ExplicitNovels

The Time Riders: Part 5

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The Time Riders: Part 5
A Labyrinth Palace.

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



The non-descript carriage had indeed made its way through

Paris' winding streets, taking well over an hour to finally stop in front of
the palace and allowing Mark to get out of the cramped cab before it rattled
off. The sun had set some time ago, and night hung over the city heavily, the cloying
air of Paris carrying the city's growing pains to his ears. Even at night, the
city was not silent.

Mark adjusted his outfit and marched toward the outermost

gate of the vast palace, its arms spread wide and encompassing a massive
courtyard. Two men wearing ornate red uniforms and holding pikes crossed their
weapons at his approach, barring his entry. One of them gruffly asked him to
state his business.

Trusting to the plan, Mark said nothing, but merely held out

one of his sealed letters, this one bearing the emblem of Richelieu. The guard
examined it for several seconds, consulting with the other guard before handing
it back and then opening the gate. Mark shot them both a dirty look for holding
him up in his errand and then swept inside, doing his best to look haughty and
full of bravado, which is what the Musketeers were apparently renowned for.

He couldn't help but reflect that they seemed a lot less

heroic than history let on and were more dickbags than anything else. Oh well.
Faking being a dickbag was probably significantly easier than pretending to be
a hero.

He passed through another gate that got him closer to the

palace, this one also manned by the Swiss Guard. He arrogantly presented them
with the Richelieu missive, which once again satisfied their scrutiny and he
was allowed to pass. He forced himself to not look around in wonder at his
surroundings, instead heading straight to the great doors that would give him
admittance to the palace.

Alex once again presented his letter, but this time the

guards squinted at him suspiciously. "Qui es tou?" demanded
one of them.

His throat was dry, but he answered as readily as he could,

trying to sound authoritative and even haughty. "J'mappelle Benat de
Ferres, of Soule, Second Company of the King's Musketeers under Monsieur de
Treville. Let me through."

"Fucking Basques and Gascons," muttered one

of the guards in irritation. "Why would a musketeer be bringing a
missive to his excellency, the Cardinal?" he demanded to know.

Mark concealed his anxiety by looking pissed and rattling

off one of the phrases Alexandra had given him, hoping it had the desired
effect. "I have an idea, why don't we all go ask the Cardinal and you
can fucking explain to him why you held up his envoy on an important errand? Does
that sound good to you?"

The two men looked at one another warily; the visitor was

certainly obnoxious enough to be a Musketeer and a Gascon. Sighing and
shaking his head in defeat, the one man handed the sealed letter back to Mark
and they opened the doors, allowing him entrance. He swept by them, calling
them shitheads in Spanish before the doors closed behind him.

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help Gawking as he

stared at the palace around him; its splendor was beyond anything he had imagined.
Walls of white plaster, carved in exquisite shapes and edged in royal purple,
along with gold filigree, and incredible paintings and artifacts lined the
walls. Endless numbers of servants scurried by, hardly noticing him. He shut
his eyes for a moment and composed himself, remembering the details Alexandra
had shown him, the way through the palace. He turned and began his search for
his teacher.

Lisette walked primly through the halls of the palace,

bowing her head deferentially to just about everyone who passed her. Wearing an
elegant gown, she seemed to almost glide along the hallway, walking with a
practiced ease that her mistress had taught her. She had, in three years, only
been in the royal presence twice before, in attendance to Lady Alexandra. The
king had barely noticed her, but Lisette didn't mind one bit, because this was
far more of a life than she ever could have hoped for.

She had, of course, spent much more time in the presence of

the queen, because her mistress served Anne directly. Anne of Austria seemed
mostly amused by Lady Alexandra's quirky servant, but she was kind to Lisette,
often sending her home with gifts of chocolate. Her devotion to the queen,
while not equal to her fanatic love for Lady Alexandra, meant she would die in
Anne's name if necessary. She hoped it wouldn't come to that tonight, but she
had made her peace with God and the Lady Mary all the same.

Alexandra had set her with the task of removing or

distracting every guard she could from the route Mark would take through the
palace. She was not to kill anyone, nor was she to be seen in the mayhem, if at
all possible. If things went wrong, she was to retreat to the queen's quarters
and be seen protecting her. It was the best alibi she could hope for.

A guard up ahead. He was a sullen-looking brute, not

carrying the long pikes of the gate guards, but a much more practical halberd,
along with a short rapier on his belt. She knew he'd be trouble. She ducked
into an alcove and pulled a small phial out of her cleavage, drinking the
strong red wine from it and sloshing it around in her mouth, to make sure the
aroma was on her breath. Replacing the phial, she lurched back out into the
hallway and sauntered toward him lazily.

"Hello, beautiful," she said drunkenly,

giving him a lopsided smile. "You must' be off-duty by now."

"No, I am not," he grunted, not looking at

her. "Go away, slut."

"C'mon," Lisette persisted, leering at him

as she leaned against the wall to his left. "We could be having fun.
Don' you like fun?"

"Duty is not meant to be fun."

"But these are fun," she drawled, as she

stepped in front of him and leaned forward, using her hands to pull down the
front of her bodice and exposing her perky tits to the man, whose eyes went
wide at the sight. "These are all the fun you'll need;”

He didn't stop her as she sidled up to him, stood on her

tip-toes and put her arms around his neck. Her breath was sweet with wine, her
dark eyes glassy with the lack of inhibition it brought on. Her tits pressed to
his chest, her hips flat to his crotch.

"Take me into that room and fuck me;” she

breathed huskily, her lips no more than an inch from his. "I want to
feel you inside me;”

The man was rather pale at her suggestion, but nodded

readily and turned around to open the door. The parlor behind was empty, the
perfect place for a rendezvous with this slattern. She took him by the hand and
led him inside, closing the door behind them.

Mark walked down the hallway, trying to not look like he was

hurrying, and staying alert. He was entering a difficult part of the operation,
because he was no longer in an area of the palace that led to either the king's
quarters or those of Cardinal Richelieu. If anyone stopped him now, he would
probably be redirected rather forcefully, and he had precious little time to
waste.

He walked by a door, from which he heard a moaning noise.

Then he heard a familiar woman's voice, gasping and urging someone on. His
translator bud wasn't close enough to hear what was being said, but he was
fairly certain he knew what was happening. He subtly pushed the door open and
peered inside.

Mark gaped as he watched Lisette, leaning over a small

table, panting while a member of the House Guard fucked her from behind, her
layered skirt bunched over her ass as he pushed in and out of her. The guard
remained oblivious, but she noticed the door open and flicked a glance his way.
She gave him an annoyed look and jerked her head, indicating that she had this
covered and he needed to keep moving. He nodded and pulled the door shut
quietly before heading down the hall again.

He turned a corner and then headed up some stairs, leading

up to the next floor, which was apparently where Becky was being kept. He was
so busy thinking about what he needed to do next that he blundered right into
two guards, who grunted and then glared at him angrily.

