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The Time Riders: Part 3

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The Time Riders: Part 3
What happens when you mix clock-block with priapism?

Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.



Ain't Nobody Got Time For That Shit!

Mark and Becky sat in the small cottage, looking around in

wonder. They were still in Seventeenth Century France, but found themselves
surrounded by technologies that they hadn't even heard of. The walls were lined
with clocks, some of which were mechanical, some seemed to be digital or
binary, while others told time in ways they couldn't fathom. Sitting across
from them at the stout, round oaken table, Chester Edgerton smoked a pipe and
observed them casually.

"How; how can you have this all out on display?"

Mark asked, still gaping. "I mean, isn't it against the rules to have this
sort of tech from the future lying around where the locals might bump into
it?"

"That's the beauty of it, my' boy," he said

cheerfully, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "They can't see it."

"Well, I get it if you try to restrict entry to your

house," Mark pressed, wanting to understand. "But what if you're gone
and bandits break in? Becks and I can account for banditry in this day and age,
for sure."

"Mayhap," the man replied. "But I brought you

through the door that leads to my actual house. The front door, the one the
local peasantry sees, leads into a simple cottage, typical of the period, and
owned by a pudgy man of indeterminate nationality."

"Your; house is in two places at once?" Mark

asked, trying to understand.

"No, it's the same place," Chester answered

simply. "Two different times, however. We're sitting in my actual abode,
Twenty-First Century."

Mark shook his head. "That's some weird Tardis shit

right there."

"Only at first." Chester allowed.

"I notice you have all your windows shut," Becky

remarked. "You said we're in the Twenty-First Century, but I take from
further ahead than Mark and I are from, so you're not showing us?"

"Clever girl," mused the man, smiling. "While

I won't absolutely stop you from looking or even going outside, I would warn
you that if you do and see something you don't like, you're committing yourself
to that future, no matter how hard you try to undo it."

"We'll stay put then," she said readily. "You

were kind enough to bring us here and sort of explain how we might acquire
goods in the time stream?"

He nodded. "I know it might seem counter-intuitive, but

the simple fact of the matter is that if people are going to insist on time
travelling, the least they can do is be well-prepared for it so they don't hurt
themselves or others."

He leaned forward. "The first question you need to ask

yourself is, why are you so intent on time-travelling to begin with? Is it
simple curiosity? Are you planning to make a living somehow? Are you just trying
to get laid?"

He looked at Mark during this last question and the young

man blushed, while Becky giggled and patted his hand. "Mark was a dud in
Physics in his last year of high school," she explained. "Come to
think of it, he was in little or no danger of getting into any post-secondary
education facility."

"Thanks." Mark muttered.

"But, then he found his time machine, something called

a Holmes Field Device, and he resolved to go back in time a few months and
convince me to give him an A in Physics with the promise of earth-shaking
sex."

"This story sounds worse every time I hear it."

Mark complained.

"Fortunately, I acquiesced, rather than disemboweling

him for breaking into my home, and not only did we become lovers, but now we're
adventuring the time stream together."

"Hmm, a teacher and a student, eh?" mused the man,

smiling at them as he smoked. "Teachers and students are plentiful, of
course, but they're usually from the far, far future and on very
strictly-controlled excursions into the past. Hands-on history classes, if you
will."

"That makes history sound kinda fun." Mark said.

"Oh, I daresay it is," agreed Chester.

"Nothing quite as exciting as going back to the Cretaceous Period and
taking a ride on the back of a trained Styracosaurus. Or watching Dromer
races."

"Isn't that screwing with the timeline?" Becky

inquired. "I mean, humans weren't around for another sixty-three million
years following the demise of the dinosaurs."

"It's all very carefully regulated on remote

islands," Chester explained. "It does nothing to mess with the
ecosystem and the specimens are trained to interact with humans, for the most
part."

"Riding one of those big horned dinosaurs would be a

kick." Mark mused, grinning.

"You've already got a perfectly good horn I like to ride,"

Becky giggled, squeezing his hand again. "Besides, this is where our host
tells us that it won't be possible for us any time soon."

"You're a very perceptive young lady," he allowed.

"We can't have just anyone mucking up the time stream, you know. It's
especially difficult when people who lived before time travel was commonly
accepted try to get involved. They inevitably get exposed to technologies they
shouldn't be aware of, or events that weren't known during their own time;”

"I'll give you a tiny example," he said, leaning

forward now, as if he was confiding a secret. "Have you heard of the
Tunguska Incident?"

"Sure, the Tunguska region in Siberia, 1908,"

Becky answered, nodding. "A large meteor slammed into the ground, creating
a blast equal to sixty megatons and flattening everything for nearly a hundred
miles around."

"No, that's what you need to think," he

corrected, pointing the stem of his pipe toward them. "It was, in fact, an
advanced weapon that was stolen from a future date, and before temporal agents
could recover it, the thieves blew it up to cover their escape. Granted, there
are people in your time who have conspiracy theories about nuclear blast,
nearly forty years before the first atomic tests, but they're wrong as well. It
wasn't a nuclear device, simply a weapon with an incredibly high conventional
yield by your age's standards."

"So; why can you tell us this now?" Becky asked.

He grinned and spread out his arms in a gesture of farce.

"Who would believe you?"

"So how did you know that we were time travelers?"

Mark asked as they followed their host and guide through the woods.

"Well, I heard snippets of your conversation,"

Chester said as he led the way. "But to be honest, even though your
outfits might pass with locals for 'reasonably authentic', you couldn't
possibly hide your origins from a fellow time-traveler. Mark claimed to be
Spanish, he doesn't look at all Spanish, certainly not from this era. Miss
Rebecca is remarkably tall for a woman."

"Well there's something I don't hear very often back

home!" she giggled.

"And you're both in strangely good health, with

unblemished skin and full heads of hair," Chester added. "I was
relatively certain, and then I heard you discussing your relative inexperience,
so I sought to introduce myself."

"I'd' have thought that you wouldn't introduce yourself

to newbies," Mark stated, helping Becky over a log. "Isn't it safer
to keep your chatter to people who know what they're doing?"

"It's actually the exact opposite," replied Chester.

"The best thing you can do around veteran time travelers you don't need to
talk to is to not talk to them. Their timelines are probably very intricate and
you don't want yours getting snarled up with them. Newbies, as you call them,
probably still have linear experiences that are simple to understand and
educating them about what awaits is the simplest way to keep things from
getting weird."

Getting up to leave the cottage, Mark asked; "So this

device the time cops gave me," Mark stated, holding up his chronometer.
"It's actually pretty useful then, because it warns me when I'm getting
too close to myself or something I've affected."

"That was very generous of them," Chester said in

a serious tone. "They don't do that for just everyone who shows up suddenly
in the time stream. Sometimes they let matters work themselves out, if you know
what I mean."

Chester’s Forest Farewell.

 The meadow they stepped into, had a mature lush forest

further back.

