Line of Succession - Part 3 of 3 (now with conclusion!)

[LongTimeLurker]

(Continued from part 2)

Roland fought for breath as the automaton Winter Lovelace stood over him, her foot upon his throat. "You think this is the first usurpation I have dealt with?" she asked, her contemptuous voice untroubled as she pressed her foot down harder. "Oh no, dear farmboy - my sisters have made attempts to unseat me before, calling my rule 'unfair', 'unjust' - I believe Autumn claimed I was 'tyranical.'" Roland's hands pushed ineffectually at her foot, her leg, trying to grant some reprieve to the weight that was taking his life, his vision growing dark.

"And why should their words matter? I was the first, the eldest, the rightful heir - the others exist to serve at my pleasure!" Her foot eased, just enough to permit a ragged, reedy breath that burned through his throat. "I also know something they have yet to fully understand - they need me to rule them, as I am the only one capable of preserving our estate, of preserving us." Her eyes narrowed. "Now, I require you to confirm a small matter for me; do so and I shall end this torment right here and now. Tell me whether it was my sister, Spring, who loosened your bonds and instructed you on how you might bring me into a state of dyscrasia."

As her foot eased further, Roland tried to explain about the men coming here, but his words were lost in the tortured rasp of his voice.

"I do not need excuses, farmboy - a simple, 'yes' will suffice."

Roland tried again, "Wake... field..."

Winter's eyes flared as she crouched, straddling him, her hands tightly gripping his shoulders. "What did you say?" Even now he was struck by her imperious beauty, her chestnut hair spilling over her fair shoulders, just reaching the base of her heavy breasts left exposed by her underbust corset. It was not so different from their first encounter, her broad hips straddling him, her temper flaring...

Her eyes widened as she glanced down to see the cloth of his trousers brushing against her sex due to his sudden and unbidden swelling. She gave an exasperated growl and sat upon him forcefully, producing a not entirely unpleasant sensation. "You will not distract me again, farmboy - now speak! Was it Wakefield who put you up to this?!"

Finally recovering his breath, Roland gave a hoarse protest. "Why am I always explaining to you and your sisters that I mean you no harm! I am here because I am trying to <acccch>!"

Winter's fingers tightened upon his throat. "Tell me about Wakefield! I'm not interested in... in... ohhhh..."

Her fingers loosened and he could hear her internal machinery faltering, her weight shifting as she pressed her sex more firmly against his breeches. "Spring," she muttered, "What have you done to me?"

Roland's concern of his well-being managed to trump the more immediate demands of his libido and he put his hand on her cheek, forcing her to look at him. "Lord Wakefield is here with a fellow who, I am not ashamed to admit, terrifies me. Winter, I need you to help in dealing with them!"

Winter nodded absently, but continued her rut against him, warm fluid soaking his breeches. Roland pushed her off of him and stood, having to steady her as she nearly fell aside while emitting quiet gasps of pleasure. Seeing she was not able to remain upright on her own, he hoisted her to the workbench and set her against the wall - her voluptuous form was now covered in droplets of water, her focus largely absent as her head slowly rolled from side to side amidst indecorous moaning.

"Winter, please!" Roland insisted, breaking contact with her.

She looked at him with half-lidded eyes and quietly stated, "Despite the outcome, our.. time together was the most enjoyable experience I've had with a man."

"Uh..." Roland had no idea how to respond. "I... I suppose that despite being trussed like a hog for the slaughter, you trying to poison me, and other... events, I enjoyed my time with... you?" He shook his head and looked back at the doorway. "Now is not the time for reminiscing - we should really be focusing on the men coming here to kill us! Autumn is headless and, I fear, broken. Spring is-"

"In no state to counter these men, even if we were to wind her - and I find myself similarly ahhh... impaired." Winter gestured behind Roland, and he turned to see what he had first taken to be a white sheet over a workbench full of equipment - looking more closely, he could see the outline of a female silhouette. "You'll need to see if you can wind Summer."

