1924. New Petropolis, formerly New York.

The eve of the disaster.

My name is Eva. I was born on August 23rd, 1901; I just turned 23. My father, Max von Kuldoff, is throwing me a party in our house. Everyone is invited. Everyone who is anyone, anyway. Lots of diamonds and pearls, lots of fur coats and high heels, gruff mustaches and cigars. Old money. My family has always been part of the old money, all the way back to the New Founding. It allows us a certain standard of living, but.. it's costly, too. The guards have done their best to blend in tonight, but I can still see their guns tucked away in sleeves and beneath sashes. No one is safe these days, least of all those of us who belong to one of the Five Families. That's life, I guess. You never know what might happen.

Oh, the Five Families? You mean you don't know? ...I guess you're from outta town, huh? Okay, no problem. New Petropolis is home to five families - five gangs, I mean - that more or less control the city. Yeah, the politicians will deny it, but everyone knows it's true. The politicians know it, too, but they're all bought and paid for by the families to keep their mouths shut. No one really needs the politicians anymore, anyway; whatever you need, the families have you covered. Five families, five districts, five turfs. For the most part, the families leave each other alone, but there's still tension. Everybody wanna make out the best, you know? And that means conflict is inevitable. Why, I never knew life without a bodyguard. Nah, don't worry about him; I gave him the slip. We're all alone here, baby. What's that? My top? M-hmm.. but then you gotta take off something, too!

Hear that? The music and laughter from downstairs; it must be close to two hundred people, all crammed into the ballroom of the mansion. That's not counting the guards, of course. I bet if we looked outside, we could see the long snouts of a hundred different, sporty automobiles, all shiny and spic and perfectly maintained. A few zeppelins, too, most likely; our house has room for a full six of the personal models, which are usually reserved for the big shots. I keep hoping my Dad'll give me a zeppelin for my birthday, but so far, no luck. Maybe tonight is the night? He did mention having a big surprise for me...

Oh! ..mmh.. now, now, you're getting a bit frisky, aren't ya? Don't get the wrong idea; we can do it. Just gotta be quiet, okay? All the guests downstairs, if they knew--

Hmn? Oh, yeah, like I said, they're the old money. Exiles from Europe from way back when. My family came over here, I think, oh, eighty years ago? My granddaddy, he was some kind of landed gentleman in Germany. Now we are here. But since there are so many of us, Germans, I mean, we gotta stick together! That's one of the families, right there; well, we call it a family; it's actually a lot of families. But when we work together, we can control the helium trade. That's a monopoly, see? That's what this Five Families business is all about. Resources. Money. It really is quite simple, when you think about it. Everybody needs helium for their zeps, or diesel for the car, or what have you. So the families get together, and they make sure everyone can get it. At a price, of course. We're not socialists, after all.

What do the other families trade in? Why, what's that matter? Wouldn't you rather look at me while I'm getting undressed? We paid a lot of money for these clothes, the least they could do is look good coming off me! Blouse, stockings, petticoat-- oh! You noticed that, did you? Yeah, my dad'd kill me if he knew I hadn't worn underwear to my own birthday party. But, hah.. it wasn't for his sake I didn't, now was it?

Mmh.. I guess I don't mind telling you, since you're so clueless. We, the Old Money, have the helium trade. The Gambols run petrol and diesel. The Scaramuccis run the hostels, the brothels and the casinos. The Russkies have their guns, bless 'em. And the Jack Knaves-- they trade in a bit of everything, to be honest. Rowdy lot, them. Mostly, they deal in shipping via boat, which means that you can't escape them when you're an honest businessman. That's what my dad says, at least. Can't get in and out of the city without the Knaves knowing about it. For all that, though, they're small time. Paddies and Limeys, most of them; what did you expect?

But enough about that. We didn't come up here, all by ourselves, to discuss politics, did we? I know I didn't. I came up here to enjoy my birthday present-- you know what I mean. So why are you still wearing pants? Do I have to come over there and pull them off of you myself? 'cause I will, you know. Don't stand between a girl and a good time! I'm only gonna tell you once. We have about twenty minutes until my Dad starts looking for me..

And while I'm down here on my knees, getting you nice and hard and wet with my mouth, maybe try looking out over the city. Never mind my bobbing black curls or the tantalizing wet noises drifting up from below. Look out over the city, and try to see it for what it really is. A predator. A beast that'll swallow you up and spit you out, and take from you until there is nothing left. If you really are as new as you seem, you'd better be careful. Lots of people don't know what's what until it's already too late. Don't be like them. Keep your hands and your eyes to yourself. Don't get involved. And if you do, you'd best make sure you've picked the right horse.

Oh, but who am I kidding? You're already putty in my hands. Or, should I say, in my mouth? Don't cum yet, though. I still want to feel you inside me, ramming between my legs with your hands on my slender waist. I want to ride you like a stallion, and feel your warm baby batter fill up my womb. Oh, don't worry, honey. I'm protected! In more ways than you know. But you'd best hope my daddy doesn't catch you fooling around with his precious daughter. What, caught balls-deep in his little girl, the apple of his eye? Better hope that doesn't happen.

Oh, come now. Cheer up. I can taste your pre-cum in the back of my throat. I know you want me. Why deny it? Just give Eva what she wants. A nice, big birthday present.

Give it to me.

Now.

Welcome to New Petropolis, the alternate 1924 version of New York, in which zeppelins, art deco, gang violence and sexual debauchery mix and mingle in this Dieselpunk/Crime Noir world. I am looking for someone who wants to develop this world further, and for whom sex is a product of good story and plot, rather than the other way around. I love the 1920s, and draw my inspiration from a host of sources, including the music of Caro Emerald, the aesthetic of art deco, the vibe of prohibition era crime families, and a host of 20's-inspired media, including The Legend of Korra, Bioshock, Dishonored and more.