a heavy brow. He sighed. "Sir," Emeline blurted out, but his eyes were glued to the ground. Sweaty exhaustion painted on in the dirt-matted skin. "Sir," she cried, "you need to get out of-" She reached out to grab him, but his head quickly tilted up and his blue eyes locked on to hers. She could feel his gaze taking in her face, nose, mouth. He stared through her, either out of exhaustion or unstoppable strength. Her lips quivered, whichever it was, the man was a solid rock. His deep eyes were unreadable. The snapping sound of electrical currents filled the air and Emeline whirled around to watch as a massive blackness consumed the rear of the car. A whirling hole ripped through space, and disappeared in a flash. The form of a dark-shelled giant spider, legs sheathed in metal, it's ugly head marked with shimmering round eyes stood where the abyss had formed and dissipated. The creature shake its massive head, scanning the cart. Red eyes fell on her. In her periphery, she saw the unlucky passenger sitting motionless, lost in the vision of the creature across the car. "Sir, you need to exit the car," she demanded, clutching the dagger closer to her thigh. "Sir-" he lept up and pushed her backward, catapulting her against the seats. Her pale legs flew above her head as she smacked against the wall. The beast let out a ground-shaking growl as something shot through the air beyond her head. The world swirled back into place as she came to her feet, and the mineworker had engaged the spider. The spindly legs lashed. The man swung back, grunting as his wrench clanked against the beast. "Please get out of here-" Emeline reached for the man, her other hand rushing toward the weapon concealed in her stocking. The train jostled; her feet stumbled. He clutched her arm silently and whirled her helplessly behind him. "HEY!" She snapped, angrily. A blade-like leg thrust past the man's head. Emeline's head moved effortlessly aside as she pushed the man. "Be careful. You have no idea what you're doing. Just let me-" "Step back!" he commanded. Again, she pushed him aside, a silvery knife in hand aimed at the spider's bulbous, hairy body. Her arm moved in for the kill, avoiding the man's gaze, hoping to finish the job before he chastised her further. As she drew closer, the spider's fangs, long needles of white and grey, reached for the man's arm just as Emeline's dagger found its way through the beast's gut. It let out a hiss as black spit onto Emeline's purple gown. The creature ripped its head back, dagger stuck through its flesh. It's head and fangs turned to Emeline, who stood empty handed, trapped between the man and the wall to her back. The black throat of the beast came closer, and the man drew his foot high into the air above the spider, and came down with his heel, squashing its brains across the velvet floor. Emeline exhaled. Without warning, she was pinned against the wall, toes hovering above the ground as the man stared through her, as if trying to deduce her story. "Aren't you charming" he said in a mixture of sarcasm and awe. She rolled her eyes. "Please. I have things to do." "Don't give me that. Who are you." She shook her head. The man's grip remained tight. She grasped him arm, hoping to throw him off. It was thick, pumping with bloody adrenaline. Her second hand followed, but she was unable to hold on to the trunk-like arms with her small fists. A stillness fell on them; neither was ready to give in. Her body began to writhe, slowly at first, and then frantic with need to escape. Their eyes met, but he was unyielding. Her fist tightened and she threw a punch against his strong jaw. He cringed, and shook her in his hands. "Don't do that again." "Put me down," she demanded, and hit him once more, legs kicking. He slammed her against the wall purposefully. He were struggling, but not with fear. His blue eyes were foggy as his breath became shallow, stuck in his throat like an angry tremor. "If you do that again we are going to have a problem," he said through clenched teeth. His eyes flickered down tentatively at her body before shooting back to her face. "I've already won, so just answer me." As he watched her face, her hand slowly trailed down to her purse. He shook his head and grabbed the tiny wrist in his fist, keeping her pinned within the span of his left hand. An angry fervor pulsed through her veins. "Is this how you treat people who save you?" She asked. He responded mechanically. "Your clothes say you are a local, but your weapon tells me otherwise. You're from the Other City." "Me? God, no." In a blink, she whipped her left leg up and kicked him square in the gut, sending him tumbling back. He brushed the dirt from his shirt and smiled: "your form is terrible." She tossed the curls from her face, but they continued to tumble and obstruct her vision. The cool air mixed with the sweat on her legs, sending a chill up her legs and spine. Goosebumps prickled on her skin. She could feel her nipples hardening against the white fabric of her thin gown. She willed them to stop as his eyes finally traced down her face in the tense stillness. Her eyes turned away and her face flushed with embarrassment. "What the fuck are you staring at?" She snapped. "Who the fuck are you?" He said softly. "Who the fuck are you?" His stern lips curled into a smile. "Your legs are shaking. Tired? No, you're just easy to read. I think you can trust me enough to let me come a little closer, or, rather, you're going to let me come a little closer." The man stepped forward. She stepped back, body rigid. "Why would I do that?" He gave her no answer, and only pushed her fist aside, grabbing her wrist once more. She watched how his grip once more consumed, in awe at his size and strength. She grimaced in mock rebuff. In his other hand, he snatched her face and pulled it toward his. His lips took hers in a breath, stealing her air, biting her furiously. Her lips followed instinctively, soft against his aggressive control. He led her to open her mouth. In a moment of clarity, she smashed a fist against his chest, half-heartedly. He whispered: "You're not a spy. You're not a soldier. You're not a local." He could feel her soft skin against his arm and the quick pulse in her wrist. His head touched hers, but her eyes remained shut. His other hand grasped her waist, steadying her, and she let out a sharp gasp. Her muscles relaxed as she melted against his barrel chest. His fingers scratched at her waist, painfully. Her hips tilted back in physical response, rubbing herself against his groin. He held her there, his breath snarling viciously in her ears. The light from the platform crept into the car. They were close. "Tell me." His grip tightened and she let out a painful cry, writhing against his hard body. On her neck, he planted his lips firmly and aggressively. Her head