The Dream Pills - first chapter

My apologies for being so quiet - I'm working hard on my erotic romance / steampunk / spy novel 'The Dream Pills', but I've made a New Year's resolution to post in here much more regularly! For the moment, here's Chapter One of the novel - I'd post more, but I'm hoping to get it published, so this may be your last taste of the novel before it's published - but I promise it'll be worth the wait! Hope you enjoy the taste here...

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Emma hurtled down from the sky, pressed the ornithopter's footpedal to the maximum and laughed defiantly into the breeze. The warm wind caressed her skin as it rushed against her face, gliding like curious fingertips through the dark tangle of her hair and holding her aloft as she sailed through the early morning sky. Her senses were alive, feeling every last buffet of the atmosphere and responding to it skilfully. Flocks of birds scattered in startled panic as she approached them, astonished by her presence and audacity. Each subtle flex of her fingertips on the controls sent her this way and that, dancing through the air, pushing the flying machine to its limits. Her flight was reckless and abandoned, plunging into the clouds and then re-emerging, trailing plumes of cloud behind her.

Emma's breath was suddenly ripped from her mouth as the ornithopter lurched again into its descent towards London. The rapidly rotating cogs and wheels of the sky craft creaked and groaned against each other, straining against the sudden downward manoeuvre as if reluctant for the flight to end. Emma would have happily stayed up in the sky forever.

She kept the wings steady and true as she encouraged the machine to glide, listening carefully to every sound, checking and rechecking the controls. The blades of the ornithopter whirred rapidly over her head as the breeze caught in the canvas of the wings, guiding her slowly down. Her feet remained steady on the pedals, her hands wrapped tightly around the control levers as she banked the machine sharply to the left. Beneath her the jagged silhouette of the London skyline glistened in the sunshine.

Emma never tired of this view: of the monolithic towers and the gothic church steeples; of the brick maze of streets and cobbled lanes; of the houses and steampipes and factory chimneys. Buildings of every shape and size passed underneath her, and from up here in the sky everything looked so perfect. She tugged harder on the levers and clicked the gears into place, feeling the craft resist for a moment and then settle again, swooping gull-like over the huge, stately dome of St Paul's and circling playfully around it.

The gas lamps were still lit in the streets below, a glittering cobweb of light scattered between the rooftops as the sun began to rise behind her. The sight took her breath away every time she saw it, the lights guiding her way over the maze of city streets. The architecture beneath her gleamed so beautifully in this early morning light. The tall chimneys and steampipes still lay dormant, awaiting the day shift. In a couple of hours the sky would be filled with soot and steam as it engulfed the glorious view, but dawn over the London rooftops was something else entirely - a sparkling and clear wonderland of brick and stone, of decadent towers reaching up to scratch at the sky.

Which was all very well, but Emma's ridiculously tight catsuit was pinching rather painfully between her thighs and riding up uncomfortably as her body strained to keep the ornithopter under control. Why did The Organisation insist on make these damn suits so tight fitting? Emma already felt distinctly under-dressed wearing it and was very conscious of how much it showed off her figure. Everyone had told her that she looked good in it, but she knew that it did nothing for her thighs and the zip was damn cold against her skin, particularly at this kind of altitude.

Try to concentrate, she told herself, landings can be tricky. Forget about the outfit for a few minutes.

She flicked a couple of switches and felt a small jolt as the wings engaged fully. A hiss of steam poured from the rear nozzle and the leathery canvas rippled along the flimsy wings as they flapped slowly and eased her further down. Beneath her, perched on the top of an unassuming office building, the landing pad glowed and pulsed with warm gaslight, indicating that it was okay for her to land. Another couple of tugs on the levers and she banked in the sky again, the wings flapping a little faster, the rooftops now close enough to touch as her machine fluttered its way down.

With another flick of her gauntleted finger against a switch, the feet emerged from underneath her seat. There was another soft hiss and then a gentle reassuring bump as the machine finally came to rest, dropping down expertly onto the landing pad. Emma breathed a small sigh of relief, lifted up her goggles, unstrapped herself from the seat, hopped down onto the rooftop and dusted herself off.

Time to go see Grandfather. Definitely can't be covered in dead flies. I need to look good for this.

Emma opened the fire escape door and stepped inside. She closed the door behind her and gently pulled down the baroque lever attached to the wall. A gush of steam hissed up from the floor around her, momentarily engulfing her, and gas light softly illuminated the small velvet-padded cubicle as she felt herself start to descend. A clockwork motor on the wall ticked off each floor as the elevator plunged down through the building and a small bell pinged as she finally reached the lower level. The door hissed slowly open, revealing the secret space of her final destination: the inner workings of The Organisation.

