At the moment, she wanted no one else -- #MFRWsteam #Steampunk #Erotica

Welcome to the MFRW Steam Hop – the place to be if you enjoy sensual and arousing fiction. Once a month, the erotic authors from the Marketing for Romance Writers community come out to play, to share their sexy visions with readers.

My excerpt today comes from my steampunk erotica novel The Pornographer’s Apprentice, Book 1 of my series The Toymakers Guild. (Book 2 will be out before the end of the year!) Here’s the blurb:

She wants to build sex toys... if they'll let her.

In prudish, patriarchal Victorian England, nineteen year old prodigy Gillian Smith finds a secret society dedicated to the erotic arts. She’ll need both her intellect and her physical charms to earn the permanent position she craves.

Inspired by a salacious catalogue found in her deceased uncle’s library, she applies for an apprenticeship with the Toymakers Guild. The Guild fabricates bespoke sexual artifacts for the private pleasure of select clients – an occupation for which Gillian, with her technical abilities and her lascivious temperament, is eminently suited.

The other apprentices, initially skeptical about a female engineer, become enthusiastic supporters once they’ve tested her erotic aptitude. The voluptuous Governing Director, and the dashing French journeyman likewise help expand her carnal repertoire. The final decision, however, rests with the reclusive Master Toymaker, who has been missing for nearly two years.

When an unscrupulous nobleman sets up a competing enterprise, he threatens not only the livelihood of the Guild’s members but their lives as well. Gillian hatches an audacious plan to entrap the villain, save the Guild, and leave the absent Master no choice but to grant her heart’s desire.

If you like steam punk erotica with a kinky feminist bent, you'll love The Pornographer's Apprentice.

 

And get the cold shower ready... here’s a truly searing excerpt!

Gillian remained where Rawlings had set her down, emotionally exhausted and utterly confused. She’d always been proud of her rationality and her practicality. Other young women might be changeable, flighty, swayed by impulse and sentiment, but she, Gillian Smith, was as steady and single-minded as any man. The afternoon’s events had thoroughly shattered her illusions about her own nature. Never would she have believed that she could threaten a man with castration, yet in the heat of rage, she’d not only made the threat but come perilously close to carrying it out.

Then there was her visceral reaction to Rawlings – a rough, common man who lacked even the rudiments of the social graces – the exact opposite of the elegant and cultured Sébastien. His powerful physicality affected her in new ways. The arousal his presence kindled had little resemblance to her playful lust for her fellow apprentices or her kinky yearning for the journeyman. There was no subtlety to this desire. He wanted her. She wanted him. There was nothing more to be said.

She knew she’d surrender the instant he returned. He’d walk into the stables and scatter her pretensions to the four winds.

Where was he, though? He’d been gone for a half hour, easily. Was the prisoner giving him trouble? Or had he been mocking her, bringing her to the edge then leaving her dangling? Was he watching now, chuckling at the way he’d duped the hungry little lass from the big house?

“Jill.”

His voice was so soft that if the horses had not been still, she would not have heard him. He must have entered from the carriage house. He stood in the shadows, untouched by the rays of the waning sun.

She bolted to her feet and ran into his burly arms, glorying in the strength she found there. Without the slightest hesitation, he ran his hands over her body in the most brazen and familiar way imaginable. He didn’t ask permission. He knew none was required. She offered him all of herself and he took it as his due.

In no time, it seemed, he’d peeled off her lab coat and tossed it away. He pawed her naked breasts and squeezed her buttocks with obvious delight. Every few minutes, he recaptured her mouth in one of his fierce, unsophisticated kisses. When he placed his hand on her head and pressed down, she knew what he wanted. Sinking to her knees in the dirty straw, she addressed herself to the buttons of his homespun trousers.

He wore no undergarments. No sooner had she undone his flies than his cock sprang out, thick and meaty as some country sausage. The veined trunk strained toward her, the slick ruddy knob stretching his foreskin taut. She breathed in the intoxicating, unwashed smell that emanated from the wiry tangles at the root. Saliva gathered in her mouth as she stared at the glorious, intimidating evidence of his lust.

She didn’t hesitate. Quite the contrary, she lunged forward, engulfing him, trying to accommodate his entire unbelievable length. In truth, she could not take in more than half, but his groan told her he was happy with that, at least for the moment. As he started to move, she struggled to open wider and accept more. For a while he acceded to her futile attempts. Then he wove his fingers into her hair and held her in place while he pushed into her throat, deeper and deeper with each penetration.

Gillian started to choke. Rawlings backed off, long enough for her to suck new air into her lungs, then resumed his relentless thrusting. He tasted strange, earthy and bitter. She didn’t mind, not in the least. All her senses combined to drive her into a state of feverish arousal. The rigid heat of his invading prick, the pressure of his fingers against her scalp, his rhythmic grunts as he ravaged her mouth, the straw pricking her shins, the warm stink of the horses, the faint hoot of a train in the distance – every sensation brought her closer to cataclysmic release.

Little by little, she adapted to his vigorous incursions. Finally, she managed to swallow him to the very root. He stilled. Her nose buried in his fragrant pubic fur, she sucked hard, eager to learn the flavour of his spend. His shaft jerked against her tongue, signalling his imminent crisis. Triumphant, she increased her suction. She wanted to worship his maleness, to drink every drop of his jism, to be nothing more than the receptacle for his lust.

Instead, he pulled out from her bruised lips and dragged her to her feet. “Nay, lass. This first time, I’ll spend in your cunny.” He twirled her around and draped her face down across a conveniently stored saddle. “Bend over.”

In fact, he didn’t need to say a word. Gillian understood what he wanted, as clearly as if she’d read his mind. She leaned forward, clutching the saddle horn for balance, spread her legs and pushed out her bum. He slid one fat finger into her quim to gauge her wetness and chuckled at her gasp of delight. “In faith, yer a randy wench.”

With one smooth, deliberate stroke, he sheathed himself in her channel. The incredible sense of fullness sent her spinning toward the edge. Backing off a bit, he rammed back in, deeper than before. The force of his thrusts drove her clit against the smooth leather of the saddle. She tumbled into the most powerful spend of her young life.

Pleasure seized her, shook her, tore her limb from limb. For long moments she drifted bodiless, wracked by sharp pangs of delight. When she fluttered back to herself, he was still fucking her with the same delirious power.

She’d never been taken like this before, standing and from behind. Rawlings had total control over her body. His cock angled into her, huge and hard, stretching every fold, stimulating every nerve. She tightened her inner muscles around his shaft, trying to tantalise him with the few tricks she’d learnt, but she couldn’t concentrate. Gripping her hips, he hammered her with a steady fury that testified to his enormous strength. All she could do was hang on and let him ride her.

There was no artifice to his fucking, no technique, nothing but raw, animal lust. Again and again, he buried his prick in her welcoming quim. She’d thought him close to spending when she’d had him in her mouth, but now it seemed he could continue indefinitely.

What if Amelia returned to find her like this? Bent over, spread wide, pinned by the rough cock of Randerley’s gardener? Loving every stroke, wanting nothing more than to be fucked into oblivion? Despite the woman’s salacious nature, Gillian suspected she’d be shocked. Ian, Archie, Sébastien, they were all gentlemen, fitting companions for erotic adventures. But shaggy, uncouth, unlettered Rawlings?

Yet at that moment Gillian wanted no one else.

 

Interested? You find another excerpt, plus full purchase information, on my website:

https://www.lisabetsarai.com/pornographersapprenticebook.html

I hope you’ll visit the other authors participating in today’s blog hop. You won’t be disappointed!

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