against his chest with a gasping sigh as she closed her eyes. He cradled her in his arms, clutching her with his full strength leaving her almost unable to breathe. His calloused, square fingers frantically reached down and ran across her thighs and pulled her leg over his hip, opening her up, vulnerable. His touch trailed back up inside of her legs, finding their way to the sensitive, warm space that made her whimper in his ear. She pulled back, words stuck in her throat. His Fingers clenched her buttocks, while the other hand slowly played with the fabric of her dress. With each rub, the fabric moved further out of his path until he could feel the wetness through her stocking. Emeline's head rolled weakly against the man's neck. He breathed in the scent of the lavender oil touched into her hair. Emeline's hips began to buck against her will, pressing his hand deeper, until the stocking were rubbing inside her folds. The train lurched. They were approaching the next stop. His free hand reached up and pulled her by the hair as he ripped past her undergarments and buried his tough fingers inside her violently, bringing her body under his control. She felt his fingers move in the tight space; there was no hiding the wetness he was slipping through, coaxing out of her against her will. Her nails dug into skin. His eyes focused on the contortions of her face, as he suspended her. Her hand groped for the leather pouch about her waist as she stared into the man's face, red, eyes foggy. "Well, princess," he whispered. "Not so tough-" she swung a metal baton against his head and he tumbled backward. Meeting her gaze, he smiled boyishly. "You little-" She threw a swing at his stomach and ended with another to the head. He crumbled to the ground and she searched through her purse for a needle. Finally, she pressed the point to his neck and looked down at him. "Feeling tough, now?" she grinned. "Name's Viktor," he panted, and recoiled with a yelp as she pierced the skin. "Night Viktor." Strangers on a Steampunk Train Ch. 02 And chapter 2, a little bit less face punching than chapter 1...Enjoy ;) The lights from the small dance floor flashed repeatedly in her eyes. Through the dusty white light, stood a tall, dark-skinned woman with long black hair. Her expensive deep violet dress reached to the floor, and the gold threads sparkled in each movement. Emeline knew her; they had met just once before. That was enough to make an impression on them both. Her unabashedly thick accent tossed the words of the harsh language around like playthings or streams of honey in Emeline's head. "Business is going well. Exactly as I told you before. We have had a number of wealthy new patrons." "That's great," Emeline said meekly, trying not to draw the attention of the patrons around her. "I didn't doubt you." The woman grinned back, square white teeth peeking out against her complexion. The soft ebony skin reached across high cheekbones and a powerful jaw, like artwork or old royalty. "And that is why I like you," the woman said sweetly. "Have you still not found anything worth your time?" They both knew the answer. She stared on, taking in Emeline's face: dainty lips under a pointed nose, curious, bright green eyes. Long blond curls framed her face. The woman laid a hand softly on her shoulder. "If you worked for me, I would be inclined to tell you to do less—of whatever you do." She ran a long finger down Emeline's bicep. "You have too much muscle to be a high class woman. But, I can't bring myself to find that off-putting." She took Emeline by the hand. "You are too skinny, though, do you eat? Apart from the beer I bought you, have you had anything today?" "I get by just fine. You know what it's like being, well, new in town." Emeline wouldn't say it, but she wanted desperately to go home--to her real home, unaccessible by train, or boat. Her project was dragging on for months now. Each day seemed to wear her down even more. The woman understood, and saw, all of this. They were the same: foreigners, female foreigners in a very strict, even scary, city. "When you get bored, you come find me." A thin girl dressed in white tapped the woman on her shoulder. "Miss Elaine, your special guest is on his way to the shop." Elaine nodded to the girl. "Well, Emeline, I must get going. We have a special shipment coming in." "At midnight?" she laughed. "Very special shipment," Elaine winked. "Sir," she snapped to the bartender. "A second beer for the lady here." Emeline tilted the mostly full beer glass upward, and drowned the drink in one go, setting it down as Elaine handed her the next. "And you're not drunk, yet?" Elaine laughed, tracing the lines of Emeline's face, coming to her chin. "I don't know how you do that. That beer is the size of you. You enjoy this one, and find me when you get bored. I don't care how you got to this town; it's refreshing to have someone to talk to." Elaine kissed her on the cheek and turned to follow her assistant. They moved through the door, and out of sight. Emeline's shoulders sunk, sighing. Her wired smile turned immediately to a desperate frown, as she breathed out all the fake happiness and feigned interest she had been bestowing on Elaine, the exotic owner of a wealthy perfumerie. The bartender locked eyes with her. "Is she your patron or something? I bet if you went home with her, she'd buy you more than just a beer." "Shut up," Emeline whispered passively. With each breath, her spirit and facade deflated. Exhausted tears were welling up, but she scanned the bar for anyone she might be able to chat up, to tease, to charm into buying her real food, something warm. "Eat something, would you," the bartender said, tossing a bowl of half eaten fried bits to her. "You're getting less pretty every day." Emeline wanted to snap, but the bartender was always friendly to her. He was the closest thing she had to friend. He would probably give her more food tomorrow and the day after. Back home, she slipped her legs through the opening of a velvety green dress. A dark color, standing out against the white of her chemise. She laced and tied the dress, alone, sitting on an old chair before a long, distorted mirror. She arrived alone and she did everyone alone. The room was rotting, decrepit, left to expire. A lonely hole in an abandoned building of the old factory district. The clothes were left piled in an old wooden trunk. Empty glass bottles and perfumes were left discarded by the mirror. Emeline was twenty-six and totally cut off from the world. She spoken occasionally with other girls her age, and enjoyed the small-talk. She always surprised them with her intelligence and wit, despite being so cute and small. Most assumed she was an immigrant. When she spoke, you could hear the lilt of someone with another mother tongue. She couldn't produce the guttural