"Stupid shit!" the one man he had smacked

into spat. "Watch where you are; who are you?"

Mark went wide-eyed, not having expected them. His mouth seemed

to work, but no sounds came forth. They blocked his ascent and continued to
glare at him.

"Who; are; you?" the man demanded again.

Mark regained control of his voice and tried to speak. "My

name is; my name is Benat;”

Fuck, he'd forgotten his last name.

"My name is Benat DeFlepard," he managed to

say. "I am from Sully and I have’

"What sort of name is DeFlepard?" snarled

the one guard.

"I have sealed orders," Mark interrupted,

not liking where this was going. "From the Cardinal!"

"Is that so?" sneered the man. "Let's

see them!"

Mark handed him the sealed missive scroll. The man examined

it and frowned.

"This is the king's seal," he growled. "What

is the meaning of this?”

Before the man could finish his query, Mark punched him in

the face and then pulled his crème-colored tabard over his head and threw him
down the stairs. The guard cursed loudly as he rolled at least two floors.

Mark was too late to stop the other man from drawing his

short rapier, but managed to grapple onto him, keeping himself from being run
through. Mark might have been taller, but the guard was a veteran of many wars,
strong and cunning. It wasn't long before he had Mark's back pressed against
the wall, both men fighting for balance on the stairs.

"Little shit!" he shouted, trying to press

the edge of his blade against Mark's throat and slit it. They tussled, and Mark
managed to wedge his arm between his neck and the rapier, feeling the sickening
cold pain of the keen edge creasing his forearm. His free hand, however, snaked
down to the pistol on his belt, twisting the leather until the muzzle pointed
down;

The stairwell echoed with a thunderous crack as Mark pulled

the trigger and discharged the weapon, the iron ball punching a hole in the
guard's boot and then his foot. The man groaned and staggered, releasing Mark.
His ears ringing, Mark managed to shove the man down the stairs, following his
comrade. He shook his head and began sprinting up the stairs, knowing the whole
palace would be coming down on his head any second now.

Alexandra was concealed in a secret closet in a parlor not

far from the queen's quarters, listening carefully. She was wearing the red
uniform of the Cardinal's personal guard, her impressive bust flattened and
pulled tight with linen straps. Her golden hair was held in a ponytail while a
black mask concealed her facial features. Her rapier sat on her hip and three
customized pistols were concealed around her person, along with several knives
balanced for throwing.

She heard the discharge of a firearm, followed by shouts of

alarm and fright. She hung her head and sighed. She'd been hoping it wouldn't
come to this, but there seemed to be nothing for it. She would see her
obligation met.

Alexandra crossed herself and exited the hidden space,

heading toward the Cardinal's quarters, determined to cause a distraction for
Mark as he went in the opposite direction to rescue Rebecca. It was all in
God's hands now.

All she could hope was that Mark had remembered what his

name was.

Mark raced down the hallway, ignoring people who poked their

heads out of various rooms and parlors to see what all the commotion was,
before closing their doors and locking them in panic at the sight of him. He
had his sword in one hand, his pistol in the other. Having discharged his shot
already and having no idea how to readily and safely reload the damn thing, the
pistol was mostly for intimidation purposes at this point. Thankfully, if he
pointed it at people, they tended to make themselves scarce.

A guard rushed around the corner, his halberd in hand, but

Mark smashed the ornate swept hilt of his rapier into his mouth, which
dissolved in a welter of blood, lips and gum before he burbled and fell over.
Mark kept running.

He shoulder-blocked his way past another guard, but then

found himself confronted by a small group of angry servant girls, who kept
swearing in French and throwing bread rolls and potatoes at him. Covering his
head, he sprinted past them, resisting the urge to take a swipe at the uppity
wenches.

There was the room!

He raced up to it and tried to open the door, but it was

locked. Given the amount of noise and commotion he was causing, he shouldn't
have been surprised. He stepped back and then slammed the heel of his sturdy
boot into the door with all his might, knocking it out of its frame and falling
to the floor. He rushed inside, looking around for his teacher, but she was
nowhere in sight.

That's when the heavy vase smashed into the back of his

head.

He was on his face on the floor, reality swimming around

him. He heard someone hissing at him as he was handled roughly by his neck and
his tunic. He was turned onto his back and someone was straddling him now,
their supple legs on either side of his throat and their heavy skirt bunched up
between their legs, allowing him to goggle up at his assaulter.

"Becky! Stop! Stop, I; Ow! Jesus! Quit Hitting Me! It's

Me, Mark!"

The flurry of fists halted and then there was a pause thick

with confusion. He felt his cheeks being gripped tightly, immobilizing his face
and then his neck pulled up so that whoever was sitting on him could look at
him.

"Mark?" Becky exclaimed in disbelief. "Mark!

Oh my God!"

She began smothering him with feverish kisses, still

straddling him. Still dizzy, he was in no particular shape to stop her, in
spite of the fact the whole palace was on its way to kill him. His eyes finally
managed to focus, and he looked up at her.

"I've missed you too, Becks, but can you let me up,

please?"

Becky blinked and then jumped off him hastily, helping him to

his feet. She still seemed stunned to see him, not that he blamed her.

"How?" she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief and

wet with emotion. "You; you were."

"Dead? Yeah, kinda."

"The how are you here?" she asked, trembling.

He shrugged. "To quote Neil De Grasse-Tyson, science,

bitches."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she exhaled, crushing

herself to him and hugging tight, her body shaking with raw emotion.
"You're back, Mark. You came back for me;”

He smiled and hugged her back, his hand on the back of her

head. "Well sure I did. You're my time-travelling partner, aren't you?
Can't leave you here with these smelly savages."

She laugh-choked back a sob and look up at him, her eyes

leaking tears onto her scarlet cheeks.

"And we're gonna get out of here and; Becks, are you,

like, really drunk?"

Her expression of delight warped into a scowl at his query

and she pushed herself away from him. "Well what do you expect? I only
spent the past month trying to kill myself with alcohol while you were taking
your unscheduled nap, you jerk!"

"I'm sorry," he faltered, knowing that this

couldn't possibly be the right time to make her angry, on so many levels.
"Let me get you out of here and then I'll explain everything."

"Hang on;” she huffed, stomping over to a table and

grabbing her bottle of wine, tilting her head back and taking a stiff pull from
it gulping loudly. Mark made a wan face and fidgeted, acutely aware of the time
they were losing.

"Becks, no offense, but I'm pretty sure every guard in

Paris is looking for me right now, and I’

"Sounds like more of a you problem than a me

problem," she grunted, attempting to drain the bottle with several loud glucks.
"Nobody was trying to kill me while I was here."

"No, you seem to have that covered;” he said dryly. She

shot him a nasty look, but didn't stop drinking.

"Look, we need to go," he insisted. "Pretty

sure Alexandra's risking her neck to make sure I can’

"Alexandra?" Becky interrupted, stopping drinking

to look at him pointedly. "The gorgeous blonde I want to fuck?"

