The Lovelace Protocols by Mikala Ash #Steampunk #Romance @ChangelingPress

Steampunk Romance

Date Published: August 1, 2025

Lust in space!

Automaton engineers Clara Wheeler and Edmund Blake, groundbreaking developers of the first robot program, the Lovelace Protocols, are sent by Queen Victoria to the moon on a mission of vital importance to the Empire. They are to help Mon Ilson, the Lunarian Emperor of Space, conduct experiments on their bedroom automatons: Jack and Jill.

There is a darker aspect to the experiments. Spiritualist Cordelia Warrington, her automaton lover Adam, and Harry Kincaid of the Home Office are there to do the unthinkable: transfer a human soul into an automaton’s body.

Supervised by the beautiful Lunarians Pamela Fyfe and Burton Sobel, the group pass the three days of the journey with card games, dancing, and a wild weightless orgy. To her horror, Clara discovers that her machines have more than sex actuating their cogs and pistons. Death is also on the program.

 

EXCERPT

 

Clara Wheeler, Automaton Engineer

1868 -- A Royal Command

Edmund says composing riddles is childish, but I find them to be so much fun. Even while working.

Knowledge, he has, But never ideas.

Skills, he has, But never control.

No children has he, Nor can ever be.

Dependent souls has he, But master he can never be.

What is he?

“Slower,” I commanded.

JN32’s response was sluggish.

“Stop.”

“I saw,” Edmund muttered, and took his trusty turnscrew to JN32’s exposed innards.

I gave my aching thighs a stretch before resting my ankles on JN32’s broad shoulders. The automaton had not yet been given a face, so I was looking at the brass framework from which distinctly inhuman oculi stared down at me with mechanical indifference.

“Hurry up. I’m getting cold.”

“Just a jiffy.”

The certification room never seemed to be at the right temperature. One would think being rogered for two hours without pause ought to have raised my body temperature enough to boil water, and that may have been true in the first thirty minutes where I usually achieved several climaxes. But when it came time to make final adjustments, my level of passion had declined markedly. So far JN32 had performed to a standard which, by human standards, was spectacular.

Edmund began to whistle a music hall tune he’d picked up during his last weekend pass. He had been deliberately torturing me with “Champagne Charlie” ever since.

“This does not qualify as a jiffy,” I complained.

“Nearly there.” He finally stepped back and gave me that quirky smile of his. “When you’re ready.”

“Resume,” I commanded, and JN32 began moving his hips. Slowly at first, following the appropriate Lovelace Protocol, one of several thousand which governed all the behaviours the automaton could express. This particular set ensured that the pace and magnitude of his strokes built up gently so as not to injure the customer with a sudden assault. A half minute later when he’d concluded the sequence of graduated steps, I commanded him to go faster. His response was also to specifications, and his thrusts accelerated. Automaton cocks, if not restrained, are like the pistons of a locomotive, and the resulting friction could be discomforting and downright dangerous.

“Lubricate.”

The rim of JN32’s cockhead immediately released a measured amount of specially blended synthetic oils that matched the average viscosity of vaginal fluid, and I felt the improvement almost at once.

“Again.”

“What?” Edmund asked, looking at me over the top of his notebook.

“I was just getting a little dry,” I replied.

He raised a quizzical orange eyebrow. “That’s not like you.”

I returned what he unkindly termed my Medusa glower. “Faster, JN32.”

I was rewarded with an immediate quickening. My body shook with each thrust so that my breasts jiggled and swayed. Now came the test of Edmund’s adjustment.

“Slower.”

This time JN32’s response was immediate, and the protocol smoothly reduced stroke speed by a quarter, then a half.

“Faster.”

JN32 complied.

“Slower.”

“That’s good,” Edmund muttered. “No lag that I could see.”

“Nor I,” I responded between gasps. A pleasant pair of climaxes had surprised me.

“He found the spot, did he?” Edmund quipped.

Another series of small climaxes overtook me. “Never… you… mind…” I replied as waves of pleasure pulsed through my body, radiating from quim to chest in gusts of white-hot flame. “Stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I just need a moment.”

Edmund’s gaze travelled from my eyes to my heaving breasts and to my quivering belly to where my body joined with JN32’s. My gaze dropped to the decided bulge in Edmund’s trousers. I pushed away the readily evoked images of his thick ten inches ploughing the artificial sheath of a female automaton. After a few moments I had collected myself enough to resume the test.

I took JN32 through the advanced routine where his cock would vibrate at variable speeds sequentially from the head down to the base of his shaft. Then with the “wiggle” command the top half of his shaft moved up and down and then side to side as his cock moved inside me.

This is my favourite part of the test, one which gave me exquisite pleasure, particularly on the outstroke where the movement stimulated my swollen nub. I must admit it made me squirm every time. I peeked through my eyelashes to note that Edmund had seen my response. The bulge had doubled in size. Served him right for inflicting me with one of Charlie’s song lines: “Come and join me in a spree.”

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

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Ky's Revenge by Mikala Ash #ScienceFiction #Romance @changelingpress

 

The Rebellious Slave 3

Post-Apocalyptic Sci-Fi Action Adventure Romance

To Be Published: May 30, 2025

 

 

Rowan teaches the art of love to a lusty novice, while Ky suffers at the hands of an old enemy.

The lusty adventure continues!

 

Slave girl Rowan attempts a daring escape from her mysterious kidnapper. She hopes to be reunited with Ky and find the Key that will release her from the bonds of slavery and let them love as equals. Rowan is found by Lopi, a virgin fisherman, and she gratefully teaches him the joy of sex.

Ky has sworn revenge against the bearded man who took Rowan from him. However, he’s been handed over to his old enemy, the evil Warlord Thorfin, who seeks Rowan for his own purposes. Will the conjoined twins, Pus and Tule, be able to help Ky escape with his life? And what of Chin Lau? Rowan’s fellow slave has accepted the wolf brand and is the personal bodyguard and lover of the beautiful war chief, Tamin Gutra. He soon discovers she demands much more than his satisfying skills in bed.

To unlock the secret of this strange medieval world that coexists with advanced technologies, Rowan must first survive and then be reunited with the love of her life.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Mikala Ash

 

Ky’s head felt as if it was going to burst. It throbbed in time with the beating of a drum that seemed to be not two inches from his ears. This wasn’t his only torment. His wrists and ankles were cruelly knotted with thin twine that cut deep into his inflamed flesh. When he struggled, a wave of nausea overturned his consciousness. He dry-retched, which sent fresh stabs of lightning through his tortured brain.

