Podcast appearances and mentions of Queen Anne

I hope you love this conversation with Vince Aiello as much as I do! I found Vince by chance on Instagram - or maybe he found me? I forget. But I love his business Fire and Foraging, and we struck up a conversation and I invited him to talk on the podcast, and I'm SO glad I did! Vince is a nature guide in Wisconsin, and is a real pro! I learned so much - he talked about fire adaptive species and fire ecology; we talked about invasive EDIBLE plants to help plants thrive, and how humans share 80% of DNA with trees (did you know that? I sure didn't). Some of the species we discussed are dandelion, of course - how every part of the plant is beneficial, also Dames rocket and Queen Anne's Lace. Speaking of edible plants, do you recognize the mushroom on this episode's art?I also learned from Vince that there's a Mid West Wild Food conference, and that he's worked with Alexis Nikole (The Black Forager on Instagram - she's so great!) a few times!Vince says "You are nature," and his goal is for people to connect with their local environment. And he's doing that - one nature walk at a time.Vince's website is here: https://www.fireandforaging.com/Here's his Instagram page: https://www.instagram.com/woods_treker/He is also a writer - here's an article of his: https://driftlessareamag.com/unicdn/2022/04/04/driftless-the-beautifully-unglaciated-area/**(the mushroom is Chicken of the Woods!)Send me a message!Support the showPlease follow Grounded In Maine podcast on Instagram here YouTube channel link is here You can DM me there or email me at amysgardenjam@gmail.com Website for Amy's Garden Jam is https://amysgardenjam.com/ (podcast has its own tab on this site!) Amy's email newsletter: https://amy-fagan.kit.com/499688fe6a How Do I Get There From Here by Jane Bolduc - listen to more at https://www.janebolduc.com/Podcast cover by Becca Kofron- follow here on Instagram here https://www.instagram.com/cute_but_loud/ and check out her awesome art projects. Grounded in Maine Podcast is hosted by Buzzsprout, the easiest podcast hosting platform with the best customer service! Learn more at https://www.buzzsprout.com/?referrer_id=1851361 You can support this podcast one time (or many) with the Buy me a coffee/Hot Chocolate link here: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/groundedinmaine Grounded in Maine Podcast is sponsored by ESG Review. Learn more about the good they're doing at https://esgreview.net/

The Time Riders: Part 9 Planning Another Vacation Time Travel. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. Cast of Characters: Mark Simmons: 18 year old High School grad, enamored with Miss Becky Fischer. He finds the time machine and builds a new life. Uses various aliases in traveling. Rebecca 'Becky' Fischer: Mark's Physics teacher. Very intelligent, in her later twenties, Shapely Tall Blonde, lusty bisexual, D Cup tits. Martial arts expert, Uses various aliases in traveling. Henri: Claims to be a French physician and Apothicary. Chester Edgerton: Time traveling mentor, living in 17th Century French village. Cardinal Richelieu: ‘The Red Duke'. Statesman and Roman Catholic Cardinal. Dispises Queen Anne. Alexandra D'Assaut ('Alexa', or 'Lexi': Lady in waiting (and trusted advisor) to Queen Anne of France, Lusty bisexual, Very Tall, Busty DD tits, long golden blonde hair, Blue eyed. Lisette: servant (and lover) of Lady Alexandra, young, bespeckled brown eyes. Short, shapely, with wavy dark hair, bisexual. Dhallyla: Mark's mother. Roxy: Mark's sister. Nanu: An Egyptian slave of Pompeneia Flavius, purchased by Becky, dark complexion. Pompeneia: Roman hostess of Orgies. Lusty wife of Flavius, Mother of Domitia, bisexual, tall and shapely. Flavius: Roman aristocrat, husband of Pompeneia, protective father of Dometia, Domitia: Lusty young daughter of Pompeneia and Flavius. A pledged Vestal Virgin, Escapes to Sumeria when sentenced to death by starvation by Roman court. The Retiallis: A gladiator of the Collosseum. Prefers the trident spear and netting, to subdue opponents. Escapes to Sumeria. Rullus: A bulky gladiator of huge physical dimensions. Has an affection for Achilleia. Escapes to Sumeria. Achilleia: A fierce female gladiator. Prefers the whip and sword as weapons. Has a crush on Rullus. Escapes to Sumeria. Roxy stomped out of his room, trying to not slam the door behind her. Once he heard her heading down the stairs, Mark sank onto the corner of his bed and exhaled loudly, another shiver running up his spine. He suddenly had to pee. Had he really told Roxy the truth? He hadn't planned to, but he didn't exactly know what he planned to tell her, either. Now that he thought of it, telling her the truth was even more ridiculous than any appreciable lie he could have come up with, wasn't it? Of course she wouldn't believe him about a time machine, and she was quite reasonable not to. Just because it was true didn't mean she was committing an error in judgment. But now what? He had no idea how long her coerced 'promise' would hold her. She was really hot under the collar, and Roxy didn't take losing well at the best of times. He'd just have to be careful, he supposed. More so. He sighed and looked down at her little weed pipe, still in its baggie. In a moment of panic, when Roxy had been standing over him and threatening to slug him across the jaw, he'd made an instant decision; taking a lesson from his playbook with Becky; and resolved that he would get into Danni's house and filch the pipe, because he knew Roxy kept it there. He'd heard her talking over the phone about it with Danni at various points, and never really thought anything of it. Until now. He was familiar with Danni's house, since she'd been best friends with Roxy since they were little. When the two families were having dinner together, the girls had often dragged Mark upstairs and dressed him in girl's clothes and put makeup on him, like he was a doll for their tea parties. He also knew that Danni's parents didn't care if she smoked, because he'd heard Roxy lament this fact over the phone, wishing her parents were that cool. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to do the math of all this in his head. It would take Roxy thirty minutes to reach Danni's house in her car, to ask what the Hell had happened. But Danni would protest, insisting she'd never betray her friend and give Mark the pipe. Then she'd prove it by showing Roxy it was exactly where it was supposed to be, which was taped inside to the top of her underwear drawer. Only it wouldn't be there. Unless Mark went back to Danni's place and stashed it again, before the girls got up to her room. And then got out again. That'd really fuck with Roxy's head, and make Danni think Rox had gone insane. It took eight minutes for Mark to fire up and prime the Holmes Field Device, which was sitting in a corner in the basement that no one ever used. It was dead space, and as safe as any place else could be that wasn't Becky's basement. Eight minutes to prime it and program in the coordinates and the time. Like, literally a minute after he'd apparently gotten the pipe out of there to begin with. What? His mind was almost spinning at the logic flips. He had to return the pipe before he actually stole it? When did he steal it if he hadn't done it before returning it? And did that mean he had to steal it twice? He could account, apparently, for Danni not being in her room the first time, because he'd seemingly gotten away with it. If he landed a minute or so after he had burgled her, he would have the time he needed, he hoped, before she came back from wherever she was. Return it; steal it later, when no one is looking, then return it; I think. He heard the distinct sound of Roxy's Mustang roaring away down the road angrily. He somehow doubted that he had thirty minutes. What if he miscalculated and got caught? The obvious issues aside, how did he explain the Holmes Field Device? Could he explain it? People in this era thought time travel was fanciful sci-fi, after all. What happened then? He dropped the baggie on the bed, clasped his face in his hands and groaned, the number of calculations he needed to do making his head hurt. He really needed to stop pulling his solutions out of his ass, he was going to give himself a time-hemorrhoid. Time was wasting. "Wow, Mark," Becky mused as she sat in her lounger, sipping at the Falernian wine. Her bottles were almost gone, and they'd soon have to go back to their secret place in the woods and get more. It had been a rather involved operation, getting the giant vats aged a certain number of years back in the Roman era, then transporting them into the present and burying them again, so that they had a large stock of perfectly aged wine. "You sure like to play with fire, don't you?" "Tell me about it," he said wearily, as he sat on the couch, long pull drink from his own wine glass. "Can't believe it went off without a hitch." "You were near death that first night with me," Becky said rather somberly, concerned about the stress on her student's face. "And that only required one trip on your part, and my belief in myself. This little circus, however, I'll be amazed if your time cops don't show up to lecture you again. You'd deserve it." "I felt trapped, okay?" he said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He knew Becky was right, and he didn't want to snap at her. It had just really worn him out. He'd lost track of when he was supposed to be there, and how often. He'd eventually concluded that dumb luck had saved him from criminal charges, not to mention any other headaches. "I just; when telling her the truth didn't make her go away, I jumped into my playbook, which at this time, consists of what I did with you." "What would you have done, exactly, if she'd believed you about the Holmes Field Device?" Becky queried, looking at him with interest. He considered and gave a halfhearted shrug. "I guess I knew she wouldn't, because if I told Roxy I was a guy, she'd yank my pants down to make sure. But to answer your question, I; I dunno. I was just really outta options." "I know you know this, Mark, but we obviously