“Corbyn, clean the sybian,” ordered Lady Jessica Featherstonehaugh as she climbed off the sex machine with a squelch and stubbed out her cigar on the aged retainer’s bald head. “Did you instruct Drummond to saddle up Rusty? I am meeting Sir Percy Cholmondeley in Hyde Park at ten.”

“Yes, m’Lady, of course, m’lady,” snivelled Corbyn, reaching for his handkerchief.

“With your tongue, Corbyn, with your tongue,” snapped Lady Jessica, reaching for her horsewhip and thrashing him repeatedly across his wizened shoulders until he had collapsed onto his knees and begun to lick her sex juices off the machine’s appendage. With a sigh she laced up her leather knickers and adjusted her bustiere in the mirror. She took a moment to admire the way in which it was tailored to display her copious bosoms in the most advantageous manner, the lace-edged nipple holes showing off the solid gold studs which had been a present from her mother on her eighteenth birthday two years ago.

Not for the first time, she wondered if it wasn’t time to let Corbyn go. He had been in the family’s employ since her grandfather’s day, but he really was of little use any more. On the other hand, with the Second American Revolutionary War still raging across the Atlantic, most young Englishmen over the age of sixteen were serving in one branch or other of the armed forces, and able-bodied manservants with all their limbs and mental faculties still intact were hard to come by.

But that decision would have to wait. It would not do to keep Sir Percy waiting.

“The black riding-jacket this morning, I think, Mercy,” she announced, and her maidservant pattered barefoot across the carpet and selected the appropriate garment from the large selection of similar garments hanging in the wardrobe. Lady Jessica held out her arms while Mercy slipped the garment on, expertly adjusting it across her mistress’s well-toned and muscular shoulders.

“Will you require the pistols, or the rapier, this morning, m’m?”

“Both, I think,” decided Lady Jessica. She took the small ivory-handled weapons from the case handed to her by Mercy and slipped them into the specially-made straps in her garter-belt. The rapier she adjusted so it hung elegantly from her bustiere. It was always wise to be prepared for trouble in Hyde Park, from one or other of the illegal anarchist groups which often congregated there. They made a lot of noise when they saw members of the aristocracy passing by, but tended to scuttle off when faced with a loaded pistol, especially since the enactment of the Civil Liberties Act which made it legal to shoot them on sight.

The steam telephone on the bedside table whistled. Mercy picked up the trumpet and listened for a moment.

“Rusty is ready in the yard, m’m,” she announced.

“Excellent,” said Lady Jessica. “I expect Sir Percy will wish to take me to lunch before fucking me, so you may expect me back for dinner at seven. And don’t forget the Archbishop is coming for cribbage at eight.”

“Yes, m’m,” said Mercy, curtsying. “Cook is preparing his favourite strawberry syllabub as you requested.”

Lady Jessica smiled. “Excellent. The Archbishop is a martyr to Mrs Abbott’s syllabub, and is willing to endure any amount of abuse from my strap-on in return for an extra portion.”

“I will have the Archbishop’s special lubricant prepared,” said Mercy, curtsying again.

Lady Jessica nodded with approval. Unlike Corbyn, Mercy was a most satisfactory employee, and had quickly and enthusiastically embraced the extra duties required of her. The girl had already opened the bedroom door, and her mistress strode along the hallway and down the grand staircase, the high stiletto heels of her thigh-length calf-leather boots clattering on the oak treads.

Drummond the stable-girl had prepared Rusty and was holding him in the yard as he snorted and pawed the ground in a most realistic manner. He was the latest model of mechanical steed, powered by an elaborate system of steam-driven pistons and cogs that Lady Jessica made no attempt to understand, and attracted admiring glances whenever she rode him down Rotten Row (as did Lady Jessica herself, especially when wearing her finest black silk stockings and purple-fringed bustiere).

Stepping onto the mounting block, Lady Jessica swung her powerful thigh expertly across Rusty’s back and took hold of the control reins. She switched to “auto-trot” mode and tapped in the co-ordinates for Hyde Park. Rusty whirred for a few seconds, raised his tail and omitted a brief burst of steam from his rear end. Then the directional gyros in his ears rotated in the direction of London W2: he tossed his head, and they set off at an elegant trot.

The combination of the warmth from Rusty’s internal mechanics, and the motion of his movements, quickly began to stimulate Lady Jessica between the thighs, and she slipped her hand inside her leather knickers and stroked her clitoris, contemplating the rest of her day. Sir Percy had been seriously injured during the disastrous Siege of Chicago, losing an arm in the process, but fortunately the rest of him was in full working order. The length and thickness of his penis was renowned through London, and she was looking forward to an afternoon in its company.