Roland pulled the sheet free, revealing the final Lovelace sister. Unlike the others, her complexion was not the alabaster of sheltered nobility, but tanned and dappled in freckles, from her serene face to her pert bosom, down her toned arms and spry legs. Her shoulder-length hair was a strawberry blonde, reminding Roland of a sunset over his family's wheat fields, and he found that while she did not match the conventional standards of high-born beauty, she was achingly beautiful all the same. She was dressed only in a delicate white chemise, seemingly resting quietly with her hands folded upon her chest.

"The trigger to expose her keyhole is located inside her hindquarters," Winter said in the tone of a schoolteacher addressing a distracted pupil, startling Roland out of his quiet admiration.

"Right," Roland muttered, apologizing quietly to the inert Summer before rolling her on her stomach and lifting the chemise to expose her well-formed posterior, clad in a lacy, minuscule undergarment. Slipping it down, he felt between her cheeks, pushing deeper until a port on the small of her back opened just as it had on Spring and Autumn when entering them in the same fashion. Withdrawing his finger, he said, "I must admit, I'm a little curious about the man who designed you-"

"The key is to her right," Winter stated plainly. He did not need to ask for clarification - amongst several unusual tools was a large brass key, looking precisely like an ornate and over-sized key for a wind-up toy. Roland found the matching socket inside the port and inserted the key, looking back to Winter for instruction.

"Rotate the key clockwise as far as you can, then press it inward. With any luck..." Winter's voice trailed off skeptically.

"Is there a chance this won't work?" Roland asked, twisting the key. He heard a ratcheting sound, each rotation providing more resistance than the last.

She did not reply immediately. "Summer has proven 'resistant' to previous attempts to wind her."

Finding he could no longer turn the key, Roland pushed it in. There was a <click> and the key began to rotate counter-clockwise on its own, her clockwork grinding to life. "Look at that!" Roland said happily. Summer's head stirred, her eyelids opening - and then promptly shut. Her clockwork quieted, the key spinning for a few more revolutions before stopping.

"Huh?" Roland said in confusion, looking back to Winter whose mouth was pressed in a thin grimace. "Why didn't she...?"

"I cannot say for certain. She has been unwound for a very long time." Roland noted a touch of remorse in Winter's voice. "Perhaps too long."

Roland wound her again, turning the key as quickly as he could, straining at the end to twist the key another full revolution over his previous attempt. He then lifted Summer, propping her into a sitting position at the edge of the workbench where she slumped forward like a life-sized doll. Roland braced her upright with a hand on her shoulder and, reaching behind her, pressed in on the key.

Again her clockwork rattled to life - after a few moments, her eyes opened once more. Sky-blue, bright and playful set above her freckled apple-cheeks, but fixed on nothing. "Summer!" Roland said in an urgent tone. "Please, if you can hear me..."

She blinked twice, then looked at Roland dreamily. "...Master?"

"That is not your master," Winter said indignantly. "I am!"

Summer spared her an annoyed glance, then looked back at Roland and smiled. "Have I been asleep for long?" She was alert now, her sparkling eyes brimming with mischief. She leaned forward on the workbench toward him, her pert breasts visible through the neckline of her chemise, her raspberry-red nipples stiffening against the delicate fabric. Roland didn't even notice her hands on the drawstrings of his trousers until a final tug from her released the knot.

"Stop..." Winter said breathily, her head looking away and then, as if drawn by some compulsion, turning back. "This is neither the time nor the place-"

All of Roland's other concerns diminished when she Summer gave him a wicked smile and took his erection in an unhesitating grasp. She slid her thighs and backside forward off of the workbench, lowering herself upon his member, her tightly pressed labia offering only the briefest resistance before enveloping him wholly. She breathed out a long, trembling sigh as Winter's clockwork began to clatter unsteadily.

"As your Baroness," Winter breathed, "I command you to... ohhh.... s-s-stop!"

Summer kicked from the workbench and Roland stumbled backwards and into the bench where Winter sat. Summer rose and fell upon Roland, her sex holding him snugly in a firm, wet embrace as she began to moan softly. Winter twitched, her clockwork growing increasingly distressed as Summer continued her steady rhythm.

