Tag Archives: Steampunk

Cressida’s Agents Teaser Tuesday

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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.

 

Cressida's Agents tablet

 

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

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

 

Preorder Today

 

 

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Dolly’s Ruse Teaser Tuesday

Dolly's Ruse cover

Dolly's Ruse cover

(Sisters Three)

Steampunk, Murder Mystery, Romantic Suspense

Date Published: Oct 20, 2023

 

London is under attack!

At Allenby Hall the net tightens around Dolly Preston and her gentleman
friend, Pascal Baudelaire. Lies abound. Who can she trust?

The chaos in the heart of the empire requires Agent of the Queen, the
predatory Miss Clayton, to make an ultimatum. The snowstorm ends, and Molly,
caring for the wounded Mr. Allenby, is in for a shocking disappointment as
events reveal the truth behind the Lewellen murder.

While London burns, Polly risks her new relationship with the honourable
Tom Gold by revealing her extreme carnal desires. The three Preston sisters
deal with the threat to their family’s future in their own inimitable
styles, but will they succeed?

 

Dolly's Ruse tablet

EXCERPT

 

Copyright ©2023 Mikala Ash

 

I cleared a circle on the fogged glass and peered out at a vast sheet of
white: the snowbound grounds of Allenby Hall. Above the distant ice-shrouded
trees, the pale outline of the sun was visible through thin, leaden clouds.
It was a beautiful scene worthy of any Christmas postcard, but for all that
it was a cruel deceit. The picturesque vista cloaked a deadly reality, for a
fathom of snow entombed the landscape and smothered the helpless creatures
beneath. That was my melancholy state. I felt trapped, unable to extricate
myself from a suffocating fate.

Instead, I should have been happy, or at the very least satisfied. The
fornication, my stock in trade, had been as unrelenting as the snowfall.
Indeed, during the last week all my lusty holes had been filled countless
times over.

“At last,” I murmured. “It has finally
stopped.”

“Come back to bed,” Anthony Jamieson implored.
“It’s too bloody cold to be out. The fire in the hearth has
died, but not the furnace in my heart.” He chuckled at his saucy
wit.

“My heart is incandescent with desire,” added Mathew, not one
to be outdone by his twin brother. “My cock is harder than an oak and
is impatient for your attention. Lying in such a state next to my brother
is, however, unbecoming in a gentleman of my manly nature.”

Though my quim pulsed with lust, I ignored their bantering. The Jamieson
twins, impecunious younger sons, were customers of long standing. Having
found me at Mrs. Q’s bawdy house, they often and enthusiastically
indulged their love of sodomy, my particular speciality, whenever they were
in funds, and were as generous as they could be. They had even invited me to
move from Mrs. Q’s to rooms in the fashionable West End, where I would
be theirs exclusively, their own private whore. My objections had simply
been financial — they would not be able to afford both the rent and the
extra they gave me to pass onto my impoverished Mama and my two half-sisters
Holly and Lolly. My and my full sisters’ goal was to get them out of
the Whitechapel slum in which they lived, and away to the country. Then I
had a flash of inspiration, and suggested the twins invite a third gentlemen
into the scheme to defray the costs.

Anthony interrupted my recollections. “I’m afraid our rampant
displays of lust have scared away your Frenchman, Dolly.”

He referred to that third gentleman, Pascal Baudelaire. He had come into my
life on a search for my sister, Molly, because of her nascent relationship
with an engineer, Mr. Lewellen, who had been brutally murdered. Molly had
stumbled upon the poor man. The fiend James Polk, who had minutes before
found the dying man, watched from the shadows, and had mistakenly believed
Lewellen had told her something as she comforted him in his last moments.
That mistake had set off a tumultuous couple of weeks, replete with gruesome
murders, violent kidnappings, daring robberies, and shootings with a roiling
undercurrent of espionage. Hardly the usual fare of an East End whore or toy
manufacturer, which was Pascal’s family business. He too had shared
our adventure by being kidnapped and losing a finger to the maniac’s
knife.

Pascal also enjoyed the depths of my arse, and I had brought him to Allenby
Hall while I visited my sister who was recovering from that same ordeal. The
twins, friends of Mr. Allenby, had unexpectedly shown up just in time to be
caught by the snowstorm.