"I; sure," Mark replied, trying to keep up.

"Pretty sure she and Lisette are’

"Who's Lisette?" Becky asked suspiciously,

lurching toward him. She was quite a bit drunker than he'd initially thought.

"It doesn't matter," he declared, determined to

get moving before Richelieu arrested and shot his ass again. "We need to
get’

Mark winced in fear as she surged toward him, the bottle

raised over her head. She flew by him and smashed the bottle down on the head
of a guard who had barged into the room. His eyes rolled up into his head and
he went to sleep.

"Weren't you drunk moments ago?" Mark asked in

disbelief.

"Looks like you're the one who need rescuing."

Becky shot back. "You were half a second away from having an exit wound
the size of an airport runway in your chest just now."

Another guard sprang around the corner. Becky, who was

closest to the door, kicked him savagely between the legs. The man staggered to
a stop and stiffened, but didn't fall over, the impact of her foot cushioned by
the many layers of baroque skirt she was wearing, not to mention the dainty,
padded slipper. As the man gaped at her, she kicked him between the legs again,
but her skirt interfered, softening the blow to the place where he merely
doubled over from the ache.

Becky snarled angrily, lunged in, grabbed him by the neck

and DDT him, almost as smoothly as ‘Jake the Snake’ did to fellow pro
wrestlers. This time he stayed down.

"Jerk!" she muttered, glaring at the man. Without

a second thought, she used a knife on the man's belt to tear layers of skirt
away, leaving herself clad only in the bodice and skimpy underwear, with
garters holding up the silk stockings she wore. She knelt on the unconscious
man's back and pulled his boots off, replacing her slippers with the sturdier
footwear. She then stripped his rapier and pistol from his person before
turning to look at Mark.

"You ready now?" she asked pointedly, standing

there in what basically amounted to negligee and musketeer boots, while holding
a rapier and a wheellock pistol. He gaped at her for a moment, unable to say
anything.

"You have no idea how stupidly sexy you look right now,

Becks." Mark managed to say.

"I'll believe it when Alexandra says it to me,"

she sniffed, turning and heading out the door. "Let's go, hero." Mark
sighed and trotted after her, leaving the two men lying on the floor in a
spreading pool of wine and broken shards of glass.

Lisette made sure the guard was arranged comfortably in the

plush chair, snoring, his breeches still around his ankles, his soft cock
oozing cum all over his balls. She shook her head in exasperation as she
rearranged her skirts; no sooner had the man cum than he yawned and began to
fall asleep. She'd been nowhere close to climaxing when he'd finished. Typical
male.

At least the boy from the future liked to make sure she came

first, even if he was a naïve school boy.

She left the door open, to make sure his shame was on

display and then hurried down the hallway, holding her skirt up and allowing
herself to run. The palace was ringing with shouts of alarm, anger and panic.
Everything seemed to be going as planned, whatever that entailed. She just
trusted that Mistress knew what she was doing.

Guards from various regiments were racing around now,

getting one another's way and shouting orders angrily. She passed through them
virtually unnoticed, merely a servant girl looking for shelter. She made a
beeline right for the queen's royal apartments, and she was stopped by no one,
since she was known to the guards and stuff. She nodded hastily as she passed
two guards outside the ornate doors and headed inside the boudoir.

Anne of Austria looked up from a book to see Lisette scurry

in, closing the door behind herself and then pressing her ear to the door,
ignoring everyone else in the room. She then saw the queen, blinked, curtseyed
hastily, and went back to eavesdropping on the frenzy of activity outside.

The monarch shook her head wearily and went back to reading

her book.

"You may not pass through here!" shouted the house

guard, blocking Alexandra's passage forward. She had identified herself as a
member of the Cardinal's guard, using her well-practiced man's voice to give
credit to her guise. Thought he believed her, the man remained unmoved, barring
her way.

"I told you, I need to reach the Cardinal!" she

insisted, knowing full well he would not let her through.

"That is no concern of mine," he said coldly,

glaring at her, his hand on his sword, ready to draw it. "Find another way
to reach your Cardinal, because if you come another step closer, I will run you
through."

"So be it!" she growled as she lunged in, her own

rapier flashing in her hand. The man drew his weapon and thrust at her, but she
parried and then drove the point of her blade through the shoulder of his sword
arm, pinning him against the wall. He groaned as his sword fell to the ground,
but then her foot slammed into his face while she pulled her rapier from his
shoulder. He was unconscious, but he would live. She had no cause to kill these
men.

She ran down the hallway, listening all the while to the

commotion that echoed through the Louvre. A young guard barred her progress at
a juncture in the hallways, and before he was even ready, she struck him across
the head with the basket of her rapier, knocking him out.

Alexandra continued along the corridor, but then saw several

guards rushing into the other end of the hall, outside of an ornate door that
led to the king's royal apartments. Upon seeing her, the six men pointed their
muskets at her, three kneeling while the other three stood behind. A series of
barks shook the area as she ducked around a corner hastily, avoiding their
barrage. She could hear them shouting orders to reload. She leaned her head
back against the wall and sighed. Idiots.

Before they had reloaded, she had pulled a small device made

of two pieces of flint out of her pocket, along with a tiny clay pot out of the
other. From the hole in the top of the pot hung a thin strip of rigid paper.
She held the pot by its flat bottom and snapped the flint pieces against one
another, producing sparks that caught on the paper and began to burn.

As the flame made its way down the paper wick, she counted

slowly and calmly before leaning around the corner, tossing the pot, which
skated on its flat bottom along the floor toward the guards who opposed her.
She then ducked back, waiting grimly. There were shouts and the sound of boots
stampeding, but then an unreal hissing shriek and a bright, flaring white light
as the magnesium powder inside the container ignited. Cries of pain followed.

Ten seconds later, the light died, and she rounded the

corner and strode down the hallway. Four of the six guards had fled before the
grenade went off, while two were writhing on the ground, clutching at their eyes
from the flash blindness. She stepped between them and kicked in the door
toward the king's apartments before turning around and walking away, knowing
that this would create additional confusion as they sought to find the assassin
in the red tabard who sought to slay the Sun King.

There was more chaos to sow.

Mark and Becky sprinted down the hall, ignoring the

pell-mell going on around them. Inevitably, though, they were confronted by a
soldier of the Cardinal, one that Mark recognized. It was the captain who had
shot him.

Marks teeth clenched as he rushed forward, ready to run the

sonofabitch through, but Becky was faster. She threw herself into a skid,
sliding along the polished floor, hurtling straight toward the man. He gaped at
her in disbelief, but by then, she had slammed her foot into his crotch,
doubling him over with a grunt of unreal pain. With a roar, she surged to her
feet, grabbed the man around the middle from behind and yanked him over
backwards, suplexing his family jewels with zest. Mark had by now skidded to a
halt and watched in disbelief while his teacher stood over the supine officer
and kicked him in the ribs.