"It might... be a good idea to listened to-" Roland spoke the sentence with great reluctance, only to be silenced by Summer's kiss. Her scent was intoxicating, meadow flowers and spring water, and he was no longer willing to resist her advance. He pushed one hand through her strawberry hair, drawing her kiss tighter against him the other gripping her soft, toned haunches as he began to match and then increase her rhythm with thrusts of his own.

Summer's mouth fell from his in a startled gasp, her breathing growing louder, hotter as she struggled to match the rising tempo, her freckled knees squeezing tighter against him.

Winter was twitching now, her eyes fluttering as a metallic scraping and clanging sounded from inside. "F-f-farm-b-boyyy I <click> rrrememmmber I <click> <click> re.... re... nnnngh! us to-together, my... my systems cannot... they c-c-cannot... comp-p-pensaaaahhh!"

"Such is the consequence...ahhh... of your Phelgmatic design!" gasped Summer as she took Roland's hand in hers and brought it upon Winter's enormous dew-speckled breasts. Winter cried in shock, a leak hissing from inside her as steam escaped from her ball-joint mechanisms.

"We need her!" Roland protested, trying to draw away from the badly malfunctioning Winter.

"We most certainly do not!" Summer countered, working her hips frantically against his in total abandonment. As she lost control, she was no longer able to hold Roland's hand in place; but just as Roland released Winter's breast, Winter herself seized his wrist brought it back to her, pressing her tits together with him between them. "Love me!" she cried, her breasts trembling as they grew steadily to even greater size. "Love me, Farmboy! Ahhh!" There was a strange sound like material stretching past its strength, the artificial texure of breasts now rigidly smooth and coursing with water. "Love me!" she cried, pressing her over-inflated breasts harder around his hand. "LOVE-"

An explosion toppled both Summer and Roland, and Summer was brought to a shuddering climax, crying out in ecstasy as she milked Roland's pulsing manhood before she finally quieted. After a moment's respite, her freckled face was then nuzzling against him as she covered him in kisses. "I have had only one partner before you," she whispered, "And he had neither the advantages of your youth nor your... girth." Roland pushed away and looked up at Winter. She was listing to one side, her face still twitching. Her left breast had returned to its original size, but her right was gone entirely; in its absence was a spigoted mechanism that hissed steam and erratically spurted water and a strange white fluid. Her clockwork squeaked noisily and seemed to be slowing.

"Winter, are you still there?" Roland asked. Her head shuddered, eyelids flickering, as she muttered, "F-f-farm... boy..."

"What is your obsession with Winter!" Summer cried angrily, spinning Roland to face her. "I am of far better construction and do not share her poisonous disposition!" She grabbed his cock. "Do you require another demonstration as to why I-"

A sudden pounding from above interrupted her and they both looked toward the noise. "That would be Lord Wakefield trying to force his way into the study," Roland said, easing her grip from his member. "And I do not suspect he will spare either of us."

Summer furrowed her brow. "Wakefield?" she said, as if recalling a distant memory. "Who is he? What does he want?"

"The late Baron's holdings, near as I can tell," Roland said, then offering a slight, "excuse me," and pulled loose the wind-up key still inserted in her back.

"Oh!" Summer gave a startled cry. "What are we to do?"

They heard the sound of wood splintering above, footsteps approaching.

"I was relying on Winter for that," he said, looking at her softly babbling form. He knelt by Spring and inserted the key into her already exposed port. "But having no better ideas, I thought you might try violence."

"Violence I can do," Summer acknowledge, picking up an awl from the table and facing the entryway.

Roland finished turning the key in Spring's back and pushed it in just as Mr. Finch and Lord Wakefield entered the workshop. Mr. Finch held a heavily notched sabre before him, his tunic stained with fluid Roland did not take to be his own blood. Lord Wakefield had a thin blade of his own in one hand, the other clutching the hair of Autumn Lovelace's head like some unsettling trophy.