He forced open his blood-encrusted eyes. The bizarre scene caused a moment of confused alarm. Everything was upside down. The pain emanating from his ankles was explained; he was hanging by his feet. He reasoned, after a few moments, that he was inside a vast tent, and against the walls the flaring torches cast dancing shadows of a parade of exotic animals and bizarre circus performers. Ky caught sight of Pustule, the ridiculously named two-headed dwarf. The cunning oddity was the loyal creature of Boss, the carnival’s owner. Laughter erupted from the audience who sat at long tables, amply supplied with wine bottles and ale mugs. Ky licked his dry lips.

What is this place? In brief disordered snatches he recalled his and Rowan’s attempted escape from the caravan, the fight with the bearded man, the taking of Rowan, the boss’s betrayal, and the arrival of the Skolls, the vicious marauders of the wastelands. He recalled that instead of just taking him, the Skolls had captured the whole caravan. After that the numerous beatings, too many to count, blended into one continuous thread of pain.

Nausea again threatened to take him out of his pain when a bucket of foul wastewater from the cook tent was emptied in his face. He coughed and spluttered as the stale liquid filled his nostrils.

Before him, only a few yards away, flanked by guards armed with spears, a naked gargantuan occupied an ivory throne. The big man pushed away the thin whore who’d been curled in his lap sucking his engorged prick. She slid to the floor gasping. Ky experienced a pang of recognition, but in his confused state he couldn’t put a name to her. Released from her immediate duty, she crawled away into the shadows.

The giant gave a hand signal, and the drumbeats ceased, as did the chattering of the assembled guests.

“He lives, does he?” he asked a thin, rat-faced man who stood by Ky.

“As you ordered, Captain,” the man replied.

Ky cursed the fiend who obviously revelled in inflicting pain with skills designed to take a living body to the brink of death and coax it back again.

“He hangs by his feet so as not to drown in his own blood.”

“Call me Lord Thorfin!”

“Lord Thorfin,” the man hastily corrected himself.

That some sort of promotion had occurred mattered little to Ky. It was the name that stabbed him in the heart.

Thorfin!

He hadn’t recognized the warlord from his dizzying position. He doubted he would have known him under normal circumstances. Thorfin had grown prodigiously fat during the dozen years that had passed since Ky had been on the losing side in the War of the Three Sovereigns. Filled with rage and grief, he’d stood with his father and brother while Thorfin personally walked among the ranks of prisoners choosing those who’d be sacrificed to Po. Ky had stared defiantly into the eyes of Thorfin, who laughed and chose his older brother, Sandor. Ky had rushed forward only to be beaten to the ground, his head held up by the hair so he could watch Sandor dragged to the crude block to have his body ripped asunder.

Ky had screamed every curse known to man till his voice failed. In the cells he’d watched helplessly as his father died of grief. Then, after a month-long trek, he’d been returned to Slavin Hold and pressed into service as a guard. At Slavin he’d started every day by swearing bloody revenge, an impotent gesture, as it turned out. Now the tyrant had him trussed up like a beast ready for slaughter.

Ky forced his mind to rise above his pain to concentrate on Thorfin’s words.

“I am bored with this,” Thorfin said. “Will he talk, Greeg?”

The torturer slapped Ky’s arse. “If he knows what’s good for him he will.”

“Then put him to the question.”

What question?

Greeg extracted an iron poker from the fire and waved it so close to Ky’s eyes it felt as if his tears would boil. “Where is the girl?”

Of course. This was about Rowan!

Rowan, the rebellious slave who he loved. Ky spat a wad of blood from his mouth. If he told Thorfin that Rowan had been taken by the bearded man, he might know who that mysterious fellow was and go after her. Did he really want Thorfin to get his hands on her? Even if he lived beyond this day, could he protect her?

Then, in a moment of clarity he realized that Boss, the corpulent owner of the carnival who had handed him over, would have already told Thorfin everything. There was no reason not to speak what he knew.

“The man with the beard,” he said his words barely audible.

Greeg struck him with an open hand. “Speak up!”

Ky repeated his answer.

“Yes, yes,” Thorfin said irritably. “I know of him. Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He never said his name.”

“No one in the town knew him either,” Greeg confirmed. “I asked them most pointedly.”

“You haven’t killed them all, have you?” Thorfin demanded.

Greeg chuckled. “Not yet, but they wish for it.”

“They must know something. There are more clues to a man’s identity than just his beard.” Though a beast in human form, and despite consuming a vast amount of wine, Ky knew Thorfin was not without intelligence.

“I will persist in my questioning, my Lord Thorfin.”

“I want answers.” Thorfin returned his gaze to Ky. “She means something to you, this slave, Rowan.”

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

 

Author on Facebook

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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Raincatcher by Mikala Ash #SciFi #Romance @changelingpress

Sci-Fi Romance, Multicultural & Interracial

Date Published: January 24, 2025

 

2147: Pollution has poisoned the earth, the seas and the air. Fresh, clean water is as precious as gold.

 

Rauni’s Mistress (Rain Catcher 1)

In the squalid red light district of Hobart Town, Roxy Talia earns her living as a porn star to make ends meet. Tobin Kane follows the monsoon rains across the ocean, collecting precious fresh water before it falls into the polluted seas. He and his crew have been blackballed within the industry. Tobin is determined to find a way to keep his beloved ship, the Rauni. That involves Roxy, the sexy vixen who holds the key to saving his future and has been the star of his lusty fantasies for years. Tobin will do whatever it takes to keep his ship -- even if he has to kidnap Roxy to do it…

 

Aqua Vitae (Rain Catcher 2)

When Audrey Purcell’s lover Kirk disappears in the aftermath of a bomb blast, the bittersweet experience transforms the shy, bookish girl into a brazen and reckless risk taker. Each shore leave sees her swimming in alcohol and rejoicing in one-night stands -- her latest fling being Joachim Muller, a navy commander with a body to die for. Her career takes a great leap forward when she’s given command of a derelict rain catcher, the Aqua Vitae -- but her success comes with a price. The echoes of her painful past clash with the promise of the future, threaten her lifelong dream with destruction.