sounds of a native. Her words were perfectly chosen and arranged, but her accent left them sounding too soft and rounded. She charmed these random women in salons and bars, and many nearly convinced her to come work at a factory or a store, to study in the university, or, very often, to come meet someone's brother or cousin, who would certainly find her endearing. The moment the conversation became to probing, or the audience to big, she would disappear when their backs were turned. There was no way around it. They were all the same anyway--people were distractions or tools. Except, of course, the man she had met in the train. When all of the other faces faded away, she would remember his, with that smug grin, as though he was the best, and he could have whatever he wanted. His face made her angry. Her gaze was lost in the mirror. She had so many rude things to say to him. So many ways to torture and embarrass him. In her head, she replayed the events of their single encounter. Him holding her pinned against the door, except, this time, she delivers a fabulous line about his low class, and how he shouldn't be so cocky. She pulls him close seductively, teasing him, before bashing her knee into his stomach. She pins him. He continues to argue with her-- "You like it, don't you?" he goes on and on about how she likes it, and how he is going to dominate her. She readies her hand to punch him, stab him, prod him, shoot him, anything. Her stomach fills with warmth and she can feel the emptiness of her vagina, desperate and hungry, and the man in her visions snarls in her ear as he flips her onto her back. Face-to-face, he pins her hands above her head and plays with her. She tries to whine her body away him. He grabs her face, and tells her he will let her go, if she asks. She can't say the words, even in her own head. She wanted him to take her. She wanted him to find her. Emeline shook herself from her failed fantasy, an almost nauseous, hateful feeling taking over. The dirty mattress on the floor was covered in books, in many languages, sizes and styles. This was her life, inside and out and she was getting tired. This was the last day Emeline would worry herself with her mission. In the morning, she was going to move on, and find something to live for. She was ready to say goodbye to her life's work and make a life of her own. A life with real friends, work, and a man that isn't an asshole. In the darkness, she sauntered down the large cement stairs, her heels echoing in the emptiness. Stepping through aging aluminum doors she was in the streets of Berlitz. The bickering of three young men filled the smoky air. To her surprise, she felt excitement. This was the end of her wasted time. She would cast aside her past self and write a new character with a new, fabricated, history. No more daggers hidden in stockings, or satchels of mystery serums and weapons. She disappeared down the stairs to an underground station. A lamp flickered on the dark platform. Ornate letters spelled out "Oranienburger" in gold against the gray graffitied wall. Emeline's lips pursed as the train before her screeched to a stop. Warmth grew in the depths of her stomach and she willed herself to focus. It had been weeks since her close encounter with the miner in car #4. Once, she was certain he was present, hiding somewhere, watching her, but he never showed. She refused to give the satisfaction of thinking about it. The metal machine groaned as doors opened. Solemn, she depressed the button to Car #4—nothing. It was stuck. One, two, three times she pressed it, but nothing happened. "Hauptbanhof," the radio voice muttered and Emeline sprinted for the next car, slipping through closing doors. The eyes of elderly and tired workers fell on her, concerned and confused by her panting. Slowly, they turned away and she immediately pulled on the connecting door, opening it, allowing a rush of cold outside air to sweep in. The passengers willfully ignored her rule-breaking, and she slipped through the icy external air, jumping over the empty space and into the next car. Her pale skin was rigid with cold and she hurried to shut the door. Her blood was pumping with adrenaline, and something came over her. The coldness of the metal door, an unforgettable scent in the air, and she could not forget the man that she let put his fingers inside of her. Her head knocked against the door. "Fuck," she whispered, "fucking calm down." There was too much work to do. "I like this dress better," a familiar voice said cooly and she whipped herself around. Lounging on the red velvet seats along the wall sat the same man, Viktor. Same dusty blond baby hair tucked under a sooty cap. Same red workers uniform. His face was marked by a short blond beard and, for the first time, Emeline really saw him in his entirety. He smiled an unbearably genuine grin in her direction, and her face went red. "I didn't—I don't care. What are you doing here?" She demanded. "Please, at least sit down. I'd like to talk." "You locked the doors?" She complained, walking closer. The man chuckled at her, either from amusement or frustration. He leaned onto his feet, took her hand and led her to sit beside him. Emeline would get her revenge but, first, she wanted to hear what the man had to say. A short conversation would reveal any good information, and then she would stab him. She sat under his outstretched arm, shoulder digging into his hard chest. He grinned as he analyzed her expression, bemused. She crossed her arms, face twitching with skepticism. "I was just looking at your face," he whispered, fingering her hair. "I think you're being paranoid. Something on your mind." Embarrassment filled her and she turned to escape. "Want to know how I got the car empty?" She did, obviously, but she couldn't say that. She wanted to listen to him, and to trust him, and that was more dangerous than the monster that would be popping up in the next fifteen minutes. Even worse, he, no doubt, knew all of this. "Hey, you stabbed me in the neck with a needle and I trust you." He said to the back of her head, and reached for her hair. He brushed the golden lock aside and whispered in her ear. "I told them I was going to propose to you." "What is your fucking problem?" He grabbed her by the wrist as she stood. "Take your pick, there are obviously a slew of them." He was leaning forward, head tilted up to her. His hands went down to her waist, holding on tightly. "You are so obviously not a spy, so what is it that is going on in this car? I've been trying to follow you, trying to see what is going on, but you are very tricky. I worked pretty hard to get you alone. You're basically trapped, now. A little creepy, I know." She exhaled weakly. That scent in the air wasn't from a memory, it was him. Her body felt tired and pliable, as though the