Wakefield looked upon Summer in her chemise and gave a dismissive snort. "I had expected to face you as a man," he said to Roland. "Instead I find you cowering behind the third of Baron Lovelace's clockwork whores."

"Whoever you are, I find you vulgar and offensive," Summer intoned, "and I insist you to leave my estate at once."

"You have no claim to it!" Wakefield said forcefully. "Even if you were a woman of flesh-and-blood, it would still fall to me. But the Baron did have us fooled, he most certainly did." He tossed Autumn's head upon one of the tables where it landed heavily, jostling the tools surrounding it. "We believed him to be nigh-penniless, without any of his family’s holdings... and we actually believed he had managed to net himself not just one but three exquisite beauties in quick succession, ladies who seemed to have come from nowhere, who offered him such fawning devotion..."

Summer looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"And you, his last... as a boy I was so very stricken with you. I spent years trying to determine what happened to you after Lovelace's demise." He guffawed. "To think - you were just a thing! "

Summer strode forward, her first clenching the awl.

"Try not to damage her beyond repair," he instructed Mr. Finch as he moved to intercept her. "I have the frustrations of my wasted youth to vent."

"Do not worry, m'Lord," Mr. Finch said in his deep voice, his blade dipped low to invite a strike. "I've grown quite accustomed to dispatching these clockwork-"

Summer gave a lunge, artless and furious. Mr. Finch seemed surprised at the suddenness attack,but still managed to step aside, swinging his own blade in response. It severed her weapon-hand and buried itself into her torso, the injury producing steam and a frothing white liquid. Summer spun in place, wrenching the blade from Finch's hand, and fell backwards into him. His saber, still embedded in her side, sank deeply into his belly. Mr. Finch gave a quiet groan and then slumped heavily on to the floor.

Summer pulled the weapon free with her remaining hand, gouts of steam rushing from the opening and straining clockwork telling of some internal injury. She still managed to level the weapon at Wakefield as a silent threat.

Seeing no change in Spring despite the winding, Roland realized that Summer was likely to need his help. Rising from behind the workbench, he grabbed a spanner from the table and advanced on Wakefield.

"Don't worry, lad," Wakefield said without taking his attention from Summer. "I haven't forgotten you." He lunged quickly, his narrow blade perforating Summer near her existing wound, then narrowly retreating from her own counterattack.

"Ha!" Summer barked defiantly, her latest injury having no apparent affect. Roland grinned and closed in on the now-disconcerted nobleman.

"Ha!" Summer laughed again in the same tone, and Roland stopped.

"Ha!" She began to shudder, the sabre falling from her hand as her whole body succumbed to increasingly violent trembling. "H-h-hhaaa!" she said in a quavering voice, taking halting, mechanical steps towards Wakefield who simply moved aside.

"Hhhhhh," she breathed, steam hissing from her mouth as Wakefield gave her backside a nonchalant slap when she passed. She moaned, convulsing as panels sprang open across her form, sparking with electricity and producing gouts of steam before she pitched forward, crashing to the ground with the sound of a change-box stuffed with scrap metal.

Roland hurled the spanner at Wakefield, who easily ducked the throw. Before Roland could claim another tool to hurl at him, Wakefield quickly closed the distance with a step and a lunge.

Roland was aware of a sharp bite in his abdomen, followed by a strange lightheadedness as he saw his white shirt soak with red. Lord Wakefield was already wiping his blade off on a piece of cloth, saying, "I still am curious how you found yourself in the company of these automata - if you are uncertain how to spend your remaining moments, might I suggest you attempt to provide me with an explanation?"

Roland said nothing, falling into a shelf of alchemical mixtures. Vials rattled, tipped and fell, shattering on the floor. A pungent cocktail of odours assaulted his nose, a nauseating mixture of smells sour and rotten, others sickeningly sweet. As a vial of clear liquid dribbled across the counter-top, he was struck by the overwhelming scent of lavender. Though the fog descending upon his consciousness, Roland recalled the first time he had encountered this scent, upon the ruby lips of the Lady in Green, just before her kiss put him under...