EXCERPT

Excerpt from Rauni's Mistress

With wide eyes and a madly beating heart, Roxy Talia watched the tall, good- looking stranger enter the crowded hotel bar.

He was absolutely perfect.

His crisp uniform proclaimed him to be an officer, non-military, a merchant mariner of some sort. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the street lights, he presented an imposing figure, broad shoulders, trim waist, nicely shaped legs. Once he'd removed his face mask, he'd scanned the dimly lit bar room with barely disguised distaste. His chiseled features wore a sad, resigned expression.

When his dark, intense eyes settled on her where she sat at the bar and the spare stool beside her, Roxy's heart fluttered. Her nipples had hardened the instant his eyes met hers. That warm feeling in her belly she'd thought she'd never feel again washed through her like a spring tide.

He fit her needs exactly, but what was it about him? Her response was as bewildering as it was desired. She'd often thought these last few years that she'd become anesthetized to good-looking men. After all, she had her pick yet here he was, the man she had assumed didn't exist, shattering her jaded expectations.

He strode toward Roxy, fixing her with an unwavering gaze.

Roxy gasped, and her sudden intake of breath surprised her. She was actually nervous at the approach of this man. She took a deep breath to calm herself and tamped down the fear that her disguise was not good enough.

That afternoon, Roxy had taken considerable steps to prepare her deception. She'd dressed in a conservative business suit with a white blouse and knee-length gray skirt. She'd chosen platform stilettos to give her height, a tight bandeau to minimize her bust and a platinum wig to disguise her natural jet hair. For her face, she'd applied ivory foundation and powder to hide her golden skin, blue lipstick to alter the line of her lips and a fake mole on her right cheek. To hide her trademark green eyes, she'd inserted blue contacts and added azure eyeliner and turquoise shadow to alter their shape.

The hodgepodge of styles, business and tart, created a jarring amalgam of looks that would confuse any observer. At least that was what she'd intended. She believed herself to be unrecognizable and the three drunks who had tried to pick her up so far tonight hadn't seen her for who she truly was.

This man, however, was sober. It would be the test of her preparation and acting skills to fool him. He towered above her, his face impassive, his attitude commanding. "This seat taken?"

His voice was like honey. It flowed into her ear like sweet syrup, warming her all the way down to her fluttering belly.

"No," she said. The voice she'd decided on was deeper than her own, husky with a faint European accent to hide the Australasian nasal twang. She'd been practicing all afternoon, intending it to lead any listener to think she was just another environmental refugee trying to fit into Hobart Town and not quite succeeding.

The officer sat down. There hadn't been even a flicker of recognition. If anything, he displayed total indifference.

Roxy relaxed. Surreptitiously she gazed at the stranger in the bar's mirror. In between the bottles of imported and domestic Aqua and Hydra water and the ubiquitous range of Gills Beer, she considered his heavily defined features, trying to get a handle on his personality, as if facial lines told you anything about the inner workings of the mind.

His ebony skin, wearing the sheen of perspiration which was unavoidable in Hobart Town's enervating humidity, glowed in the bar's dim lighting. His short, black hair was closely cropped, exposing a nicely shaped skull. His face was heavily textured and seemed to attract the shadows.

"I'm Tobin," he said and she jumped in surprise.

He was staring back at her reflection. "I'm Su Sha Xie," she said, quickly adopting the name of her worst enemy in kindergarten, a petulant little girl who once had stolen her crayons.

His dark eyes narrowed. "Funny, you don't look Chinese."

"It's a long story."

Tobin signaled to the barman. "I'm not into long stories today. Want another?"

"Why not?"

He fished out his card, scowled and flicked it to the barman. "Wanna sit?"

She followed his gaze to a newly vacated table in the corner. "I thought we were."

"Something more comfortable."

"I'm not a hooker," she said.

"I didn't think you were." He stood up and waited, looking down at her. "Coming?"

Tobin's self-confidence was staggering. Then she figured out what it really was. He didn't care if she came with him or not. She was just a woman to him, one of thousands out on this hot Hobart night. Roxy quelled her momentary annoyance by reminding herself that this was exactly why she was here in disguise. She wanted, for once, to be just an ordinary woman.

"Sure."

The barman returned with two beers. Tobin took his card, picked up the bottles and, weaving through a group of drunken marines, strode over to the table.

Roxy followed. The view of his physique from behind was as impressive as from the front. His broad shoulders gave way to bulging biceps which were barely contained by the short sleeves of his shirt. He sported a trim waist, slim hips and oh so tight buns atop sturdy but shapely legs. The musculature of which screamed both stamina and strength.

Roxy approved. Unlike the men she knew, Tobin's body lacked the artificial contours gained in the gym. He was used to real work, and hard work at that.

Tobin sat down without waiting for her. "I meant it. I'm not a hooker."

"I believe you." He took a swig of his beer, his eyes fixed on hers. "I'm not looking for a hooker."

"What are you looking for?"

He took a swig of beer and motioned to the chair.

She sat.

"So, keeping it short, what's your story?" she asked finally, putting an amused tone in her voice.

He looked into his beer. "No potted histories, please. Let me tell you who you are and then I'll tell you who I am."

Her heart stopped. Damn it, he'd recognized her after all. She'd hoped she could have at least one encounter with someone who didn't know who she was. Her anticipation of the night she'd planned collapsed and the despair in the bottom of her chest stirred.

"We are two of a kind," he said slowly. "You tell me you're not a hooker, I say I believe you. Then you tell me again to make sure. You are balancing on stiletto heels to make you appear taller than you really are. You are wearing an appalling wig and, geeze, to apply all that makeup you must have used a bricklayer's trowel. So, I'm assuming you don't want to be recognized."

His eyes trapped her in an inescapable gaze and she felt like she was falling into their dark depths. Within her chest her heart thudded like a prisoner beating against prison bars and in her ears, her blood roared. She could barely breathe waiting for him to say her name and shatter her desire. She so much wanted this stranger not to recognize her.

"You don't want to be recognized," he repeated. "Well, that's fine by me. I don't want to know who you really are, and I'll believe whatever you tell me."

Confusion roiled inside her mind. What game was he playing? Did he recognize her or not?

Roxy cleared her throat. "You said we are two of a kind."