"Bastard!" she raged. "Teach you to

kill my students!"

She knelt and yanked his head up, making sure his eyes were

open as she pointed at Mark, her voice dripping with vitriol.

"See that? He's alive! You can't even kill something

right! Your life means nothing! Nothing!"

She smacked his head off the tile floor and gathered up her

weapons before looking at Mark, composing herself now.

"Sorry," she said with a flush of embarrassment.

"You probably wanted him, didn't you? I thought you were dead, so if I
ever saw him again, I'd have to avenge you."

Mark shrugged. "No harm done. Except to him, and I

don't really’

Mark stopped talking and stared down the hallway behind

Becky. Three men in flamboyant uniforms, trimmed in blue and white like himself
were now approaching them. One had a grim, patrician air and about him, the
second a handsome boyish charm, while the third towered over the others by a
head and shoulders, a contemptuous smirk on his face.

"That can't be good;” he thought.

Becky didn't even blink. Without turning around, she pointed

her pistol backwards over her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bark of the
shot echoed around the palace and the giant staggered backward, eyes wide in
shock, before he fell over like a redwood. The other two gaped at her in
astonishment as she turned around to glower at them. They hastily took hold of
their downed friend and hauled him out of sight, their duty to the king
forgotten.

"That's right, ladies, run!" Becky called

out, her chest heaving. "How's it feel to get beat up by a girl?"

"You are so sexy right now, Becks." Mark chuckled,

approaching her. She turned back to face him; covered with gunpowder smudges,
scratches and the occasional bruise, she'd never looked more attractive to him.

Heedless of their surroundings, she threw herself against

him and kissed him shamelessly. His hands found her ass and squeezed as he
returned the kiss and she moaned into his mouth. If there'd been a rhino horn
on his crotch, he'd have been impaled on it. She broke the kiss and looked at
him hungrily, her eyes shouldering with desire.

"I'm so glad you're not dead, Mark," she breathed.

"I can't wait to prove it to you when we get the fuck out of here."

Mark took her hand and pulled her down the hallway, breaking

into a run. They weren't out of danger yet.

"What're you laughing about?" she asked, scowling

while she allowed him to lead her through the palace.

"I think that was Porthos you shot," he said

almost cheerfully. "Becks, you ganked Porthos."

"Oh, I did not," she hissed, trying to not feel

disgust at her student's lack of historical knowledge and basic temporal
mechanics. "Porthos doesn't die until 1670. So if that guy dies, it wasn't
Porthos. If it was Porthos, he isn't dead. Read a book, Mark."

"Ha, you said bookmark!" he laughed as he pulled

her around a corner and down another hallway, trying to reach the point
Alexandra had designated.

"Uh!" Becky groused. "Why was I so damn happy

that you lived? I swear, Mark, I; Ack!"

They both whirled in panic and threw themselves back around

the corner as a withering hail of musket fire peppered the plaster of the walls
where they'd been standing mere seconds before. They scrambled to their feet
and began running back the way they'd come, determined to not die in some
baroque version of Bullet Hell from the Matrix.

"Fucking shit!" Mark yelped, yanking her around

another corner as more soldiers appeared and filled the hall with musket balls.
"This sucks!"

"Ya' think?" she hissed as they kept running,

their options becoming increasingly limited. "I'm in this too, Mister
Spotlight!"

"Yeah, well at least you don't have the Goblin City

Battle music from the Labyrinth soundtrack stuck in your head while they chase
us around and try to kill us!"

"I do now, you fucker! Thanks a lot!" Becky raged.

A lone house guard skidded to a stop near them and prepared to fire. Mark flung
his pistol at the man, striking him in the head before knocking him aside as
they continued down the corridor.

"What did you throw your gun away for, dumbass?"

she exclaimed, wondering if blood loss after getting shot had permanently damaged
Mark's brain. She hoped he could still get it up, if they made it out of
here.

"It had no ammo in it." Mark grunted, trying to

get his bearings, thinking back to the plans of the palace Alexandra had shown
him.

"Why were you carrying around an empty pistol?"

Becky asked in disbelief. "Intimidation purposes? Were you gonna hold it
sideways when you pointed it at people, hope you looked all gangster?"

"I plugged a guy on my way to find you, okay?" he

sighed as they kept running. "The first shot fired that started this whole
mess, it was me shooting some jackoff in the foot as I tried to find you."

Becky skidded to a stop, halting Mark's flight as well. She

looked into his eyes and then hugged him in relief.

"Thank you, Mark," she said quietly. "You came

for me, after you nearly died, and we both could today. You're very
brave."

When she ended the hug, Mark found she had put her own

pistol in his hands. He frowned in confusion.

"Why'd you give me your pistol?" he asked.

"Because let's face it, I'm a lot more likely to snag

another one than you are," she sighed. "Let's go, I'm done with the
Sun King's France."

Out of breath, they settled for trotting down a hallway,

surrounded by the echoing sounds of chaos. Things had gotten so confused that
the guards were all fighting one another now, thinking the enemy in their
midst.

Panting, the pair stopped suddenly as they came to a major

intersection of hallways. Not far away, a confused brawl consisting of house
guard and the Cardinal's guard blocked their passage. Upon their appearance,
though, both sides paused in their fight and stared at them. Then a captain
raised a call to kill them. Without even thinking, Mark pointed his pistol at
the huge iron chandelier over the soldier's heads and fired. The plaster
ceiling broke as the iron ball struck at and the chandelier plummeted, crashing
into the dozens of men before while clouds of plaster dust filled the hall.

"I can't believe that worked!" Mark laughed as

they ran down another venue.

"Yes, it was very impressive, Gene Kelly," Becky

sighed, shaking her head. "Next, you'll be swinging from the damn
chandeliers or using your knife to ride down tapestries."

Soldiers surged around the corner, charging into the couple.

Mark shouted in fury as they tried to skewer him while they attempted to
wrestle Becky to the ground. He dodged a blade and slashed his foe across the
arm before leaping back to try and give himself room. He looked around in a
panic and saw Becky kicking a soldier in the nuts before punching another in
the face, her eyes flashing with fury.

Someone slammed into him from behind and he tumbled forward,

scrambling to gain his feet. More bodies joined the fracas and he realized that
they were not only trying to kill him but fighting one another as well.

It was difficult to breathe. There were too many bodies

smothering him. He gasped in panic and strained to find room for himself. His
shaking hand gripped a sword and she shoved it forward indiscriminately,
feeling something soft give before him. He focused all his effort on crawling
forward, finally emerging from the churning pile of men, locked in combat. He
dragged himself along the floor but then grunted in pain as something speared
into his thigh from above and behind. He turned to look, his eyes watering in
pain, seeing a man in red, glaring at him, raising his rapier for another
strike.

Then a sword point burst through the man's chest from

behind. His eyes widened, and he dropped his sword and crumpled to the ground.
The man who had killed him was already moving on to another target.

