Poor, sweet Elias doesn't have his own blog, but wanted to participate in the tour. I told him I'd be more than happy to host his post, so to speak. I love his story, "Infernal Machine" and I'm sure you will too. (Of course, I love all the stories in Carnal Machines, after all, I hand-picked each one!)
But here he is. Welcome Elias!
Hi, all. I'm Elias, and I wrote Infernal Machine. I'm a former English teacher, and I live in Central Florida with my other half, our son, and a cat.
At least, that's what it says here.
Really, everything about that is true... except for the name. Well, I suppose the name is true, too. It's just not the one I usually go by. Yep. Elias A. St. James is a pen name. You all are clever people, if you dig, you'll find who I really am. If you care, that is. I can't imagine why you would. But I'm lousy at keeping secrets, so the information is out there.
I had a lot of fun writing Infernal Machine, because it is one of the few stories I've written that involved a visual aid. This one, in fact.
Aren't they gorgeous? 300-year-old dildos. Come on, how could I see something like this and not immediately turn around and write something about Victorian cocks? (And before anyone snarks, yes, I know 18th century isn't Victorian. Really, I do know that. I'm a research geek, and I've been doing a lot of reading on Victorian England and the British colonies. Right now I'm reading Pleasure Bound, by Deborah Lutz. Hot stuff!)
(My big question is... does the new owner actually use them? Or are they just on display? Come on, inquiring dirty minds was to know!)
So, shall we see the lovely cocks in action? Here they are in their guest-appearance in Infernal Machine:
It was a strange affectation of mine, and one that Sasha often teased me about, but I disliked masturbating on our bed. It somehow felt dishonest. I stripped off my trousers and poured some oil into my hand, slowly smoothing it over my still-hard cock. Prepared, I sat down on the chair, finding the ugly thing oddly comfortable. I wrapped my hand around my cock and closed my eyes, thinking about Sasha, the smell of his skin, the feel of his hands on me, his cock against mine. The way he loved to tease me until I couldn't stand or speak. The way his mouth felt on my mouth, on my cock... I moaned softly and leaned back a little in the chair, my back pressing against the cool metal. Without warning, the back shifted. The seat sank, just enough to notice. I heard something click, and gears began to turn.
I had done my work well. Before I could gather my thoughts, the mechanism was working, and the ornate scroll-work snapped to life like a trap, pinning my arms to my sides, catching both of my legs, caging my head so that I couldn't turn. I struggled, unable to move at all as the gears kept on turning. The panel that I'd been so desperate to get into earlier opened, the sides rising and taking my legs with them, spreading them wide until it felt like my hips were going to snap. By the time the movement stopped, the chair had tipped back so I was helplessly reclined. I tested my bonds and cursed -- I was stuck, and likely to stay that way until Sasha returned and could figure out how to release me. Then I heard another click, and the gears began to turn once more. That was when I saw movement; a pair of metal arms appeared, one rising from between my legs, the other dropping from over my head, and I caught my breath in wonder as I saw what embellished the end of each arm.
The Artificer in me saw first that they were beautifully-made wooden cocks on the arms with the finest articulation that I had ever seen. That voice was quickly silenced when one of the cocks stopped at a level with my hips, and the other lowered itself towards the cage that imprisoned my head. A cage, I suddenly noticed, that had an opening over the mouth that was just large enough to admit the wooden intruder now approaching.
Like it? Go read the rest!
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