"Well, you see, Su, I don't want to be me tonight either. So the reason I'm here, in this bar in this dodgy hotel in this stinking rotten town, is to be anyone but me, okay? Like you, I want to be someone else, if just for the night."

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

 

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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Beneath the Skin by Mikala Ash #Steampunk #Romance @changelingpress

 

(Empire of the Sky 5)

 

Steampunk Romance

Date Published: 11/29/24

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

Soulmates? Or simply lovers? Selena and Nancy hope their paramours can see beneath the skin.

 

Selena Whiteheart has her hands full. The malignant witch, Lady Neva, has kidnapped her lovers, Jacob McCleary and Captain Kit Colby. While keeping her Home Office handler, Harry Kincaid, satisfied in every way, Selena vows to rescue them, but first she must contend with a mesmerised assassin.

Meanwhile Nancy Lea, envoy in human form of the goblin king, Mon Ilson, Emperor of Space, has failed in her bid to secure peace. Queen Victoria has sent her packing with a flea in her ear. With her lover and protector, Captain Jaimee Dalgliesh, she returns to the moon to report. With three days to kill, Nancy teaches Jaimee the joys of weightless lovemaking. However, Jaimee comes face to face with a real goblin. Can he overcome his visceral disgust and love the soul beneath Nancy's stolen skin?

The soul of Agent Felicity Cressy, murdered by Lady Neva, finds a safe haven in Nancy's mind. Will Mon Ilson return her to her body, and what does he expect in return?

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2024 Mikala Ash

 

Selena Whiteheart

1867 -- A Vixen in the Mist

 

I am a duplicitous witch.

Like Janus, the mythological god of beginnings and endings, I present different faces to the world. I began as Marjorie Fletcher, a naïve country virgin murdered for my body by hideous goblins. My homeless soul found refuge in the mind of Cressida Troy, with whom I fell in love. Inevitably I also lost my heart to her fiancé, Jacob McCleary, and I experienced lovemaking for the first time through Cressida. Now, as Selena Whiteheart, human agent of Mon Ilson, the goblin king and self-styled Emperor of Space, and owner of the empire’s greatest airborne gambling and bawdy house, I love the handsome and brave Captain Kit Colby.

I stood at my fireplace staring at the likenesses of Jacob and Kit inside a gold locket. I’d drawn both myself, and think I captured their essential differences rather well. Jacob, the former schoolteacher, whose intelligent gaze signified his thoughtful and considerate nature both in and out of bed, had given me my first experience of lovemaking, albeit vicariously. He was now estranged from Cressida Troy after the murder of Fleur Cumberland, which I had orchestrated. Kit, on the other hand, was a lusty warrior, a decorated hero of the savage air war against Prussia and the Hungarian Empire. As befitting his martial nature, Kit was both forceful and deliberate in his lovemaking.

I was lost for a few moments in a warm memory of passionate kisses, entwined tongues, probing fingers and hard, thrusting cocks before a wave of fear coursed through me. Tears threatened to flow as I traced their images.

I was not alone in my office. I was dimly aware of the earnest little man jabbering about an invention of his. I didn’t care about Mr. Frasier. I was immersed in a sea of despair, and the peril my charade placed not just Jacob and Kit in, but me also.

Both Jacob and Kit were captives of Lady Neva Talbot-Rhys, a powerful witch hell-bent on killing Queen Victoria. Lady Neva held the Queen responsible for her lover’s death during England’s devastating military reprisal against Prussia. I understood her wanting revenge. I felt the same about her.

I had to get them back. Lady Neva was a merciless malevolent maniac, capable of wholesale slaughter -- I’d witnessed that firsthand. My heart chilled at the thought of what horrors Jacob and Kit were suffering at her evil hands.

I wanted desperately to believe they still lived. Why else would Lady Neva kidnap them but to use them for some nefarious purpose?

Jacob had been sent by Mon Ilson to add weight to his envoy Nancy Lea’s mission to arrange a demonstration of his ultimate weapon. Lady Neva had stumbled upon Jacob during her search for Kit, and being a skilled mind reader, she would have instantly known Jacob’s value. That would have been a surprise to her, no doubt. But she was not one to miss an opportunity to cause the Queen even greater problems. She had intended to kidnap Nancy Lea as well, but fortunately she had escaped. I believed Lady Neva had probably gone to Europe to sell Jacob’s knowledge to one of Britain’s host of enemies. If that was the case, then Mon Ilson’s carefully laid plans could be wrecked and chaos would ensue, resulting in the deaths of millions. Frustratingly, our overseas agents had not detected any sign of Lady Neva. She had disappeared like a vixen in the mist.

I shuddered and took in a ragged breath of despair at what she would do to Kit. Unlike Jacob, who had political value, poor Kit she could torture at her leisure. Kit had become the object of her revenge after thwarting her plan to use the Prince of Wales to kill the Queen.

For the time being, as Selena Whiteheart, I do the bidding of the goblin king, the most powerful witch in history. For the moment our goals aligned. He too wanted Lady Neva found, for her determination to kill Queen Victoria threatened to derail his own plans of conquest.

My service to Mon Ilson requires a significant amount of time and energy, for I must hide my true intentions from him by burying them deep within my consciousness. I hate Mon Ilson. His goblins had murdered me, and then stolen my body from the grave. While I obeyed his commands, I secretly supported his overthrow by Cressida Troy, now his empress, another human with another name: Nil Ilson.

Cressida had saved my soul. Or rather my nascent magical abilities had led me to her, and her mind became my temporary safe haven. Then my magical powers were like a seed, waiting for water and heat. Unwittingly Mon Ilson supplied those himself, for when he read Cressida’s mind, he had detected me and recognised my potential as a servant. Like Pandora he opened the box of magic and let me absorb as much as I could hold.

To regain my body, I had enchanted both Cressida and Mon Ilson into believing they loved each other and convinced her to prove her loyalty to him so he would return my soul to my body. As my puppet, Cressida killed the most powerful human witch, Fleur Cumberland. Mon Ilson repaid me by returning my soul to my body and sending me to Earth to prepare the way for his conquest. I had confessed my perfidy to Cressida, hoping she would work with me to resist him. Cressida married Mon Ilson, and adopted the name Nil Ilson, and the title Empress of Space.