Exhausted and dull with pain, Mark dragged himself to a wall

and slumped against it, looking around for Becky, but she was nowhere to be
seen.

No. Not again.

He ignored the maelstrom of violence and pushed himself to

his feet, limping down a hallway, sword held loosely in his hand as he went to
find his teacher.

Alexandra strode down the hall with purpose, her senses keen

for trouble. She had caused as much trouble as she could, all the while keeping
the fray well away from the queen's quarters. She regretted that men would die
today, due to their poor judgement, but she understood that the girl Rebecca
could not remain here in Paris. A deep foreboding warned her that almost any price
was worth paying to see her safely away.

Sparring with D’Artagnan.

She stopped as a lone figure came into view, blocking her

way down the corridor. He wore the blue of the king's mousquetaires, his
young face etched with determination. His hand rested on the hilt of his rapier
while he observed her.

"So," he began, tilting his head. "You

must be the cause of all this mayhem, oui?"

"I am not who you seek." Alexandra said

plainly.

"I do not truck with liars and I do not appreciate

being lied to!" the young man snapped. "I would have your name
before I run you through in the king's. Are you an agent of Buckingham?"

"No."

"Charles of Spain?"

"I have no time for this," Alexandra said

testily, putting her hand on the hilt of her blade. "Move aside and let
me complete my task, musketeer!"

"Then it is death you crave!" he hissed,

his rapier flashing in his hand now. "I shall happily give it to you in
the queen's honor!"

Alexandra drew her blade as her foe rushed forward. She

parried his initial thrust and then counter-thrust, which he swatted aside. A
flurry of thrusts and ripostes followed, the two warriors measuring one
another, vying for advantage in the narrow hallway. Steel rang and flashed.
Alexandra's sword point tore a vent in one of her foe's sleeves, and she
followed up with a swipe at his eyes, but he dodged away nimbly.

He lunged in with the speed of a striking serpent and she

caught his blade on hers before it pierced her stomach, turning it aside. They
pressed blade-to-blade, moving around one another in a slow, deadly circle,
their eyes locked. He danced away again as a main-gauche flashed in her
hand, nearly shearing his throat open. He spun around her next attack, and when
he was facing her again, a pistol had appeared in his free hand. At point blank
range, he pulled the trigger. The thunderous bark of the firearm rattled her
teeth as she bent backwards, the bullet passing harmlessly overhead.

Alexandra somersaulted backward gracefully, coming to her

feet with her rapier guarding against a follow-up attack. A lot of bemusement
crossed his face.

"Very pretty, good sir," he said. "But it

will not save you."

He darted in again and another furious exchange of swordplay

followed. His blade kissed the top of her thigh, leaving a shining crimson
thread on her skin. She paid him in kind with a nick across his cheek, followed
by cutting the red plume from his hat. He was nearly as fast as she was, and
his recklessness made him dangerously unpredictable, even to one as skilled and
experienced as Alexandra.

Their blades grated as they strained against one another,

teeth clenched and eyes flashing in fury. With a cry of effort, she shoved with
all her might and threw him back. He kept his feet and remained on guard,
irritated by his foe's grit and skill.

"D'Artagnan!" shouted Athos as he and Aramis

dragged the unconscious Porthos across the hallway behind the combatants,
disappearing from sight. This distracted the Musketeer, who turned to look
behind himself in confusion and then disbelief. He glanced back at his foe and
then sighed, sheathing his blade.

"Until next time, enemy mine;” he said, before

darting around the corner to catch up with his comrades. Alexandra waited some
seconds after he was gone and then sagged against the wall, sighing heavily.
She rubbed her face for a moment before returning her rapier to its sheathe and
continuing on. She had to find Mark and Rebecca.

The door to the room swung open and Mark staggered inside,

panting in pain. His entire leg felt like it was on fire, and it was
maddeningly sticky. He had lost his sword while searching for Becky, but it
mattered little if he couldn't find her.

He tumbled into a sitting position, propping himself up on

his hands and trying to breathe. Everything hurt now, and it was getting to the
place where he couldn't move. His head throbbed and he was getting dizzy.

With extreme effort, he managed to tear one of his sleeves

off, and tied it around his leg, hoping it would act as a tourniquet and
perhaps staunch the bleeding. It stung like fucking Hell and to his distress
did nothing ease his pain.

He sat there panting, when a solemn figure in red moved

slowly by the door. There was a pause and then the person came back into view,
peering at Mark quizzically. Clad in red robes and a little red skull cap, his
tight, lemony features creased in recognition and then disbelief.

"I know you," the Cardinal murmured, his

eyes never leaving Mark. "Yes, you are the boy from the field, the one
who claimed to be a Spanish noble and had the pretty girl with him."

He stepped closer, still scrutinizing Mark, who tried to

move backwards, his body screaming in protest.

"But you died," the elderly man stated. "My

captain shot you. You died in that field. What witchcraft is this?"

Annoyance flashed in the Cardinal's eyes now. "So,

you are the cause of all this tumult. The girl I was to give to the queen, she
is missing and now I know why."

He pulled a pistol from within the voluminous folds of his

red robes and cocked it before pointing the muzzle down at Mark's face.

"I think it is time I dealt with this problem

myself, once and for all."

Too hurt and exhausted to fight back, Mark squeezed his eyes

shut;

"I Kick You In The Nuts, Richelieu!" shrilled a

voice from the doorway behind the Cardinal, the shout followed by a sickening
thump as a musketeer's boot appeared beneath Richelieu's groin. The man
stiffened for a moment in confusion, but then his eyes crossed, and he bit his
lower lip as his skin turned a sickly shade of green.

While Richelieu slumped forward and then fell on his side,

trembling and holding the family jewels, Mark goggled up at Becky, who stood
indignantly in the doorway with her hands on her hips, glaring down at His
Eminence.

"Asshole;” she muttered as she stepped over the

Cardinal and came over to Mark, who was shaking with the effort of holding
himself up. Her eyes welled with emotion as she knelt next to him.

"Oh, Mark," she said in a gentle voice. "Look

at you, you got stabbed, baby. I'm so sorry;”

"I'll be alright," he managed to say as she hugged

him to her. "At least you still look amazing, no matter how badly your ass
has been kicked."

Becky's laugh choked back her sob and she smiled at him,

tears in her eyes.

"Smart-ass," she murmured. "C'mon, let me

bind your boo-boo properly and then we'll get out of here, before everyone in
Paris is dead."

She fixed his makeshift tourniquet and then helped him

stand. Once he was upright, he took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I
think I can walk, I was just in need of a breather, ya’ know?"

She giggled. "How the Hell are we gonna explain a

rapier wound through your thigh when you get home?"

"With any luck, Chester will have a little something'

to fix me right up." Mark replied. "Let's go. If we are where I think
we are, then our ride isn't that far away."

