Steampunk Adventure Romance
Date Published: September 11, 2026
Cressida be saved?
Mourning the loss of her husband, Cressida Troy is on her way to Earth. Her
mission; to meet the Queen of England and cement relations between the
Lunarians and humans to present a united front in the approaching war with the
Martians. For Cressida, the mission has a much deeper and personal meaning.
Being human, as well as the Lunarian Empress, Cressida is plagued by doubt and
guilt and seeks redemption for what is seen by many as the betrayal of her
species. Matters are complicated when she is kidnapped by the pernicious
witch, Lady Neva, who is hell-bent on revenge against Queen Victoria. Armed
with unlimited magical power, Lady Neva is planning to usurp the crown and
rule both Earth and space.
Meanwhile Jacob McLeary, Cressida’s former fiancé, is under the
watchful and lascivious eye of Lavinia Branscombe, a Lunarian agent. Knowledge
of the dark secret at the heart of the Lunarian society fuels Jacob’s
loathing of the aliens, but with so much at stake, can love overcome the
barrier of hate? Will Cressida find redemption?
Like a child’s toy, the cradle of humanity filled the bridge windows
with brilliant colour: blue, green, and brown, flecked with white, a gemstone
set against the black velvet of space. If only people could know how
insignificant this world was in the scheme of things, floating silently in the
incomprehensible emptiness.
Pointless philosophising distracted me for only a moment. My heart trembled
with anticipation. I was nearly home.
The Lunarian crew, in their natural form, goblin like, winged with leathery
skin and large bright eyes, ignored my presence, as they should. Though they
were experienced, with hundreds of trips behind them, piloting a spacecraft
was not something to be taken lightly, especially with me on board creating
the expectation that everything should be executed perfectly.
I would have put them at ease, but that would have been churlish of me, I
realised. They wanted to impress me, and lowering expectations would have been
like a slap in the face, a sign of patronising condescension on my part. Not
an endearing action no matter how well intended.
I turned my thoughts back to the sparkling globe before us, and the people who
awaited me. I’d read how the ancients believed that the souls of the
dead fled their bodies and ascended to the moon, a way station before
reincarnation, or their ultimate disposition in paradise or the underworld.
Little did they contemplate that souls from that grey desert of a world would
descend upon the Earth and conquer it.
I had to be careful how I approached not just the Queen, and her parliament,
but most importantly the bureaucracy which ruled from the shadows and exerted
more power than she could ever hope to wield. I hoped they understood we
humans were a conquered species. Of course, behind the mask of cheerful
bonhomie and expressions of respect as they delivered begrudging cooperation,
there would be fear and hatred. From that febrile soup simple
misunderstandings could bubble up and poison the nascent relationship.
The politicians had wanted a state visit to impress everyone with the
importance of our relationship, and to thank me for using our power to save
them from their European enemies. Though our reasons differed, I agreed with
Her Majesty that ostentatious displays of pomp and ceremony were unnecessary.
She wanted to maintain her image of the Warrior Queen and didn’t want to
share the adoration of the crowds as the saviour of the Empire. She feared the
loss of face if I was seen as an equal.
I wanted none of that either, feeling as disloyal as I did for my part in what
was fundamentally the takeover of her empire. I requested a low-key, quiet
visit. A gentle introduction back into human society. One in which I would not
feel such a fraud. With Her Majesty’s relieved endorsement, my desire
had carried the day.
The other vexed issue was the taking of her son the Prince of Wales by Lady
Neva. I had to placate and convince her that we were doing everything we could
to return him to her. Though she detested the Prince — after all he had been
intimately involved in several assassination attempts, and she had come so
close to strangling him with her own hands — he was her son.
Randolf, my bodyguard and general factotum on this mission, floated at my
side. “My lady,” he said softly into my ear. “Amanda has
prepared a meal.”
“Thank you, Randolf.” I had skipped breakfast, and as always, my
body servant had correctly anticipated my needs. I was indeed feeling hungry.
Randolf was a handsome, powerfully built, athletic man. His bright azure eyes
reminded me so much of Jacob’s. My body stirred, my nipples hardened,
and my quim throbbed. He and his female counterpart, the stunningly beautiful
Amanda, had pleasured me delightfully and often since we had left the moon,
and I had gratefully surrendered myself to them. That train of thought pushed
the need for food aside. I wanted to be pleasured again.
I took Randolf’s proffered hand, and we glided to the access chute that
led “down” to the passenger quarters. His body heat pulsed through
his tunic and through my gown to warm my flesh. He wore no pants, and his
stiff cock swayed enticingly as he propelled himself before me. Amanda was
awaiting us, naked and undeniably aroused, the nipples of her ample breasts
pink and erect. I gave her an encouraging smile to confirm my thoughts were of
a similar nature.
Being firm, she countermanded my desire with the advice that I needed
sustenance. She offered a full English breakfast: steaming scrambled eggs,
kippers, ham, bacon, and sausages, kidneys, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes. A
feast for a multitude. With a petulant pout, I took a dainty bite of each and
finished with a cup of tea and a slice of toast. I’d maintained a
salacious gaze which lingered on her almond-shaped eyes and gave rise to a
pink flush to her cheeks. When I’d finished, I gracefully dabbed my
mouth with a napkin and took Randolf’s cock in hand.
“Keep the food warm, and join us,” I told Amanda. “I may eat
some more later. My current appetite, though, is for the diverting pleasures
of unbridled fornication.”
Making love when one has no weight, once the initial challenges are overcome,
is a sublime enterprise, more like an ethereal ballet of the most intimate
kind. Holding your partner in a close embrace, limbs entwined, his cock held
snugly by one’s tight sheath, so that you become as one, spinning,
rotating, pirouetting like a ballerina celebrating a mind-shattering climax.
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.