Mon Ilson’s plan to overthrow the British Empire required the co-opting of Queen Victoria. He meant to use the vast infrastructure of her empire to take over the world with hardly a fight. So, for the time being I’d be his enthusiastic cat’s paw until I could help Nil Ilson, Cressida, defeat him.

But first I have to find Jacob and Kit.

“Ahem. Er. Miss Whiteheart?”

The clearing throat and hesitant voice reminded me of Mr. Frasier’s presence. I closed the locket and turned to face the untidily dressed, red-haired little man. Before I’d lost myself in my own thoughts, he’d been enthusiastically engaged in a technical monologue about his new invention.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, returning the locket to my bosom. “Pray continue.”

He cleared his throat again, and after taking a deep breath began to list the benefits of his new gadget, a tamperproof roulette wheel.

“It will kill any accusation of fraudulence,” he had begun.

As if the honesty of my tables had ever been in question. The idea that I would be accused of cheating was insulting, but I continued to listen with feigned interest.

His name was David Frasier, a middle-aged inventor and factory owner from Edinburgh. He’d been introduced to me by Special Branch agent and my latest lover, Harry Kincaid. After making the introductions, Harry had excused himself, saying he had to send a message to his club.

That was a lie. The murky shade of Harry’s aura had given him away. I knew he was listening at the door. He’d asked me to be nice to Frasier as he was trying to recruit him as a spy. He visited the continent often, doing business with some prominent politicians and industrialists. The introduction to me would put Frasier in Harry’s debt.

It was for that reason I resigned myself to listen without objection to the fellow’s insulting proposition.

Frasier stopped in mid-sentence. He had been enthusiastically describing his contrivance, something to do with building a miniature mechanical computational device invented by Charles Babbage, when his face had become flushed, and beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. His hands started to tremble, and his final words ended in a slur. His aura had, in an instant, transformed into a seething pulsating muddy blob, the colours bubbling through each other in a roiling mass. A moment before it had been quite normal, nervous perhaps, and very excited, but that is not unusual in men meeting me for the first time, and after all, he was trying to make a sale. The transition had been so abrupt, so unnatural, I reached out to his mind to see the cause. I sensed despair, and most of all, mind-numbing fear. Hardly a coherent thought peeked through. The one that did was unmistakable.

“Mr. Frasier, don’t do this!” I put a suppression spell over him. “Whatever it is, I can help.”

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

 

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Goblin Girl by Mikala Ash #Steampunk #Romance @changelingpress

 

Empire of the Sky, Book 4

Steampunk Romance

Date Published: 7/26/24

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Nancy Lea is the Lunarian envoy to Queen Victoria. She and Jacob McCleary come to Earth with a deadly warning from Mon Ilson, the Emperor of Space. At an isolated airfield in the midst of a raging storm, Nancy is cruelly mistaken for the murderous Lady Neva Talbot-Rhys. Nancy is interrogated by the Queen's Agent, the witch Felicity Cressy. To keep her off guard, Felicity employs an unorthodox strategy. She introduces the dashing Captain Jaimee Dalgliesh to the alien in human form. His mission is to seduce Nancy, but can he avoid being seduced in turn?

Goblin Girl continues the Cressida Troy saga in which an unprepared world faces alien invasion. In a time where airships are commonplace, and witchcraft plays a crucial role in Queen Victoria's empire, Goblin Girl is a steamy adventure in the strange but curiously familiar universe of what could have been.

 

 

Excerpt

Copyright ©2024 Mikala Ash

 

Nancy Lea

1867 A Goblin Girl Goes to Earth

 

It was a rough descent. Inside the capsule, Jacob and I were pressed together in the contoured couch, hip to hip, and shoulder to shoulder. The belts that held me securely in place as we were jostled about bit through my one-piece flying costume and would surely leave bruises. We were riding a human test vehicle which we had captured some time ago. Jacob had been the pilot and had been our prisoner until he reluctantly agreed to be Mon Ilson’s envoy. I was to carry my emperor’s voice to the queen.

Jacob was wearing a leather flying cap and green filtered goggles and looked quite amphibian as his gaze shifted from side to side. He was closely monitoring the gauges and dials on the control panel and manipulated the various levers that controlled the ship’s buoyancy. Occasionally he would glance at me, and the visible part of his face split in a broad grin. He was excited to be returning home.

By Mon Ilson’s magic, the churning storm camouflaged our arrival. Barely two minutes before, we’d been released by the Lunarian airship and were descending at a rapid rate toward the Lizard Peninsula on the Cornish coast. Our ship, little more than a spherical steel ball barely ten feet wide, bucked and swayed at the mercy of the tempest. I bit my lower lip, imagining the gale that raged on the other side of the vessel’s thin shell, just a few inches from my head.

Jacob was adjusting the controls to release helium gas from our envelope so that we landed as close as we could to the designated airfield. Timing was of the essence if we were not to be blown too far off course. A violent wind gust rocked us, and I clutched Jacob’s arm.

“Chin up, Goblin Girl. We’ll be on solid ground soon.”

The appellation took me back to the first occasion he called me by that vile name. At the time I knew he’d intended it as an insult. We’d been “fucking like ferrets” as he described our frequent coupling, and I was panting frantically in the aftermath of a thundering climax.

“Why do you call me that?” I had asked resentfully once my breathing had calmed.

“Goblin Girl?” His smile as he chucked my chin was annoyingly patronising. “My dear,” he began, his tone mocking. “I know inside that pretty little human head is a leather-skinned goblin, like those stone gargoyles perched high up on a cathedral wall. You have huge yellow eyes, slimy slits for nostrils cut in a grey face as flat as an anvil. Rows of pin-sharp teeth hide behind knife-edged lips. You have bony shoulders, and muscled arms like knotted wood, so powerful you could snap a human neck. Not to forget the pair of oily black wings like those of a demonic bat, equipped with a half dozen razor-tipped talons, and ugly gnarled feet! For God’s sake, don’t get me started on your feet!”

I would be lying to pretend it hadn’t hurt, but his description of our -- yes, my -- natural form was accurate. What cut deeper was that he’d use those words to hurt me while his pearly seed dripped from my very bruised and unmistakably human cunt. I had given him the most hateful of glares and stuck out my tongue.