Lady Jessica’s town house, located just to the north of the newly-built church of St Mary Abbots in Kensington, was conveniently only a ten-minute ride through Kensington Gardens to Hyde Park. As usual, the peace of the Gardens was somewhat spoilt by the buzz of the numerous steam-powered dirigibles that plied their trade back and forth across the skies of London. On balance, Lady Jessica (who was keenly interested in all the latest technical developments) approved of the flying-machines, but she had to admit that they were more than a little noisy and smelly, especially when taking off and landing.

As Rusty trotted across the road, she saw Sir Percy waiting for her by the Serpentine, mounted on Galahad, his own mechanical steed. Sir Percy raised his left arm (the prosthetic one) in greeting, and Lady Jessica, with the flick of a wrist, switched Rusty to “manual” and guided him over to her lover.

“How well you look this morning, Lady Jessica,” said Sir Percy gallantly, bowing low. “Your outfit really is most becoming today.” The bare expanse of Lady Jessica’s pale white thigh between the top of her stockings and her knickers had stirred his desires already, and he could feel his virile member stirring to life in his tight breeches.

“Thank you, Sir Percy. However, I think we both know why we are here, and I see no reason to delay matters further with niceties. I am looking forward to luncheon, but I feel I need a small appetiser first.”

She leant over and began to unbutton Sir Percy’s breeches. In a moment his semi-erect penis sprang out, the veins already pulsating with blood. Lady Jessica’s wrapped her slender fingers around it and pumped it gently, feeling it swell to its full size in just a few seconds. She lowered her head towards the smooth mushroom of the head, already engorged and shiny, and kissed it tenderly. She opened her mouth and moulded her lips around the helmet, before sucking it gently into the warm cavern of her mouth.

Oh, how she loved this moment, feeling a man’s hard, throbbing phallus in her mouth. She slid her tongue around the sensitive rim of his knob and heard him groan with pleasure. Leaning over still further, she lowered her head towards his crotch, taking his whole length into her mouth until the swollen tip was pushing halfway down her slim, elegant throat.

While Lady Jessica was thus fellating him, Sir Percy leant over and skilfully began to unlace the front of her bustiere with his good right hand: a task at which he was clearly an expert. As soon as it was loose enough to allow him ready access to her firm breasts, he slipped his hand inside and began to massage them, gently twisting and pulling at the nipple studs in a way that made Lady Jessica moan under her breath as she sucked and licked at his organ. She began to move her head faster up and down his shaft, fucking him with her mouth, wanting to bring him to his orgasm so she could swallow every drop of his thick creamy ejaculate.

“Ah, by God, I’m coming,” grunted Sir Percy. Lady Jessica cradled the soft bag of his testicles in her hand and tickled his shaft with her tongue. At this, he could hold back no longer, and with a groan he shot rope after rope of his thick, viscous semen into her eager mouth. She withdrew his erection and allowed the last few loops to land on her flushed cheeks. Then, with a smile, she opened her mouth to show him the thick pool of ejaculate inside, before letting it slide down her throat and into her stomach.

“Thank you, sir, for that tasty treat,” she said, licking her pink lips. She could feel the thick globules of his semen cooling on her face. A trickle of it dangled off her chin, before dropping onto the exposed flesh of her left beast.

“Would you care for the use of my ‘kerchief, to wipe your pretty cheeks?” said Sir Percy gallantly, but Lady Jessica laughed.

“Oh, no,” she replied with a smile. “I think I will leave the evidence there, so that if we meet any of our friends, they will know how generous you have already been.”

“Dammit, Jess, I’ve never met a woman as filthy as you, not even a Dutch whore,” grunted Sir Percy, tucking his penis back into his breeches.

“Well, sir, I don’t see why the whores should have all the fun. And when I see a cock as fine as yours, I think I know what to do with it,” replied Lady Jessica. “Now, let us proceed to luncheon, before we see what other tricks your weapon can do.”

She was just tucking her breasts away and lacing up her bustiere again, when the air was filled with the sound of a dirigible, louder even than usual.

“I say,” said Sir Percy, sounding annoyed, “that blimp’s coming over a bit low. He’ll need to watch those trees. And what the hell is that fellow doing on the end of that rope ladder?”

