This erotic short story is meant for english language audiences.
If you want to read our Norwegian erotic short stories («erotiske noveller») you will find those here.
The Clockwork Kiss
The workshop smelled of coal dust and possibility, a cavernous space tucked beneath the gaslit streets of New Londinium. Gears whirred in the shadows, their teeth glinting under the flicker of brass lanterns, while steam hissed from copper pipes snaking along the walls. Evelyn Harrow stood at the heart of it all, her auburn hair swept into a loose bun, smudges of grease streaking her freckled cheeks. She was 34, a tinkerer of rare genius, her nimble hands as adept with a wrench as they were with the delicate filigree of her inventions. Her leather apron hugged a figure softened by years at the workbench, and her hazel eyes sparkled with a fervor that outshone the city’s smog-choked skies. Tonight, those eyes were fixed on her latest creation—a marvel of brass and steam she’d poured months into perfecting.
The mechanical lover stood seven feet tall, its frame a symphony of polished metal and articulated joints, steam vents hissing faintly at its shoulders. Its face was a mask of smooth brass, featureless save for two glowing amber lenses that hummed with artificial life. Evelyn had dubbed it “Aetherion,” a name whispered with pride as she adjusted its chest plate, her fingers dancing over the screws. It wasn’t just a machine—it was art, a companion born from her restless mind, designed to move, to touch, to feel in ways no automaton ever had. The workshop’s clutter—blueprints curling at the edges, tools strewn across tables—faded as she worked, her world narrowing to the hum of gears and the promise of what she’d unveil.
Across the room, perched on a stool with a notebook in his lap, sat Theo Finch, her apprentice of six months. He was 22, gangly and quiet, with a mop of sandy hair perpetually falling into his brown eyes. His waistcoat was patched, his fingers stained with ink from sketching Evelyn’s designs, and his voice—when he dared use it—carried a stammer that worsened under her gaze. Theo had come to her straight from the guild’s lower ranks, a shy lad with a knack for numbers and a reverence for her craft that bordered on awe. He’d never admit it, but he’d spent half his nights here dreaming of her—not the machines, but Evelyn herself, her sharp wit and the way her hands moved like a conductor’s over her creations.
“Fetch the oil can, Theo,” she called, not looking up, her voice crisp over the workshop’s din. He jolted, nearly dropping his pencil, and scrambled to comply, the can clinking as he set it beside her. She flashed him a grin—quick, warm—and nodded at Aetherion. “Tonight’s the night, lad. He’s ready. Want to see what he can do?”
Theo’s throat bobbed, his cheeks flushing as he nodded. “Y-yes, ma’am. I mean—Evelyn.” She’d insisted he drop the formalities weeks ago, but it still felt like stepping onto thin ice. She chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron, and beckoned him closer. “No ‘ma’am’ here. Just us and the brass. Come on, then.”
She threw a lever on the wall, and the workshop shuddered as steam surged through the pipes, Aetherion’s vents flaring with a soft hiss. The machine stirred, its limbs creaking into motion—arms flexing, fingers curling with a precision that made Theo’s breath catch. Evelyn circled it, her pride palpable, and tapped a panel on its chest, revealing a tangle of wires and pistons. “He’s not just for show,” she said, her tone conspiratorial. “He’s… responsive. Built to learn, to adapt. A lover, Theo, not a toy. Want to help me test him?”
Theo’s eyes widened, his stammer kicking in. “T-test? Me? I—I don’t—” She laughed, a sound like clinking glass, and clapped his shoulder. “Not like that, you goose. Just watch, assist. Unless…” She trailed off, her gaze lingering, a flicker of something softer in her eyes—curiosity, maybe, or invitation. He swallowed hard, nodding again, and she turned back to Aetherion, her fingers tracing its arm. “Good. Strap him up, then. The harness—over there.”
He fetched it—a contraption of leather and steel, studded with valves and a thick, rubberized shaft that made his face burn. Evelyn took it with a grin, securing it to Aetherion’s pelvis, the dildo gleaming under the lantern light. “Steam-powered,” she explained, her voice dropping to a murmur. “Variable speed, self-lubricating. My best work yet.” She adjusted a dial, and the shaft hummed, a faint plume of steam curling from its base. Theo stood frozen, notebook forgotten, as she stepped back, brushing his arm—deliberate this time, her touch lingering.
“Ready?” she asked, and he nodded, mute, his heart hammering louder than the workshop’s gears. She threw another switch, and Aetherion whirred fully awake, its amber eyes glowing brighter. Evelyn’s grin turned mischievous, her apron slipping slightly as she leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. “Let’s see if he’s as good as I think. And maybe…” She didn’t finish, but her hand brushed his, and the air thickened with steam and unspoken want. The machine loomed, a third player in a game Theo hadn’t known he’d joined, and Evelyn’s hazel eyes promised more than just a test run.