atmosphere was a drug. It was suffocating. "Fuck, were you actually crying earlier? Don't disappoint me." Anger at being insulted, at feeling like an animal in a zoo, was building up inside of her. She turned, and he grabbed her again and pulled her close, hand brushing against her breast. "Purely an accident," he indicated, but continued to hold her there. "If you tell me to stop," his hand ran along her body quickly finding its way under her stockings, "I'll stop." She bucked, the air rushing from her lungs. Her buttocks lifted over his cock, and her vagina settled itself on him. Through his thick rough pants, the heat and blood pulsed, rubbing itself just inside of her. "No questions asked. Just tell me to stop." His arm clutched her tightly against his body as his fingers fought around the layers of fabric. He released her upper body entirely and she tumbled forward, hands landing on empty seats. She gasped as his finger came to her entrance. It lingered, running along the lips, pressing slowly inward.. "You can't just do this," she barked. He hesitated, finger slowly lifting away from her labia. He pulled back, and she felt the cold air on her back where his warm chest had been. She craned to see his tanned, dirty face. His eyes were glass and his lips spread apart behind his beard. His breathing slowed and he threw his head back for a moment, brushing a hand through his hair before continuing. He had clearly been having the same unstoppable visions as Emeline for the past month. "Should I stop?" His gaze fell back on her face, as he slipped one finger through her entrance, penetrating her. She wailed in surprise, legs squirming, pained by her inability to fight. His breath went out and his lips curled to a familiar snarl. She felt his free hand grope upward toward her breast, pulling it from under her dress, he teased the nipple, watching her face contort. "Do you want to stop?" A second finger entered her and began to slam in and out more quickly, brushed along her internal walls. He made small circles on her insides and Emeline's head fell onto her arms, laying weakly on the seats. Through shut eyelids, Emeline saw a light: the next station. Her head bolted up, and her body broke into a cold sweat: more passengers. Viktor released her. He pulled a small metal rod from his deep pockets and slammed it into the overhead lights. The car went dark instantly. The light from the upcoming station scattered across the floor. Viktor threw himself on top of her and they laid in silence as the would-be passengers tried to open the door and moved on to the next car. The train began to move once more. Viktor's lips came closer, eyes closed. With all of her strength, she pushed him backward and forced him to the ground, pinned. Finally, she had pinned him. "So, we have a few more stops to ourselves. Plenty of time for you to tell me who you are," he said calmly, as though they were anywhere else, in any other position. Emeline raised an eyebrow, lips twisting to a half-grin. "Did you know you're smiling right now?" "It's because I'm laughing at how stupid you are." She whispered, holding him by the wrists, hands over his head. "No, it's because you're enjoying this. You think you've got me beat. Oh, you're so strong." "Well, I could just stab you. I did it once. Basically." In a flash, he ripped his hands from her grip and she slapped against his chest. He sat up, clutching her hips, pulling them down closer to his cock. Before her hands push him away, he took them in one grip and yanked her close, whispering in her ear. "I think you're smiling because you know you can't beat me. It turns you on that I am better at this game than you." Again, his cock rubbed against her already wet vagina. Her legs twitched. Her eyes changed as she looked down at him. The game had changed, but it continued. "How are you so sure?" she whispered softly, as she rubbed herself against him. "That's cute. Just keep trying." His hand tilted her buttocks upward before spanking it softly, holding himself back. Her eyes snapped shut, jaw clenched, she needed him to do it again. "I could smell you before I even saw you," he said. She looked down at him--his red face by her breasts. He moved the fabric aside with one finger and took a nipple in his lips. She laid her hands on his shoulders, still straddling him on the cold floor, and watched his tongue draw circles around her pink nipples before releasing her. "I can smell you. Is that weird? I think it's science. What do you think?" He asked meekly, but she was silent. He held her close to his chest and set her on the floor, pushing her down with his lips. In the darkness, he placed her leg over his shoulder and slowly untied her boot, setting it carefully on the ground beside him, and then peeled away her hose, revealing soft, chilled, skin. Slowly, he returned the one foot to the ground and she placed her other foot on his shoulder, allowing him to disrobe her lower body, slowly, eyes locked, refusing to give in and look away. He grabbed her hips and pulled her in, legs over his shoulders. She heard a zip and her teeth clenched in fear. Her mind was second guessing itself. She had allowed herself to be fully compromised, and, if anything bad happened, it was her own fault. Emeline couldn't look away, and watched his face, expectantly, waiting for him to take his revenge on her body. His hands took her legs and pulled her close. The sudden warmth of his cock pressed against her vagina, and it brushed against her sensitive skin, edging closer. She had punched him, sedated him, insulted and teased him, and now she was under his thumb. Her body braced itself as he looked down at her vagina, studying her. Their eyes met once more and she knew fear was written across her face. A sudden energy shot through her, his finger trailing along her lips once more, spreading them apart, feeling the wetness. A hard fullness entered her; her head tilted back as her eyes clamped shut in response. With a gasp, her breathing elevated and her groans moved into a higher octave, weak. His dick pulled out and he began slowly thrusting inside of her, plunging further and easier, smoother with each movement. She had never had sex like this, his cock pressing hard inside her, filling her perfectly as though their parts were shaped in the same manner. His tender, cautious thrusts became faster, warm sensations constantly ebbing in Emeline's stomach. She saw his eyes trail down, and he watched, wholly mesmerized, as her breasts bounced up and down with each thrust. He was moving faster, hitting deep inside of her, and the warmth became constant. Her mouth released a weak scream of pleasure. He took her by the ankle and turned her onto her side, buttocks centimeters from his dick. One hand gripped her round ass. The soft flesh stood out against her muscular