He laughed. “That’s the spirit! On occasion you act so human. Sometimes I quite forget.”

“I don’t want you to forget.”

“Why do you say so?”

“I want you to love me for myself, my soul, not my outward form whatever it takes.”

“Huh! Beauty is only skin deep as they say. Is that what you mean? Are you sure you want to go down that thorny trail?”

My feelings were hurt, still an odd sensation, and I didn’t yet know when to stop. “Perhaps.”

Jacob knitted his brow. “Why on Earth do you want me to love you? Don’t answer that. I know you are just following orders and will say anything to get inside my head.” His expression had changed, from mild curiosity to utter contempt.

“I wonder you can bring yourself to lie with me if that is what you believe.”

Jacob shrugged. “A man has urges. I can’t control the call, the quickening of the blood, or deny the demanding reality of my hard cock. That body you have stolen, killed for, I should say, would get a rise out of any man -- alive or dead! Your human covering is just an empty vessel, somewhere to dump my seed.” He glared at me, his eyes as hard as flint, and I saw the hatred behind them. Then they softened. “Ah, don’t do that.”

He wiped the tear away with his thumb. The gentle action broke the dam, and there followed a flood.

“Ah, my Goblin Girl… come here!” He held me close, his heart thudding in his chest, his warm breath upon my cheek. “I’m a beast too. There’s no denying it.”

Later, after he’d ploughed my furrow once again and jetted more seed into my human cunt, he held me tight. “Why?” he asked after a few moments.

“Why what?”

His gaze took in my quivering form. “All this. Why did you give up your natural body for this human one? Marjorie was so in love with hers she’d do anything to get it back, even murder and treason. Why are you lot not attached to your form?”

He was referring to Marjorie, a nascent witch whose body had been taken from its grave and later adopted. Her soul found sanctuary in Cressida Troy’s mind until Mon Ilson enabled her to return to her body for helping Cressida kill the human scientist, Fleur Cumberland. Now Marjorie was our most powerful agent on Earth.

Jacob had thumped his naked chest. “My attachment to this weak and breakable frame was so strong it allowed me to survive after my soul had been wrenched away.” He took my chin between thumb and forefinger. “You chose to do this,” he continued, forcing me to justify myself. “Why?”

Why indeed? “I do not regret it.”

“I’ve noticed, and that’s what I don’t understand. Have you all been mesmerised by Mon Ilson to deny your love of your natural form?”

“I have not!”

“Then why? I want to understand. It’s no small thing to give up your body, no matter how grotesque it is.”

“We do not see ourselves so,” I countered.

His brow furrowed with incomprehension. “Then why? You could fly, for God’s sake!”

“It is hard to express. It is too easy to say, as many will, I did it because Mon Ilson commanded it. Those words are just a public display of loyalty. As wonderful achievements as our cities are, the selfish reason is we are heartily sick of existing underground. We want to live under a wide blue sky rather than a roof of stone, feel fragrant wind on our cheeks rather than a sterile breeze from a fan, to bask in the summer sun and have our faces tanned, impossible under cold artificial light. We want to swim in the ocean and feel mud squish between our toes. We want to make love, to feel a kiss and take pleasure in it, to quiver with a soft caress, and be overwhelmed by the glorious sensations of making love.”

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

 

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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Cressida's Agents by Mikala Ash #SteamPunk @changelingpress

Book Title: Cressida’s Agents

Author Name: Mikala Ash

Date Published: June 7, 2025

Genre: Steampunk, Murder Mystery, Romance

About the Book:

Replete with all the trappings of an alternate world -- airships, steam powered aircraft, automatons, moon bases, and witches with psychic powers -- Cressida’s Agents is a steamy thrill-a-minute ride in a universe of what could have been.

Cressida Troy, after being mesmerised into betraying humanity, is now the wife of Mon Ilson, the alien leader, and is crowned Empress of Space. While pretending to be the love of his long-life, Cressida is desperately seeking a way to redeem herself, and somehow save human civilization from destruction at his hands. Then her former fiancé, Jacob, is captured and brought to the moon. Can she earn back his love, or has her seeming betrayal hurt him too much?

Meanwhile on Earth, Marjorie, in the guise of brothel madam and casino owner is acting as an agent of Mon Ilson. Her goal is to learn from him the secret of immortality, and for now she must do his bidding. A violent assassination attempt on her airship Fortuna brings her into the strong arms of handsome Squadron Leader, Sir Christopher “Kit” Colby. Her attempt to uncover the mastermind behind the plot leads them both into deadly danger.

Retailer Link: https://books2read.com/CressidasAgents

Changeling Press: https://www.changelingpress.com/cressida-s-agents-empire-of-the-sky-3-b-3635

READ AN EXCERPT

Bauble-like, the Earth shone down on ash-hued desolation, embarrassing the barren scene with exuberant fecundity. Patches of white lace speckled the deep blue of the oceans and brushed the rich ochre of North Africa. Above was Europe and, if I squinted my eyes, I fancied I could see my island home, the lush green of England.

My breast ached with a fervent yearning.

My husband, Mon Ilson, the self-anointed Emperor of Space, drew me closer and kissed my neck. “It will all be ours, my love.”

“When?”

“In due time, my darling.” He pulled me to him, and I snuggled against his muscular chest. “Do you miss it so?”

I thought a moment and shook my head. “Not when I am with you.”

His lips brushed my earlobe. “We will return soon. I promise. Our plans advance by the day. Once again you will walk upon the green grass and feel fresh air upon your cheeks.”

I turned my head and returned his kiss, deepening it, allowing the stirring in my quim to mask the confusion of my thoughts. As homesick as I was, did I really want to go back? Could I conquer my guilt? I feared that with the first step the grass beneath my feet would turn to cinders as dead as the lunar dust.

Much had happened to me in the year since I’d left the world of my birth. I was no longer the same woman, the naive and selfish Cressida Troy who’d been fooled into betraying humanity. That silly girl had become Nil Ilson, Empress of Space, wife to Mon Ilson, and co-leader of the Lunarians. I was no longer responsible only for myself. Thousands now depended upon me, be they hideous goblins, or those who’d “adopted” human bodies.

In the deepest recesses of my mind, where I was safe from mental probing, I knew that I’d been possessed, mesmerised into being a traitor to humanity, deceiving my fiancé, Jacob McLeary, and then killing the two greatest threats to Mon Ilson’s plans, Fleur and Horatio Cumberland.