With the intention of making the twins’ plan a reality I introduced
Pascal to the joys of group copulation, and the idea of sharing the cost of
the rooms which the Jamiesons proposed. He had been cautious at first but
had soon given himself up to the novelty of enjoying my holes in the company
of others, a new experience for him. He quickly agreed to the proposal so
when he visited London, he could use me with the two Jamiesons, rather than
the untold hundreds who visited me at Mrs. Q’s. His contribution would
allow the twins to finance my plan of relocating Mama. All that planning,
unfortunately, would be for naught. It wouldn’t be possible because of
that bitch, Miss Clayton.

“Though the bed is large, I think Pascal was afraid of accidently
touching my impressive member,” Mathew added with a mischievous
chuckle. “He should realise that I have eyes only for you,
Dolly.”

“I rather think, after our latest debauch,” Anthony mused
drowsily. “He has retreated to his own room to recuperate before Dolly
once again roused him into action. He is an impressive stallion, I must
admit.”

That he was. I sighed, feeling his future departure most keenly. Not from
this bed, but from my life entirely. A surge of guilt rushed though me. I
hadn’t told the twins of the disaster that had befallen me and Pascal
— that he would be soon leaving England, never to return. They would have
to give up the idea, and I would lose any chance of escaping Mrs. Q and
saving Mama.

Our sojourn here in Molly’s employer’s country estate had not
been all fun and games, hugs and kisses and inevitable bedroom antics. Our
stay had been overshadowed by the consequences of the Lewellen murder in
London, and the unexpected appearance of two Agents of the Queen, the
catlike Miss Clayton and her equally predatory Miss Felicity Cressy.

They suspected Pascal of being a foreign agent attempting to steal military
secrets from Mr. Allenby’s factory. Miss Clayton had ordered me to spy
on him, a repellent task which I’d soon whispered to him under the
bedclothes. Despite the cost of ending my dream, I’d begged Pascal to
leave England as soon the snowstorms had relinquished their bitter hold. He
resented the need, having protested his innocence, but had agreed, albeit
reluctantly, that the more distance between him and Miss Clayton the
better.

Feet padded behind me as one of the twins grabbed me by the waist, lifted
my silk bathrobe, and with his feet and knees he pushed my legs apart so his
determined cock could find my semen-filled cunny. Our debauchery had caused
us to run out of Cumberland prophylactics, which meant yet another douche
with Mrs. Q’s secret potion.

He draped a blanket over both our shoulders to keep us warm while he fucked
me. Was it Anthony or Mathew? I couldn’t tell. They were truly
identical in every respect, even to the size of their manly organ. The only
way to tell Mathew from his brother was to insert my finger in his arsehole
while he fucked me. He didn’t enjoy it, while his brother did. Whoever
it was, his thrusts were urgent and powerful, and I soon rested my forehead
against the cold pane and lost myself to his plundering.

 

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.

Author on Facebook

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

 

Pre-Order Today

 

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Haelend’s Ballad Virtual Book Tour

Dark Fantasy/Steampunk

Date Published: November 30, 2021

 

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“Some call me Murderer, others call me Lord. I’ve been called Savior
and Enslaver. But no one has ever called me Child.”

 

A young man signs his own death warrant when he joins an already failing
militia. A teenage girl is haunted by her childhood abuse and begins to
crave the very things she hates. A childless mother finds herself on the run
as a convicted murderer. Yet they are all unaware that their own fates are
tied to a young orphan who has drowned and come back to life in a foreign
land where he will be the death of everyone he meets.

Hælend’s Ballad is a tale about what happens when men and women
from two colliding cultures realize they may not be on the right side.
Heroes are villains. The persecuted are oppressors. And when rumors begin to
spread that the world is dying, the darkness of their own hearts betrays
them.

 

 

EXCERPT 

Søren held his breath, keeping his eyes fixed forward. Another pail was handed to him, and he mindlessly passed it along. From the corner of his eye, a thick shapeless shadow emerged from the wall itself, swallowing the torchlight. No one else seemed to notice. Søren tried to look at it, but as soon as he did, it disappeared. 

Gazing at the far wall, it came back into his vision. Within the hovering shadow slowly walked a large creature, like a dark silhouette. The memory of the smell from the mine entrance—and from outside of Everwind—came back to him. It was the same monster he had met once before. An alphyn, Geoffrey had called it.

Its four legs stepped silently as its head and body lay low as if it was a great wolf stalking its prey. Prowling through the lines of men and women, light was continuously being drawn into the shadow’s form around it, like a smooth stream of flowing water. Once, a man turned as if he felt or saw the alphyn behind him, but he went back to work, paying no more attention.

The beast paused before several guards. Søren’s heart began to pound. He was continually tempted to look directly at it, but it always vanished within the shadow. Then he heard a scream. 