The workshop’s air thickened with steam, a warm haze curling around the brass fixtures and casting the room in a soft, golden blur. Aetherion stood poised, its steam-powered limbs gleaming under the lantern light, the harness strapped tight to its pelvis, the rubberized dildo humming with a low, insistent rhythm. Evelyn’s hazel eyes glinted with a mix of pride and something wilder as she stepped back from the machine, her leather apron smudged with oil, her auburn hair slipping free of its bun to frame her flushed face. Theo hovered beside her, his patched waistcoat clinging to his lanky frame, his breath shallow and uneven. The hum of gears and the hiss of vents filled the silence, but it was her presence—close, electric—that drowned out everything else.
She turned to him, her lips parting in a slow, deliberate smile, and closed the gap, her hands finding his shoulders. “Let’s see what he’s got,” she murmured, and before Theo could stammer a reply, she kissed him—soft at first, then harder, her lips tasting of copper and coal dust, a metallic tang that jolted his senses awake. Her tongue brushed his, warm and sure, and he melted into it, his hands fumbling to her waist, gripping the apron’s ties like a lifeline. The kiss lingered, steam curling around them, until she pulled back, breathless, her grin sharp. “Strap him in,” she said, nodding at Aetherion, her voice husky with command.
Theo’s hands shook as he approached the machine, its amber eyes glowing down at him, unblinking. Evelyn guided him, her fingers brushing his as she adjusted the harness’s leather straps, securing them around Aetherion’s thighs. She flipped a valve, and the dildo whirred faster, steam puffing from its base in rhythmic bursts. “Now me,” she said, shedding her apron with a flick, revealing a linen blouse and trousers that hugged her curves. She climbed onto a workbench, shoving aside blueprints and tools, and hiked her shirt up, baring her stomach and the swell of her breasts. Theo’s throat tightened as she unbuttoned her trousers, sliding them down just enough to expose her pussy—glistening, ready.
She beckoned Aetherion with a crooked finger, and the machine obeyed, its gears clanking as it stepped forward, positioning itself between her legs. Theo watched, rooted, as the steam-powered shaft aligned with her, its tip slick with self-lubricating oil. Evelyn threw a lever on its chest, and the dildo thrust forward, slow and deep, pumping into her with a mechanical precision that made her gasp. Her head tipped back, a low moan spilling out, and Theo’s cock twitched, straining against his trousers. “Don’t just stand there,” she rasped, her eyes locking on his, half-lidded and daring. “Join us.”
He fumbled with his belt, hands clumsy with want, and freed himself, his cock springing up, hard and aching. He wrapped a hand around it, jerking himself in time with Aetherion’s thrusts, the machine’s rhythm hypnotic—thrust, hiss, thrust, hiss. Evelyn’s moans grew louder, her hips rocking to meet each plunge, and she reached for a nozzle on Aetherion’s arm, twisting it. A jet of hot oil sprayed from its vents, splattering her chest, soaking through her blouse to coat her tits in a slick, glistening sheen. The scent of burnt metal and lavender filled the air, and she laughed—a wild, throaty sound—as the oil dripped down her skin.
“C’mere,” she panted, grabbing his shirt and pulling him close. Theo stumbled forward, his free hand bracing on the bench, and she guided his head to her chest. He licked the oil off her tits, the heat searing his tongue, a bitter-sweet mix of machinery and her skin. Her nipples hardened under his mouth, and she arched into him, the dildo still pumping below. “More,” she demanded, and he straightened, gripping her jaw as he shoved his cock past her lips. She took him deep, gagging softly, her throat tightening around him as oil streaked her chin. His hips bucked, fucking her mouth with a desperation he didn’t know he had, her muffled moans vibrating against him.
Aetherion whirred louder, its pistons accelerating, and Evelyn’s body tensed, her hands clawing at the bench. Theo felt her shudder, a ripple that shook them both, and she pulled off his cock with a wet gasp, her voice breaking. “Now—together—” He nodded, stroking himself faster, the sight of her—oil-slicked, panting, impaled by the machine—pushing him over the edge. He came hard, thick spurts landing on her belly, painting her skin in white streaks that mingled with the oil, dripping down to her thighs. Aetherion’s rhythm faltered, its vents flaring with a final burst of steam as it climaxed—mechanical, shuddering, a whine of gears signaling its peak beside her own.
Evelyn slumped back, chest heaving, her blouse a ruin of oil and sweat, and Theo sank to his knees, spent, his breath ragged. The machine stilled, its amber eyes dimming, steam curling lazily from its frame. She reached out, brushing a trembling hand through his hair, her grin soft now, almost tender. “Better than brass, eh?” she whispered, voice hoarse, and he managed a shaky laugh, nodding as the workshop’s hum settled around them.
The lanterns flickered, casting their tangled shadows across the walls, and the air hung heavy with steam and the echo of their gasps. Aetherion loomed silent, a witness to their unraveling, but it was Evelyn’s touch—human, warm—that lingered on Theo’s skin, a spark brighter than any gear or valve she’d ever forged.
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