They reached a small clearing in the forest they'd been tromping

through and stopped for a bit, sitting on a fallen tree trunk. Chester looked
at them both and slapped his hands on his thighs. "Now then, I've brought
you here so that you can witness a casual event that is due to happen just
outside the woods. Nothing major, but it will give you a taste of what can
await you. I have something to attend to and should be back in a few hours.
Just stay out of sight and don't leave the tree line."

"You're leaving?" Mark protested. Chester turned

to look at him.

"It might be that the events you will see unfold work

better for me if I am nowhere near them," the man replied. "Fear not,
I shall return. Enjoy yourselves."

And then he walked into the woods and was gone. Mark looked

around and finally sighed. "Helluva way to mentor someone," he
muttered as he stood to take in a panoramic context. "Take 'em somewhere
and then just fuck off? Nice."

"He’s not your mentor, Mark," Becky chided,

sitting on a log and smiling at him. "He's a fellow time traveler who is
doing you a favor. He's given you plenty of valuable information free of charge
already, something I doubt he does frequently."

"Well, okay," Mark allowed. "So, we just wait

until we see something happen?"

"No idea when that'll be, he didn't really tell us, did

he?" Becky pointed out.

"Yup," Mark sighed. "So, now what?"

Becky tilted her head slightly as she looked at him, like

there was something wrong with his brain. "Here's an idea. How about you
come over here and fuck me?"

Mark was so determined to be bent out of shape for having no

instructions that he'd overlooked the completely obvious. He laughed and
stepped forward, pulling Becky to her feet. They were holding their hands
between them and staring into one another's eyes, smiling.

"Now this is what time travel is all about," she

purred, her eyes shining with delight. "You're going to fuck me in the
woods in Louis the Sun King's France, Mark. For all we know, this is some sort
of royal ground and we're trespassing. How many people can say they've done that?"

"Just the lucky ones;” he replied, beginning to

unfasten the clasps on her dress, freeing her chest from its confines. As the
dress fell away, she was left standing on in a low-cut, blouse-like shirt and
some panties, having chosen to forego the usual layers of buntlings and
knickers. She bit her lip as he pulled her blouse over her head, exposing her
glorious tits. Kneeling now, he slowly slid her panties down, feeling a thrill
as her hairless, smooth cunt came into view. She stepped out of the tiny thong
panties, letting him drink in the sight of her. Yes, he'd been with her for
over a week now in France, but he never tired of seeing her beautiful body.

"Your turn now, my lord." Becky whispered as she

began removing his clothing, peeling away the layers until he was as naked as
herself. She stood up again and moved close, her nipples gently kissing against
his chest. Unable to hold back any more, Mark pulled his teacher to him and
kissed her deeply, making Becky moan into his mouth. Their hands wandered over
one another's now-familiar forms, seeking to stimulate, tease and pleasure. His
hands found her pert ass cheeks and he squeezed them, causing her to moan
again.

"Hmm, can't wait to get some grass stains on this

dress," she murmured, looking up into his eyes. "And maybe a few on
my knees."

She slowly knelt in front of Mark, kissing and nipping at

his skin on the way down. His swelling phallus was in front of her face now and
she licked her lips hungrily before taking gentle hold and kissing it. Mark
closed his eyes and shivered, loving the feel of her lips on him. Everything
about his teacher was incredible. He was just sorry it had taken so long to
realize it.

Becky now had the head of his cock inside her warm, wet

mouth, swirling her tongue around flicking the tip of her tongue against him.
She giggled as his rod throbbed and grew longer and harder. She loved how
turned on he could get by her, it made her feel so primal and sexual. She then
slid her mouth a little further down his shaft before pulling back, shivering
in delight at the sight of his glistening skin.

Mark's fingers were in her hair and flexing gently as she

began to bob back and forth, taking more and more of him into her mouth. She
hummed lightly, vibrating her lips around him and making him groan. Her hand
rested on the shaft, pumping as it followed her lips, making a gentle twisting
motion on the sensitive skin. Becky loved sucking cock, and Mark's was
ridiculously perfect for her, in just about every possible way. She hoped that
wouldn't be a problem down the road.

She took gentle hold of his hips with both hands and moved

back and forth along his shaft, breathing through her nose as she deep-throated
him. Mark groaned in pleasure, his fingers flexing into her scalp and tugging
her hair. She looked up at him, maintaining eye contact, which she knew he
found so erotic.

She could feel his skin growing warm and knew now was the

time to stop and change things up if she intended to have his cock inside her.
There was indeed one good thing about them being out of sync, with her current
self three months behind him; they already knew she wasn't pregnant in his
current timeline, so he could cum deep inside her as much as they liked. She
pulled her mouth off his with a wet 'pop!' and smiling seductively.

"I'm thinking maybe my girl wants to say hello too;”

she purred. Mark nodded and spread out her dress before lying down on it, his
rock-hard cock standing straight up and throbbing. Becky crawled over him,
straddling his face, her creamy, wet cunt mere inches from his mouth. She faced
down his body, giggling and he snaked his tongue out to taste her, but she kept
her prize just out of reach.

"So that's how it is, eh?" he said from below her

before suddenly wrapping his arms around her thighs and pulling down on them
and causing her to lurch unexpectedly (for her) onto his eager mouth. Becky
shuddered and moaned loudly as his tongue snaked along and massaged her nether
lips, before flickering against her throbbing clit to make her gasp and almost double
over.

"No fair;” she panted, trying to regain control of

herself, but Mark seemed inclined to cheat. He kept her pinned to him, leaving
her to squirm helplessly above him while he lashed her with his tongue.
"Uh, you bastard; yes, right there; Oh, God, Mark;”

Her pleas exhorted him to even greater measures. He was

determined to make her cum on his mouth at least once before they fucked. And
he seemed to be pretty damned good at making her cum with oral sex, he had to
say.

Becky squirmed on top of him, playing wither tits, pinching

and pulling on her pink nipples, her eyes squeezed shut, because it almost felt
too good if she was looking at him. His eager tongue snaked deep inside
her hungry cunt, making her wetter still. He had this maddening technique where
he formed shapes or letters inside her with his tongue, reaching almost every
nook and cranny of her. She whimpered, knowing he intended to make her cum and
she was more than happy to oblige.

She leaned forward while sitting on his face, reaching out

to his twitching cock, caressing and massaging it gently; she didn't want him
to cum, she just wanted to keep him stimulated. She felt the thrill of
anticipation, knowing it would soon be inside her, pumping in and out,
throbbing and finally releasing his creamy essence into her, something she
accepted gladly because of the temporal mechanics between them.

Mark sucked her clit into his mouth, rolling it around and

making her shudder, groaning deeply as something started to build within her.
She pushed down onto his face with her hips, grinding eagerly, while her clit
throbbed. Then her released it and pushed his tongue deep inside her again,
probing and lashing her until she was writhing and panting heavily.

"Oh, God, Mark;” she gasped, sweat streaming from her

sensual form. "Oh, fuck, yes, please; Uh, so close, baby;”

He pushed into her as hard as he could and she jerked and

squeaked arching her back. Her whole frame was wracked with pleasure as she
cried out loudly, the orgasm crashing through her until she almost couldn't
breathe. She shook violently, her eyes rolling into her head before she
collapsed on top of him, her body limp and her chest heaving. Her limbs felt
like tingling lead, but she managed to lift one to find his cock, determined to
keep him hard until she had recovered. She stroked him gently while he kissed
at her gooey nether lips, his face glistening with her cum.