The problem was only the agent of my apparent treachery knew that. The spirit of a murdered girl, Marjorie Gilbert. She had taken over my mind and had deluded me into believing I loved Mon Ilson, and deceived him into believing it too. She’d also tricked him into giving her advanced knowledge of witchcraft. My anger at her was tempered by the realisation she had not done this to me out of maliciousness, but so she could regain her body which had been stolen by Mon Ilson’s goblins. Because she loved me, Marjorie had confessed this, and passed on all the magical powers and knowledge Mon Ilson had given her, including the ability to hide my deepest thoughts.

That was the past. I had committed myself to saving humanity from enslavement at my husband’s hands. How I would accomplish this I did not know. I was impatient. Biding my time waiting for an opportunity to present itself was both frustrating and dangerous. Not only could I be discovered, but I ran the greater risk of letting my growing love for Mon Ilson blind me to the chance if it arose, and then could I bring myself to exploit it? That I had come to love him no longer surprised me. Over the last year I’d learned his dreams, ruled alongside him, and shared his bed. I’d seen firsthand what an extraordinary and charismatic man he was, and in other circumstances I would have unreservedly given him my heart and soul. However, those benign conditions did not exist. The reality was Mon Ilson was a murderer.

A moan escaped my lips as Mon Ilson caressed a hardening nipple. We were lying on a couch in the top deck of the royal barge, he behind me, with one leg draped over my hip. In the crease of my posterior his cock stirred.

I wiggled against him. “Make love to me,” I murmured.

“That was my intention.”

My husband deftly lifted the hem of my robe and pressed the swollen head of his cock against my quim. He gently nudged apart the moist lips and effortlessly slid inside. With a slight adjustment of his hips the tip of his cock touched that especially sensitive flesh on the roof of my cunny. Pure pleasure flooded my system.

Mon Ilson was over a thousand years old, and with countless sexual liaisons behind him he had developed techniques that ensured a woman’s complete satisfaction, and men too. He used sexual magic to bond his people to him after he transferred their spirits from their goblin bodies into the vacant husks of murdered humans, a process they termed Adoption.

When Marjorie had occupied my mind she would stimulate my senses from the inside, maximising my pleasure, and bonding me even more tightly to Mon Ilson’s influence, and made him even more convinced of his devotion to me. He had been trapped in Marjorie’s web of deceit just as tightly as I had. His hold over his people was not just through sexual magic, but the promise of eternal life. Only he could give them that. Only he could transfer their goblin souls into human bodies. That was why Marjorie stayed his servant, hoping to learn the trick. Though she had possessed me, she didn’t know how. That was the one secret Mon Ilson did not share with her. Marjorie wanted so much to live, over and over again, that she would do anything for him.

Now that she was gone from my mind, my physical reactions to his lovemaking were under my control. To overcome my natural aversion to him -- a murdering megalomaniac goblin in a human body -- I used magic to bury my repugnance, project lustful thoughts, and intensify my physical reactions.

“Fuck me harder,” I encouraged him.

His technique, with my magic, quickly filled my body with the pulsating energy that took me to the precipice of climax, a cliff edge from which I gladly launched myself, and was lifted like a skyrocket to an explosive culmination.

My response caused him to reach his own conclusion, and he filled me with his copious essence. He wanted children, and my tardiness to provide the gift was, from his perspective, the only negative aspect in our relationship. Not that he put any pressure on me -- he loved me too much, but I’d felt his need. The reality was that any unnecessary delay would need to be explained and defended. I knew of no reason to defer the inevitable any longer. Though I had control of my fertility, when and by whom I became pregnant, it was not something I expected to enjoy despite my intention to use magic to remove the more onerous aspects that plague many women. At most it would be awkward. Being with child might give me the leverage I needed to control Mon Ilson’s ambitions and hopefully mitigate the worst excesses of the invasion, if not avoid it completely.

My husband’s kisses became more fervent, and he resumed his lusty thrusts. He used his own magic to remain hard, and he fucked me to another shattering climax. Another glut of his seed filled me to overflowing, and those fireworks exploded in my head once more. We lay in each other’s arms, his cock still rigid, while our ragged breathing slowly returned to normal.

“My Lord,” Gloria said diffidently. While we recovered, she had waited by the bed, head bowed, her hands clasped before her shaven quim. Gloria had befriended me after I’d been first kidnapped. She was blonde, with caramel eyes, and a deliciously curved mouth. Like all Lunarian women who’d adopted a human body, Gloria was not only beautiful with a spectacular bosom and narrow waist, but she was also obsessed with sex. I gave her a smile, and she nodded acknowledgement. “Nil Ilson, I am so sorry to interrupt. The humans have sent a vessel beyond the atmosphere.”

Mon Ilson sat up. “Have they really?”

Author Info:

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Author on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mikala.ash.9

Author on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ash_mikala

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

Cressida's Agents by Mikala Ash #steampink @changelingpress

 

Steampunk

Date to be Published: June 7, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Replete with all the trappings of an alternate world -- airships, steam powered aircraft, automatons, moon bases, and witches with psychic powers -- Cressida’s Agents is a steamy thrill-a-minute ride in a universe of what could have been.

Cressida Troy, after being mesmerised into betraying humanity, is now the wife of Mon Ilson, the alien leader, and is crowned Empress of Space. While pretending to be the love of his long-life, Cressida is desperately seeking a way to redeem herself, and somehow save human civilization from destruction at his hands. Then her former fiancé, Jacob, is captured and brought to the moon. Can she earn back his love, or has her seeming betrayal hurt him too much?

Meanwhile on Earth, Marjorie, in the guise of brothel madam and casino owner is acting as an agent of Mon Ilson. Her goal is to learn from him the secret of immortality, and for now she must do his bidding. A violent assassination attempt on her airship Fortuna brings her into the strong arms of handsome Squadron Leader, Sir Christopher “Kit” Colby. Her attempt to uncover the mastermind behind the plot leads them both into deadly danger.

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

Bauble-like, the Earth shone down on ash-hued desolation, embarrassing the barren scene with exuberant fecundity. Patches of white lace speckled the deep blue of the oceans and brushed the rich ochre of North Africa. Above was Europe and, if I squinted my eyes, I fancied I could see my island home, the lush green of England.