Lady Jessica was turning her head to look, when there was a loud bang, and with a grunt Sir Percy fell backwards off his horse onto the ground, a smoking hole in the front of his shirt. A second shot pinged off Rusty’s head and Lady Jessica turned quickly, her hand moving to her pistol, as she took in what Sir Percy had seen.

A large dirigible was coming in fast and low, a rope ladder swinging to and fro beneath it, to which a man was clinging. In his hand he held a smoking shotgun, which he was trying frantically to reload. Lady Jessica raised her arm and was about to return fire when out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a dark shadow drop out of the tree above her. The figure struck her sideways, knocking her off balance, and she felt herself sliding off Rusty’s back. Calculating quickly, she spun her left foot out of the stirrup as she fell, turning her fall into a roll, and let off two shots from her pistol as she landed in a crouch on the ground. The first shot hit her assailant in the shoulder, but the second lodged itself firmly between his eyes and he fell, lifeless, at her feet.

The throbbing roar of the dirigible’s engines was now deafening as it swept towards her. Lady Jessica turned to face it, and thus failed to notice a second dark figure emerge from the bushes, a long thin pipe raised to its lips. She felt a sharp sting at the back of her neck; reaching round she pulled out a small green-feathered dart. Then her head began to spin, and she fell to the ground, unconscious.

When Lady Jessica came around, she discovered to her irritation that she was lying on her back with her legs and arms extended like the four arms of a letter “X”, her hands and feet tightly secured with leather straps to strong-looking cords that were themselves tied to metal loops projecting from the floor. Although most of her clothing had been removed, as had her pistols and rapier, she was still wearing her black stockings and thigh-length leather boots. She pulled cautiously on the cords and ascertained very quickly that the straps were both strong and tight.

She cursed under her breath. Normally she was perfectly happy to take part in a little mild bondage during sex, but it was usually her male partners who were tied down rather than herself. From the vibration of the floor, and the background rumble of powerful engines, she guessed that she was still in the dirigible. Then she heard the door at the end of the cabin open, and a figure walked in.

She recognised him at once: Lord Jasper Urquhart. Wealthy but depraved, he was believed to have channelled large sums to the illegal American revolutionaries, as well as using his wealth and power to cut a sexual swathe through London Society. Lady Jessica had very publicly rejected his advances during the interval of a Royal Opera Gala some six months ago, a slight for which he had not forgiven her.

“Well, well, Lady Jessica Featherstonehaugh,” he sneered. “How delightful to see you again: and so much of you, too.”

“Kidnap and murder are capital crimes, Lord Jasper,” snapped Lady Jessica. “Let me free at once, or it’ll be the worse for you.”

Lord Jasper raised an eyebrow. “Murder? Oh, you must mean that poltroon Percy. Collateral damage, I’m afraid. But at least he died happy. Of course, if you hadn’t turned me down in front of their Majesties he’d still be alive, so his blood is on your hands, I’m afraid. Now, shall we proceed with the business in hand?”

He began to undress, removing his cravat, jacket and shirt.

“If you dare to lay one finger on me...” hissed Lady Jessica.

“You’ll do what, exactly?” scoffed Lord Jasper. “You’re hardly in a position to negotiate, I think. I suggest you lie back and enjoy it.”

By this time, he was down to his underwear. Lady Jessica was about to use some very unladylike language, when he pulled down his shorts and revealed something rather unexpected. Her mouth fell open, and she gaped in amazement.

“Eager as ever, I see,” said Lord Jasper. “But it is rather impressive, isn’t it?”

“It” was an enormous prosthetic phallus, strapped to Lord Jasper’s crotch. It seemed to be made of metal, constructed of a series of smooth, overlapping curved plates that allowed it to flex in a most realistic manner.

“What in heaven’s name is that?” gasped Lady Jessica, intrigued despite herself. “Wasn’t your own appendage big enough for you? I did hear it was barely five inches.”

“Now, now, you know that’s not true. It was big enough to satisfy the Duchess of Donnington, and you know she has a love-passage like one of the Duke of Wellington’s boots. But it turns out that little baggage Kitty Marston is riddled with the clap, and she gave it to me, the trollop. My doctors told me it was a particularly nasty strain, and the only way to stop it spreading was amputation. But I had this made instead, and I think it’s almost an improvement.”

He pushed a button on the strap, and the phallus began to throb and vibrate in a thoroughly alarming manner. It reared up from a 45-degree angle to almost vertical, a few small puffs of steam emerging from the joints.