Down here in the heart of the building, despite the early hour, business was busy and brisk. Agents and technicians scurried to and fro along the gothic wood panelled floors and through the winding, ornate corridors. They nodded politely to Emma as she strolled past them on her way to Grandfather's office. Few of them knew her in person, but her catsuit marked her as a Steam Agent and her special status was accorded full respect in these halls.

Emma didn't feel special at all. The catsuit was still riding terribly up her crotch, the various belts and attachments strapped loosely around her hips and thighs were feeling heavy rather than sexy, the boots were far too chunky and completely impractical for anything other than climbing up buildings and she was convinced that everyone was taking a really good look at her bum.

“You're looking good, Emma, the new costume really suits you.” Courtney Rivers, her fellow Steam Agent, smiled at her as she passed by on her way to another appointment. Courtney looked glamorous and sexy, her costume virtually sprayed on. Emma returned the smile and gave her friend a quiet nod. She had only just received her promotion, following a successful Organisation raid on a brutal and dangerous drugs overlord in Manchester. For Emma it still felt like a promotion too far. Was she really ready for the big time? Was she really prepared to go out there on her own and risk life and limb for The Organisation? The catsuit said yes, but she wasn't quite so sure herself.

Emma reached Grandfather's office and knocked on the sturdy wooden door. His secretary answered the door to let her in and pressed a button on her desk.

“Emma Chance to see you, Sir.”

The door to Grandfather's inner office hissed open and Emma stepped inside.

“Emma, how lovely to see you! Please take a seat.”

Grandfather indicated a plush leather chair facing him from the other side of his wooden desk and poured her a cup of tea from a silver teapot as she made herself comfortable. He added a small splash of milk from a matching jug and pushed the cup across the desk towards her. In a corner of the room a fireplace spat and crackled reassuringly, warming and lighting the office. Rows of bookshelves lined the panelled walls and a clock ticked patiently on the mantelpiece. Old school photographs, watercolour landscape paintings and sporting certificates hung from the walls, and the head of a large stag protruded from above the fireplace. Grandfather was reassuringly old fashioned.

He raised his eyebrow as he watched Emma wriggle a little in the padded chair, trying to ease the crotch of her catsuit into a less restrictive position without appearing too obvious.

“Still getting used to the new uniform, I see.” Grandfather reached over to the side of his imposing desk and pushed a small tray of cakes in her direction. Visiting him always felt like visiting a headmaster – slightly nerve-racking but comfortingly familiar. His face showed the pull of time, pleasantly creased and lined, with a large bushy moustache indicating his authority. But underneath that old school tie bluster was an easy charm and a perfect smile.

“Does it need to be this tight? How do people wear this?” Emma fidgeted and picked up a small bun, removed the wrapper and took a hefty bite, ignoring the calories.

“You'll get used to it. We try to make it like a second skin but admittedly it's more use in the field than it is walking around here. Trust me, there'll be a lot of people out there in the corridors who will be especially envious of you wearing that uniform. It's status, Emma, try to enjoy it.”

“Understood Sir. So you wanted to see me?”

Emma could see that Grandfather was trying to engage in small talk to help her relax, but it wasn't helping. There were so many stories about his own life years ago as a Steam Agent, of his glamorous world-hopping adventures. She couldn't help but feel a little ludicrous and potentially disappointing sat in front of him like this, dressed like an exotic dancer and chomping on a cup cake.

“I've got a case for you Emma, something I think you'll enjoy. I know you've been asking for something of your own to get your teeth into and I've been reading your file. I think you're ready if you still feel you want to prove yourself.”

“I do Sir. I've been working very hard. I'm sure I can do a good job for you.”

Emma wished she was anywhere near as confident as she sounded. They were going to let out on her own? Were they insane? She could barely fly the damned ornithopter, let alone go up alone against enemy agents. She hoped this was going to be something relatively easy for her first big mission. A case she'd be incapable of messing up.

“It's just a small job, Emma, an opportunity for you to meet up with a European agent and trade a little information. We believe this knowledge to be vital to the safety and security of the British Empire. I'll need you to get the confidence of this agent and prove to him that he's doing the right thing in passing the information on to you.” Grandfather took a sip of tea and smiled at her softly.

“Couldn't he just telegraph it to us?” Emma knew it was an impertinent question, but she never believed in over-complicating things if there was an easier route available. She took another hesitant bite of her cup cake.