They walked cautiously down several smaller hallways,

avoiding any and all encounters. They chaos seemed to have abated, at least for
now. Alexandra had predicted that if fighting broke out, there was be lots of
confused violence, followed by the various guard companies withdrawing to their
assigned wings of the palace, to directly protect their charges, such as the
king, queen and cardinal.

"Bet the Cardinal's guards are gonna be upset,"

Mark chuckled. "He's nowhere near his quarters, and they let him get
kicked in the freaking balls."

Becky giggled as she walked alongside him, her arm through

his. "You have no idea how good that felt, Mark. A girl could get
used to that. Maybe we should visit Berlin, see if I can kick Hitler in the
nuts."

"One grand adventure at a time, teach;” he said

wearily, causing her to laugh. But her mirth was brought up short when a
solitary figure appeared in front of them, wearing red and clad in a black
mask, a rapier and several pistols on their belt. Becky scowled, getting ready
to step in front of her student, when Mark seemed to sigh in relief.

"I am glad to see you are both well," said the

person, walking forward, pulling their golden hair out of its ponytail and
removing the mask. Becky's heart leapt as she came face-to-face with Lady
Alexandra once more. "Thank the Lord."

She stepped in and embraced them both, all three of them

trembling at being reunited. Alexandra finally smiled at her friends and
nodded. "We must still get you out of here, before the guards return to
some sense of normalcy. Mark, do you still have the place name I gave to
you?"

Mark smiled wearily. "I; it's in the little pocket in

my pants here, but it's probably pretty red and unreadable by now."

"It's a good thing, then, that I wrote a copy, non?"

Alexandra lilted, pulling a small piece of vellum out from beneath the sash she
wore and handing it to Becky.

"Go to this place," the noblewoman instructed.

"By carriage, it should not take more than three days. It is a sanctum I
use on occasion and it will be safe. Lisette and I will find you there a day or
two after you arrive."

She then handed two small, round jars into Becky's palm as

well. "Use these to salve your wounds, until I arrive. I promise you, they
will work."

"How can we thank you?" Becky asked, staring at

Alexandra, enchanted.

The French woman smiled and then pulled Becky to her,

kissing her deeply and passionately. Becky shuddered and moaned, her arms
wrapping around Alexandra and returning the kiss passionately. Mark smiled as
he watched the blondes make out for almost a minute before Alexandra
reluctantly pulled away.

"We need to stop, or we will be fucking right here in

the halls of the palace," she breathed, wiping at the corner of her mouth
with a finger. "We will see one another soon, and celebrate then."

She turned to Mark and smiled before leaning in and kissing

him gently. "You are a brave man, my friend. Never doubt it, no matter
what travails Heaven provides."

She walked them through several secret passages now, until

they emerged into a small courtyard, under the cover of night. Standing nearby,
a non-descript carriage awaited them. Alexandra wrapped Becky in a cloak and
then spoke to the driver while the clambered inside. His instructions were
clear, and he would not deviate from them.

Becky and Mark looked out a small window, smiling and waving

at Alexandra, who held up her hand to bid them farewell. The carriage exited
the Louvre via a small gate where the guards asked no questions, and then they
were on their way through Paris. Mark sank back into the surprisingly plush
seat and sighed heavily.

"Try not to get kidnapped again, Becks," he said

lazily. "I'm not sure how much more of this my body can take."

"But being rescued by you is one of my favorite reasons

to use tawdry sex as a thank you," she protested, turning to smile at him
and tracing a fingernail up and down his chest. "You wouldn't deprive me
of that joy, would you, hero?"

"Perish the thought, teach;” he chuckled tiredly.

A time to recuperate.

Mark had Lisette pinned beneath him and rocked back and

forth on top of her, his cock plunging in and out of her molten cunt, while she
groaned in pleasure. It felt so good to have this boy's tool inside her again.
Her legs were wrapped around his strong waist and her hips moved in time with
his, taking him in as deep as she could.

Lisette rarely kissed anyone who wasn't her mistress, but in

this case, she was making a willing exception. Their tongues tangled wetly as
they fucked, exploring one another. The tingling heat was overtaking her, and
she knew it would not be long now. She crossed her ankles behind him and she
bit at the skin of his chest, shuddering in delight.

Mark arched his back, pushing as deep inside her as he

could, before shaking and allowing himself release. Her wanton cunt gripped his
cock while he came deep inside her, his whole being awash with unreal pleasure.
They moaned through a frenzied kiss and then sagged together, spent and sated,
at least for now.

Moans, pants and sighs of bliss attracted Mark and Lisette's

attention and they looked off their side; also on the huge bed with them, Becky
and Alexandra were sitting together, with their arms and legs wrapped around
one another, kissing hungrily as they squirmed their slick pussies together.
Their matching golden hair was damp with the sweat of their exertions, skin
slick and shining. The greedy smacking and sucking sounds their slits made as
they mingled made the four lovers shiver in delight.

Alexandra and Becky were groping and fondling one another

with unreal need, their nails leaving red marks and their fingers gripping
tight enough to leave welts. Neither relented, though, desperate to cum
together. The moans became groans and they were panting as they gyrated their
hips, churning rhythmically in a sensual dance of bliss.

They pulled tighter against one another, clenching their

teeth and craning their necks as they peaked, then crying out and pressing
their molten, gooey pussies as they came. More feverish kissing punctuated the
climax and the finally both collapsed backward, chests heaving, their legs
still scissored together. Steam seemed to be rising from their bodies, skin
flushed pink. The four lovers lay silent for some minutes, just basking in
their shared bliss. Mark finally pulled himself out of Lisette and then knelt
over her face, allowing the dark-haired girl to slide his cock into her mouth,
cleaning their mingled cum from his cock, which she did with great delight.

Becky and Alexandra finally clasped wrists and pulled

themselves up into a sitting position, hugging tiredly, but not willing to
relinquish their most intimate contact. They kissed deeply and contentedly,
fondling one another's tits. Lisette looked over at them and giggled.

Alexandra looked over at her servant, her eyebrow raised. "What

is so funny, girl?"

Lisette turned on her side and rested her head on her hand

while Mark spooned in behind her. "I was just thinking, Mistress; you
and Miss Rebecca look so much alike. What if you are her ancestor?"

Becky and Alexandra both thought about that, looked at one

another for a moment, shrugged and began kissing again, their tongues tangling
loudly.

"And if that was the case, think about what we

discussed the other day," she continued, smirking mischievously. "You
said you had wondered what it would be like to Monsieur Mark's child, yes?
Wouldn't that also make him Miss Rebecca's ancestor?"

Mark burst out laughing while Becky choked on her shock,

interrupting the kiss she had been so enjoying. She looked at Lisette in
disbelief. Alexandra just sighed and shook her head, used to her servant's
twisted humor.

The moment of metaphysical terror passed for Becky and they

all cuddled together in the center of the bed, kissing tenderly and caressing.
Alexandra had told Becky all about Mark's efforts to find her and reach her,
what he had undergone and risked. Becky's eyes shone as she looked at Mark at
promised to make sure he was properly thanked until the end of time.