My breast ached with a fervent yearning.

My husband, Mon Ilson, the self-anointed Emperor of Space, drew me closer and kissed my neck. “It will all be ours, my love.”

“When?”

“In due time, my darling.” He pulled me to him, and I snuggled against his muscular chest. “Do you miss it so?”

I thought a moment and shook my head. “Not when I am with you.”

His lips brushed my earlobe. “We will return soon. I promise. Our plans advance by the day. Once again you will walk upon the green grass and feel fresh air upon your cheeks.”

I turned my head and returned his kiss, deepening it, allowing the stirring in my quim to mask the confusion of my thoughts. As homesick as I was, did I really want to go back? Could I conquer my guilt? I feared that with the first step the grass beneath my feet would turn to cinders as dead as the lunar dust.

Much had happened to me in the year since I’d left the world of my birth. I was no longer the same woman, the naive and selfish Cressida Troy who’d been fooled into betraying humanity. That silly girl had become Nil Ilson, Empress of Space, wife to Mon Ilson, and co-leader of the Lunarians. I was no longer responsible only for myself. Thousands now depended upon me, be they hideous goblins, or those who’d “adopted” human bodies.

In the deepest recesses of my mind, where I was safe from mental probing, I knew that I’d been possessed, mesmerised into being a traitor to humanity, deceiving my fiancé, Jacob McLeary, and then killing the two greatest threats to Mon Ilson’s plans, Fleur and Horatio Cumberland.

The problem was only the agent of my apparent treachery knew that. The spirit of a murdered girl, Marjorie Gilbert. She had taken over my mind and had deluded me into believing I loved Mon Ilson, and deceived him into believing it too. She’d also tricked him into giving her advanced knowledge of witchcraft. My anger at her was tempered by the realisation she had not done this to me out of maliciousness, but so she could regain her body which had been stolen by Mon Ilson’s goblins. Because she loved me, Marjorie had confessed this, and passed on all the magical powers and knowledge Mon Ilson had given her, including the ability to hide my deepest thoughts.

That was the past. I had committed myself to saving humanity from enslavement at my husband’s hands. How I would accomplish this I did not know. I was impatient. Biding my time waiting for an opportunity to present itself was both frustrating and dangerous. Not only could I be discovered, but I ran the greater risk of letting my growing love for Mon Ilson blind me to the chance if it arose, and then could I bring myself to exploit it? That I had come to love him no longer surprised me. Over the last year I’d learned his dreams, ruled alongside him, and shared his bed. I’d seen firsthand what an extraordinary and charismatic man he was, and in other circumstances I would have unreservedly given him my heart and soul. However, those benign conditions did not exist. The reality was Mon Ilson was a murderer.

A moan escaped my lips as Mon Ilson caressed a hardening nipple. We were lying on a couch in the top deck of the royal barge, he behind me, with one leg draped over my hip. In the crease of my posterior his cock stirred.

I wiggled against him. “Make love to me,” I murmured.

“That was my intention.”

My husband deftly lifted the hem of my robe and pressed the swollen head of his cock against my quim. He gently nudged apart the moist lips and effortlessly slid inside. With a slight adjustment of his hips the tip of his cock touched that especially sensitive flesh on the roof of my cunny. Pure pleasure flooded my system.

Mon Ilson was over a thousand years old, and with countless sexual liaisons behind him he had developed techniques that ensured a woman’s complete satisfaction, and men too. He used sexual magic to bond his people to him after he transferred their spirits from their goblin bodies into the vacant husks of murdered humans, a process they termed Adoption.

When Marjorie had occupied my mind she would stimulate my senses from the inside, maximising my pleasure, and bonding me even more tightly to Mon Ilson’s influence, and made him even more convinced of his devotion to me. He had been trapped in Marjorie’s web of deceit just as tightly as I had. His hold over his people was not just through sexual magic, but the promise of eternal life. Only he could give them that. Only he could transfer their goblin souls into human bodies. That was why Marjorie stayed his servant, hoping to learn the trick. Though she had possessed me, she didn’t know how. That was the one secret Mon Ilson did not share with her. Marjorie wanted so much to live, over and over again, that she would do anything for him.

Now that she was gone from my mind, my physical reactions to his lovemaking were under my control. To overcome my natural aversion to him -- a murdering megalomaniac goblin in a human body -- I used magic to bury my repugnance, project lustful thoughts, and intensify my physical reactions.

“Fuck me harder,” I encouraged him.

His technique, with my magic, quickly filled my body with the pulsating energy that took me to the precipice of climax, a cliff edge from which I gladly launched myself, and was lifted like a skyrocket to an explosive culmination.

My response caused him to reach his own conclusion, and he filled me with his copious essence. He wanted children, and my tardiness to provide the gift was, from his perspective, the only negative aspect in our relationship. Not that he put any pressure on me -- he loved me too much, but I’d felt his need. The reality was that any unnecessary delay would need to be explained and defended. I knew of no reason to defer the inevitable any longer. Though I had control of my fertility, when and by whom I became pregnant, it was not something I expected to enjoy despite my intention to use magic to remove the more onerous aspects that plague many women. At most it would be awkward. Being with child might give me the leverage I needed to control Mon Ilson’s ambitions and hopefully mitigate the worst excesses of the invasion, if not avoid it completely.

My husband’s kisses became more fervent, and he resumed his lusty thrusts. He used his own magic to remain hard, and he fucked me to another shattering climax. Another glut of his seed filled me to overflowing, and those fireworks exploded in my head once more. We lay in each other’s arms, his cock still rigid, while our ragged breathing slowly returned to normal.

“My Lord,” Gloria said diffidently. While we recovered, she had waited by the bed, head bowed, her hands clasped before her shaven quim. Gloria had befriended me after I’d been first kidnapped. She was blonde, with caramel eyes, and a deliciously curved mouth. Like all Lunarian women who’d adopted a human body, Gloria was not only beautiful with a spectacular bosom and narrow waist, but she was also obsessed with sex. I gave her a smile, and she nodded acknowledgement. “Nil Ilson, I am so sorry to interrupt. The humans have sent a vessel beyond the atmosphere.”

Mon Ilson sat up. “Have they really?”

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

 

Contact Links

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

Preorder Today