Fortunately, Becky was insatiable and recovered quickly,

slowly rising and then sidling forward down his body so she could look back at
him and smirk.

"How about it, big boy?" she asked coyly.

"You ready for the main event?"

Mark grinned and nodded while she slithered down his body,

finally hovering over his hips while facing his feet. She took hold of his
throbbing cock and teased it against her slippery entrance before sinking down,
making them both sigh in relief.

"Hallelujah;” she moaned as he bottomed out inside her,

filling her completely. "Oh, that's exactly what the doctor ordered."

Mark nodded and took hold of her silken, pert ass cheeks and

gripped them firmly, making his teacher purr. Becky loved having her ass played
with, and while she began to sink up and down slowly on his cock, he massaged
the peach-like orbs, eliciting moans from her when he spread them wide, giving
her a delicious stretch.

"Hmm, get me nice and ready back there," she cooed

as she moved up and down on him. "Because once you're done in my cunt, I
want you in my ass and I want to feel your cum in it."

Mark nodded eagerly, because he loved fucking Becky's ass.

Her cunt was incredibly tight, but even that couldn't match her exquisite back
passage, which gripped him so strongly and always made him cum so hard he
thought he might faint. His fingers teased against her little puckered, pink
knot, sending the most divine tingles through her luscious body.

Becky undulated on him, picking up the pace and counting on

Mark to control himself until her was in her ass. She bit her lower lip,
working herself on that thick, throbbing tool, pulling up until it was almost
out of her and then sinking back down in one long stroke, filling her
completely. Her heart was strumming in her chest as she thrilled to the notion
of the oncoming climax. She was hissing now, struggling to hold on just a few
seconds longer, to draw out this wonderful pleasure for them both. But then she
felt the point of no return and willingly stepped over it, moaning loudly as
her cunt fluttered and she began to cum, hard. She wailed and rocked on her
lover, bathing his middle with her excitement.

Her head lolled for several seconds as she came down from

her orgasm, but she remembered that she still had Mark inside her and needed
him, promised him, that he would be cumming in her ass. Slowly, lethargically,
she raised herself until his cock fell out of her, still rock-hard and yearning
for more. For such a young man, he had exceptional control.

She inched forward, until she felt his pulsing head teasing

against her notch. She reached underneath herself and took hold of the shaft,
holding him steady while she pressed down, slowly but surely. She heard him
groan as the head popped through her tight ring suddenly and then he was
sliding inside her. It was Heaven. She sat still for several seconds, just
reveling in the feel of him filling her ass.

She felt the need to be sensual, and she leaned backward,

until she was resting her back on his torso, her head next to his. But her
knees were still bent and she groaned like she was going to burst, the angle of
his penetration in this position more than she could bear. Whispering for him
to wait patiently, she slowly, sinuously slid her legs out from beneath herself
and straightened them, relaxing in pleasure as they rested on Mark's thighs.

"Sorry, that would've downright killed me right

now," she whispered to him, her glassy, heavily-lidded eyes looking into
his. "And I wanted to be down her to kiss you and let you fondle me as you
fucked me and came in me."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed readily, his

strong, but gentle hands coming up to rest on her opulent tits. Her began
caressing and massaging them in circles while Becky started moving her ass on
top of his cock, squeezing him inside her tight confines. "God, I love
your ass, Becky."

"Umm, it loves your cock, Mark," she purred,

undulating on him, the throb of his tool being felt through her whole body like
another heartbeat. "You always make me cum so hard;”

They squirmed and ground together, with Mark tilting his

hips up to push inside her while Becky squeezed him, the lovers shuddering as
they kissed feverishly. His hands were squeezing her tits now, pinching and
pulling on the nipples again to make her groan with the delicious sting.

But Mark felt his climax approach and he knew it wouldn't be

long before he was pumping his cum inside her. Becky moaned into his mouth as
she felt his cock swelling and twitching erratically, a sure sign he was about
to cum. She squeezed him tighter, feeling the buildup inside herself, yearning
to share that unreal ecstasy.

The groaned into one another mouths at first, but then the

kiss was broken as they panted, fighting for air, their voices carrying around
the woods they were in. He pushed up hard inside her, pulling down on her tits
while she squeezed with all her might, his cum almost searing hot inside her,
filling her up.

Mark went limp, breathing heavily and clearly spent, not

that he minded. Becky could barely move, bound in ropes of silken bliss that
kissed every nerve in her body. Her own heartbeat plus the relentless throb of
Mark's rigid cock, still oozing inside her, almost meant she didn't know how to
center herself.

But they relaxed together finally, kissing gently, eyes

closed while they clasped hand on top of her tits. Tongues softly tangled, tasting
one another while they let their rapture slowly ebb. Minutes passed and they
lay silently, waiting for Mark's cock to soften so Becky could sit up. Finally,
she giggled, squeezing his hands.

"Feels like somebody doesn't wanna go to sleep,"

she said cutely, wiggling her ass on him, feeling her ass refusing to
relinquish its hard-earned prize. "What're we gonna do?"

"Iono," he said drowsily. "We just wait, I

guess. If I try to have another orgasm right now, I'm pretty sure he'd just
spontaneously combust inside you."

"Alas, poor cock," she cooed, stroking his cheek.

"I guess we happily wait, then."

They closed their eyes and relaxed, waiting for Mark's

erection to subside so that they could get up without difficulty. Their hands
remained at rest on her tits while they nuzzled their cheeks together.

Then there was a 'click!' sound.

Arrest in Flagrante delicto.

Becky's eyes snapped open and she goggled up at a man

dressed in rather colorful and opulent period clothing, staring down at them as
he pointed a flintlock rifle at their face. Looking around, she now saw they
were surrounded by men carrying pikes and muskets, all of whom stared at the
naked couple with varying level of interest.

The man directly over them moved his musket muzzle,

indicating they should sit up. Mark's eyes were open by now and he glanced
around in confusion as well, clearly not understanding what had happened.

The man's eyes narrowed and he moved the musket muzzle

again. Becky, sensing the danger they were suddenly in, tried to move, but
shivered; she was still impaled on Mark's solid cock, which had shown no signs
of softening and kept her pinned against him. She couldn't get up.

"Great time to develop priapism, Mark;” she said

sourly.

"Maybe Louis the Sun King's France just isn't for us

after all," Mark sighed as he hiked along behind Becky, who had been
stuffed hurriedly back into her dress while he was allowed to put on his
breeches again. Neither of them even had shoes on as they followed the
soldiers. Their hands were tied behind their backs. "This is twice now
that we've;“

"I know, Mark, I was there," Becky said somewhat

tersely, wondering if Chester Edgeworth was now someone she had to add to her
shit list. She hated adding names to the shit list. "I guess we were so busy
fucking that the event our host meant for us to witness has found us."

