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 catalog 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 steampunk erotica with a kinky feminist bent, you’ll love The Pornographer’s Apprentice.
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08MWMZZGP
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08MWMZZGP
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1053072
The flow felt utterly natural. One moment Lucinda’s breath was on her throat. The next, her lips pressed against Gillian’s mouth and her tongue slithered inside.
The kiss began gently but soon became passionate as both women surrendered to their pent-up desire. Lucy pulled their bodies closer, her hand slipping from Gillian’s waist to her hips, then to her buttocks. She used her other hand to cup the swell of Gillian’s breast, sweeping her thumb in light strokes across the tightening bud at its peak.
Her touch felt confident, but questioning. She did not push further, did not address the buttons closing the front of Gillian’s bodice or rifle under her skirts. Gillian supposed that her earlier rejections had made Lucy cautious. It was time to set those worries to rest.
Their current position, side by side, was too constraining. Gillian grasped Lucy’s tiny waist and hauled the other woman onto her lap. In truth, the delightful creature weighed almost nothing. Taking the lead, she swept down and claimed another kiss. Meanwhile, her left hand slipped into the tangle of Lucy’s petticoats and her right struggled to unbutton her vest-like top. Cursing the idiots who designed women’s clothing, she wormed her fingers into the gap she’d opened, through the neckline of the blouse underneath, brushing against the satin chemise. Finally she reached her goal – the silky softness of Lucy’s bare skin.
“Oh! That’s so lovely…” the girl sighed as Gillian caressed her breast. “I’ve been wanting – oh, yes! Please!”
Gillian’s other hand homed in on the moist cavity between the girl’s thighs. Much to Gillian’s delight, she found that despite her frilly, fashionable exterior, the young woman wore no drawers.
The warm, smooth folds of Lucy’s cunny were slick under her fingertips. She slipped an experimental digit into the lubricious depths and was rewarded by a lustful moan. Juices ran over her hand. She ached to taste them.
“Are you always so wet, Lucinda?” she asked. “Or is this just for me?”
“You know the answer, Miss,” said the blonde coquette, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Minx!” She tipped Lucy back onto her feet. “Lie back on the hay, girl. That’s right.”
Without hesitation, Lucy stretched out lengthwise on the bale, bent her knees and raised her booted feet. She parted her legs and drew up her skirts, offering Gillian a fine view of her rosy quim. The down on her pubis was so pale that she looked bare. Her little belly stretched above her mons, her navel winking at its centre. Her lower lips, a deep coral hue, gleamed with feminine moisture. Her clitoris, strawberry red, quivered at their apex.
“By Descartes, you’re gorgeous!” Gillian climbed onto the block of hay and knelt between Lucy’s thighs, intending to gorge on the woman’s delights. However, the sharp stalks protruding from the bale poked into her knees and shins. She couldn’t rest her palms comfortably on the surface either.
“Blast it all – this isn’t working,” she said, rolling back to a standing position.
“I have an idea.” Lucy swung her legs off the hay. “The carriage house is just next door. Come along!” Taking Gillian’s hand, she led the way through a rough wooden door and into a shadowy, high-ceilinged room with a dirt floor. The brougham which had brought them from the station took up perhaps half the space.
“We should be comfortable in here,” she said, throwing open the door and standing aside so Gillian could enter. “Hidden away, too.”