“The agent is French,” Grandfather replied, as though the answer was sufficient in itself. When she shot him a quizzical look he continued and dropped his voice for a moment discreetly. “We've had something of an on / off relationship with the French of late and they haven't been so willing to share intelligence. They seem to require an intellectual and emotionally engaging approach to establish trust before they're willing to give us what we need. Consequently you'll be required to act as an ambassador as well as an agent. A light touch will be crucial.”

Emma shifted in her seat. “I don't really have that kind of experience, Sir. Are you sure I'm the right person for this? I'm much better at punching people to be quite honest with you. Delicate negotiations aren't really my kind of thing.”

“I'll be honest with you, Emma. This French agent is known to us and he has certain... tastes. We were required to offer him a choice of agents for him to talk to and he specifically chose you. So you need to get this right for us or the deal will be completely off.”

Certain tastes? Already Emma was wondering what Grandfather was getting her into here.

“Are you asking me to seduce him?” She finished off the cake and placed the wrapper on the top of the desk, sipping her tea to wash it down. “Is that what he expects? I haven't done the Mata Hari training module yet...”

Grandfather laughed softly and gave Emma a reassuring smile. “Nothing of that nature, I can assure you, Emma,” he replied. “The gentleman simply likes a pretty face. These French, you know? I'm going to ask you to take someone along with you just to keep an eye on your back. You can consider him your chaperone if you like. Will that be a problem for you?”

Emma was quietly relieved. A little help on a delicate mission was always a good thing and she was already feeling a little out of her depth here. “Not at all, Sir. Who did you have in mind?”

Grandfather pressed a button on his desk and spoke to his Secretary. “Felicia, would you please send Jones in?”

Emma felt her breath catch in her throat. “Sir, are you sure about this?”

The words had barely left her lips when the door opened and Jones walked into the room. He smiled rakishly and offered his hand. “Jones. It's the only name I use. You'll be Emma Chance, I assume?”

Emma felt herself stumble over her response, taking his hand and shaking it a little too enthusiastically. Jones was a legend in The Organisation. Everyone talked about him but few had ever met him. He'd been an active participant in so many famous cases and was practically a figurehead for The Organisation – and they were bringing him in to help her? And why had nobody ever mentioned how good he looked? She could feel herself blushing as they shook hands. His eyes sparkled cheekily as he smiled at her and his grip was firm and reassuring.

“You can let go of my hand now.”

Jones smiled again, eased his palm politely from Emma's grasp and pulled another chair up alongside her. He was dressed in a formal black suit and white shirt. A black tie was loosely but smartly knotted underneath his collar. The ensemble fit him like a glove, emphasising his shape and the curve of his muscles underneath the suit. His face was clean shaven and quite beautiful. His features were aquiline and catlike, his black hair cropped short and his gaze intense but warm. He looked like a puma in human form. Emma was immediately smitten.

She tried to calm her nerves. Jones had been a hero to her since she had joined The Organisation and was somebody she had always looked up to. Why on earth would he want to work with a rookie like her?

Calm yourself, Emma. Be professional. You're a Steam Agent now.

Jones took his seat as Grandfather poured out another cup of tea for him, sliding the cup across the desk. Grandfather looked Emma in the eye. “Jones should be a steady hand for you. He's been on the job for a few years now and always brings in good results. On this job he'll just be acting as your support, guiding you where necessary and keeping an eye on you. Are you okay with that?”

“Very okay.” Emma's face flushed again, realising that she sounded a little too keen. “I mean, I'm delighted to have the assistance. It's my first time... my first case... so I want to be sure that I get it right.” She glanced towards Jones again, taking him in properly for the first time. Jones caught her eye and smiled at her disarmingly. His look turned her knees to jelly. It was like meeting a rock star.

“Your contact is Claude Benoit from the French Service. I've arranged a meeting for you this afternoon at the Russell Hotel, just around the corner from the British Museum. He'll be expecting you at 2.00pm. Wear something provocative, it always seems to help in these situations.”

“Yes Sir. I'll do my best for the Empire.”

“I'm sure you will Emma. And in the meantime I'll leave the two of you to get to know each other.”


****


Emma brought her ornithopter down to a gentle landing on the cobbles outside her Covent Garden apartment. She unstrapped herself from the seat, locked the starting crank and hopped out onto the street, tugging her goggles up onto her head and stretching a little.

She really needed to get out of this catsuit. It just about passed as flying gear but it was definitely drawing unwanted attention her way. She really just needed to get inside, slip herself out of it and absorb the events of the day.