legs and smooth waist. Without a word, he slowly pushed inside of her once more, her pussy tight as her legs squeezed together. A small groan creaked out of her lips as her body shook. She wanted to speak, but the air was caught in her throat. She was heaving. Her small hand reached to his red shirt and tugged. Senses regained, he peeled the red shirt from his skin. Her hand fell onto his warm skin, his hard abs leading upward to a large, broad chest, marked by patches of hair. He gripped her buttocks once more, his other hand taking her hand. She watched his biceps flex as he clutched her tightly. Again, he thrust, quickly, rhythmically. He spanked her ass, as it quivered against his thrusts. Emeline's thoughts became undone as he continued to relentlessly ram inside her. She was trapped under his animal thrusts, until-- "I want you to cum," he held her close as he rolled to his back, allowing her to straddle him. Her breath returned as she found her insides settling around his cock. "God, I want you to cum." Emeline wanted to insult him, say she had won, but, more importantly, she wanted to do as he said. She began to move up and down his shaft, ass in the air, upper body still-- "You won't finish like that." He stared at her face. "Don't focus on me, I want to see you cum, and you want to do it." Timidly, she came forward, laying her soft, small breasts against his unyielding chest. Slowly, she took him in, feeling his cock fill every corner of herself. Grinding against him, she took him in deeper and he began to push against something very sensitive inside her. He gripped her buttocks and clutched her tighter, his dick rubbing harder against this deep space. Instantly, she felt herself coming closer to the edge. Her hands grabbed his hair. As he pulled her harder against his cock. Her breathing was shallow, moans in his ear becoming weaker. Her head crushed into his neck as her body released, wave after wave, her senses became fuzzy, her body weak. Her vagina was pulsating around his dick. As she breathed out, she settling against his chest. Strangers on a Steampunk Train Ch. 02 "Fuck--" he said into her ear, and his arms ripped her off of his dick. His face contorted in pain, and his body quaked under Emeline. She looked down to his dick and back to his face: he had cum. "Fuck, that was close." "Told you I was in charge," Emeline said triumphantly. "Shut up," he demanded, grabbing her by the neck and pulling her lips to his. She melted under him. Her hands cautiously came up to his face, before she could touch him, she stopped herself. "How many stops has it been?" She asked. In fact, they had no idea. He mumbled and came to his feet. Eyeing the cum strewn across his stomach he let out an audible, "blegh." He wiped it away with his red shirt, and pushed the dirty shirt half into his back pocket. "That's not unusual, at all," Emeline said sarcastically, eyeing the red-faced, shirtless man. "When does this monster show up? Where the fuck are we?" He demanded. Emeline pulled a pocketwatch from her purse. "Three minutes." "Good. A whole three minutes to talk. No escape this time." He sauntered closer, smiling the same obnoxious smile as earlier. Emeline stared back silently, eyebrow raised. His smile dissolved. The familiar woosh of air and turbulence filled Emeline's ears. Turning, she saw the purple hole ripping through the space of the train car and, in a flash, it disappeared in a blinding flash. This time there was no monster, no giant spider; rather, it was a human figure. "Oh my god," she whispered. "Who are you?!" The tall, thin man, dressed in black, brandished a gun from a holster at his side. He pointed the gun at Emeline. Viktor yanked her aside as a bullet shot through the air and laid her on the seats. He pulled a gun from his own pocket, and fired a shot back at the man dressed in black. The man frowned, and stepped back through another whirl of light. Viktor starred on into the empty train car, lost, before turning back to Emeline, who lay bleeding on the red velvet chair. Strangers on a Steampunk Train Ch. 03 No sex between our primary lovers in this chapter, but there is some sexy...I'll keep a secret. It's still sexy ;) Enjoy ***** Chapter 3: Demons in the Bed I opened my eyes to find a solid white ceiling staring back at me. No graffiti. No blood or mysterious holes. A solid white ceiling. It was warm. I was in a small bed, with standard-issue red sheets. Soft. It was familiar, even the air seemed familiar. I breathed in and turned my head. I certainly wasn't in my hovel of an apartment, and I wasn't back home. "Morning," a soft voice said. Viktor sauntered into the room, pulling his red uniform over his cut abs. The world felt fuzzy. My brain lulled back towards sleep, and then I saw it: the technapad, sitting plain as day on his tiny black metal bedside table. The black box with the wiry knobs and stylized keyboard. The little piece I had been hoping and praying for had finally turned up. I didn't even care how it showed up; though I was sure I was going to find out, soon enough. I lurched towards it—realizing only then that I had no shirt, no pants. I instinctively tried to cover my small breasts, but I could feel something pinching my skin: white bandages. "You are really lucky he just got your arm." My right forearm was wrapped heavily, and felt tense and spastic. Viktor looked down at me with his blue eyes, baby-blond hair still wet from the shower. He sat next to me, carefully, and leaned back. His eyes were cold and his voice was stern. "This time, you've got no needles, and there's no mysterious hole that's going to open up and eat me—so, tell me: who are you?" I had been asked the same question hundreds of times. Today, I was out of tricks. I was tired, and exhausted. I was too lazy to even make up a good lie. I opened my mouth but he waved his hand preemptively, "and don't you lie to me," he said harshly. With a sigh, he stood up. "Nevermind. Don't bother. Where are do you live now?" "In the factory district," I said, to his absolute disgust. He recoiled, and wanted to know how I made money, or could afford food. I told him about Elaine, the foreign woman who fed me with hopes of becoming my consort. I told him about the other men and women who were curious. His eyes only became fiery. His feet paced angrily in front of me. He took up the technapad and examined it closely. "It's like a computer," I said. "It contains a huge energy source, and, if I can get that back to my lab, I may be able to stop the monsters from showing up, once and for all." He didn't respond, and simply packed the pad into a leather bag. He had only one request: show him my lab. Wordless, and very tense, he helped me into my clothing. His hands seemed to recoil every time he touched my skin, and his eyes looked ferociously on edge, as though