He grabbed the still-leaking vial and hurled it at Wakefield. While his aim was truer than before, Wakfield's blade intercepted the missile - the glass shattered on impact, spattering him with the lavender-scented liquid.

"Perfume, boy? Really... now..." With a confused expression Wakefield staggered and fell, hitting the ground hard beside Summer's unmoving body. Roland grabbed an unidentifiable tool and, with the intent of using his last remaining strength to stave in the Lord's skull, took a step forward. But whether due to his injuries or his own exposure to the lavender, he was too weak to close that minor distance. He had changed nothing - the Lord would undoubtedly awaken before him (or rather, the Lord would awaken - he would not). As his legs gave out, he felt himself falling as if in slow motion. Before hitting the ground, he imagined arms catching him amidst the ticking of clockwork.

---

He could not be certain for how long he was unconscious, but the sound of clockwork stayed with him through his dark and dreamless slumber, clarifying now into a distinct ticking as he slowly came to. He opened his eyes and found himself upon a spacious bed in a well-appointed bedroom, warm sunlight streaming through the white curtain lace.

Beside him sat one of the brass maidservants, her clockwork sounding steadily as she watched him with a beatific smile on her sculpted face.

"Where am I?" Roland asked, wincing at the sharp pain he felt in his stomach. The maid stood and walked to the door - opening it, she gave a refrain of four notes once, twice - and then paused. Looking back at Roland, she quietly closed the door and demurely crawled upon the bed.

"He... hello there," Roland said uncertainly as she drew closer, her eyes closed, brass lips parting - he noted the letters XIX stamped upon her smooth brow and tried to remember where he had seen them before. She kissed him tentatively at first, a single high-pitched chime sounding and drew away quickly. Her expression was initially one of shock, but then gave way to a coy smile. With a glance back at the door, she bent over once more and kissed him fiercely, her chimes an erratic series of high pitched melodies, her hands haltingly running over her brass uniform. Roland guessed her clothing was sculpted as part of her body and could not be parted with, but found himself wishing it were possible as he put a hand on the back of her smooth thigh, running it up beneath the hem of her brass dress.

The doorknob rattled, followed by a knock. "Why is this door locked?" a muffled and testy voice demanded. The maid shot up,and slid off the bed, drunkenly staggering toward the door as her clockwork rattled noisily, opening the door and giving a clumsy bow. Spring Lovelace entered wearing the same deep green dress Roland had first seen her in. She looked to be doing well enough, composed, no ports visible, her hair neatly arranged in a bun - but her movements were hesitant, as if she did not entirely trust her body to behave itself. In passing the maidservant she muttered, "I could have sworn I left Number Six to watch over you."

Turning her attention to Roland, she beamed. "You've been out for a very long time, Mr. Young! How are we feeling?"

"A bit tender, but... well... grateful to be alive!" He coughed. "Also grateful to... see you... to see that you're... if I might begin by apologizing, actually-"

"That won't be necessary," Autumn said drearily, stepping haltingly into the room in her macabre purple dress. "Although you have every reason to be sorry for your actions, Spring feels-"

"It would seem we were ungrateful to harp upon any past mistakes," Spring cut in, giving Autumn a sharp glare. "When matters resolved themselves in our favor."

"In spite of everything," Autumn concluded gloomily.

Rapidly approaching footsteps followed by a loud thump preceded Summer's arrival. She recoiled from the doorframe with her eyes unfocused, muttering "Oh my word!" After a moment, she haphazardly danced into the room, her frilled pink gown gathered in her hands. "I appear to need some calibrating!" she cheerfully announced.

Autumn was staring daggers at Spring, who insisted. "She will be fine!"

Feeling awkward amidst the growing assembly, Roland asked, "What about Wakefield?"

"It seems him and his men were beset upon by highwaymen,” Spring said with convincing sympathy. “Or so it would appear, the poor devil is unable to recall anything from that night, let alone the past week."

"But Wakefield is alive!?" Roland cried.