"I wish you could stay," Alexandra almost moped,

regretting that she had to give her new friends up. "I enjoy your company,
and I am not ashamed to say I love you both."

"Feeling's mutual, Alexa," Becky lilted, tracing a

fingernail across her generous tit. "But maybe we needn't end our
association. If we designate a consistent place, when you know you are
available, you can leave a message there. Mark and I will check for messages,
and when we see one, we can visit you at the appointed time. No conflicts or
dangers presented, as long as we're all certain of the clear lines of
communication."

"I like that idea," Alexandra said, grinning.

"And I have a gift for you both."

She climbed off the bed and went to retrieve something. She

returned shortly with two bottles, which she presented to them.

"A new type of wine, invented in my native region of

Champagne," she said, kneeling on the bed as they examined the bottles.
"Twice fermented and sweet on the tongue, not unlike my darling Rebecca."

Becky blushed and Mark grinned. "You'll be glad to know

that in our time, champagne is one of the most expensive and sought-after
drinks in the world, used in every important celebration."

"That does please me, Mark." Alexandra said,

nodding her head and deciding to not chide him this time about telling her the
future.

"And now that I think of it, literally, I've got a

present for you, Alexa." Mark mused, getting off the bed. The three women
watched as he walked into a large closet, rummaging around loudly. When he
returned, he was holding what appeared to be several unusual books, which he
handed to Alexandra.

"What are these?" she asked, puzzled.

"Well, the graphic novel is a pictorial history of

Wonder Woman, who you may recall I told you a little bit about," he
explained, sitting on the bed again. "And the other three books are all
written by a man named Alexander Dumas and are fictional works about the Three
Musketeers. I figured they'd be humorous reading for you."

She looked up at him incredulously. "But; why were they

in my closet here in my chalet?"

He grinned again. "Well, just a moment ago, I decided

to give them to you. So in a few days, I'm gonna gather them up, bring them
here to just before Becky and I arrive, and bury 'em in your closet, where I
know they are. That way, I don't run into any of us. And clearly it
worked."

Becky made a wry face. "Ya’ know, I'd say you're

getting the hang of this whole temporal travel thing, but I'm pretty sure
you're only getting the hang of abusing it."

Mark smirked at her and pinched her nipple, making her

shiver and bite her lip. He then looked back at Alexandra. "And when
you're done with 'em, you can just leave 'em in our drop-off spot and Becks and
I'll pick them up. That way, there's no anachronistic copies of
nineteenth-century novels or twentieth-century comic books lying around to be
discovered by archaeologists."

"I take back what I said just now, you're gonna get us

all clock-hammered right out of existence." Becky sighed, causing her
lovers to laugh.

Mark and Becky lay side-by-side in her bed and holdings

hands, back in their own time and generally none the worse for wear. They'd
learned some valuable lessons and had made some important contacts along the
way.

"Do' you really think Alexandra's my ancestor?"

Becky mused, looking at her bedroom ceiling.

Mark shrugged. "You sure look a lot alike, and you're

both Hell on wheels. I'm still amused by the notion of me being your
great-great-great-whatever grandfather."

She sighed and shook her head. "I can handle the notion

of fucking and falling in love with my great-whatever grandmother, but the
notion of you as my whatever grandfather gives me the jibblies. Just promise me
you won't impregnate Alexa and make that come true, Mark."

He chuckled. "I promise. I have no idea how

trans-temporal alimony or visitation rights even work."

Becky giggled and turned in to face him, cuddling close.

"So, who're you gonna save me from next, hero?"

she purred, nipping at his earlobe and making him shiver.

"Oh, God, Becks, can we start out with some really

ferocious kindergartners from the Roaring Twenties taking you hostage? I can
probably handle that right about now."

She giggled again and crawled on top of him, staring down into

his eyes and kissing his nose while she squirmed her tits against him.

"Take me to New York in the Twenties and I'll show you

how liberated a flapper girl I can be," she whispered. "Deal?"

"Deal." Mark replied, pulling her down and kissing

her soulfully.

Count Mark and Becky in!
I Think I'm Getting The Hang Of This!
Finally home.

Mark sat at his dining room table, eating dutifully. His mom

had prepared short ribs and mashed potatoes for dinner, one of his favorites.
What she didn't know was that Mark had substituted several herbs and spices
into her collection, items he'd brought back from his temporal travels. At the
very least, this meant they were technically several hundred years old, or
sometimes that they didn't exist in the modern era at all.

"I'm enjoying this particular batch of thyme that I put

in the braise," Dhallyla Pritchard remarked as she gently stabbed some
green beans with her fork. "Mark, where did you say you got it for me? The
flavor is so; special."

Mark shrugged. "Another shop I thought I'd try

out," he replied. "Nowhere near our usual places."

"Well, keep it up, son," his father said, sitting

at the other end of the table. "No offence to your mother's cooking, but
the spices we were getting before weren't helping the cause. Now this is
flavor."

"Such a good little minion," his mom said sweetly,

reaching over and pinching his cheek. "First, you did amazingly well on
your Physics exam and boosted your overall grade to the place where the
university accepted you, and now you're an herbs and spices guru. Talk about an
unexpected change."

"Yeah," his sister Roxy said, sitting across from

him, and trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice. "Unexpected is
right."

"Now Roxy, be nice," their mom chided. "You

should be happy for your little brother, he'll be going to university with
you."

"As long as she pulls her grades up," grunted dad,

pausing in eating to waggle his fork in her general direction. "You
promised us you'd keep your grades up and we'd let you live here rent-free as a
result, Rox. We're living up to our end of the bargain, what's so difficult
about yours?"

"Maybe I should study more and party less," she

grumbled, scowling at her food. She hated to admit it, but her mom was right,
the spices were great. Where had the little trouser-snake bought them?
"Ya’ know, open my mind more and my legs less?"

"Dear!" Dhallyla gasped, looking at her daughter

in shock. "Nobody said you were behaving licentiously! There's no need to
use language like that!"

"Sorry," the dark-haired girl sighed, putting down

her fork. "Just been on edge lately. Seems to have been The Mark Show
around here recently, and I'm not even quite making my grades in Soph."

"You just need to focus, darling," mom said,

trying to sound reassuring. "Mark stopped goofing around and knuckled
under, and he got rewarded. Nothing says you can't do the same."

She reached for the dull green bottle and removed the cork,

pouring herself another glass of the Bordeaux her son had found. She looked at
the mottled green glass, the seemingly dusty exterior, and the red wax they'd
had to break to get the cork out.

"So interesting to sell a bottle of wine like

this," she mused, tracing a finger over the surface. There's not even a
proper label. Who thought of selling wine this way?"

"Artisan wines are a big deal, mom," Mark said

simply, pouring another glass for himself. He was technically not of age to
drink, but his parents let him at mealtimes. "It's clever marketing, ya'
gotta admit. People feel like they're buying a really old wine, so it's
classy."