have to find ways for you to be even more careful," she said in a gentle tone. "You haven't timelocked yourself yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if you came really close there." "No shit," he muttered, scowling at his glass. "Sorry, just stressed." "Oh, poor baby," Becky cooed, getting out of her seat and coming over to sit down next to Mark. She pulled him into lean on her and then rested his face between her opulent tits, knowing exactly the effect this would have on him. "Just relax, it's all fine now." Mark sighed and nuzzled into her tits, relaxing a little. His teacher's scent and her glorious softness had a calming effect on his frazzled nerves. "Uhd, we should go on vacation in some remote time for a year or so. I could use it." Becky giggled, stroking her fingers through her student's dark hair. "If only we could." "Well, why couldn't we?" Mark reasoned, still nuzzling and refusing to leave his nest. "We've got a time machine, don't we?" "Mark, a two-week vacation is one thing, but longer stretches are problematic." "Why?" Becky sighed and put down her wine, opting to just hold him while he nuzzled her boobs. It wasn't like she didn't enjoy the sensation, after all. She knew that Mark, even though he was at least as experienced a time traveler as she was at this point, was still an eighteen-year-old boy, who had failed her Physics course. He just wasn't good at this stuff yet. But he took her with him readily, and she would have all the patience in the world until he caught up. If he ever did. "Mark, let's say you and I did indeed go on vacation for a year, somewhere in the time stream," she began, still stroking his wavy, dark hair. "And let's say we left tonight." "Sounds good, I'm in," Mark replied in a muffled tone. She smirked and continued. "And we come back after a year, to, say, an hour after we left, no one would notice, right?" "That's the beauty of it," he agreed, nodding in her boobs. "But we'd notice," she pointed out. We'd be a whole year older than when we left. When you got back, everyone would be trying to celebrate your nineteenth birthday, when, in reality, you're twenty. And you're the only one aside from me who knows it. Thanks to my captivity in the Louvre, I'm already a month older than our calendar indicates, so my birthday is technically inaccurate." He paused as he considered what she was saying. "And let's say, God forbid, that the time machine broke down somewhere in the past," she said, her voice taking on a serious tone. "Neither of us knows how to fix it, and there's absolutely no guarantee that we'd be able to find someone who could. What if it took the two of us five years to repair it, against all odds? We'd arrive back, an hour after we left, if we could, and everyone would notice we were magically five years older. I'd be thirty, you'd be twenty-three. We'd both look somewhat older, undoubtedly. How would we account for that?" Mark said nothing, just listening. "The only alternative would be to arrive five years in the future, to make up the difference, but then we've been AWOL with no explanation for five years," she continued. "Sure, maybe you can say you joined the merchant marines without a moment's notice, but what would I say?" She took his chin gently and turned his head to look up into her blue eyes. "We can't mess with the time stream and people's lives like that," she said quietly, almost sadly. "We're not from an era where time travel is the norm and people know what to expect." "You sure know how to take the fun out of time travel, Becks," he sighed, shaking his head. She giggled and cradled him in her bosom again, knowing he didn't mean it. "Silly," she cooed, jiggling her tits against his face a little. "You know better than anyone how much fun I can be in the time stream." "Yeah, that's true," Mark admitted, smiling and turning over on his back to look up at her while he lay in her lap. She was wearing black yoga pants, and a tight tank top and gave her impressive bust lots of breathing room. "But I really could use a little time away, to be honest. This nonsense stressed me out." "I'm sure it did, and hopefully you'll start thinking about these things ahead of time," she agreed, poking him in the nose. "In terms of what we could do, I have been giving the matter some thought." Mark raised an eyebrow. Becky never had bad ideas. Not compared to his, in any event. "I'm all ears." "Hardly," Becky giggled, reaching her hand down to gently cup his crotch beneath his jeans. "Let me explain first. You're not the only one with a predicament, although mine isn't necessarily self-inflicted." "Still listening," Mark said dryly, noticing the cheerful jibe. "It's difficult, being separated by three months the way we are," Becky said, caressing his cheek. "You, the Mark lying in my lap, you're from my upcoming summer. Me, I'm still waiting for the school year to finish. And three times a week, I see you in my classroom, and have to remind myself that the you sitting in that desk is not only still a minor, still, but has absolutely no idea about any of this." Mark said nothing, considering. "And I have to constantly be on guard, making sure I'm not sitting behind my desk, gazing at you dreamily in an off moment, or reminding myself not to sext you from the bathroom." "Damn, now I kinda wish you had," Mark mused, making her snicker. "Silly. What I'm saying, is that I think in the very near future, we'll need to not see each other for three months, as agonizing as that sounds, so that I can catch up with you." Mark screwed up his face as he thought about that. "That does sound sucky." "Oh, it won't be for you," Becky pointed out. "You get to hop on your time machine and return to three months from now, just like you always do every time we meet up. You won't even notice the difference. But you've also very tacitly avoided my future self for now, haven't you?" He nodded. "Yeah, you said to. Not that hard; it's a big city, and you told me where you tend to be at any given time, so it isn't much of a challenge." "Well, I want to catch up," Becky said firmly. "I want us to be on the same relative time frame, so that we don't need to worry about twists and so on, where things can go wrong. And if that means not seeing this you for three months," she whispered, placing her hand gently on his crotch, "and no time travelling for me because you've got the Holmes Field Device, then I'll manage. But it needs fixing, Mark." "Okay, done," Mark agreed, nodding. "But you mentioned something fun, which hasn't come up yet in this presentation so far." "Well," Becky began again. "I was thinking that we really should go and get Nanu and bring her forward with us. "It's not fair to leave her in that villa by herself. She doesn't really know how to look after herself, after all." "But we can keep visiting her," Mark pointed out. "She doesn't understand time travel, she'd hardly notice." "If we keep coming back to the same point in time to visit her, or at least within the same period frequently, it's true that little or no time will have passed for her," Becky said. "But we have our own lives, and goodness only knows when we'll have the time to pop out to Imperial Rome again. Years might pass for us before we can see her. How would we explain how much older we look to her?" "That again," Mark sighed, resenting the mathematical drudgery of time travel. "Yeah, that would freak her out. And as far as she's concerned, I'm still your slave, and she is too." "It's a notion I'll have to disabuse her of, once we bring her back here," Becky confirmed. "But I was thinking we'd have some fun when we go back and get her, and then she could stay with me. I'd spend our three months apart teaching her about our time and world, and when you meet us, we'd all be caught up together. Sound good?" "Well, I can't imagine it not being fun if you're around," Mark replied, grinning and sitting up, feeling considerably better after this talk with his teacher. "What're we gonna use to get the funds?" "Well," Becky said, making a cute show of thinking. "I've actually checked with that chroniques dealer? The one over on Adelaide that we were directed to?" "You've been busy!" Mark laughed, putting his arm around her shoulder. "I like to be prepared," she purred, snuggling into his side. "Anyway, I told him about my complete collection of Monchhichi minis that I inherited from my older cousin when I was young. Never did anything with 'em, because they just took up shelf space. But he's willing to give me a lot of money for them, apparently they're huge in the thirty-third century." "Well, of course they are," Mark said, rolling his eyes. "I; what the Hell are they, anyway? Never heard of 'em." "Oh, just collectible figurines from Japan in the Seventies, they look like cute little lolicon monkeys, along with a plushie toyline and several cartoons," she explained, waiving dismissively. "I couldn't care less about them, and if they make some person happy thirteen hundred years in the future, great. I'm getting lots of money for 'em." "Okay," Mark agreed, shrugging. "I was gonna sell my dad's Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots or Micronauts if we needed the geld. I'd probably get a good price on those, too." "You will," she confirmed. "But my lolicon monkeys are worth more, so we'll use them. So, we'll go see Nanu, tell her what's really up, have a lot of fun, spread my money around, and then bring her back. Sound good? I think two weeks of solid sucking and fucking should make you forget your woes." "I can hardly wait," Mark declared. "Why wait at all, big boy?" she purred again, as she undid his fly and bent her head down while fishing his cock out of his pants. Nanu sighed as she sat on the solium, kicking her legs back and forth slowly as she looked at the mosaic on the floor. It had been over a week now since she had seen anybody, let alone her mistress. As gorgeous as her surroundings were, this expansive villa hidden in the distant hills outside of mighty Rome, she was decidedly lonely. She'd never really spent any appreciable time by herself before Lady Aurora had purchased her from the