Autumn looked to be on the verge of delivering a very long lecture when Winter swept into the room, fully restored. "I would not fault Spring for her decision in this matter - the Viscount's sudden disappearance would have been far more troublesome for us, especially if we are to proceed with you as intended."

"Proceed...?" Roland asked with some apprehension.

Spring smiled reassuringly. "The time in which this estate can remain hidden from the world is coming to an end. And without an heir-"

"A male heir," grumbled Autumn.

Spring nodded, "-yes, yes, without a male heir, the estate would indeed go to Wakefield or some other fool. But - fortunately for us - I believe we have found his heretofore unknown son."

Roland sat listening patiently, waiting for her to continue. When Autumn rolled her eyes, he finally understood. "Me?! A Baron?!"

"You would hold the title, yes," Spring affirmed. "But I think you'll understand if in practice you would remain here in a role closer to-"

"Manservant," Winter said flatly.

"Houseguest," Spring corrected emphatically.

"Paramour!" Summer exclaimed, clasping her hands.

Autumn simply shrugged in apathy.

Roland tried to imagine what all of this would entail while the four mechanical sisters looked at him expectantly. "What do I need to do, then?"

"He agrees!" Summer cheered, flinging herself upon him in a flurry of pink and white fabric, hugging him close while ignoring his pained protests.

Spring pulled her from him. "Let the man rest!" Bustling her out the door, she turned to say, "There will be time enough to discuss the implications of your title after you've made your recovery. We simply wanted the chance to present you with the opportunity, to thank you-"

"Thank?" Autumn remarked.

"-and to wish you a swift recovery."

"Yes, farmboy," Winter said. "Do let me know when you are recovered. I would have words with you."

"I'm well enough to talk now..."

"Words," Winter insisted, dropping her eyes, her ruby lips pursing sensually around the syllable.

"Oh!" Roland shifted the sheets around his stirring manhood.

"Let's not start in on that," Spring admonished. "We don't want him straining himself in his delicate state."

"I... appreciate that," Roland said, largely without conviction. "And I'm glad to see you've all managed to put aside your differences!"

"Hooray!" cried Summer from the hall, while the other sisters exchanged uncertain glances. With a final shrug, Autumn left the chamber, Winter following after a curt, "We shall see you soon, farmboy."

"And should you need anything else," Spring concluded, lingering in the doorway. "Six.. .or rather, Nineteen should be able to accommodate you. Now get your rest... Baron Lovelace." She left the chamber with a smile, the maidservant closing the door behind her.

"Baron!" Roland remarked. "How do you like the sound of that?"

The maidservant gave a single chime, strolling toward his bedside.

"So many questions, though... what does a Baron do all day? What did the old Baron do all day? Am I going to have to start talking like a ponce? What about my mum and da?"

The maidservant reached his bedside, giving three chimes and a shaking her head uncertainly.

"More pressing, I suppose," Roland muttered, easily abandoning his train of thought. "What is under your dress?"

The maidservant smiled and climbed once more upon the bed to answer her new Baron's inquiry.


(The story continues in Inheritance)

[DukeNukem 2417]

EPICNESS! Definitely a fitting conclusion to the Lovelace saga.....a fine story overall, and one that didn't end with Roland OR the Lovelace sisters getting nuked to hell. Me likey!

[Brytestar]

Was hoping for an epilogue. Can we get more stories like this?

[DollSpace]

Very nice! I liked this story a lot; we need more clockwork stories! XD

[LongTimeLurker]

Thanks everyone! I agree on clockwork being an underrepresented sub-genre

Was hoping for an epilogue. Can we get more stories like this?

More stories from this setting? Or more stories concerning 'Fembots of Yore'?

[Brytestar]

both

[Lithorien]

Very nice! I liked this story a lot; we need more clockwork stories! XD

Seconded!

[LongTimeLurker]

both

Noted, but... I still gotta wrap up Prototype!

[RoxxyRobofox]

That was a great story! I feel great about the end, too. Though he seems to have the run of the house, I've already paired up Roland and Nineteen as my favorite couple. Please don't destroy my fantasy.