he would snap at any moment. Any hope I had of him curling up next to me like a pet went out the window. He seated me at a small table across from the bed. Before I could even get comfortable, he came back, a plate full of pancakes in hand. My stomach let out a huge growl the moment I saw them. I recognized the smell in the air, and shoveled them into my mouth before the plate even touched the table. Viktor sat down next to me with his own. I kept eating, completely unable to stop. There was no end. My stomach had become a pit. Viktor sat silent, arms crossed. The sound of pancakes slapping around my mouth filled the pregnant air. "Are you going to tell me who you are?" he said coldly. "Emeline." I smiled up at him, but he wasn't placated. "I'm a scientist from Berlitz." His jaw tightened. I could read his mind. "It's true. I'm from Berlitz. Just like you." I took another bite. "It's a surprise, isn't it?" I laughed. "I studied at the Royal University, and was a technician on a highly secretive and sensitive project, until, of course, I found myself in this mess." Viktor leaned forward. His eyes were stern. He avoided coming too close to me. "There is no Royal University in Berlitz." "Not in your Berlitz," I smiled. I stopped and looked up to his face. The coal miner was trying to restrain his emotions. He wanted to look calm, and I was enjoying hanging my knowledge over his head. If he chose to turn on me I'd be dead, but I had ceased to care. A reckless carelessness took over me. If I didn't know better, I'd say I wanted to be caught. I wanted to be finished. I wanted to return home, and, now that I had found the technapad, it was possible. However, this also meant my journey was just beginning. Coming home wouldn't mean the end of my tribulations. "What are you doing here," he whispered, almost angry. "I'm going to get fired, and probably thrown in with your lot, if what you're saying is true." My back straightened and my temper flared. "Well, it is true, so what are you going to do?" I said. He grumbled and rolled his eyes in disbelief. "You stalked me, remember?" I felt a little disappointed, even insulted. "Guess my pussy's not worth being thrown in jail. I'm sorry, obviously no one's pussy is worth going to jail for." He scraped a pancake onto my empty plate with a glower. "Shut up," he commanded. "Guess I only like you with your dress off." His eyes looked me up and down, and he leaned back. I couldn't read him. "How's your hand?" I flexed, and told him I couldn't really feel it. I wanted to remove the wrapping. He complied, still avoiding my eyes and my skin. With the cast off, there was only the discolored, grotesque wound. Slowly, I moved my fingers. He assured me he had used everything he could get to make it heal properly. Feeling the air on my palm, I was able to move it—slowly but surely. He led me to the door of his rickety working-class building and looked up and down the street cautiously. His large hand grabbed mine possessively, as though I would escape. We descended the wooden steps, and something shot through me. I felt warm. It was sunny. My stomach was full. I was either his friend of his prisoner. Either way, it came with a kitchen. A black car pulled into sight as we approached the street. The passenger door swung open. One tall, bald-headed man stepped out and my gut turned. His eyes were dead-set on Viktor, there was no doubt about it. I opened my mouth, but Viktor's fist was already raised. My hand went straight for the knife in my garter. A man's hand went covered my mouth and I screamed through his fat fingers. He hoisted me up and into the black car, all the while muffling my voice. Bone on bone rung in my ears. I pressed my nose to the window, and ripped at the locked door, but it wouldn't budge. Two more men had appeared from around the corner and were beating Viktor into the ground. Before I could try again for the knife, my hands were in tight metal cuffs. I winced under the pain. A sweet voice purred into my ear. "You are very secretive, Emeline." Whirling around, I saw the tall and elegant Elaine, dressed in a knee-length black silk dress. Her slender neck and shoulders were relaxed and smooth. Her perfect profile struck me like the painting of a goddess. Her hair was tied back tightly around her head. "I thought we were friends." She scooted nearer and moved in close, brushing my hair aside. "I have a number of questions," she whispered. "I'll save them for a more comfortable location." Her hand fell softly on my small leg, and I knew instantly I had been already drugged. The moment that man put his hand over my mouth, I had inhaled something. Elaine's long face melted into a mish-mash of color, and the sound of the car died out slowly. Again, I awoke laying down. This time, I was more prepared. I was tied down to a bed with leather straps. At least I was clothed this time. The bright white lights overhead shined in my eyes, but I could make out the laboratory-white walls, and the two-way mirror. I stared into it; she was there, no doubt. I couldn't see a thing, but I knew she was watching. I cursed under my breath. The door swung open and heels clanked on the hard ground. "Hello, again, princes," she said and, for the first time, I heard the evil resonating in her voice. "Now, before we start, I'm going to let you know the rules." Behind Elaine stood her assistant, vigorously taking notes. "I'm going to ask you some very straight-forward questions, and you are going to answer them." Hatred was building up in my throat. "You are going to answer them now, or later." I had too much work to do to be stuck here. I was already in the middle of a war, what was I supposed to do now? "Why do you care?" I spit back at her. "Is it because I wouldn't play into your little game? Is this revenge, or are you going to make a perfume out of me and sell me to rich princes?" Elaine slammed her hands on the side of the bed, shaking the earth beneath me. I could see the intensity rising off of her skin. She opened her big brown eyes and locked on to me. "I deal in secrets, my dear. I know how to make things disappear, or, in your case, appear." She straightened her back again, regaining composure. "I know you have something that is valuable to me." Her long fingers preened the shape of her dress around her waist. "Here is how today is going to go," she said calmly. "You have no idea what you're dealing with," I responded. "This information you want to peddle can kill or save thousands of people." She rolled her eyes. "Go fuck yourself," I spat. Elaine's face went wide with shock and she turned in a huff. Her assistant followed her briskly out of the room without another word. The moment they exited, a pair of scrub-covered doctors in face masks came into the room and immediately began checking me out. They pinched and poked