Flavians. Despite her mistress' unwelcome absence, she found herself smiling as she thought of her. Lovely, lovely Lady Aurora Horatia; tall, with long, golden blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, sensuous lips that were always parted to show her white teeth and radiant smile. Her thoughts turned to the lady's other parts now, and she blushed. She thought of her mistress' lovely neck, supple shoulders, her large, perky bust, trim waist and glorious, tight ass. Nanu felt warm as she pictured Lady Aurora's cunt, which she kept smooth and clean; so unusual for a Roman patrician woman. She had long, strong dancer's legs, just like Nanu. She remembered how captivated she'd been while she watched Lady Aurora dance at the orgy. Bonosus. Lady Aurora's principal slave, and her lover. Dark, wavy hair, and deep brown eyes; he was unnaturally tall, at least to Nanu, with an athletic build, broad shoulders, and a small waist that was hard to the touch; and his cock was huge. It had felt like it was tearing Nanu apart when she rode on it with wild abandon. She came out of her reverie and looked around again, sighing forlornly. The villa was beautiful, with plastered walls covered in colorful frescoes, mosaic floors, indoor bathing chambers and toilets, beautiful gardens, a stream just behind the building, and all the delicious food she could eat. She had all the creature comforts any slave could ever want, but it was still quiet and lonely for her. She looked down at herself, using her fingers to pull slightly at the material of the top of the dress she wore. It was a spare garment, made of quality linen, one of several Lady Aurora had bought for Nanu from the Flavius family. Of course, the slave girl was thrilled beyond words to wear such a thing, and in all ways, she saw her ownership by Lady Aurora as a turning point in her life, the beginning of something wonderful beyond words. She and Bonosus were the luckiest slaves to ever live. But not if she was so very alone. Nanu, born into poverty in the tiny settlement of Akhmim in Egypt, the youngest of twelve children. Sold into slavery to the Flavians at a tender age to help feed her family, she'd lived a hard life, doing the most menial of tasks for the wealthy Roman family at their home in Tepihu, far up the Nile. But then they discovered she could dance, and dance well. She was sent to the principal Flavian household in distant Rome, a place she'd only ever heard of, and could never imagine. She danced for the patriarch and his wife, and they agreed to keep her on, as long as her legs held out. So Nanu danced relentlessly, determined to never return to the misery she'd known before. Within a year, she was the leader of the dancing girls the Flavians owned, and whatever jealousies the other girls might have held were quickly cast aside. Nanu understood that if she treated them all equally, she was more likely to prosper, rather than looking after only herself at their expense. She was lovers with all of them, and it wasn't long before she was fucking the lord and lady as well. Her position was as secure as a slave's could be under such circumstances. True, she was still punished, quite often for things beyond her control. But the Flavians were not overly harsh with her, having her flogged with short, thin reed brooms, to avoid scarring her. It hurt, and she cried, but she inevitably recovered, usually to be fucked by Master Flavius as she soon as she could walk. She left the chair and walked over to a small table, on which sat a highly polished silver mirror. She picked it up and looked at herself, pursing her lips, assessing her features. She'd always concluded that she was at least somewhat attractive, since men (and women) always wanted to fuck her. She was aware that being a highly trained dancer gave her a desirable physique for a slave, and her strong, taut muscles kept her cunt tight. Her tits were not overly large, but were pronounced from her torso, and jiggled when she danced or ran. She thought they swayed nicely when she walked. She had the creamy bronze skin of the people of the Black Lands, children of the pharaohs. Her thick hair was a glossy blue-black, and she kept it trimmed to just past her jaw, in the manner of women in her country. Her eyes were a warm hazel, with tawny flecks many of the other dancing girls described as bewitching and seductive. If only she could- "Well now, if it isn't everyone's favorite dancing slave," quipped a lyrical voice from nearby. Nanu's head snapped around and she cried out in delight as she espied Lady Aurora standing in the door nearby, with Bonuses just behind, looming over her and grinning. Nanu had been so wrapped up in looking at her reflection and feeling sorry for herself that she hadn't even heard them approach. "Mistress!" the Egyptian girl called out as she darted across the room and threw herself into Lady Aurora's waiting arms. "Magistra! How I Have Missed You!" "We've missed you too, Nanu," Becky said softly, hugging the shorter girl and kissing the top of her head while Nanu burst into tears. "I'm sorry we were away for so long." "It felt like forever, mistress, I won't lie," Nanu said, choking back her sobs before pressing her mouth to Becky's and kissing her fiercely. Becky returned the kiss gladly, and the women greeted one another with tangling tongues and wandering hands for nearly a minute before they needed to breathe. Nanu looked up at Becky now, her eyes still wide and wet with emotion. "May I; may I say hello to Bonosus, mistress?" "I'm pretty sure he's counting on it," Becky said, stepping aside and giggling as Nanu flung herself against Mark, kissing him feverishly, but with her hands predictably snaking down his frame and under his tunic to fondle his cock. "Goodness, girl, did those toys I left get no love from you in my absence?" "Oh, mistress, they got loved day and night," Nanu replied, turning to look at Becky since she was being addressed. "But I do not need to tell you that it is hardly the same as the real thing, as to have a real lover. And I am sorry if it makes me sound deficient, but; I am not good at being alone. I am not at all used to it." "Oh, I'm sorry, darling," Becky said as Mark picked Nanu up in his arms and carried her back into the room. Nanu had her arms around his neck, and seemed to be in absolute heaven, now that the two most important people in her life had returned. "But we're back now, and we have no intention of leaving you behind again." Nanu looked curious. "Won't leave me behind again; are we going somewhere, mistress? Are we to leave the villa?" "It will take some explaining, I promise you that," Becky answered, nodding. "But first, I think the three of us should fuck one another stupid all over the villa, don't you?" Nanu's face lit up at her mistress' suggestion and she nodded eagerly. "Yes, mistress! I want to fuck you both until I cannot see or walk straight!" Becky made a grand gesture with her hand, taking in the whole villa. "Then you may pick where we fuck, my love. Anywhere, as much as you please. We await your pleasure." Nanu looked around in almost breathless excitement as Mark put her down. She didn't know where to begin, only that she wanted to fuck Mistress Aurora and Bonosus in every single area of the villa. She'd been so glum that she barely noticed how horny she was. Now the rampant feelings of lust washed over her, and her cunt was shamefully wet. She grabbed Becky's hand and pulled her excitedly along through the house. "This way!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with anticipation. "I want us to bathe and fuck!" Becky and Mark laughed as they followed the Egyptian girl into the small antechamber in front of the sudatorium, which Mark and Becky would normally identify as a sauna. They were amazed at the speed with which Nanu had not only removed her own clothes, but also undressed the two of them. Clearly she was in great need and had no intention of waiting. She had apparently lit the fire to heat the small room earlier in the day, for her own use, and now all she had to do was scrub the three of them down before bringing them inside. With a small sponge and rough linen cloths, she did this quickly. She then brought them into the sweat room, which was filled with steam already. Rocks in the little containment chamber over the brazier heated water and caused the steam, while small pouches of herbs hung over the rocks, and wine dripped through them to sizzle and evaporate, giving the steam a heady, aromatic quality that often left guests somewhat drunk. The three now stretched out on the wooden benches that lined the wall, sighing and relaxing for a moment before Nanu's eagerness overtook her. She crawled on top of Becky and kissed her deeply, squirming her body down into her mistress' while they fondled one another. Mark watched on lazily, knowing that the day was young, and it was best that he conserve his strength. Keeping up with Nanu's libido was no small task, not to mention Becky's once she got going. It wasn't long before the two girls were locked in a slippery, trembling sixty-nine, moaning as they lapped at one another's twats and fingered each other's puckered knots. Nanu came so hard she almost shrieked inside Becky's cunt, while the blonde goddess shuddered and speared her tongue deep inside her lover as she came, glazing Nanu's face with her cum. Both girls seemed almost to become puddles, sighing languidly as they lay together, bodies shining with sweat. Through the haze of steam, Mark could see them kissing one another's pussies gently, and the look on Nanu's face could only be described as rapture, mixed with a sense of relief and contentment. She was so happy her mistress had come back to her. But Nanu recovered quickly, turning her head to look at her fellow 'slave', whom she knew as Bonosus. Mark was lying on his side on the bench he occupied, idly stroking his cock. Nanu had already focused on his manhood like an arrow, and managed to extricate herself from Becky without disturbing her mistress' bliss, and crawled across the tile floor on all fours, her hazel eyes glinting. Without waiting, she knelt next to