heartbeat there, and little eager-sounding moans emerged from the courtesan’s throat with each exhalation.
You are a journalist , Ellie thought, and opened the thing’s robe.
The clockwork courtesan’s skin was not perfectly unblemished, as Ellie had expected—there was a mole drawn on below one breast, and a few dark hairs leading down from its belly button to the fuller thatch at its crotch. Leaning in close, Ellie could see where the hairs emerged from the skin, each one hand-sewn with great care. Running her fingertips through the hair between the courtesan’s legs, curious whether the hair was human or animal—it seemed human—she was shocked to touch warm wetness, and her fingers came away moist. She smelled her fingertips, and there was, perhaps, the faintest scent of some pure, neutral oil. Had the butler or some other functionary hurried up here and… lubricated the thing, after Ellie chose this model? But, of course, that would be necessary, wouldn’t it? “Welcoming to a man’s touch” indeed.
Ellie shuddered and wiped her hand on the comforter. She and her fiancé had shared kisses and a few more intimate moments before his dispatch to India, but as they never married, they never had the opportunity to explore one another any further. She understood how these things worked, of course, but it was a bit disconcerting to be with this doll, something built so obviously for that purpose and no other. Was this really what men wanted? Something with the shape of a woman, but with no mind, no will, no personality? Surely they’d prefer the company of a real woman, if it weren’t for the danger of contracting the Affliction and becoming one.
She rolled the courtesan over, and was surprised when it moved on its own, getting first on all fours, then lowering its arms and head to the mattress, leaving its bottom tilted provocatively up in the air. This was a sophisticated machine. Ellie had seen an exhibition, years before, of famous automatons, including geese that laid eggs, boys who cast fishing lines, and women playing lutes, but those devices were both smaller and obviously unreal. This machine was of a different order altogether. From a distance—even quite a close distance—something like this would be indistinguishable from a human. Ellie smiled to herself. A few of the sleepier members of the House of Lords should consider commissioning clockwork imitations of themselves to sit in their places during sessions of Parliament, freeing themselves up to play cards or go shooting. If the engineers here could make a clockwork woman put her bottom in the air, surely they could make a clockwork old man capable of shouting “Hear hear!”
Ellie pressed her ear to the automaton’s back and could hear, faintly, the whirring of some engine. They weren’t steam-powered, obviously—perhaps they ran on some electrical or alchemical battery? If only she had tools… though she couldn’t see where the thing would come apart. She would have to examine it as best she could anyway.
Ellie carefully tested the movement of its joints, and touched its hand—the fingers closed on hers and began gently tugging in a disturbingly rhythmic fashion until Ellie pulled away. She brushed her hand against the thing’s cheek, marveling at the smoothness of its skin—and then the automaton turned its head and parted its moist and shapely lips. It sucked at her fingers like a piglet at a teat, moist tongue undulating, and Ellie pulled her fingers out, which necessitated further disgusted wiping of lubricant on the coverlet. Ellie considered exploring the courtesan’s capabilities more thoroughly, but the idea was repugnant to her. Who knew how it would react if she pressed a finger into… or even into… No matter. Cooper wouldn’t print the details even if she found out.
She’d discovered all she could, and certainly had enough for a memorable article. A glance at the case clock on the dresser told her she had another
You are a journalist , Ellie thought, and opened the thing’s robe.
The clockwork courtesan’s skin was not perfectly unblemished, as Ellie had expected—there was a mole drawn on below one breast, and a few dark hairs leading down from its belly button to the fuller thatch at its crotch. Leaning in close, Ellie could see where the hairs emerged from the skin, each one hand-sewn with great care. Running her fingertips through the hair between the courtesan’s legs, curious whether the hair was human or animal—it seemed human—she was shocked to touch warm wetness, and her fingers came away moist. She smelled her fingertips, and there was, perhaps, the faintest scent of some pure, neutral oil. Had the butler or some other functionary hurried up here and… lubricated the thing, after Ellie chose this model? But, of course, that would be necessary, wouldn’t it? “Welcoming to a man’s touch” indeed.
Ellie shuddered and wiped her hand on the comforter. She and her fiancé had shared kisses and a few more intimate moments before his dispatch to India, but as they never married, they never had the opportunity to explore one another any further. She understood how these things worked, of course, but it was a bit disconcerting to be with this doll, something built so obviously for that purpose and no other. Was this really what men wanted? Something with the shape of a woman, but with no mind, no will, no personality? Surely they’d prefer the company of a real woman, if it weren’t for the danger of contracting the Affliction and becoming one.
She rolled the courtesan over, and was surprised when it moved on its own, getting first on all fours, then lowering its arms and head to the mattress, leaving its bottom tilted provocatively up in the air. This was a sophisticated machine. Ellie had seen an exhibition, years before, of famous automatons, including geese that laid eggs, boys who cast fishing lines, and women playing lutes, but those devices were both smaller and obviously unreal. This machine was of a different order altogether. From a distance—even quite a close distance—something like this would be indistinguishable from a human. Ellie smiled to herself. A few of the sleepier members of the House of Lords should consider commissioning clockwork imitations of themselves to sit in their places during sessions of Parliament, freeing themselves up to play cards or go shooting. If the engineers here could make a clockwork woman put her bottom in the air, surely they could make a clockwork old man capable of shouting “Hear hear!”
Ellie pressed her ear to the automaton’s back and could hear, faintly, the whirring of some engine. They weren’t steam-powered, obviously—perhaps they ran on some electrical or alchemical battery? If only she had tools… though she couldn’t see where the thing would come apart. She would have to examine it as best she could anyway.
Ellie carefully tested the movement of its joints, and touched its hand—the fingers closed on hers and began gently tugging in a disturbingly rhythmic fashion until Ellie pulled away. She brushed her hand against the thing’s cheek, marveling at the smoothness of its skin—and then the automaton turned its head and parted its moist and shapely lips. It sucked at her fingers like a piglet at a teat, moist tongue undulating, and Ellie pulled her fingers out, which necessitated further disgusted wiping of lubricant on the coverlet. Ellie considered exploring the courtesan’s capabilities more thoroughly, but the idea was repugnant to her. Who knew how it would react if she pressed a finger into… or even into… No matter. Cooper wouldn’t print the details even if she found out.
She’d discovered all she could, and certainly had enough for a memorable article. A glance at the case clock on the dresser told her she had another
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