A woman dropped her pail as she stared across the chamber, pointing her finger. Glancing back toward the alphyn, Søren startled as the shadow had completely disappeared, but the alphyn came into full view. The lights from the torches brightened, revealing thick wooly hide and its hideous face. The chamber shattered into an uproar as everyone stumbled back against the walls. The two mules whinnied and rose on their hind legs before they bolted through the northern passage, dragging the tipped-over wagon behind them. Women and children dashed behind carts and piles of rock. Several men attempted to stand their ground, but within a few seconds, they cowered back with the rest.

With a trembling hand, one guard pulled his sword from his sheath. The alphyn lowered itself to the ground as if ready to pounce. A low growl thundered through the chamber, sending tremors through the rock as dust quaked from the ceiling and floor. Torches throbbed with pulsating light. Then the alphyn leaped upon the guard.

Letting out a horrid scream, the guard fell beneath the weight of the beast as his sword was flung into the air. Except for Algöter, who hid behind a crevice cut into the rock, the other guards stumbled through the southern passageway, shouting out indecipherable words. Several women cried as the alphyn scooped up the guard with its jagged teeth and his body folded in half, spilling blood onto the ground from either side of its mouth.

About the Author

Ian Conrey

Ian Conrey is both a teacher and student of history and theology, who
actively fights against human trafficking and is working toward an M.A. in
Religion. In his free time, he enjoys reading biographies and ancient
mythology, discovering early American folk songs, and exploring the Cohutta
Wilderness. He lives with his wife and three children in the North Georgia
mountains.

 

 

Contact Links

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Twitter: @IanConrey

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The Clockwork Detective – Blitz

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Science
Fiction / Steampunk / Fantasy / Fiction
Date
Published
: 7 May 2019
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Aubrey
Hartman left the Imperial battlefields with a pocketful of medals, a fearsome
reputation, and a clockwork leg. The Imperium diverts her trip home to
investigate the murder of a young druid in a strange town. She is ordered to
not only find the killer but prevent a full-scale war with the dreaded Fae.
Meanwhile, the arrival of a sinister secret policeman threatens to dig up
Aubrey’s own secrets – ones that could ruin her career. It soon becomes clear
that Aubrey has powerful enemies with plans to stop her before she gets
started. Determined to solve the mystery, Aubrey must survive centaurs, thugs,
and a monster of pure destruction.
About
the Author

 photo ClockworkDetective 1_zpsycg5wjq5.jpg

R.A.
McCandless has been a writer both professionally and creatively for nearly two
decades.  He was born under a wandering
star that led him to a degree in Communication and English with a focus on
creative writing.  He is the author of
urban fantasies Tears of Heaven and Hell Becomes Her. His short stories have
appeared in numerous anthologies including In Shambles, Gears Gadgets and
Steam, Nine Heroes: Heroic Fantasy, and Holes: An Indie Author Anthology. R.A.
is a 2015 EPIC Award finalist, and winner of the 2014 Preditors and Editors
“Best Science Fiction and Fantasy” Award. He continues to research and write
historical and genre fiction, battle sprinklers, and play with his three boys.
Contact
Links
 
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Link
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In Pursuit of Dragons – Reveal

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In Pursuit of Dragons

An Elemental Web Tale
by Anne Renwick
Publication Date: August 8, 2018
Genres: Adult, Steampunk, Romance

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In a laboratory behind the walls of a castle, Natalia Zakharova Kinross, Lady of Kinlarig, hides her many secrets. But for how for much longer? For not only is a medical miracle embedded within her skin, a mythological dragon prowls the grounds. And there are men who will stop at little to lay claim to both.

Though Luke Dryden, cryptozoologist, is welcomed back to the castle at the tip of a blade, an old romance ignites. Until a lingering illness acquired in a secret biotechnology facility takes a turn for the worse – all while disaster circles. To help defend a lady and her dragon, he must attempt a risky cure.

As old enemies threaten their future, they will fight back to back in a desperate last stand….

About Anne Renwick

Though USA TODAY bestselling author Anne Renwick holds a Ph.D. in biology and greatly enjoyed tormenting the overburdened undergraduates who were her students, fiction has always been her first love. Today, she writes steampunk romance, placing a new kind of biotech in the hands of mad scientists, proper young ladies and determined villains. Anne brings an unusual perspective to steampunk. A number of years spent locked inside the bowels of a biological research facility left her permanently altered. In her steampunk world, the Victorian fascination with all things anatomical led to a number of alarming biotechnological advances. Ones that the enemies of Britain would dearly love to possess.

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