him, moved Mark's hand aside, and took his cock into her grip. She began stroking slowly and gently, before leaning in to kiss the swelling tool lovingly. She swirled her tongue around the head, then up and down the hardening shaft several times, her hand following her tongue. Then she popped her mouth around the head and slowly pushed down, humming as she moved wetly down his length. Mark sighed in pleasure and began running his hand through her raven hair. Becky now watched, caressing her creamy cunt as she gazed over at the lovers. Mark was half on his back, half on his side, while Nanu was kneeling on the floor, bent over and bobbing up and down on his stiff cock. Her tiny hand made a gentle twisting motion on the smooth skin of his shaft, following her warm, wet mouth. Becky smiled, knowing how great it was to give her student head, since she'd done it countless times herself now. Things would be so much easier for them all when she finally caught up with him in the timeline. Mark stroked down Nanu's back and reached her ass, giving one of the tight, perk cheeks a squeeze before nudging her. Nanu took the hint readily and stood up, clambering over Mark's face and looking down his body. The bench wouldn't have been big enough for Mark and Becky to do what was now happening, but Nanu was considerably smaller than Becky, and somehow managed. She leaned down his body, crying out suddenly as Mark pulled her ass cheeks apart and slid his tongue around her gooey cunt. She trembled and squirmed for several moments before composing herself and returning to the task of sucking on his cock hungrily. He was at full mast now, and Nanu's tiny hand could hardly fit around the girth of his shaft. Amazingly, though, she could take his manhood all the way inside her mouth, and down her throat readily. Becky's slave was as gifted as she was shameless, clearly. Nanu grunted as Mark slid one of his fingers inside her ass. Mark had larger hands than most people from her home era, and his finger was larger than some dicks she'd had back there before. Or at least, it certainly felt that way at the moment. She accepted the intrusion willingly, squirming back against his hand, and squeezing her tight tunnel around it while he massaged her cunt and clit with her tongue. She let out little moans, still bobbing up and down while giving Becky a sidelong look with heavily lidded, glazed eyes. Determined to not be left out, Becky slowly rose from her bench and wiggled over across the small area. She observed the setting with a critical eye for several moments, working out the logistics of how to best fit into this carnal puzzle. Just like she could not readily engage in a sixty-nine with Mark on these relatively (to them) narrow benches, she could not straddle him and fuck him to proper effect either. The answer presented itself quickly. She eased Nanu up into a sitting position over Mark's face, and if the slave girl was disappointed in having to relinquish that delicious cock, the feeling quickly gave way to yelps of delight as she sank her cunt even further down onto Mark's tongue, squirming and grinding lustily. Becky pumped and stroked Mark's cock steadily for several seconds, making sure he would stay hard. He was lying down the length of the bench, his tool ramrod-erect for her. She then stood and moved over his midsection, facing out into the tiny chamber. She bent her knees and reached under, steadying his throbbing cock while she guided it to her cuntlips. One she had him in place, she slowly sat down, sighing as he pushed up inside her steaming depths. Her ass come to rest on his hips, while she sat sideways on him, pinned to his cock. She closed her eyes and just savored the sensation for several seconds, her fingers flexing against his stomach and his knee, respectively. She finally opened her blue eyes and turned her head to smile at Nanu, who was moving up and down slowly on Mark's tireless tongue. Becky leaned in toward the slave, who immediately moved her torso forward to meet Becky. They kissed over Mark's long form, tongues tangling while Becky began to move up and down slowly, loving the feel of this unique position with him deep inside her. The threesome slowly squirmed and undulated against one another, time lost within the confines of the tiny, steaming chamber. The dim, amber light of the fire beneath the heated stones was their only illumination, but in this misty, ethereal sitting, it was utter perfection. The scent of spiced wine mingled with the aromas of bodies making love. Becky could taste the wine in Nanu's sweat as she drew her tongue along the girl's collarbone and over her tits. "I think it's about time for you to fuck Nanu and cum in her, Mark," Becky panted after several minutes of churning up and down on his thick rod. She was massaging and groping her tits, or Nanu's as she rode. The Egyptian girl had reached forward and was massaging her mistress' cunt dutifully as well. "It's been a few weeks for her, and you just filled me up this morning." "Relatively speaking," Mark quipped from beneath Nanu's writhing hips. "You sit on the bench and spread 'em, Becks, and she can kneel and lick you. I'll get behind her." Becky had no problem with this plan, and quickly coaxed Nanu off Mark's face, to kneel on the floor in front of her. Nanu's eyes widened with delight as Becky smiled and parted her legs, before reaching down with two fingers to spread her thick nether lips wide, exposing her glistening inner pink to the slave girl. Nanu practically dived in, and Becky grunted and almost jumped, clasping the girl's head suddenly, her feet leaving the floor. "Nuh, fuck!" she wheezed as Nanu began lapping at her like she was eating her last meal before she died. Her fingers gripped Nanu's black hair while she began grinding her snatch against the girl's face desperately. Nanu licked cunt like nobody's business. Mark, meanwhile, had positioned himself behind Nanu, and lined his cock up with her dripping twat, holding her by the ass cheeks. Nanu trembled while he slid his cockhead up and down her slippery lips, and against her tingling clit, making her squeak and whimper into Becky's cunt. He braced her for only the briefest of moments before sliding inside her without any warning, sinking in to the hilt. The Egyptian slave-girl wailed in ecstasy as he forced her wide, pinning her to him. Mark began fucking Nanu with a steady, strong pace, and she yelped into her mistress' cunt with each thrust, even while lapping at her pink twat hungrily. Her face was shining with sweat, and Becky's wetness, her tongue thick with the cloying sweetness of the blonde woman. Nanu's head was spinning in delight. Surely this was the heavenly afterlife? Becky almost curled up on herself, her fingernails threatening to leave grooves in Nanu's scalp as she shook uncontrollably and came, barely able to keep herself from screeching. She slathered Nanu's face in her essence, her entire body tingling with fire. Nanu shuddered and writhed, wailing as she came, her cunt tightening around Mark's cock fiendishly. As if on cue, Mark arched his back, gritted his teeth and growled, pumping all his cum inside Nanu, thrusting strongly. The trio rocked and writhed in depraved unison for close to a minute before Mark leaned forward on Nanu's back, breathing heavily. Becky sighed in exhaustion, sinking down on the bench, her cunt pressing into Nanu's face. The slave girl, pinned in place between her mistress and her fellow slave, simply held still, surrounded by warm, slick flesh and gently caressing fingers. She could still feel Bonosus throbbing deep inside her, and her mistress' cunt oozed against her mouth. She felt so blessed and safe like this. But then she looked up from between Becky's legs, her own glinting with eagerness. "Come! I know where we need to fuck next!" And with that, the Egyptian girl extricated herself from between them and wiggled quickly out of the room. Mark groaned and sagged forward between Becky's tits, and she held onto him wearily. "Now I know why we can't leave her for weeks on end," he mumbled in her cleavage. "Because we won't survive the backlog of fucking we need to do;” Nanu was sitting in the chair, her expression one of bewilderment. She seemed to have forgotten the goblet of wine in her hand, and she sat with her arms and legs tucked in close to her body. Clearly, she was confused and feeling uncertain about what she was hearing. "You're; mistress, you're not a Roman at all?" she asked quietly as she stared at Becky. They were sitting in the atrium of the villa, and it was a quiet evening. Birds sang, and a gentle breeze caressed their faces and the nearby blossoms as it dipped over the villa and into the central opening. Becky shook her head, knowing that this was going to take a lot of patience on her and Mark's part; and even more on Nanu's. Everything she was in the process of telling the girl would sound completely preposterous, even more so than Mark's explanation to his sister the day before. "No, Nanu, I'm not a Roman of any sort," the blonde woman confessed, trying to smile. "And my name is not Aurora Horatia. My name is Rebecca." "Rebekah?" Nanu queried, making a wry face. "That is a Hebrew name." She looked Becky up and down skeptically. "You don't look like a Hebrew." The slave girl looked at Mark. "And your name is not Bonosus, and you're not a Roman either?" He shook his head. "Nope. I'm Mark. And Becks is actually my teacher." Nanu squeezed her eyes shut for several seconds and when she finally opened them, they were filled with worry. "Are; are you going to kill me?" Despite herself, Becky burst into giggle fits at the question. Nanu looked confused, and then slightly irked at the response from her 'mistress'. She thought it was a perfectly reasonable question, under these circumstances. She folded her arms, crossed her legs, and looked off at the sky over the far wall, annoyed. "I'm sorry, Nanu," Becky said finally reining herself in. "I wasn't laughing at you, I mean it. It just wasn't what I expected to hear at all, and we both love you too much to ever consider killing you. Hell, I'm not sure we could if we tried." "Well