"Tais-tois!" one of the men guarding them

said as he walked nearby with a musket. "Vou ne pouvez-pas parler!"

Becky scowled at the man and continued trudging. She wasn't

really embarrassed about being caught fucking, it wasn't the first time it had
happened to them here in France. But at least this lot had the decency to let
her have an orgasm first before taking them prisoner. She couldn't even enjoy
the grass stains on her clothes!

They had exited the woods and were now tromping through a

field, heading toward a much larger cluster of soldiers. Mark couldn't help but
notice that a lot of them were wearing red.

"Shit;” Becky muttered as she saw them as well.

"That's all we need."

"Huh?" Mark asked, but he was silenced when a

soldier shoved him roughly from behind with his musket, indicating he was to
stay quiet.

They approached the encampment and Mark soon realized there

were several hundred soldiers. The tents were spread out around one rather
illustrious red tent of grand size. He then saw a cluster of cavaliers milling
about and they seemed to be headed in that direction. Soldiers stared at them
as they entered the perimeter of the camp, usually at Becky.

Mark and Becky found themselves hauled in front of the

cavaliers, who parted, making way for a single man on horseback. He was at
least middle-aged, with a somewhat grey pallor to his skin and thin, hawk-like
features. His expression was a rather lemony one, as if he felt inconvenienced
by this entire incident. For all that, though, his dark eyes glinted with
intelligence. He was wearing the flowing red habits of a high-ranking member of
the Catholic church, although he had a burnished breastplate on his chest as
well.

"You stand in the presence of his Eminence, the

Cardinal Richelieu," announced the captain of the troops that had
taken them prisoner. Mark's eyes went wide. He didn't speak French, but he'd
seen enough Three Musketeers movie reboots to know who Cardinal Richelieu was
and exactly what sort of deep shit they were suddenly in. "Show
respect!"

Becky dropped to one knee and bowed her head, looking at the

ground. Mark rapidly followed suit, since she probably had a better grasp of
the situation than he did. He could feel everyone's eyes and on them and it was
beginning to weigh heavily, like a yoke around his neck. His face flushed, but
he said nothing.

"Who are these persons?" the cardinal asked

finally. "Your names, my children."

"My name is Rebecca, your Eminence," Becky

said humbly, still not looking up.

"And you, good sir?" the Cardinal asked,

looking over at Mark now.

"M; me llamo Marco del strade, tu Eminencia."

Mark stammered.

"A Spaniard," mused the Cardinal, pursing

his lips. "In the presence of a peasant girl. And you both have unusual
accents, I admit."

"Your Eminence," said one of the captains,

looking at them suspiciously. "This man, why is he here traipsing about
Champagne like this? With this peasant girl? We found them in the woods, doing
unspeakable carnal acts to one another."

The Cardinal's eyebrow arched and he looked on in seeming

distaste. "You don't say."

"Very likely he is a spy for King Phillip, your

Eminence!" said the captain, almost sneering.

"No, your Eminence," Becky said suddenly,

her voice full of concern. "I assure you, he is no spy!" Mark
hadn't heard or understood everything the Frenchmen were saying to one another,
but he understood 'espion' and his teacher's reaction indicated that he
was in some kind of trouble. Go figure.

"And what grounds can you give me to believe you,

child?" the Cardinal asked with feigned interest.

"Please," she begged, her head still bowed.

"You have my utmost assurances he is no spy, he's an idiot!"

This made the men around them laugh and even Richelieu

grunted in amusement. "Both of you rise."

Mark saw Becky get to her feet and he did the same. All

around them, men with pikes and muskets were watching them warily, some of them
levelling weapons at the pair. Clearly they took the Cardinal's safety
seriously.

Richelieu observed them with interest. "The girl is

very unusual," he mused. "Tall, very healthy and very
beautiful. Very, very beautiful. I know only one other of such unmatched
attractiveness."

Mark wasn't sure where this was going, but he doubted it was

good. The Cardinal's interest in him was waning.

"And yet you say you found her acting in a most

carnal and un-ladylike manner in the woods, hmm?" Richelieu continued.
"Well, it certainly won't do for her to be out here alone in the
countryside, rutting like a nymph, would it? Perhaps her majesty could make use
of the girl, once we fix her atrocious accent."

"My what?" Becky snapped, looking offended now.

"Put her in the cart, we'll bring her to the

capital, with regards to the Queen." Richelieu declared, turning his
horse about and riding off. Men began to try and wrangle Becky into one of the
carts, many of them laughing and leering as they took the opportunity to grope
her.

Gut shot.

"Hey, stop that!" Mark said angrily, surging

forward, but he suddenly found himself confronted by a captain, who stared at
him impassively.

There was a sudden and frightfully loud 'crack!'

sound and Mark halted suddenly, his eyes wide. Becky's head snapped around at
the noise and her eyes went wide. Blinking, Mark slowly looked down and saw
there was a very red puncture hole in his abdomen. Sounds slowed down, taking
on an almost syrupy quality and he started to feel confused. Becky screamed and
tried to force her way to him, but she was being hustled away by many guards.

The man who had shot him wandered off, sliding his flintlock

pistol back into a holster, clearly no longer caring about Mark. Everyone
seemed to be wandering off now. He felt cold, and vaguely nauseous. The ugly
red wound in his stomach pulsed, blood welling from it slowly.

He felt himself toppling over, white light bathing the field

around him. He could still see things, but they seemed distant. He tried to
focus on something, finally identifying Becky's voice as she screamed for him.
He could just make out the soldiers wrestling her into a cart while she
struggled and kicked savagely, her face contorted in rage.

"I'll Get You For This, Richelieu!" she roared as

Mark's world was absorbed by the soft white light. "You Just Made The Shit
List Of High Doom!! See If I Ever Dance A Sarabande For You, Pal!"

Mark bolted upright suddenly, gasping. His eyes were wide

and he was covered in sweat. His heart thundered in his chest and he fought to
control his panic. The white light was slowly replaced by close walls of grey
stone. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control his breathing. His hands
bunched against sheets that were covering him.

Finally, he could breathe normally and he tried to organize

his thoughts. He still felt confused, everything a total jumble.

"Calm yourself. Think!"

He'd been fucking Becky in the woods. Apparently they were

waiting for Cardinal Richelieu to go by, which he guessed passed for a
historical event, seeing the man. But the Cardinal's soldiers heard the two of
them and took them prisoner. Then they took Becky and Mark tried to stop them
and got shot in the stomach;

His eyes snapped open and he was frozen in place. He forced

himself to look down at his middle, seeing that he was still covered in a
sheet. His hand was trembling as he moved it slowly toward the heavy,
dun-colored blanket, sweat trickling from his brow as he felt fear rise in his
throat.

He flung away the sheet suddenly, unable to bear not

knowing.

He wasn't bleeding. There was no puncture wound, only a

strange, round scar about two inches in diameter.

Eyes wide, he slowly lifted his head and looked around, now

noticing his environs; he was indeed in a small bedroom, the curtains drawn to
keep out the light and very little in the way of décor. Just a chair and a
table in one corner, some other surfaces with candles spaced around the room.
His bed was solid and comfortable.