Jones had been so charming, so lovely to her and not in any way condescending. She would have expected him to be irritated at having to look after someone so inexperienced, but there wasn't even a hint of such behaviour. Jones had taken the time to go over the arrangements for meeting Mister Benoit and had been kind and patient when Emma had asked questions about protocol.

But it wasn't just his behaviour that had attracted Emma's attention. She couldn't get the man out of her head. This was more than just hero worship, more than simply her excitement at finally meeting someone she had heard so much about, someone who had always been an inspiration to her.

Jones was breathtakingly beautiful. There was no other way to put it. He exuded confidence and good looks and charm. And the way he'd looked into her eyes when he spoke - she hadn't been able to look away from his eyes. They captured her and held her gaze the way no other man had before. And the curve of his lips when he smiled, that gentle little crease at the corner of his mouth which made her want to smile all the wider - she adored the way he smiled. His voice was so soft and so sure, almost a purr. And the way he brushed his fingers through his hair when he spoke to her, that gentle movement of his fingertips.

Everything he did seemed considered and calm and poised and feline. She envied him his ability to drift through life so easily and to look so damn good while he was doing it.

Emma could barely contain her excitement at the idea of working with him. Not that he'd be even vaguely interested in her, she knew this was just another job for him, but still... she was working with Jones! The other girls in The Organisation were going to be insanely envious of her.

Covent Garden was full of activity at this time of the day. Omnibuses shunted back and forth along the cobbled streets, their engines spitting and whooshing as they carried commuters around the City, steam pouring from the funnels and gaskets as the machines trundled along the steel rails, clanking and grinding. Shoppers bustled around the small shops and stalls searching for bargains, street traders calling out their wares, their sing-song voices drifting along the busy lanes and side streets: “RIPE BA-NA-NAS... COME AND GET YOUR RIPE BA-NA-NAS” “PORK SAUSAGES... TWENTY PENNIES-A-POUND” “GAS LIGHTERS... SPARKY AND NEW... GET YOUR GAS LIGHTERS”

Delivery boys sped by on the latest steambikes, their baskets full of bread and papers and meat and live chickens, weaving through the crowds and darting along the maze of lanes criss-crossing the city, the warm summer sunshine beating down and battling through the clouds of soot starting to fill the air from the huge factory chimneys. Massive steampipes belched hot air into the atmosphere, powering the city, neon signs on every street corner selling the latest wares. Pools of sunlight drifted through the scattered market stalls, falling on Emma's face as she made her way indoors and into her apartment, leaving the sights and sounds behind her. She needed to relax for an hour and get herself dressed for the afternoon meeting. Dress to impress, that was the key to a successful endeavour.

Emma tossed her goggles next to the fireplace and made her way upstairs. She had a good couple of hours before she needed to meet up with Jones again, which was more than enough time to get herself ready. She tried to think about the French agent, about all the advice she'd been given by Jones on how to handle him and how to put him at his ease, but her mind was still filled with Jones, with the look of him, with the scent of him. He smelled like citrus fruit on a summer morning. She adored the scent of him.

This wasn't getting her anywhere. She needed to snap out of it and start to think professionally. Emma took hold of the zip tucked under the neck of her catsuit, slid it all the way down to her belly and peeled her way out of the suit. Casually she tugged off the belts around her waist and thighs, slipped out of her boots and stripped naked for the shower. She was tense about the forthcoming meeting and she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, knowing how much could possibly ride on it, wondering if she'd be able to pull it off and come back with the information that Grandfather was relying on her to procure.

And knowing that Jones would be there next to her too, watching her and guiding her, that was making her nervous too. She wanted to impress him, wanted to show that she was good at her job. She wanted him to enjoy watching her.

Watching her. Such a wonderful idea. For a man like that, so perfect, so charming and so damn sexy to want to watch her... that kind of thing never happened to Emma. Sometimes she felt so very ordinary, so very ignored. It had been too long since she had enjoyed a strong man between her thighs. The job was everything to her, her promotion so important to her and such an achievement, but it had taken all her time. Romance had been forgotten in the desire to succeed, and her more primal desires had been left behind for far too long. She needed to do something about that soon. It was becoming an ache she could no longer deny.

Emma slid under the shower and tugged the heating lever, hearing the gas fire up and feeling the warm water begin to snake over her body. The warmth flooded over her soft skin, caressing her, her hands drifting over her body, bathing herself, her imagination still wandering delightfully as the heat sensitized her skin.

If Jones could only be here watching her right now, sat patiently as she showered for him, her body glistening under the streams of water. That was what she wanted, she knew. Jones watching her naked and wet, and wanting her as much as she wanted him. He had been so close to her today, close enough for her to taste. And god, to taste him. She wanted that so very badly.