I don't know what to believe," sniffed the younger girl. "You've bought me, and taken me away from a comfortable, if not happy life, and nearly gotten me killed at least once, and then there was that; thing; that you two ride around on;” "The Holmes Field Device," Becky said, nodding. "It doesn't just take us where we want to go, it allows us to travel through time, which is why we are here at all." Nanu shook her head, indicating that she had no idea what Becky meant. The teacher leaned forward slightly, smiling. They weren't sitting that far apart, but she had allowed for a small amount of distance between them, so that Nanu didn't feel trapped or pressured if she took all this poorly. To be honest, she was taking it surprisingly well, even if she wasn't buying all of it. "Nanu, I apologize for asking simple questions, but please bear with me;” she said quietly, noticing that even if she was listening, Nanu was now staring at Becky's cleavage, framed between her arms while she sat forward. Mark was staring too. Some thing would never change. "You understand the concepts of yesterday, today and tomorrow, yes?" Nanu nodded slowly. "Yes, mistress." "Do you ever wish you could visit days that have gone by?" Becky asked. "Like maybe go back and visit your childhood, or meet some member of your family who was lost years ago? Or even see the Sphinx getting built?" The girl looked confused again. "Suh-finx?" Becky looked at Mark, hoping for some help. He still had the chip that let him speak Egyptian in his head. He pondered the issue for a moment before the tiny computer in his noggin gave him the answer. He looked at Nanu and smiled. "Horemakhet." Nanu's eyes went wide. To see the Horus of the Western Horizon being built by the gods. She shook her head. "What you say is impossible!" Becky smiled now, not blaming Nunu for her disbelief. "Nanu, a long time ago, people would have thought that chariots were impossible, that mastering fire and steel were impossible. But you know they're not just possible, you know that these things are fact." Nanu nodded, willing to listen to her beloved mistress, who apparently wasn't her mistress. But she listened. "Mark and I come from many, many tomorrows away, a time many years from now. That device that we travel on, it allows us to do it." The Egyptian girl screwed up her face, trying to understand. She thought she'd heard outlandish things in her life before, but this was so far beyond her conceptions and experience that it sounded like a ridiculous fable her grandmother would tell her. But she had stepped on the wondrous device, and it had taken them somewhere far away from Rome in the blink of an eye, and back. She could not deny this had happened, even if she didn't understand it. Which brought up a big question for her. "Why do you do this?" she queried, looking at each of them. Mark shrugged. "It's fun to move through time and do things." Another skeptical look from Nanu. "You think it's fun to have the gladiators of Rome try to kill you?" Mark faltered slightly. "I; well, no, not that part." Becky giggled. "No, Nanu, that part is unplanned. Mark and I like to travel to different times, to see important events, and to fuck there." Nanu tilted her head curiously at the statement. "What it so important about fucking in these places?" Becky considered her answer. "There's nothing important about it, you're right. But it's still fun. We love to do these things, because almost no one else can. And hopefully it's exciting but not dangerous. If we didn't do this, we never would have met you, and we wouldn't be fucking you now. And we both wouldn't be crazy about you." Nanu's stomach was in her feet as she thought about what her mis; what Rebekah was saying. She was horrified by the thought now that she might never have met them, they she might not have been bought, or living here, in freedom, and getting fucked to her little heart's content. "But if you are not; not from today;” she murmured, trying to formulate her thoughts around these strange concepts. "Then you will keep leaving me. You might come back, but you will keep leaving." Becky could see the tears welling in Nanu's eyes, and she rose from her chair and moved to sit with the smaller girl, cradling her into her bosom as Nanu tried not to cry. "Oh, Nanu, I'm sorry," she cooed. "I didn't realize how hard it was for you to be alone." "I've never been alone," sniffled the raven-haired girl, wrapping her arms around Becky's waist tightly, unwilling to let go. "My whole life, I've never been alone for so much as a day, never mind a week. It was terrifying. I'm a slave, you know." Becky caressed her fingers through Nanu's hair and kissed the top of her said. "I understand now. And I am sorry. But Mark and I wanted to talk to you about that, actually." Nanu choked back a sob and looked up at Becky, ready to hear what she had to say. "Mark and I want to bring you with us," Becky explained, using a thumb to wipe some tears from Nanu's cheek. "Come back to our time, and perhaps take you with us on our adventures." Nanu's eyes went wide. "L; leave Rome?" Becky shrugged. "Is there anyone left for you to care about?" "Well, no." Nanu admitted. "And as I've already told you, Mark and I are crazy about you, so since we cannot stay here in Rome with you, maybe you should come with us, Becky continued. "I love having you around." Nanu's face lit up at Becky's words, but then a cloud passed over her face as things occurred to her. "But I; know nothing about this place you are from. How would I live?" "Well I would teach you, of course," Becky replied, smiling. "And it'll probably be terrifying at first, since you will see things you cannot even imagine, but Mark and I will protect you and help you learn." "I; would stay with you?" Nanu asked in a voice begging for assurance. Becky nodded. "You won't leave me alone?" The blonde woman smiled. "Well, I might have to step out the door once in a while to go and get food, or go to my job, but I won't leave you alone for days at a time, I promise." Nanu returned to hugging Becky, looking off at the far wall across the atrium. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she thought about what she should do. Did she take these two up on their weird offer? Did she just ask to stay here at the villa, and take her chances about when they could visit? Did she ask to be sent back to the Flavius household? Every option terrified her. She finally looked up at Becky again and drew a deep breath. "Can we; fuck some more, while I think about it?" Becky and Mark both laughed and nodded their assent. It was the most Nanu thing Nanu had ever said. Predictably, Nanu, after much fucking and pondering, had decided to take Mark and Becky up on their offer. Delighted, Becky had declared that they would be doing some shopping first, heading into Rome to get things she wanted. Nanu was always happy to visit the city, she was always enthralled by the sights and sounds around her. "But I; I must point out something," she confessed, looking uneasy. "I know you keep saying that I need not be your slave anymore, but it is not safe for me to walk around freely, Mistress, no matter what you tell me. If you say you don't own me, I am still a slave to them. They'll put me in chains and have me on the auction block again in no time, but probably not before they do awful things to me." "She has a point, Becks," Mark started, shrugging as he fastened his tunic in place. "We may know slavery is immoral, but Rome doesn't give a shit. As far as they're concerned, you're still a patrician woman, and we're still your slaves." "Which brings up another troublesome fact," Becky sighed, building on Mark's premise. "You're the most hated individual in Rome. You defiled a Vestal Virgin;” "Pervert," Nanu said in a low voice, nudging Mark. "You made a mockery of the legal system, and turned the Colosseum into a sexual freak show. I wouldn't be surprised if every soldier in Rome had orders to skewer you on sight." "Hey, I'm not the one who dropped a giant canvas sail on the emperor's head and wiggled my tits at seventy thousand people, you know!" Mark protested. "Well, that part was fun," Becky mused, smirking, lapsing into English for a moment. "So what do we do? I want to go shopping, but without getting you killed." "Yeah, you've got a point there," Mark allowed, looking at the ground as he pondered the issue. Nanu looked back and forth between them as they spoke in their unintelligible gibberish. "Well, we either need a disguise for me, so I don't look like Bonosus anymore, or we need to jump back a few days to before we arrived, and before anyone would know us." "More of your time twists," Becky chided, holding up a finger. "Didn't you learn?" "I know what you mean, but I kinda think we did that," Mark replied. "Don't you remember how you said people were waving at you like they knew you already, and you thought that was weird? That maybe they'd mistaken you for someone else? It's kinda unlikely that they are mistaking you for anyone, Becks. You're as tall as most of the men, and you're like a living embodiment of Venus to them, with blonde hair." "I'm afraid you may be right," Becky sighed, not liking the hypothesis, but forced to admit it was probably accurate. "So we go back maybe a week before we first arrived, do our shopping, and split?" Mark turned and looked at Nanu now. "Nanu, have you been into the city of Rome any time in the last week before you met us? Or anyone from the Flavius household?" "Ooh, good catch, Mark," Becky mentioned, nodding. "Can't have her running into herself by accident, no matter how unlikely." Nanu considered for a moment and then shook her head. "No, before you arrived, it had been more than a month, I think. Master Flavius resented paying the prices they wanted in the city, he usually made us shop in Lavinium, it was cheaper." Mark shrugged. "We could probably do your shopping and find some fun, Becks. Then we'll plan our next move. Sound good?" Becky removed her outfit, letting pool around her feet before sitting down in a low chair. She held out her arms, beckoning for Nanu to join her. The Egyptian girl shed