"Ah, there you are," Chester Edgerton said as he

came through the door. "I was beginning to think you had no intentions of
waking up."

"Where;” Mark said somewhat feebly.

"Back at my place," Chester answered, sitting down

in the chair and settling in for what was no doubt going to be a long and
perhaps trying conversation. "I found you lying in the middle of the field
nearly a kilometer from where I'd left you and you were very close to
dead."

"How did I;”

"You should have died," Chester continued.

"But ultimately you wouldn't have, due to a time lock, I'm assuming. You
weren't meant to die there in that field. Luckily for you, there are still
plenty of ways to get yourself killed for doing absurd things."

"Why did you leave us in the first place?" Mark

asked.

"I've been around Richelieu and several of his captains

at various points in the time stream, and it's getting difficult to
manage," Chest replied, shrugging. "Best way to deal with that issue
is to simply not be present."

"So why leave us there?"

"To see Richelieu, of course," the man said

simply. "One of history's truly great men, certainly more so than that
twit of a king he serves. I was just trying to ease you into the idea of
witnessing historical events. It never occurred to me that you'd be found
because you made your teacher yodel like a Swiss Miss when you flagranting the
delicto with her. I admit I hadn't planned for that nonsense."

Mark blushed. "So, what, I wasn't meant to die here, so

my body just healed itself?"

Chester laughed. "Oh, no, dear boy, nothing of the

sort. I came back to the woods, as promised, as when you weren't there, I began
noticing the tracks of many solid shoes and boots in the vicinity. Not to
mention the clothes you left behind."

"Yeah, sorry, I was kinda tied up at the moment."

Mark muttered.

"In any event, I followed the tracks, noticed that

Richelieu had broken camp and then found you. You'd been lying there for nearly
three hours, you should have been dead from blood loss, but you weren't. I
brought you back here, removed the ball from your stomach and then healed
you."

"You can do that?" Mark asked. "I thought you

said you were a dealer in chroniques."

"It helps to have a few irons in the fire and some

hidden talents if you're going to mess around in the time stream," Chester
replied. "But I was under no obligation to complicate my life and save
you."

"I guess I'm glad you did," Mark sighed.

"Thanks. But wouldn't I have healed anyway?"

"Yes, but maybe not fully," replied the enigmatic

dealer. "You might've been found by some local peasants, brought back to
their hovel and spent life as a weakened vegetable until you died of the
Plague. People die in the past all the time, Mark, and everyone in their own
era thinks they just disappeared and mourns them. It's frightfully
common."

"Can I; can I see the tools you used to heal me?"

Mark asked hopefully.

"Nope," Chester replied, shaking his head.

"They're from your future by a few hundred years, the only reason I used
them at all was because you were out cold."

"Uh, how long was I out, anyway?"

"Almost a month," Chester answered, smoothing a

corner of his pencil moustache. "I had you fully healed and ready for
action by the next day, to be honest, but you just refused to come to. So, I
just left you to it, figuring you would wake up when you felt like it."

"Oh, shit," Mark breathed, realizing something.

"Where's Becky?"

Chester raised his hands. "Why would I know? I wasn't

there. What do you remember?"

Mark tried to concentrate while Chester got up and poured a

glass of water. Mark drank it thirstily and placed the glass on the table. He
found himself wishing that he'd taken French instead of Spanish in school. He'd
thought Spanish might be more useful, but all it did was get him shot. Fuck
that.

"I don't really speak French, so this is hard. Umm;

they thought I was a spy because they thought I was Spanish."

"Because you've been presenting yourself as Spanish

while you're here," Chester mused. "In spite of your outrageous
accent. France has been at war with Spain on and off for some time now."

"Whatever," Mark grumbled. "They seemed

really interested in Becky."

"To be expected, she is quite lovely. I dare say I've

only known one woman in this entire era to match her beauty."

"Well, I think I heard them say 'capital', and then I

think 'la reigne', which means queen, right?"

"Indeed it does," Chester agreed. "My bet,

then, is that your teacher has been taken by the Cardinal to be presented as a
gift to her majesty, Queen Anne, to serve as one of her
ladies-in-waiting."

"Why would he do that?" Mark asked, frowning.

"I've seen enough Three Musketeers movies to know that the Cardinal and
the Queen hate each other."

Chester smiled. "It's a game he plays with her. As the

years go on, Anne is, sadly, getting 'a little long in the tooth', to borrow a
phrase. She remains dignified and regal, but her best days are behind here,
where attractiveness is concerned. Richelieu now takes great delight in
surrounding her with women of magnificent beauty, seemingly a gesture of
devotion, but really meant to hurt the queen's feelings."

"What a dick." Mark muttered.

"You have no idea," Chester said dryly. "If

they got her back to the city roughly a week after she was taken, then she's
been with the royal court for three."

"Meaning that she's either loving life as a

lady-in-waiting, or she's killed and eaten them all," Mark said heavily.
"I guess I have to go get her."

"I can't imagine this not being amusing," Chester

said, smirking. "But out of morbid curiosity, how, exactly, will you
affect this rescue?'

"I dunno," Mark said, shrugging. "But I can't

leave her. She'd kill me."

"She probably thinks you're dead, I feel obliged to

point out." Chester mentioned. "She saw you suffer a mortal wound at
point-blank range. You should be dead and only an as-yet undetermined
temporal snarl has kept you alive. I wouldn't count on that again if I were
you."

"Well I can't do nothing!" Mark insisted in

frustration.

Chester tilted his head, observing his guest for a moment.

"Do you love this woman?"

Mark blushed furiously. "I; no, I don't love her, or if

I do, then I'm not in love with her. There's a difference, ya'
know."

"Well and truly said, Boccaccio," Chester

chuckled. "Well, if there's no stopping you, then I'll see what I can do
to discretely help you."

"Why?" Mark queried. "I've got a friggin'

time machine. All I need to do is get there, zip in and zip out."

"Correct me if I am wrong," interjected his host.

"But did you not tell me, early on in our association, that your current
self is from three months in the future of the Miss Rebecca that I know."

Mark nodded.

"And you plan to add another layer of temporal travel

on top of that wedding cake of disaster?" Chester mused. "Rebecca
could be subtly altering the timelines in Paris now with her very presence,
involuntary as it might be. Your oh-so-carefully laid plan could simply not
work because of a slight temporal consideration."

"So you're saying no time machine." Mark stated

flatly, not impressed.

"I'm saying the idea is bad. Atari Jaguar bad,"

Chester replied. "If you intend to do this hare-brained thing,
allow me to assist you in what moderate ways I can."

"What, you've got some funky tech or weapons you can

loan me?"

"We'll see about that, but more importantly, I guess

I'll call in a favor. A certain person who moves in the circle of the royal
court owes me a small boon, and I can use it to assist you. They happen to be
an accomplished master of intrigue and getting out of sticky situations, with a
blade if necessary."

Mark's eyes lit up. "Is it D'Artagnan?"

