Steampunk
Date to be Published: June 7, 2024
Publisher: Changeling Press
Replete with all the trappings of an alternate world — airships, steam
powered aircraft, automatons, moon bases, and witches with psychic powers —
Cressida’s Agents is a steamy thrill-a-minute ride in a universe of
what could have been.
Cressida Troy, after being mesmerised into betraying humanity, is now the
wife of Mon Ilson, the alien leader, and is crowned Empress of Space. While
pretending to be the love of his long-life, Cressida is desperately seeking
a way to redeem herself, and somehow save human civilization from
destruction at his hands. Then her former fiancé, Jacob, is captured
and brought to the moon. Can she earn back his love, or has her seeming
betrayal hurt him too much?
Meanwhile on Earth, Marjorie, in the guise of brothel madam and casino
owner is acting as an agent of Mon Ilson. Her goal is to learn from him the
secret of immortality, and for now she must do his bidding. A violent
assassination attempt on her airship Fortuna brings her into the strong arms
of handsome Squadron Leader, Sir Christopher “Kit” Colby. Her
attempt to uncover the mastermind behind the plot leads them both into
deadly danger.
Excerpt
Bauble-like, the Earth shone down on ash-hued desolation, embarrassing the
barren scene with exuberant fecundity. Patches of white lace speckled the
deep blue of the oceans and brushed the rich ochre of North Africa. Above
was Europe and, if I squinted my eyes, I fancied I could see my island home,
the lush green of England.
My breast ached with a fervent yearning.
My husband, Mon Ilson, the self-anointed Emperor of Space, drew me closer
and kissed my neck. “It will all be ours, my love.”
“When?”
“In due time, my darling.” He pulled me to him, and I snuggled
against his muscular chest. “Do you miss it so?”
I thought a moment and shook my head. “Not when I am with
you.”
His lips brushed my earlobe. “We will return soon. I promise. Our
plans advance by the day. Once again you will walk upon the green grass and
feel fresh air upon your cheeks.”
I turned my head and returned his kiss, deepening it, allowing the stirring
in my quim to mask the confusion of my thoughts. As homesick as I was, did I
really want to go back? Could I conquer my guilt? I feared that with the
first step the grass beneath my feet would turn to cinders as dead as the
lunar dust.
Much had happened to me in the year since I’d left the world of my
birth. I was no longer the same woman, the naive and selfish Cressida Troy
who’d been fooled into betraying humanity. That silly girl had become
Nil Ilson, Empress of Space, wife to Mon Ilson, and co-leader of the
Lunarians. I was no longer responsible only for myself. Thousands now
depended upon me, be they hideous goblins, or those who’d
“adopted” human bodies.
In the deepest recesses of my mind, where I was safe from mental probing, I
knew that I’d been possessed, mesmerised into being a traitor to
humanity, deceiving my fiancé, Jacob McLeary, and then killing the
two greatest threats to Mon Ilson’s plans, Fleur and Horatio
Cumberland.
The problem was only the agent of my apparent treachery knew that. The
spirit of a murdered girl, Marjorie Gilbert. She had taken over my mind and
had deluded me into believing I loved Mon Ilson, and deceived him into
believing it too. She’d also tricked him into giving her advanced
knowledge of witchcraft. My anger at her was tempered by the realisation she
had not done this to me out of maliciousness, but so she could regain her
body which had been stolen by Mon Ilson’s goblins. Because she loved
me, Marjorie had confessed this, and passed on all the magical powers and
knowledge Mon Ilson had given her, including the ability to hide my deepest
thoughts.
That was the past. I had committed myself to saving humanity from
enslavement at my husband’s hands. How I would accomplish this I did
not know. I was impatient. Biding my time waiting for an opportunity to
present itself was both frustrating and dangerous. Not only could I be
discovered, but I ran the greater risk of letting my growing love for Mon
Ilson blind me to the chance if it arose, and then could I bring myself to
exploit it? That I had come to love him no longer surprised me. Over the
last year I’d learned his dreams, ruled alongside him, and shared his
bed. I’d seen firsthand what an extraordinary and charismatic man he
was, and in other circumstances I would have unreservedly given him my heart
and soul. However, those benign conditions did not exist. The reality was
Mon Ilson was a murderer.