her clothing, and then went to sit naked in her blonde lover's lap, their lovely tits squashing together. They kissed for some moments before Becky smiled at Nanu. "I want to buy you some outfits, Nanu, outfits like I wear. Would you like to dress and look like mistress?" It seemed as though Nanu might faint. Becky was also pretty sure she felt the girl getting wet. She giggled and kissed Nanu's nose. "I'll take that as a yes." Rome. The litter glided through the crowded street, with people dutifully making way for it; whomever was inside was clearly important. The four dark-skinned slaves bearing it on their shoulders walked along silently, seemingly not bothered by the weight within. The litter itself was simple in design, but ornate in appearance, the canopy held aloft on carved poles, and much of it decorated with gold leaf or edging. Diaphanous curtains on all sides obscured the women within. Becky and Nanu lay on their sides, facing in toward one another. Nanu was wearing a beautiful stola, just like Becky, and she gazed down at her raiment in wonder, running a hand delicately over the fabric. Becky smiled as she watched the Egyptian girl while reaching into a bowl between them and putting a grape in her mouth. "Mistress, this is wonderful," Nanu whispered, knowing to not refer to Becky as her mistress too loudly. "I've never felt anything like this in my life, except on someone else." "Well, it's yours, and yours alone, so enjoy it," Becky said cheerfully, enjoying Nanu's elation. She put another grape between her teeth and smiled slyly. Nanu leaned in and took the grape between her own teeth, their lips touching. As Nanu masticated on the grape, Becky opened the gauze-like drapes in the back if the litter and called out gently. "How we doing back there, Mark?" "Oh, just fine, thanks so very much for asking," muttered the student-slave, who trudged along behind the litter, carrying several handbags made of linen and animal skins, filled with shopping goods. His hands and shoulders ached. How the Hell could Becky purchase so much shit in an era that didn't have electronics? "How much farther we got?" "Not too much longer, I think," mused the blonde teacher casually. She wasn't too worried about Mark having to carry stuff, he'd been through worse recently. She'd bought outfits and jewelry, pretty house furnishings, and other curios to take home. She considered what she'd need to buy for Nanu upon their return. Clothes aside, she would somehow need to procure ID for her, some sorts of medical records, and so forth. How did she get any of that done? "Will I like my new life, mistress?" Nanu asked, eating another grape. "I am sure I will love living with you, but;” Becky smiled and caressed her face lovingly. "It will be very, very different, Nanu. And at times it will seem frightening. But there are so many things I cannot wait to show you." "Then I will wait and trust you," the Egyptian girl said softly, giving herself over to her mistress' carefully in her mind. "Because I believe you when you say you love me and want the best for me." Nanu was silent for some time, as if deep in thought. "What's on your mind, darling?" Becky asked, curious. Nanu sighed. "I just miss my family. I have not seen them since I was young. And I dreamed of returning to them one day." Becky smiled. "Oh, you want t

Today we have a special treat: we're going to put all those Anne Boleyn myths to bed. Once and for all.Returning to the podcast we have Heather R Darsie, who will bust all those myths and mysteries surrounding the second wife of Henry VIII.Why did she have to die? What was her actual crime? Could she have had another fate? Why was the French executioner involved?Tune in, relax and get some Tudor closure.Welcome back, Heather!Pre-Order The Judicial Murder of Anne Boleyn (...Henry VIII definitely did that...)https://www.amberley-books.com/if-any-person-will-meddle-of-my-cause.htmlFind Heather:https://maidensandmanuscripts.com/https://www.instagram.com/hdarsiehistoryRead Heather:https://www.amberley-books.com/katharine-of-aragon-spanish-princess.htmlhttps://www.pen-and-sword.co.uk/Stuart-Spouses-A-Compendium-of-Consorts-from-James-I-of-Scotland-to-Queen-Anne-of-Great-Britain-Hardback/p/51167/aid/1238https://www.amberley-books.com/anna-duchess-of-cleves-9781398103269.htmlhttps://www.amberley-books.com/children-of-the-house-of-cleves.htmlhttps://www.amberley-books.com/if-any-person-will-meddle-of-my-cause.htmlFind Baroque:https://www.ifitaintbaroquepodcast.art/https://www.reignoflondon.com/https://substack.com/@ifitaintbaroquepodcastSupport Baroque:https://www.patreon.com/c/Ifitaintbaroquepodcast/https://buymeacoffee.com/ifitaintbaroqueIf you would like to join Natalie on her walking tours in London with Reign of London:Saxons to Stuarts:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/london-the-royal-british-kings-and-queens-walking-tour-t426011/Tudors & Stuarts:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/royal-london-tudors-stuarts-walking-tour-t481355/The Georgians:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/royal-london-the-georgians-walking-tour-t481358/Naughty London:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/london-unsavory-history-guided-walking-tour-t428452/For more history fodder please visit https://www.ifitaintbaroquepodcast.art/ and https://www.reignoflondon.com/ Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The Time Riders: Part 7 Becoming A Slave Owner. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. Cast of Characters: Mark Simmons: 18 year old High School grad, enamored with Miss Becky Fischer. He finds the time machine and builds a new life. Uses various aliases in traveling. Rebecca 'Becky' Fischer: Mark's Physics teacher. Very intelligent, in her later twenties, Shapely Tall Blonde, lusty bisexual, D Cup tits. Martial arts expert, Uses various aliases in traveling. Henri: Claims to be a French physician and Apothicary. Chester Edgerton: Time traveling mentor, living in 17th Century French village. Cardinal Richelieu: ‘The Red Duke'. Statesman and Roman Catholic Cardinal. Dispises Queen Anne. Alexandra D'Assaut ('Alexa', or 'Lexi': Lady in waiting (and trusted advisor) to Queen Anne of France, Lusty bisexual, Very Tall, Busty DD tits, long golden blonde hair, Blue eyed. Lisette: servant (and lover) of Lady Alexandra, young, bespeckled brown eyes. Short, shapely, with wavy dark hair, bisexual. Dhallyla: Mark's mother. Roxy: Mark's sister. Nanu: An Egyptian slave of Pompeneia Flavius, purchased by Becky, dark complexion. Pompeneia: Roman hostess of Orgies. Lusty wife of Flavius, Mother of Domitia, bisexual, tall and shapely. Flavius: Roman aristocrat, husband of Pompeneia, protective father of Dometia, Domitia: Lusty young daughter of Pompeneia and Flavius. A pledged Vestal Virgin, Escapes to Sumeria when sentenced to death by starvation by Roman court. Pompeneia looked at Nanu and spoke to her somewhat tersely. "You are now owned by the Lady Aurora Horatia, who has purchased you at a fair price from me. Such belongings as you might have, girl, will be leaving with you when the Lady departs. Understood?" Nanu's eyes widened and she felt her heart suddenly pounding in her chest in shock and delight. Unable to contain her smile, she nodded eagerly. Pompeneia looked back at her guest and smiled. "She is all yours, my lady." Becky looked at Nanu and smirked, making a shooing motion with her hand. "Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Go find that lazybones Bonosus and tell him." Nanu was gone in a flash. Becky turned to look at Pompeneia and smiled wickedly as she leaned her back down on the couch and wiggled her way between Pompeneia's hips, so that her mouth was at her hostess' cunt. "Now, how about I find another way to thank you for your generosity?" she purred as she began sliding her tongue along those sticky lips; Mark was wandering through the darkened rooms of the parts of the house not currently being used by the orgy, still looking for a damn lavatory. Why the Hell did the Romans have such fucked-up house layouts? He'd passed about ten servants' bedrooms already; was he just supposed to piss on one of them? He paused as he heard a quiet noise, one he recognized quickly as sighing. It had been coming from a room nearby, and it was definitely a girl's sigh. Or a really femmy boy slave. You couldn't guess in ancient Rome. Either way, he decided to investigate. He tiptoed forward, looking into various dark rooms he'd passed. He heard another sigh, and then something more akin to a moan. He smiled slyly, identifying the room it had finally come from. He crept up and peered around the open wooden doors to look inside; She had her back to him, but inside the dark chamber, which was obviously a bedroom, was a young woman, with her face seemingly pressed to the far wall, and squirming her hips beneath her expensive clothing and beginning to pant. She had voluminous brown hair worn up on her head, exposing a shapely neck, and her stola dress had ridden up high enough to expose her lush ass cheeks, which were quivering and squeezing while she fingered herself. Grinning, Mark leaned against the door frame and just watched quietly. He wasn't beyond a good show. A tiny point of light near her head finally showed Mark what she was doing; there was a small hole in the wall, big enough for her to see through, and she was clearly watching the orgy happening on the other side. She was also clearly having a great time getting off to it. He liked the sight of her, at least, what he could readily see; she had a great ass, a slender back and shapely legs. Her dark brown hair, worn in several braids, was just begging to be pulled on. He couldn't see her cunt from here, but he could definitely hear how wet she was. He quietly entered the room and glided up behind her. She smelled of iris and roses, a perfume he found thrilling, especially here in this dark room, both of them unseen by the scores of others in the villa. His cock, still hard and throbbing, couldn't wait to be buried deep inside her. He moved in close and pressed up against her, his rigid shaft sliding between her