Professor Victor Ashworth was an inventor. A purveyor of all things alchemical and mechanical. Natural science was his playground. His workshop, however, was little more than a hovel. It was a dark basement cluttered with half-completed projects and the faint smell of grease. But it was his to outfit as he pleased, and the professor felt at home around his copper paraphernalia.
He had absolute faith in his genius to produce revolutionary devices for domestic chores and industrial production alike, but a man of his eccentricities tended to ward away more clients than those who had an interest in the finer machinations of science in the first place. In other words, he was broke. What fickle business he did have was limited to mixing up basic salves and remedies for the local townsfolk. No one wanted to see his shoeing machine, nail clamper, or clothes presser, much less the more exciting devices like his electrostatic amplifier or prototype perpetual motion device.
So he'd decided to construct a machine anyone would be begging to try out. Well, any woman anyway. Many a housewife was unsatisfied with her husband's bedroom performance, so he'd designed a machine that would not only put any man to shame but also allow the wife to remain faithful to her other half. Normally Victor didn't concern himself with the carnal affairs of others, but in a town where infidelity could get a woman ravished by an angry mob, he would be foolish to pass up the opportunity for his work to receive some attention.
Building the machine was one of the easiest projects he'd ever undertaken. A little rumble and romp with some attachments to hold the girl steady, and he was marketing a metal pleasure machine before he knew it. Of course, his market was exclusively women, and the less their men knew the better. Fortunately, women were well-practised at spreading gossip without a word reaching their husbands' ears, so the news of his new machine had spread like wildfire. In no time he'd received more stacks of telegrams than he could build machines for, including several from some prominent noblewomen. Even the aristocrats had rough times in bed, it seemed.
His first client was such a noblewoman. Miss Amanda Phoenix, only daughter of the revered baron Richard Phoenix. A young woman with many eager suitors, by all accounts. He found it odd that a girl who yet retained her innocence would opt to lose it to a machine, but he'd never much understood the insanity of females. Business was business, and at present she was the most affluent client he had.
Now, not a minute late, the steam release at the front door hissed to announce her arrival. Making no attempt to make his habitat more presentable to such nobility, Victor climbed the stepladder to his store and ushered the girl inside.
She was a pretty enough thing, he supposed. Beneath the extravagant embroidery and frills, Amanda cut a slender figure in her whale-boned corset and hosiery. She removed her hat as she entered - a ridiculous pincushion of feathers - which gave him a clear view of her demure countenance. She had a soft, glowing visage - maybe she used his salve? - a cute button nose, and wide blue eyes that poured up into his. Her rich chestnut hair was pulled back into a swirling chignon resting against the nape of her neck. As Victor surveyed her she smiled, lifting a slim hand towards him. Realising she was expecting him to kiss it, he did so hastily, all the while thinking how bizarre social customs are among nobles.
"Victor Ashworth," she acknowledged in a smooth voice. Victor mumbled a greeting, then got straight to business. "Miss Amanda. I trust you're here to inspect your investment?" Once he found his voice, he spoke in a deep, sophisticated drawl that made it clear who was the true authority under this roof.
"Inspect, and I hope a little more," she confirmed, still smiling sweetly.
"My lady, I do not operate a house of carnal services. You may inspect and retrieve your purchase below," he said, pointing to the stairs.
A flash of annoyance crossed her features. "I desire a demonstration before any disbursement is given," she said haughtily. Victor regarded her with bemusement for a moment before replying.
"Very well. If you would follow me yonder..."
He led the spoilt girl down to the machine, where her eyes widened in astonishment. It was a rude sight for innocent eyes, he had to admit. The seat of the machine resembled a leather saddle, albeit with the addition of a polished copper shaft where the lady's parted legs would rest. A number of other components surrounded the saddle, and miss Amanda would learn their purpose soon enough.
"Forgive me, my lady, but in your present state you are too encumbered to use the machine."
"What- Oh!" she exclaimed, blushing as she realised what she had to do. Victor turned his back as the girl began the fiddly process of undressing. After a minute she asked, "Will this suffice?"
He turned to see her wearing nothing from the hips down. The short skirt of her dress only barely concealed her modesty, but wouldn't interfere with the function of the machine. Victor nodded, his eyes sliding up her waxed legs. He was reaching middle age, and it had been a while since he'd laid eyes upon a young woman of her desirability. His eyes reached hers, and he was embarrassed to see her coy smile back in place. Mentally shaking himself to his senses, he took her hand and helped her onto the machine before he got any other ideas.
She slid onto the saddle with surprising ease. The vertical shaft slipped inside her without resistance, making Victor wonder just how innocent young Amanda actually was. Either way, she was in for a shock. He placed her ankles in padded groves on either side, closing metal shackles over them to ensure their stability. Then he began to calibrate the machine.
Steam hissed through metal pistons and extended the ankle holders slowly outwards. Amanda drew a quick breath, alarmed at her body moving of its own accord. But the machine stopped once it detected too much strain, which left the girl balanced on her crotch with her slender legs stretched out horizontally, her toes pointing in opposite directions. Now the next component was applied: thigh guards. Metal plates slid over her thighs on either side, just below the hips, preventing her from lifting off the saddle.
Now perversely splayed and filled, Amanda's heart was beginning to race inside her chest. The uncomfortably tight corset was restricting her breathing - this attire was never designed to facilitate any sort of exertion. She grabbed Victor's arm, pulling at her girdle to indicate she wanted it off. He nodded, nimbly unlacing the back of her dress to gain access to the hazardous garment. Once it fell loose she breathed deeply in relief, aware that her only remaining clothing was her bra but far preferring this to choking to death.
"Thank you," she breathed, regaining her composure. It would be embarrassing to fall apart before the machine really got going!
Victor's response was to slap a collar around her neck. Amanda shouted in protest. "Hey! What did you put that on me for?"