me, and stuck needles in my skin. A hand twisted my leg to the left and right. Another moved my hair, and felt my forehead. They spoke to each other in a language I didn't understand. My focus and bravery was waning, but I knew it would. I could only last for so long here; I wasn't some brave hero. Still, I wasn't ready to sell my country's secrets. I clenched my jaw and stared at the ceiling. I just had to get through this. They would get tired, leave, and I would find an escape. In my periphery, I saw the doctor look to the two-way mirror and pause. My breath stopped in my chest when he nodded. I felt the pinch of a needle in my arm and an immediate burning sensation took over. It felt like fire running through my veins. It ran through my arm and into my chest. It was a pressure—the weight of being crushed invisibly. I held in my screams, but groaned, deeply, like a wounded animal. A second subtle pinch entered my other arm, and the pain grew. I clenched my eyes shut. Tears spilled out of the corners. I bit my lip and began to thrash. In my mind, I was replaying memories of home: my brothers, my lab, my work. It slowly subsided, and I felt wave after wave of relief as I regained consciousness. A third needle pierced my leg and the process repeated. I let out a loud cry and lurched forward, snapped back only by my leather bindings. My body contorted to the side, trying to escape or rub out the pain. Viktor's face came to my mind. It wasn't a memory. It was just his image. The way he would look at me if we were elsewhere. Pain shot through my head. My body was so tightly clenched, it had begun to fall apart. I'm not sure how long I sat in the bed under the eyes of the doctors, but it ended in a daze. I couldn't feel, and I could barely see. They untied me and left me locked in the room. It must have been a whole night before I opened my eyes again. Looking around, there was nothing. The room was empty, and perfectly pristine. I had to find a plan. I knew I couldn't stand a second round. There was no chance of it. I was a proud person, but I didn't have that much faith in myself. Finally, as I sat brooding, the door clicked open. The same clink of heels came in my direction. Elaine, in her black form-fitting dress with gold lining tight around her neck, marched my direction. Her black heels came into my line of sight. "What do you want?" I asked angrily. "How are we feeling today?" she asked, her brown eyes twinkling, like usual. "Are we ready to behave this time around, or do I need to call the doctors." I recoiled and craned to the two-way mirror. I asked if they were here; she assured me they were not. They would only come if she called them in. "We are completely alone. So, anything you may wish to share, you can do it, now. Face-to-face. No one has to know it was you. It's only between us." A grin spread across her regal jaw. I looked up, my eyes wide. My green dress was ripped to bits, and my hair was a curly golden trainwreck. "Oh, I love your eyes, but eyes don't do anything for me." Her finger trailed up my neck, lifting my chin up. Her large breasts seemed to be magnified by the cut of her dress. Her body curved perfectly from her neck to her large breasts, slim waist and thick thighs, down to two thin ankles tightly pressed together. I rolled to my knees and snatched her by the waist. She shook, but remained silent. My hands looked small against her tall body. I locked my eyes onto hers, and slowly traced my hands up her strong thighs to her black laced underwear. Her soft skin was warm, a smooth layer coating the muscle. Her eyes wanted to turn away, but she couldn't. I wasn't certain how much of this was planned and how much was natural. My insides were throbbing and my legs squeezed together against my will. I couldn't hold back; her gaze made me blissfully brave. There was no teasing, no games. I had to be inside of her. My fingers moved her panties aside and felt her warm, pulsing lips. I rubbed a finger slowly up their ridge. My sexual desire was waning. I didn't want to have sex with her; I didn't want her inside of me. I wanted to fuck her. Her gaze glossed over and she stared through me. Her head was still held high, as though she were a queen, but I was about to dominate. My finger traced up and down her lips, feeling them become wetter each time. I could smell her, and it was a scent I had never known before. She even smelled weak. I wanted to topple her. It was too fast; I could have taken it slower, but I pushed through her folds with my fingers and watched her head go back as she moaned loudly. I put my mouth onto her and sucked, her juices hanging to my lips. Her hand gripped the back of my head, pulling me in. I swung her leg over my shoulder and let her balance herself against me. She was burning up, but refused to buck or ride me. She was too proud for that. She expected me to take her for a ride. I gripped onto her large, muscular thighs and held her tight. I dug my nails into her thick skin. My tongue slipped up around her clit and darted deep inside. I went deeper and deeper, feeling her unravel. "You're a whore," she said defiantly. I looked up to spy a trace of distress peeking through her somber demeanor. I waited. I wanted her to remember those words, and know why I was making her scream. Calm, I took two fingers and traced back up to her clit, barely touching her skin. She shuttered and clenched my hair, half trying to pry me away from her. I watched her face change as I slipped a third finger into her tight ass hole, but she didn't fight. I rubbed her insides once, twice, and she let out a huge cry. Her vagina was tensing around my fingers. The wet pores were throbbing the more I rubbed. She moaned viciously and lean over, gripping my shoulder. Her body spasmed, desperate to cum. She was completely lost in riding me. I let her use me, ramming herself onto my hand with all of her strength. "If I'm a whore, shouldn't you be fucking me?" I asked, challenging her. A serious look returned to her lips and I could feel her tense. There was a fire in her eyes. I took her hand and pressed her fingers into her own vagina. Her body convulsed and sweat broke out on her forehead as she came. Suddenly, I threw her leg out from under her and watched her smack against the ground with a painful thud. I scurried up her body, clawing, and punched her as hard as I could—right in her beautiful face. Her perfect, luscious lip was bleeding faintly against her dark make-up. In a snap, she was unconscious and I searched her skewed pockets for keys. Outside my room was silence. There seemed to be no one in my wing, whatsoever. She was telling the truth; we were really alone. The walls were all the same laboratory-white, with no indication of what was inside. Each door had a number on it, a small bronze plate. I tried to count down: 12, 