legs. She shuddered in shock and drew in a breath, as if she was about to scream; but he quickly and gently clamped his hand over her mouth and wrapped his other hand around her waist. Her moved his head next to her ear. "You don't need to scream or be frightened," he whispered, feeling her still shaking. "I am the Lady Aurora's servant Bonosus, and I just want to be with you this day;” She turned her head, her eyes wide, as she tried to see him, his hand still loosely over her mouth. Her body was still stiff in possible panic, but she hadn't cried out yet. He smiled at her, trying to assure her he meant no harm. "If I let go of your mouth, will you scream?" he asked. The girl shook her head. For whatever reason, Mark believed her, and removed his hand from her mouth, and his arm from around her waist. She didn't run, but she threw herself against the wall she was standing next to, almost clutching at it as she turned around to face him. Her eyes were still wide, and he could see she was breathing heavily. "See? I'm not gonna hurt you," Mark said, smiling cheerfully. Staying pressed against the wall for safety, she looked him up and down slowly, noticing now that he was quite naked. Her eyes lingered on his erect cock for several seconds, as if captivated by it. He could now see her from the front, and what he was looking at pleased him; she had a pretty face, certainly. Not exotic, like Nanu, nor was she as striking and just plain gorgeous as Becky, but it was a pretty face nonetheless. Her eyes were brown, her cheekbones high, and her mouth sensual and full. The face; he knew it. Lady Pompeneia and Master Flavius! This must be their daughter. He continued looking at her body, noting now that her entire outfit was askew; not only had her dress been pushed up around her hips in front, to allow her to finger herself, but the top of her dress was pulled down, no doubt so that she could play with her pert tits. They were not large, but looked perfectly full on her slender frame, capped with brown aureoles and nipples, which were still hard. She had a tiny waist and womanly hips. He was going to enjoy fucking her. "My name is Bonosus, like I said," he repeated, moving in a tiny bit closer to her. She didn't try to escape, but perhaps flattened herself a little more against the wall. He tried not to seem so forceful. And odd thing, since he was at an orgy, and was already used to just fucking whomever he liked. "Would you tell me your name?" She finally spoke, her voice low and quiet. "My name is Domitia. I am the daughter of your hosts, the Master and Mistress Flavius." "I am very happy to meet you, Domitia," he said, smiling and nodding. In his ear, he could hear the implant translate her name as 'she who is tamed'. He suddenly had a very good feeling about this encounter. "In the name of my mistress' goddess, Feronia, I would ask you to join me in making love." "You; you are kind, Bonosus," she stammered, her face pale, but a flush in her cheeks. Her eyes were no longer wide, but turning glassy. "But I must; I shouldn't;” "I thought today was a day where all people cast aside their inhibitions, and did exactly as they pleased," he reasoned, stepping a little closer, noticing that she did not attempt to move away from him. "I already saw you looking through that hole there;” Now Domitia blushed furiously, turning her head to look at the ground. "I am ashamed; I should not; I shouldn't have been;” "What were you looking at, anyway?" he queried, pressing himself against her, his cock now flat against her belly, separated from her skin only by the fine material of her stola. She shivered as she felt his cock press to her, and her hands reached up and flexed, without touching him. Leaning over her shoulder, her wondrous scent in his nostrils, he closed one eye and peered through the tiny hole in the ochre-painted wall. He smiled slyly as he could see that the hole looked out on the palaestra, the courtyard in which he and Becky (and several others) had been fucking earlier. Even now, he could see a man bending a slave girl over in the shallow pool and fucking her from behind, while two women beyond the pool were lying opposite each other, legs scissored and slithering their pussies together. One of them was sucking on the cock of a slave who leaned over her, moaning and fondling her tits. "Well, you were enjoying yourself, clearly," Mark mused, turning and smirking at her. She looked at him, trying to smile back, but then just blushing and looking at the ground again. At least she wasn't trying to leave anymore. "Would you like to watch through the hole again while I fuck you from behind?" Something in his suggestion made her tense very suddenly, and she looked at him again, her eyes now wide. "I; shouldn't; no, my parents must not know I'm here, they; I should return to my domicile." "Are you married?" he asked, thinking that even if she was, she had showed up at her parents' orgy and was making herself cum, even if she'd been hiding. Marriage didn't seem to be a barrier during an orgy, near as he could tell. By his count, he'd already fucked at least four married patrician women and three plebeian women today. "Yes! No! I;” she stammered, blushing again and closing her eyes. Against her will, she inhaled deeply, taking in his raw, animal scent. Gods, he smelled divinely of sexuality, of carnality, of; heated fucking. It made her instantly wet, and her body trembled in need. "I cannot;” He smiled slyly and could tell that she wanted to stay. Even though she was protesting, he could already feel her hips pressing forward, squirming against him, desperate to finish what she was started when she was alone. She wanted to cum with him. "Then don't say anything," he whispered to her, his hands on her hips now. She shuddered again, her eyes wide and glassy as she gazed up at him. "Let me take care of this for you, Domitia;” He couldn't be sure, but the thought she nodded almost imperceptibly. Her felt her tits press forward against him. Her name means 'She who is tamed'; He took both her wrists in one hand and lifted them, pinning them against the wall over her head. She gasped and shivered, seemingly cowed by his superior strength. Her hips squirmed against him again, her tits heaving as she almost began to pant. Her eyes were flashing now, and he could see lust in them, almost as if it was forbidden and impure. He would give her what she wanted, that was certain. Domitia sucked in her breath as he put his free hand on her tit and fondled her, the soft skin yielding before his touch, his palm brushing over the hard nipple. Domitia bit her lip as she tried to remain quiet, her whole body trembling with a need for release. Mark caressed her other tit as well, pinching the nipple and pulling on it gently, making the brown-haired girl whimper and squeeze her eyes shut. "No; uh;” she gasped. His hand now found her waist and undid the cotton strip that belted the stola, letting it fall away. Domitia was breathing heavily now, especially when he began to pull her dress down, revealing more and more of her body. She gasped loudly as she felt his hard cock pressed against her belly now. She pushed her tits against his chest, squirming with urgency. Her protests made less and less sense by the moment, although he surmised it was just for show. Girls did that sometimes. At least, that's what Becky and other girls he'd fucked had told him. Domitia seemed to be no exception. Her stola now pooled around her ankles, revealing her body. The one flickering brazier in the corner of the room revealed that he had seen correctly; she had a lovely body. Not an erotic fantasy like Becky's, which was the product of the modern era of vitamins, yogurt, quinoa, hemp seeds and CrossFit, but still lush and attractive, and currently given to a deep-seated lust he wanted to fulfill. Her eyes were flashing as they stared up into his, her tits heaving. She bared her teeth as he reached down and cupped her cunt, which was now dripping wet. His finger slid up and down her length, finding her clit and eliciting a gasp. Her hands, still pinned above her head, flexed compulsively. She was breathing heavily now. "Keep your arms above your head," Mark said firmly as he released them and brought his hand down, both of them reaching behind her and taking hold of her ass cheeks. Domitia almost hissed as he lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She had readily obeyed, and kept her arms over her head, as if they were still pinned there. Her submission to him seemed very real and complete. Looking into her eyes, he held her steady, leaning her back against the wall while one of his hands guided his cock to her wet entrance. One he felt the engorged tip nestle against her lips, he placed his hand back on her ass cheek and began to push; Domitia breathed deeply as he penetrated, but then shook and whimpered as he encountered a barrier. Mark paused, but then felt her push her hips against him, and proceeded to lean forward against the wall. She shook and cried out, and Mark suddenly slipped deep inside her warmth easily. Holy shit, she'd been a virgin; awesome! She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his neck, trembling almost uncontrollably. Seconds later, she lifted her face and look up at him, her eyes glassy. Whatever pain she'd been feeling was clearly gone, now. He could, on the other hand, feel a single, warm trickle of a fluid down the underside of his cock, and the air smelled slightly of pennies now. "You have made me a woman," she murmured, still staring at him. "Let us finish this wondrous coupling now. Fuck me, Bonosus, servant of Lady Horatia;” She put her arms back above her head again, her wrists crossed, as a sign of his power over her. Mark nodded and began pumping slowly, sliding his cock in and out of her. Domitia trembled again, at the feel of him inside her, hard and throbbing, her cunt squeezing around him. She sighed loudly, eyes still locked with his. "A girl could die this way, and happily;” she breathed, squirming her tits against his chest. It was a bit of a strange thing to say, he thought, maybe a little morbid, but teen girls were