A moan escaped my lips as Mon Ilson caressed a hardening nipple. We were
lying on a couch in the top deck of the royal barge, he behind me, with one
leg draped over my hip. In the crease of my posterior his cock
stirred.
I wiggled against him. “Make love to me,” I murmured.
“That was my intention.”
My husband deftly lifted the hem of my robe and pressed the swollen head of
his cock against my quim. He gently nudged apart the moist lips and
effortlessly slid inside. With a slight adjustment of his hips the tip of
his cock touched that especially sensitive flesh on the roof of my cunny.
Pure pleasure flooded my system.
Mon Ilson was over a thousand years old, and with countless sexual liaisons
behind him he had developed techniques that ensured a woman’s complete
satisfaction, and men too. He used sexual magic to bond his people to him
after he transferred their spirits from their goblin bodies into the vacant
husks of murdered humans, a process they termed Adoption.
When Marjorie had occupied my mind she would stimulate my senses from the
inside, maximising my pleasure, and bonding me even more tightly to Mon
Ilson’s influence, and made him even more convinced of his devotion to
me. He had been trapped in Marjorie’s web of deceit just as tightly as
I had. His hold over his people was not just through sexual magic, but the
promise of eternal life. Only he could give them that. Only he could
transfer their goblin souls into human bodies. That was why Marjorie stayed
his servant, hoping to learn the trick. Though she had possessed me, she
didn’t know how. That was the one secret Mon Ilson did not share with
her. Marjorie wanted so much to live, over and over again, that she would do
anything for him.
Now that she was gone from my mind, my physical reactions to his lovemaking
were under my control. To overcome my natural aversion to him — a murdering
megalomaniac goblin in a human body — I used magic to bury my repugnance,
project lustful thoughts, and intensify my physical reactions.
“Fuck me harder,” I encouraged him.
His technique, with my magic, quickly filled my body with the pulsating
energy that took me to the precipice of climax, a cliff edge from which I
gladly launched myself, and was lifted like a skyrocket to an explosive
culmination.
My response caused him to reach his own conclusion, and he filled me with
his copious essence. He wanted children, and my tardiness to provide the
gift was, from his perspective, the only negative aspect in our
relationship. Not that he put any pressure on me — he loved me too much,
but I’d felt his need. The reality was that any unnecessary delay
would need to be explained and defended. I knew of no reason to defer the
inevitable any longer. Though I had control of my fertility, when and by
whom I became pregnant, it was not something I expected to enjoy despite my
intention to use magic to remove the more onerous aspects that plague many
women. At most it would be awkward. Being with child might give me the
leverage I needed to control Mon Ilson’s ambitions and hopefully
mitigate the worst excesses of the invasion, if not avoid it
completely.
My husband’s kisses became more fervent, and he resumed his lusty
thrusts. He used his own magic to remain hard, and he fucked me to another
shattering climax. Another glut of his seed filled me to overflowing, and
those fireworks exploded in my head once more. We lay in each other’s
arms, his cock still rigid, while our ragged breathing slowly returned to
normal.
“My Lord,” Gloria said diffidently. While we recovered, she had
waited by the bed, head bowed, her hands clasped before her shaven quim.
Gloria had befriended me after I’d been first kidnapped. She was
blonde, with caramel eyes, and a deliciously curved mouth. Like all Lunarian
women who’d adopted a human body, Gloria was not only beautiful with a
spectacular bosom and narrow waist, but she was also obsessed with sex. I
gave her a smile, and she nodded acknowledgement. “Nil Ilson, I am so
sorry to interrupt. The humans have sent a vessel beyond the
atmosphere.”
Mon Ilson sat up. “Have they really?”
About the Author
Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development
consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by
night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is
concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags
of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.
Contact Links
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@changelingpress
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