She felt a warm shiver run through her senses, one of her hands filled with soap, drifting it over a bare breast, her other hand already roaming down between her thighs, the water splashing from the back of her hand as her fingers explored, gently touching herself, surrendering to her desires. She could barely remember the last time she'd allowed herself this pleasure. She'd been so absorbed in her work, in the job, so dedicated to The Organisation. She'd been neglecting her body for too long, had missed the soft touch of her own fingertips, the simpler pleasures to be had from her imagination. And she needed to come so very badly. Something about Jones had fired up her senses and had brought her to life again. She wanted him.

God, if she could only feel him like this, here under the shower, moving close behind her, his hand pressed between her thighs, touching, stroking, his warm breath on the back of her neck as he eased closer to her, the sensation of him against her under the warm water, touching her, needing her as much as she needed him, his cock so full and hard against her ass. She needed that.

And god, his cock. She knew his cock had to be perfect. Everything about him was perfect. She could feel herself aching to see it, needing to touch it, needing to take it in her mouth. And to feel it throbbing so very deep inside her cunt.

She felt a ripple run through her body as the ideas tumbled through her head, as she allowed herself to think those words again after so long. His cock in my cunt. Throbbing. Pulsing. Emma gasped softly, taking a nipple between her fingertips and squeezing softly, her other hand busier down between her thighs, skidding rhythmically around her clit. It felt so good, her thighs trembling, her senses alive. She eased her head under the warm running water, feeling it pour down her neck, across her shoulders, over her breasts, and she breathed harder, clutching her breast tighter as the rhythm of her fingers increased around her clit.

She needed him here right now, needed that so much. Needed to feel him naked and wet against her, his lips sliding down her neck, his hands firm on her breast, gliding against her cunt. She needed to surrender to him, to have him push her up against the tiles of the shower, his breath hot against her skin, his cock so hard, wanting to be inside her, craving to fuck her.

Emma felt a soft moan escape her lips, echoing around the bathroom as her fingers plunged deeper between her thighs. That was what she needed. She needed his cock inside her, his body pressing against her, pushing her back against the wall, his hands gripping her wrists, holding her there, his thighs firm between her own, his cock skidding against her cunt, parting the lips, shoving deep and hard inside her.

She felt herself fall back against the wall, the water tumbling down her neck and her breasts, arching her body up towards it, needing that sensation, her skin tingling with pleasure, responding to the warmth. Without conscious thought her fingertips made their way down to her sex, her thumb still rubbing against her clit as she slid her fingers across her eager cunt. She was so very, very wet.

Again Jones invaded her thoughts, the idea of him taking her, thrusting deep inside her. As she pictured his body firm against her own, her fingers pushed between her gaping lips and plunged deep inside her cunt, curling inside herself, squeezing around them as she slid her finger against her g-spot, moaning as she felt the connection. Her thighs were taut as her fingers worked inside herself, faster, harder, pushing and rubbing, her body bucking against her fingers, getting closer, ever closer, needing to come, right on the edge of orgasm.

She wanted to feel him come hot and wet inside her. His body thrusting harder against her, clutching onto her, driving deeper into her, unable to stop now, her skin slipping and sliding against his as the water tumbled over them, her hands grasping his ass, pulling him in harder, his rhythm more frantic, more urgent. She could almost feel him inside her now as her fingers pushed deeper into her cunt, delightful wet sounds accompanying each thrust, wanting his orgasm, needing to feel it.

Would he come inside her, filling her? Would he tug himself out, his cum pouring over her belly, splashing up against her cunt? Would he push her down onto her knees in front of him, his hand grasping his swollen cock, masturbating over her, gripping his cock, pumping it hard, her lips smearing against his erection as he started to cum, spurt after spurt pouring over her lips, over her mouth, marking her with his cum...

And that was all she could take... the image of his orgasm invaded her imagination, seeing that hot cum spurting again and again from his pulsing cock, splashing onto her mouth, her face, and she grabbed frantically onto the edge of the shower, her thumb skidding around her clit, her fingers thrusting deep, and she cried out with pleasure, her body spasming as her orgasm hit her, flooding through her, a hot rush of ecstasy as she came hard, her senses overpowered, the orgasm intense.

Slowly Emma caught her breath, her body still trembling, easing her wet fingers slowly out of her sex, gasping again as they brushed against her sensitive clit, the water still pouring over her body, extending the orgasm.

She needed to stop thinking about him this way. Theirs was a professional arrangement and it was already distracting her. The meeting with Claude Benoit, the agent from the French Service, was only an hour away. It was time to get ready.