"Only if you want to get Clock-Hammered out of

existence," Chester laughed, shaking his head. "Everybody wants to
meet Charles de Batz, thinking they're going to see D'Artagnan of Three
Musketeers fame, and then it just turns out he's a bad-tempered Gascon who loves
to punch people who bother him. He's punched more time-travelers than Jesus,
I'm pretty sure."

Chester then went over to a drawer and rummaged around

inside it, finally pulling out a yellowing envelope that was sealed with wax.
"I assure you, the agent I am referring you to will be much more effective
than D'Artagnan. I will send you with instructions about where in Paris to meet
them and offer them this envelope. Warning, though, if they see it is opened,
they will simply refuse to help and go away to where you cannot find them. Are
you strong enough to keep from opening the letter?"

Mark nodded.

"Well, then," Chester announced, opening a bottle

of wine and pouring two cups. "Shall we drink a toast to your success, o
Macro del Strade of Seville?"

Palace Mission.

Mark was sitting on the back of a hay wagon, wondering if he

could really pull this insane plan off. In addition to the letter, Chester
Edgeworth had indeed furnished him with a few small devices and curious that
they hopefully would help him, though it cost him almost all the rest of his
money. Chester pointed out he was a businessman and didn't intend to take a
loss just because some idiot created a time crisis for himself.

Fair enough.

Mark tried not to play with the little bud that sat deep in

his ear; Chester had sold it to him, saying that it could translate languages,
speaking into Mark's ear whatever he was focusing on. It could also possibly
formulate phrases; if he spoke in English, it could tell him the closest
translation to what he was saying.

This model was old, though, and only spoke the French of

this period. Chester didn't want him getting any clever ideas with a more
powered-up version, since if something bad happened, it might come back on him.

The reasoning initially annoyed Mark, but the more he

thought about it, he reminded himself that he was here to rescue Becky. Nothing
else.

He thought about the conversation he'd had with their host

while drinking wine and planning his initial move, heading to Paris.

"So why did you begin time-travelling at all?"

the man had asked.

"Well, I;” Mark started saying, unsure of how to

answer. "I found a time machine. Seems perfectly logical to use it."

"Granted, but what's your personal motivation,

Mark?" he asked. "Is it to see glorious historical events, are you a
treasure hunter, a thrill-seeker who wants to run with the Dromaesaurs?"

Mark blushed now. "Honest? I thought it'd be cool to

have sex with women from history."

To his amazement, Chester didn't laugh uproariously, he

simply smiled and shrugged. "More common than you would think, especially
amongst men your age, who are full of hormones. Let me ask, then; was getting
laid in your own time-period difficult?"

"Not really, no."

"Well it's not any easier in the time stream, just

so you know," Chester pointed out. "In some periods of history, it
can be even harder, where religious fervor runs rampant and sexual repression
is the law of the land. I assume you wouldn't go as far as to rape a
girl."

Mark shook his head.

"Lots of men do when they find out that having sex

in the past is harder than they anticipated," Chester said almost sadly,
shaking his head. "You're one of the better ones. But for all that, the
problem remains; getting into bed or a rug with Cleopatra is pretty much next
to impossible. You might as well hope to seduce Scarlett Johansson when you're
no one in particular."

"Hey, I got Becky, didn't I?" Mark had

protested.

"Dumb luck, really, and she's a remarkable woman.

Have you had sex with any women aside from Becky since you came to the Sun
King's France?"

He shrugged. "A few, I shared 'em with Becky."

"Peasants, I assume?"

"Mostly, yeah," Mark admitted. "There was

one sophisto girl, but Becky did the talking and charmed the knickers off her
for us."

"If it weren't for Becky, you'd be completely out of

your league here, boyo," Chester said simply. "And trust me, it won't
get easier. Even history buffs who think they know everything get caught and pay
the price. There's the history you know, the history you don't know, and the
history that you don't know that you don't know."

"What?"

"What year did World War Two end?" Chester

asked.

"Simple. 1945."

"So you know that. What year did the Crimean War

start?"

"I've heard of it, but I don't know anything about

it."

"Something you know that you don't know. Okay, tell

me about the League of Ages Twelfth Nicean Temporal Council."

"The what?"

"Exactly," Chester had said emphatically,

leaning forward and pointing with his wine glass to make a point. "An
incredibly important historic event that you've never even heard of, but it
happened all the same. Can you imagine trying to do something that conflicted
with that? You wouldn't even know what clock-hammered you, or why; because only
a practiced temporal traveler would be aware of the event at all. Time travel
can be tedious."

"It's certainly becoming less and less fun by the

moment." Mark grumbled.

"Probably the smartest thing you've said since you

found that Holmes-Field Device," Chester agreed. "Life would be a lot
easier if casual nitwits like yourself walked the other way when a time machine
appeared in their path."

"But don't you make a living selling to people like

me?" Mark asked.

"Hardly," Chester almost snorted. "Nitwits

like you rarely have anything to even pay me with and usually require drastic
amounts of assistance. No, my friend, the majority of my income is derived from
customers who hail from the far future where time travel is an established
industry and carefully regulated. Now those people are my bread and
butter."

"Did Becky and I really stand out?" Mark asked

somewhat dully.

"More and more with each passing moment,"

Chester answered. "You're too tall, too healthy, you have all your teeth,
and your accents are absurd."

Mark said nothing.

"And by the way," added his host. "Those

little packets of Airborne that you both carry in your pockets? The little
Vitamin C boost things to ward off the sniffles? I can guarantee you that those
will in no way, shape or form protect you from illnesses in this era. Only
thing it'll do is turn your piss such a bright yellow that people will think
you're possessed and the Inquisition will burn you."

Mark ended up leaving the packets as a curio that Chester

could sell to people from the future who wanted to snicker at how dumb people
from the turn-of-the-millennium were.

Carting to Paris.

He had arranged transport to Paris with the wagon he was now

on, making sure the farmer put some extra perk in his horse's step by offering
him twice as many sou as was normal. The journey, which would normally
take a week, with good weather, was promised to six days because of the extra
money.

Whatever the difference was between six-day speed and

seven-day speed, Mark sure couldn't tell it. His communication with the farmer
had been sluggish, certainly, mostly on his end, because he would try to say
exactly what his little translator bud told him and he probably sounded like
he'd had a stroke when he was speaking. The farmer laughed at his speech, but
still did as he was asked.

Mostly they slept at the side of the road in the piled hay,

but one night they stayed in a roadside inn. Mark's funds were running out
fast, even though the food he ate was paltry and rather unappetizing. He had to
reach Paris.

They then trundled through the town where Mark and Becky had

first come to; and Mark hid himself in the straw, figuring it was best to not
be seen by people whom he might be familiar with. Even if the innkeeper’s two daughters
would no doubt readily fuck him again. He fought the temptation to ignore
Chester's instructions and simply go get his Holmes-Field Device and use it to
rescue his teacher. But he disciplined himself and refrained, he was in enough
trouble as it is.  Then he meditated;

Known knowns.

Known unknowns.
Unknown unknowns.

Fuck.