11, 10, 9, I turned the corner and found myself at 14. There was no logic. The skin of my feet slipped and stretched on the cold tiles. I was starting to jog; soon, I was running. There was no end. Had I been here already? Turn left. Turn left. Everything looked the same. My breathing was shallow, as though the air was disappearing. A familiar voice called my name quietly. "Emeline!" I spied a glass window on an ordinary white door. My heart jumped. "Emeline?" the voice repeated, a bit louder. There was no doubt. It was Viktor. I sprinted back and rolled onto my tip-toes to see into the room. Viktor ran, and met me at the door. He looked haggard, exhausted. "Thank god, you're alright. How did you get out?" He asked. I hurt. My head, my insides, everything hurt. There was a sob building in my throat. I assured him it wasn't important. My hand was throbbing. I was still clutching the metal keyring. Frantic, I tried to test each key, but my hand was shaking. Everything inside of me was panicking, screaming. My head kept me going; I couldn't stop, now. The third key fit in perfectly and turned. The door swung open. Viktor squeezed through the door and took me in his arms, crushing my body against his hard chest. He wrapped around my waist, and lifted my feet off the ground. "You don't look good, Emeline," he whispered in my ear. "We have to get out of here." He pulled back and stared down at me with his big, crystal blue eyes. "Come on," he demanded and pulled me behind him. He threaded through the halls, carefully and purposefully. "How do you know where we're going?" I whispered. "It's not so far," he said, eyes still forward. "I could hear people coming and going through the front door." We skidded to a stop in front of a large metal door. Viktor had his hand on the exit, ready to push to freedom. "But where are our things?" He paused. "Be one hundred percent honest with me," he said. "Do we need to get the gadget back? How important is it?" Fate ran through my head. I could foresee everything that would happen. If we escaped, I could say goodbye to my plans. I could forget about my old life, and my old exhausting duties, and do something new. If we went back, there would be danger. I wanted to leave it all behind. I wanted to give up my duties and not care about anyone but me. I wanted hot pancakes every morning and someone I could trust—no vipers, like Elaine. "We have to go back," I said coldly. "Without the technapad, I'll never be able to communicate with my home world, again. It's my only chance." He seemed unphased, as though everything I said was completely ordinary. He gripped my hand tighter. We returned back to the halls, traveling up and down, looking for a sign. And then the quiet patter of our feet was broken: heels. I grabbed Viktor and held him against the wall. I whispered that one of our captor's was mulling about the place. A siren pierced the air and the light cut out into a dull floodlight, coupled with flashing streams of red. The door we had just left behind slammed open, and an army of feet and shouts entered the room. It was then that I saw it: a door unlike the others—no number. We slipped closer and struggled with the keys. Viktor inspected the other doors down the hall, hoping for an indication of any kind. The door finally swung open: it was an office. An ordinary office. I went to the next, but the sound of feet were coming closer. Viktor called me down the hallway and told me come to him. I tried the last door. Just as we unlocked it, the face of a guard came into the periphery. A gunshot blasted, and we slammed the heavy metal door behind us. The fire of a gun sent my heart racing. I collapsed against the wall, eyes wide and frozen in terror. I was dry heaving; I was laying, bleeding in the train car. I was staring into the eyes of that suited man. I was cold. Viktor grabbed me my the arms, Strangers on a Steampunk Train Ch. 03 "it's okay. We're safe in here. Let's move away from the door." He cradled me and set me on a desk. More gun shots, and banging filled my head. I couldn't think straight. I could only remember the cold stare of the man in the train as he pointed his gun at me. "Emeline!" Viktor snapped. "Listen, I've got it, but now we have to get out. I've found these weapons," he tried to show me the confiscated weapons, but I pushed him aside. I grabbed the technapad, hungrily. "Emeline!" he yelled in my ears, but I could barely hear. "Turn on that computer," I commanded. He questioned me, but obeyed, nonetheless. I ripped open the drawers looking for cords, wires, anything to connect the two gadgets. "It's going to be locked," he barked, angrily. Bingo. In the bottom drawer, a connector wire. I hooked the computer to my technapad. Instantly, the computer screen turned black, a green cursor blinking. I configured the pad as fast I could. I was focusing better since it had gone quiet outside. As I plugged away, a massive thud hit the door. They were trying to ram it down. Viktor held a gun in his hand, but peeked over my shoulder. "Should I be worried?" he asked, earnestly. "Because I'm getting worried." Click. "No," I responded. A black swirl appeared in the air with the sound of electrical snapping. I grabbed Viktor's hand and jumped through, technapad in hand. Our feet landed on the solid ground of Oranienburger Station. A few heads turned, surprised to see us, but they tried to ignore our panting, smell, and guns—which Viktor quickly pocketed. I was no longer exhausted and afraid; I marched off the platform and into the street, Viktor in tow. "Are you going to tell me what just happened?" he whispered in the busy street. "I could," I responded. "I guess you probably have some interesting theories." I was taking him home. I was going to show him everything. I couldn't give up my plan, but I could stop pulling him around like an animal. His hand fell out of mine but I kept marching; he would follow. "Emeline," he snapped. I turned, ready to argue. His muscular hands grabbed my face and yanked me toward him. His lips landed on mine and he held me there, hungry. One hand trailed down to my lower back and held me against his quivering body. He was shaking. With an inhale, his body calmed and he pulled me in deeper. My body went slack in his arms and my hands landed slowly on his chest. I stayed on his lips, breathing life back in. I wasn't going to let go. I felt certain, I couldn't let go. I had become a part of the unwitting coal miner of Berlitz. Slowly and naturally, we fell away from each other. I felt his hand on my back slowly release. Self-conscious, I pulled my hands away from his chest. He heaved subtly under his red shirt and stared down at me, intensely. He seemed even more vulnerable than I felt. I turned. "We still have work to do." He walked close by my side up the stairs and into the street.