Steam Punk Novels Novels & Stories

It was as if the portrait was a window to the past, a glimpse into a world that was long gone. Steve watched her reaction with interest. "I know this is a lot to take in, Celess. But I wanted to show you who I really am. To show you the world that I live in."Celess turned to face him, her heart racing. "And what world is that, Steve? The world of the undead?" Steve chuckled. "Something like that. But there's more to it than that. There's a whole society of vampires out there, Celess. A hidden world that most humans don't even know exists."

But relaxation wasn't what I had in mind. I stood up and walked over to the bookshelf, running my fingers along the spines of the books until I found what I was looking for. The worn leather-bound volume felt heavy in my hands as I carried it over to the coffee table and opened it to the marked page. The intricate illustrations of whips, chains, and other BDSM paraphernalia made my pulse quicken with anticipation.

So you're a big Lovecraft fan? - Definitely. A thousand times more Cthulhu than any shining vampire. - She smiled. — I like some fantasy books. Writers like Laurell K. Hamilton and Patricia Briggs, who take ancient legends like vampires and werewolves and bring them to the contemporary world. There's this amazing author called SC Green who wrote these dark steampunk books set in dinosaur-infested Georgian London. My friend Derek referred me. He is always giving me new books to read. He's studying mythology, so he likes that sort of thing. — What is your favorite creature?

"I am, but I'm not too. Well, all the movies and books show them being like that, but then there's so much about me that's different from them, I figured that the others like me. I mean I have no urge to kill eleven hobos and drink them dry, or murder a couple of cheerleaders just for their blood. But then, I didn't die." "Die?" "Yeah, apparently they didn't become Vampires until they died horribly in a car crash." "What's this about hobos and cheerleaders?" "They killed eleven hobos on the way here and were going to get the cheerleaders before I stopped them." "So what did you do?" "I told them to get out of town." "And if they don't?" "I'll kill them." He was dead serious. "Can you kill bo

A smile crept onto my face as I adjusted my grip on the novel, its cover barely hiding the kind of story that made my heart race. A dark, depraved mafia romance. It had a male lead who didn’t ask permission so much as demand surrender. A man who played with consent the way a composer toyed with notes—artfully, deliberately, with the kind of confidence that made my skin prickle and my thighs press together. One that was over too soon. The kind of book I devoured in a fever and now I was in need of another. Most folks wouldn’t think of the local library as a treasure trove of scandalous reads, but I knew better. The librarians were in on the secret, intentionally filling the shelves with books

“Which novels?” I listed them. He nodded at two as if he already knew them, and asked a quiet question about the third that proved he had read it carefully. The conversation that followed was the most ordinary exchange we had ever shared and somehow the most intimate. We talked about sentences that had stayed with us, about the particular comfort of a book that had already been finished once, about the way certain stories felt different at three in the morning than they did in daylight. The lantern light stayed warm on our hands. The blanket kept our knees close. Every so often one of us shifted and the wool dragged, and the small friction felt louder than it should have. At some point my sh

Back in the rented beach house, he crept past his parents' hushed breaths and collapsed onto the couch, his skin still humming. Sleep came fast, but not before his traitorous mind replayed Jon's hands, his laugh, the way his muscles flexed under sweat-slick skin. ************************* The sun glinted off the pages of Nina's book as she sprawled on her beach towel, her straw hat tilted against the glare. The ocean murmured behind her, lulling her into the fantasy world between the pages—until two shadows fell across the sand. "Das ist kein Platz für Träumereien," a deep voice rumbled. Nina looked up, squinting. Twin towers of muscle loomed over her—Evan and Stefan.

"How about you, what do you like to read?" Sandy grimaced. "Nothing that dense. I'm more the dime store novel type. I like medical mysteries, thrillers, things like that." "C'mon, there's a great little used book shop over there, I'll see if we can't find something for you." When we got there I headed straight for the classics. "Here, you should try this one." I pulled a book off the shelf and showed it to her. She looked at the green jacket. "'Jane Eyre'? Really? Isn't this, like, some sappy romance?"

In reality, I’d sneak into the small bathroom, sniff and lick the boots, and jerk off. On days when Mr. Stout was around, I couldn’t steal away to the back. Instead, I’d lean into the old machines, which vibrated heavily, stimulating my cóck. If I could see the client in the waiting area, I’d fantasize about sucking their thick côcks, often cumming in my pants without even touching myself.