The days and nights passed with Mark trying to keep himself

from growing crazy by practicing his French and thinking of his plan. He had no
idea whatsoever about what to do once he reached Paris. Get inside the royal
palace? He couldn't exactly Google the plans for it, could he?

"Regardez la!" the farmer said finally,

calling back to Mark and pointing toward the west. As the sun was rising behind
them, he could make out a sprawling sea of darkness in the distance, the
silhouette of which prickled the sky. Endless plumes of smoke hung over the
city as deep grey gave way to dawn behind them. He thought it might actually be
pretty.

And then the wind wafted over them from the west, bringing

the unique scent of fabled Paris.

"Jesus!" Mark croaked as he turned green, leaning

over the side of the wagon and puking his guts out while the farmer roared with
laughter.

They entered the city. Mark wandered through the choking

maze of streets, gaping at the chaos of architecture around him; houses seemed
to almost be built on top of houses, to the place where some of them were
leaning over almost drunkenly. The cobblestones of the road were wet and sticky
with effluence, there was no way to avoid it. The stench was beyond belief. How
had people ever lived like this?

He had asked on repeated occasions where he could find La

Rue de Grenuie, the place Chester had told him he would find the agent he'd
referred to. Mark was reasonably certain most people were being helpful, even
if they stared at him like he was an alien. He might as well have been, he was
a head taller than just about everyone, clearly well-fed and had all his teeth.
Mark had seen jack-o-lanterns with more teeth than most of the denizens of
Paris' infamous streets.

He took many wrong turns, because where he thought people

had told him to go was often a dead end. Eventually, by divine providence, he
found himself on the street he'd been asking for, evidenced by an ancient, worn
rectangle of wood that said the name in faded green letters. Certain he was on
the right track, he headed down the crowded street, stuffing his purse into the
front of his breeches, since Chester had told him Paris was home to countless
scoundrels who could remove his wealth without him even noticing.

The crowds began to thin out somewhat, and the street got

narrower, as if that was possible. The cobblestones were also surprisingly dry,
not sticky or running with the sewage of the city behind him. Before long, it
was barely wide enough to accommodate one person and he felt very uneasy about
the rickety buildings that loomed over his head, almost blocking the sky. He
then stopped in front of a black iron fence, pitted with age and with a chain
wrapped around it. He tilted his head and unwrapped the chain, finding that the
gate now swung open freely and with decidedly little noise. He stepped in,
closed it behind himself and then fixed the chain back in place as best he
could.

He found himself walking through a tunnel, the buildings

about him now made of stone. Dank and foreboding, he resisted the urge to run,
not knowing what lay ahead. Eventually, he came to a small, bare courtyard. It
might have been thirty feet by thirty feet and was devoid of almost all decoration.
High brick and stone walls concealed it from the chaos of Paris. It was
surprisingly quiet, as if the city dared not disturb the austere serenity.

There was a single, grey stone bench in the middle of the

courtyard. Facing away from him, clad in a great cloak, was a person, the hood
thrown over their head to keep the merciless sun off them.

Mark swallowed and took a deep breath before beginning to

move forward. Was this Chester's agent? If he was, Mark had to be careful,
because he'd been told the man was dangerous. He approached slowly, finally
coming to a stop some five paces away, still facing the stranger's back.

"Hello," he said faltering French. "My

name is Mark. I have; sent; to you; today; for big help. I is need big
help."

"That you do, my friend," replied the

person in a strangely lyrical voice. Then closed a small book of devotionals
wwhich had clearly been studied and stood, still facing away. "That
much is obvious, because your French is painful."

Mark blushed in embarrassment as the translator bud told him

what the person had said. Still concealed beneath their voluminous
midnight-blue cloak, the mysterious person turned around and approached him. He
resisted the urge to take a step back as the shrouded presence stood right in
front of him. He couldn't help but notice the person was on the taller side,
strange for a Parisian.

Gloved hands pulled down the hood and Mark's eyes widened in

amazement. Shining golden hair spilled in luxurious tresses down the person's
back. The eyes were a dazzling blue, glinting with intelligence. The smile was
serene, the teeth within white and perfect.

Lady Alexandra.

"Je m'appelle Alexandra D'Assaut," the

woman said warmly, her voice sending chills through him. "And I am
lady-in-waiting to her royal majesty, Queen Anne of wide fame across
Christendom."

Mark's lips moved soundlessly as he gaped at her. He didn't

think it was possible, but she might have been even more beautiful than Becky.
He'd never seen such an angelic face in his life. Deep from within, he summoned
the will to speak.

"J-je m'appelle; uh, Mark."

The woman tilted her head slightly and then reached up hand

touched his ear. Her touch was almost electric, but a split second later, his
ear felt empty as she withdrew her hand and gazed at the translator bud she had
removed from his ear canal.

"What is your native language?" she asked

curiously. "Anglais? Espanol? Allemand?"

"Oh, uh; English." Mark replied, rubbing the back

of his head.

"And you are not from around here, either."

Alexandra said in perfect English with an erection-causing accent as she put
the translator bud back in his hand and looked up at him. "More than that,
you are not from my era."

"That obvious, eh?" Mark said, beginning to feel

like a total flop at time travel.

"Your accent is not that of the English throne, so you

either come from the New World with an accent I have not heard yet, or you are
from days yet untold, my friend. That and you are ridiculously tall. I know of
only three men who exceed you in height, one of the them being my elder
brother, another that lout Porthos of Les Mousquetaires Gris, and the
Duke of Buckingham. You are none of these three."

"Yeah, uh, guilty." Mark said somewhat sheepishly.

He hadn't been this tongue-tied since he'd invaded Becky's home and she'd
threatened to kill him a lot. At least this woman hadn't yet.

"So, what brings you to my little sanctuary?" she

asked, observing him.

He thought about that for a moment and then fumbled about

hastily in his pants while she looked on in amusement. He finally fished out
the envelope from Chester and handed it to Alexandra. She examined it curiously
for a moment and then broke the wax seal, taking out the small folded bit of
paper and reading it. Her eyes betrayed nothing, but she sighed.

"Merde," she muttered as she folded the

paper up and slipped it into a pocket of her great cloak and clasped it shut.
She then looked up at him. "Very well, then, I am indebted to assist you
with whatever your quandary is, since my friend Chester Edgeworth has asked for
the boon. Shall we retire to my apartments?"

She turned and walked toward another tunnel in a swish of

cloak. Mark looked around as he followed her.

"Ya' said this is your sanctuary?" he asked.

"It is."

"No offence, but; kinda dull for a lady-in-waiting,

isn't it?"

"The way it should be, as long as the people of Paris

suffer in their untold thousands at the hands of the nobility." Alexandra
replied grimly, her blue eyes glinting in the darkness of the tunnel that
swallowed them.

The network of tunnels and narrow alleys had bewildered

Mark, but his guide navigated them with ease, seeming to glide over the stone
pavement. This place also had little or none of the stench he had quickly come
to associate with Paris. She moved swiftly and she seemed confident he'd keep
up, although sometimes he momentarily lost track of her in the darkness because
of the midnight blue she was wearing.