"Well, it's certainly enjoyable," his mom agreed,

watching the dark, rich liquid swirl in her glass. "Make sure you get more
of it, wherever you got it."

"Yeah, maybe you can take me along with you next

time," Roxy said, resting her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table,
smiling at him. "Sounds like a place I'd show to a few of my
friends."

"Uh, we'll see," Mark replied somewhat

uncertainly. "I never know when I'll make it back there;”

More ‘Tutoring’.

Becky and Mark were leaning into one another and kissing

deeply while they sat on her swinging chair in her backyard. It was nearly
midnight, and with the rows of trees that bordered her property, they weren't
worried about being espied. The blue-eyed blonde beauty pressed her impressive
tits into his chest, humming into his mouth while her fingers reached up and
tangled through his brown hair.

Mark, for his part, had one hand resting on her back,

holding her close, while his other hand had reached around to hold her ass,
squeezing it gently. She was wearing snug jeans that showed off her
magnificent, toned curves, while her bust strained tightly against an old,
faded screen-T that advertised the classic cartoon "What's Opera,
Doc?"

They finally broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads

together, just enjoying the warm night air and one another's company. She was
his high-school Physics teacher, at least technically. Rebecca was still
teaching an earlier version of Mark's current self, one that was unaware of his
carnal interactions with this insanely hot woman.

"Still can't believe how stupid earlier Me is," he

breathed, fondling her ass through her jeans. "He could've been doing
this."

"Now now, that's not true," she giggled, rubbing

her nose against his, her eyes dancing in amusement and delight. "You're
still seventeen when I get to class every day and watch you fail miserably at
Physics, you know. What makes you think I want to be caught fucking a
minor?"

Mark smiled slyly, took her hand and placed it on his crotch,

making her massage his cock through his jeans.

"Oh, I dunno," he mused, feeling her shiver.

"Maybe this;”

"No, that's cheating and you know it," Becky

murmured, continuing to rub him even after he removed his own hand. "And I
suppose it's only a three-month technicality, but I still wouldn't have
if I didn't know about the Holmes Field Device. I don't care how big your dick
is, young man, sometimes a lady needs more."

"Ya' mean like wacky time travel adventures?" he

asked, grinning.

"Exactly like wacky time travel adventures," she

purred as she clambered into his lap and straddled him, her arms around his
shoulders. Predictably, Mark's hands came to her ass. "I always expected
to lead an adventurous life, but this is something altogether different. And
the fact that I owe it to one of the lousiest Physics students I've ever taught
is rather ironic."

"I think you said 'lousiest' when you meant

'luckiest,'" Mark quipped, squeezing her ass cheeks and kissing her nose.
Becky giggled and nodded.

"I couldn't agree more; you are one of the luckiest

Physics students to ever live," she opined, using her hands to gesture to
herself. "Not often a guy gets access to a playground like this without a
gold band, you know."

He nodded. He and Becky were very close now. Maybe they even

loved one another after a fashion. But were they in love?

She seemed to sense his thoughts and kissed his nose.

"Stop worrying, big man," she cooed. "I don't think we're in
love. I suppose part of me is gone on you, but that's just the euphoria of our
adventures and all the dopamine you keep pumping into my system. You're seven
years younger than me; I'd probably kill you after a while."

"I didn't know you were an ageist, Becks," he

chuckled, teasing her. "After all, remember the innkeeper's two daughters
in that little town in France? You sure they were legal?"

"We've been over this, Mark." Becky chided,

stroking his cheek. "If they were alive today, they would've been nearly
five hundred years old."

"God, I love how your mind works," he laughed.

"You're so much better at this time travel stuff than I am."

"Maybe I'm intuitive about it, and a quick study, but I

think you've got something I don't, and that's dumb luck," she mused,
casually moving her tits against his chest while they talked. "I mean,
think about it; I was taken prisoner by Cardinal Richelieu, and virtually a
prisoner in Queen Anne's court. I had no way of getting out of there, and
certainly not of returning home. I don't have any clue, yet, of how to build a
time machine."

She kissed him deeply, her fingers tangling in his hair

again as her heart almost raced at the memory.

"But then you came back for me, after being shot and

nearly killed, and charged in like some sort of insane knight on a horse, threw
the entire Louvre into utter chaos, and got me out of there."

"Well, maybe," he said, almost blushing. "I

didn't do it alone, ya’ know."

"That's true," Becky agreed. "You had help

from Chester Edgeworth, and Lady Alexandra."

Becky leaned back slightly and sighed, closing her eyes.

"Now her I'm totally in love with."

"Even though she's probably your ancestor?" Mark

teased.

"Remind me all you like, I don't care," Becky

sniffed. "So I'm an incestuous time-travelling, Physics-teaching slut. I'm
having a great romp, thank you."

"Me too, Becks," Mark agreed, nodding. "And

I'm glad I've got all the dumb luck necessary to rescue you, because you've got
the smarts to save me when I do anything stupid."

They kissed some more, with her sitting contentedly in his

lap, just enjoying the prelude to the night's activities.

"So," she said finally, looking at her student and

lover. "Where shall we head?"

"Don't you mean 'when,' Becks?" Mark quipped.

"Try to refrain from time travel jokes, they're painful

coming from you," she sighed, smiling and shaking her head. "Any
ideas?"

"Well, I think Chester's been in touch," Mark

mused, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a brochure. It was made of
regular paper and inks, but what it displayed was so very strange. "You
can, apparently, go on safaris with dinosaurs, if you know where and when to
look."

"Ooh, like Jurassic Park?" she asked, taking the

brochure and examining it.

"Well, Any period Park, I guess," Mark replied,

shrugging. "Looks like some company from the far future has created
amusement parks back on Pangaea in various eras, allowing time travelers to go
and see what life was like. They've created huge, secured habitats on
continents to allow for safe interaction without affecting the timeline or the
world at large."

"They must be from really far in the future and have

some really high tech if they're confident enough to do that and your time cops
haven't kicked their ass," Becky said absently, still reading through the
brochure. "Oh, look at this, they've domesticated members of some species!
You can ride on some plant eaters; there's Dromaeosaur races;”

"Interested?" he asked.

She pursed her lips: "It's expensive, Mark. It's meant

for people from the time period the company is from, clearly. And assuming this
sign indicates the currency, there's an awful lot of zeroes following it."

Mark thought about that for a moment. "But Chester had

to know that, and still gave it to us, right? That means he knows something we
don't."

"And we all remember what happened last time he

knew something and we didn't," she pointed out, folding up the brochure
and tucking it into her bra. "You got shot and nearly died, and I ended up
a prisoner in a gilded cage. Let's pass for now, and do something a bit less
exotic but still fun, okay?"

"I'm down with that; it's not like there's a time limit

on the offer, literally," Mark acquiesced. "So, what shall we
do?"

She made a show of thinking, tapping her finger against her

cheek. "Well;”

To be continued in part 6. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts, for Literotica.

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