Their sojourn took them slowly up, as in on a winding incline.

With the houses and buildings sagging overhead, Mark had rapidly lost track of
which direction they were headed in. He almost felt claustrophobic, something
he never did. Turn after turn, up a short flight of stone steps, more
alleyways, more steps and more turns. Eventually, they reached a large, solid
wooden door, bolted with iron. She fished out an almost comically-oversized key
and inserted it into the lock, which opened with a 'clank!'. She then
led him into a dark foyer, where she removed her cloak, hanging it on a peg
after removing his letter and her devotional book. In the almost near dark, it
was difficult to tell what she was wearing.

"Come!" she said simply as she began to climb a

flight of stairs. He followed behind her while the staircase wound upward.
Finally, another door, much simpler and smaller in design, but still having a
strong lock. She opened the door and whisked into the room beyond, moving
around to several tables and lighting candles to give them some illumination.
Finally, she turned to him and he got to see what she actually looked like when
she wasn't wrapped in enough velvet to cover a cathedral.

He'd been right. She was utterly glorious. Tall for a woman

of the day, easily Becky's height, with alabaster skin, a large, firm bust, a
tiny waist and statuesque legs. She was, oddly enough, wearing tan breeches and
had a crème-colored blouse on top that did nothing to hide the size of her
chest. She saw him gaping and smirked.

"Do not worry, Mark, I get this reaction from men all

the time." Alexandra said, her voice kind.

"You sure don't look like anyone else I've seen in

Paris," he breathed. "No lie."

"Well, thank you," she said cheerfully as she

found a bottle of wine and opened it. "I think you will like this wine,
the vintner made several bottles for me personally."

"Uh, yeah, thanks." Mark said, moving over to a

chair she gestured to and sitting in it. She sat in the other one, across the
small, ornate table from him. He couldn't identify why, but she felt;
sensuously close to him.

"So now," she began, taking a sip of her wine but

looking at him over her goblet. "What is so important that dear Chester
has called in a favor?"

"Whoa, uh;” Mark faltered, rubbing the back of his head

again. "I; I hardly know where to begin."

"To quote another associate of mine from a time beyond

this one," she lilted, still looking at him. "Just give it to me fast
and dirty."

Mark hadn't been aware of the erection in his pants until

she said that, which caused his hard-on to throb so suddenly it almost shocked
him. He pursed his lips as he fought to control himself. All the while,
Alexandra looked on in amusement.

"Okay," he said finally. "My teacher and I

are lovers."

"Bien," she said easily, taking another

sip. "The best way for our youth to be trained is if their professors
are readily involved with them."

Mark ignored that logic for the moment (not that he objected

to it) and continued. "Before that, I found a time machine. You; you know
what I mean by that?"

She nodded.

"We came back to the Sun King's France to have some

fun. Chester was attempting to educate us about how to safely observe history
and led us to a small event."

"And this is where everything, as New Worlders from

tomorrow will say, 'went south'."

"Yeah," he said heavily. "Becky and I got

tired of waiting for the event and figured we were hiding, so we started, ya'
know;”

"Fucking?" Alexandra posited.

Mark nodded, hopefully concealing the shiver that raced

through him when she said that word. "I guess we got a little too loud,
because suddenly we were surrounded by men with guns and pikes and they took us
to an encampment not far away, one dominated by red tents."

The blonde woman's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"Richelieu."

Mark nodded. "He decided that Becky would be’

"Excuse," she interrupted, apparently

wanting to clarify something. "Becky?"

"Yeah, uh, my teacher, Rebecca." Mark confirmed.

"Becky," Alexandra repeated quietly to herself, as

if trying to get a taste for the word. "What a delightful diminutive.
Women named Rebecca in this day are not so blessed. Please, continue."

"Uh; anyhow, I"

"Who?" Alexandra asked, confused.

Mark screwed his face up for a moment. He was getting so

comfortable talking to this woman, it was difficult to remember he knew
absolutely nothing about her. "It's; a slang term from my time, meaning
anyhow."

She tilted her head. "Anyhow?"

Mark paused. "Anyway?"

"Yes, that one I know," she said, smiling.

"Anyhoo, please continue, my friend."

Mark nodded, happy to be back on course. "Richelieu

took Becky and one of his captains shot me in the stomach with a pistol and
they all left me for dead."

"And yet, tabernac, here you are, hale and

hardy." Alexandra mused. "I may assume that our mutual associate Chester
is the one that healed you?"

"That's what I'm told." Mark agreed. "Wasn't

really conscious for it."

"Now I understand that you had been shot and were in

the process of dying, but did you happen to hear anything the Cardinal or his
men said about their plans for your Becky?"

Mark nodded grimly. "They were gonna make a gift of her

to the queen. Like, turn her into a lady-in-waiting?"

"And that is where I fit into this," Alexandra

said gravely, her voice deeper than it had been. "He is asking me to help
you rescue your teacher, so that you may return to your own age."

Mark nodded again. "He didn't say it, but it sounded

like he was calling in a big deal."

Alexandra rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling

lightly. "No, he just doesn't want this to come back on him somehow, since
he sent you into harm's way with Richelieu, whom he has several;
'entanglements' with. I'm not quite sure what he was thinking, he despises the
Cardinal."

"Good to know he didn't do it on purpose," Mark

muttered. "The last guy in your time who tried to dick us around, Becky
was not kind to him."

The hostess raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Might one

inquire?"

"He recommended an inn to us, in a small town, then

sent thugs to rob us. Becky; took that very personally."

"I can understand," she said lightly.

"Please, do go on."

Mark blushed again. "We were having sex in our bathing

tub in our room when the thugs burst in just as she was about to; well;”

"L'orgasme." Alexandra said helpfully.

"Yeah, that. Becky was really pissed about it and she

pretty much beat the living shit out of all of them."

"I like the sound of her already," she mused,

smiling. "Mais, where were you?"

"Oh, I helped, don't worry," he replied, allaying

her apparent fears that he'd been hiding in a corner. "It's just that;
well, she was kind of a whirlwind of violence and it didn't last long. After
that, she made the ringleader confess who'd sent him when she jammed his pistol
up his ass."

"Sang-Dieu, she sounds quite terrifying."

Alexandra breathed, fanning herself for effect before pouring another cup of
wine. "Then what?"

"Well, we spent a full week at the inn, without charge

because the innkeeper let it happen, and we got all our food and wine for free,
and he let us fuck his daughters all week too, provided we didn't tell anyone
about the incident."

Alexandra tittered behind her hand. "Ma'amselle

Becky, elle est bisexuelle, oui? Quelle merveilleuse! Do go on,
Mark."

"Well, after a week of debauchery, the trail led back

to the man who recommended the inn, knowing we'd be attacked. Becky got her
hands on him, roughed him up a bit, then we left him tied naked on his hands
and knees in the woods, with olive oil dripping off his ass. I think Becky was
hoping a bunch of wolves would have their way with him, ya’ know?"

"I am sure I do not, but all the same.

To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts, for Literotica.

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