like that sometimes, with the weird, poetic drama. He'd fucked a goth chick once, and she was; Domitia grunted and began pumping back against him lustily, all her fears of their fucking obviously gone. She was hissing through her teeth, grinding her hips against him as he made a sawing motion with his, pushing deep inside her wanton cunt. He could feel her cunt tightening around him as she found their rhythm, slippery and getting wetter by the moment. She jammed her lips against his and kissed him feverishly, their tongues wrestling between their mouths. He held her tighter, thumping her against the wall each time he thrust his cock deep inside her. She moaned into his mouth, and her warm skin was getting damp with sweat as he took her. She might have been a virgin mere moments ago, but her carnal desires would not be denied anymore. Domitia pushed back for all she was worth, her arms finally coming down and gripping his back. They were still kissing in a frenzy, and Mark was breathing through his nose, his hips smacking against hers. Domitia panted and moaned into his mouth with each thrust, her fingernails raking his back as she fought to get him ever deeper inside her. Her need almost baffled him, because he could feel the head of his cock battering her cervix each time he drove home. The wet sucking sounds her cunt made filled the room, even over the sounds of their groans. Mark was growing warm now, and he could feel that the sex tabs he'd used had already replenished his cum, deep inside his balls. When he did bust, this girl's first experience would see her overflowing with cum, his cum, and it would be glorious. He wanted to bring her out of hiding and over to the orgy. He wanted to fuck her at the same time as he fucked Becky and Nanu. Domitia seized up suddenly, shaking around him and screaming into his mouth while her cunt clenched him ferociously. He kissed her hard, making sure she didn't alert the whole house, and fucked her harder than ever, making her wail into his mouth again. He could feel his own body heating up rapidly, the distinct, tingling boiling in his balls letting him now that orgasm was now unstoppable. Mark pulled her hard against him, pressing into her as far as he could, straining and arching his back. The floodgates burst and he began filling Domitia with his pearly cum, and she panted and almost growled at the release. She churned and writhed on his cock, her frothy essence smearing his entire groin. He felt the peristaltic motions of his inner muscles, spurting his cum up his cock and deep inside his lover, a glorious, blessed release. Best. Orgy. Ever. He sagged against her, breathing heavily, while Domitia went limp in his grip, sighing in deep pleasure. She was no longer raking her fingernails over his back but caressing it gently, almost reverently. It was kind of backwards, since he was supposedly a slave and she was a patrician's daughter, but what the hey, she was a total subbie, right? She purred as she kissed his damp skin, still undulating her hips against him and squeezing his cock gently with her gooey cunt. He held her close, his forehead against her neck while he tried to regain his breath. This orgy was barely half over. There was so much to; The screech from behind them froze his blood instantly. He went rigid for several moments, before his head snapped around and he looked to see who was in the doorway. Gazing at the entwined pair in astonishment, bordering on horror, was Nanu. Still quite naked, her face was frozen in shock, her mouth working soundlessly. Confusion engulfed him, wondering what had caused the slave-girl to have such a caustic reaction to what she'd seen. Was it jealousy? It couldn't be that; she'd watched him fuck plenty of other women today. He looked back at Domitia, and saw that she had frozen as well, pale with what could only be described as terror about their discovery. That confused him too. What the Hell was happening here? Endless feet seemed to come stampeding toward them, and cries of shock now echoed through the house. Master Flavius surged through the door and stopped dead, his eyes wide as dinner plates. "Domitia!" he said in a quavering voice, pointing a trembling finger at the duo. "What are you;" Lady Pompeneia, accompanied by Becky, now bustled into the room. The matron stopped dead upon seeing them, her body shaking. Becky's eyes went wide. "Oh, shit;” she muttered in English. "Father!" Domitia called out, still impaled on Mark's cock, but looking over his shoulder at her parents. "Mother, I;” She made to move, but Mark's tool shifted inside her, and she gasped in pleasure and began wriggling furiously, fucking him again despite their ever-growing audience. People cried out in shock, and Lady Pompeneia's eyes rolled into her head before she fell to the floor in a dead faint. The cacophony grew, with Mark staring in confusion and Domitia grunting like an animal as she fucked her way to ecstasy again, seemingly unable to stop. A patrician woman entered and shrieked, scandalized by what she saw. "The slave!" she called out, aghast. "He has defiled one of Vesta's Virgins!" As if in response, Domitia shook and arched her back, wailing loudly as she came. "Seize that man!" shouted Flavius, his face purple with fury. Free men and slaves both surged forward, grappling onto Mark and trying to yank him away. But Domitia would not be pried off him, howling in protest and still grinding herself madly on his cock, squealing through another orgasm, even as they led the pair away. Most of the crowd followed them out, still clamoring loudly. Some women helped the swooning Pompeneia to her feet, and led her out of the room. Soon, the only people left were Becky and Nanu, who stood in the doorway. The slave-girl stared at her new mistress, who shrugged rather helplessly. Nanu turned and followed the crowd, leaving Becky alone in the room. It was eerily quiet now, the noise of the crazed crowd getting increasingly distant; people yelling in outrage, punctuated by the distinct sounds of Domitia cumming yet again, loudly. Becky finally hung her head for a moment, shaking it and smiling. "Oh, I can't wait to see how this turns out;” she said to herself as she walked out the door. The Wrath of Rome The mightiest city in the world, lord of Europa, teeming with untold citizens, slaves and foreigners. Blessed by Jupiter, greatest of the gods, and fed by the ancient Tiber River, Rome stood glorious and invincible, crowned with seven hills like jewels. Not that Mark could see any of that from his tiny, stinky little prison cell. He sat on the dirty floor, sighing despondently as he looked through the iron bars that separated him from the rest of the world. He'd found a corner that was not sticky with the effluences of previous inhabitants of the cell, crouching up with his knees to his chest. He suspected that the tab he was wearing would protect him from disease and sickness, but he'd be damned if he was taking any chances. He heard grunting and groaning from the cells behind him, then an absolutely disgusting series of splattering noises as someone began crapping themselves messily. He wrinkled his nose in revulsion and stared along the bottom of the wall, making sure nothing was likely to seep through. He turned his head and stared blankly across the small hallway at the cell opposite. Out of the darkness, a deranged, naked man appeared, his wild, scraggly beard greying and caked with God-knows-what. He cackled at Mark and helicoptered his cock at the new prisoner, all the while trying to shake the bars of his cell. Mark shook his head and looked away, finding a spot on the wall to stare at. He noted some graffiti, in Latin, brown with age; it was either dried blood or shit, but he decided he didn't care enough about what it said to get closer. He'd taken off the ratty tunic they'd given him, because it stank and had things crawling in it. Since he'd been arrested and dragged off naked from the Flavius villa, with Domitia still impaled on him, they'd eventually attempted to cover him up; somewhat difficult, since he was suffering from what was essentially medically induced priapism. Even now, he gazed down between his legs, noticing that his cock was still rock-hard. Had the tab malfunctioned? Was he supposed to stay erect this long? What the Hell kind of sex were they having in the twenty-eighth century that a guy needed to stay hard for a day and a night? He closed his eyes and pressed his head against his forearms, trying to figure out how it had all gone wrong; how the Hell was he supposed to know that there was a Vestal Virgin hiding in the damn house and masturbating? He'd heard of Vestal Virgins, of course, but he knew nothing about them. He'd paid attention in History class only moderately more than he had in Physics. Seemingly, he'd done an incredibly bad thing. Like 'fucking a pastor's blind virgin daughter on the altar' kind of bad. As decadent as Rome might have been, you didn't mess with their Vestals. He wished Becky was here. He hadn't seen her since he'd been dragged away from the villa, and he hoped she was okay. He had no idea if she was going to be in trouble or not, since she was supposed to be his owner. He groaned and shook his head, wishing he'd just wake up and this was all a dream; “Damn!” "Shut up in there!" said one guard harshly as he walked by. "Gonna make me, tough guy?" Mark grumbled, once the chip in his head had translated what the guard said, even though he could've probably figured it out on his own. The guard whirled around and stuck his arm through the bars, trying to hit Mark with the cudgel he was carrying. Mark hurriedly dodged out of the way and grabbed the club from the man's hand; the guard's eyes widened as Mark glared down at him, much taller than his would-be assailant. Mark was just over six feet, while the Roman was maybe five-three. The man's gaze dropped to Mark's erection, which pointed at him angrily. "Listen, pal," Mark growled, beyond caring about his hard-on at this point. "Try that again, and I'll shove this club of yours so far up your ass that you'll have splinters in your tongue for a month. Got it?" The man nodded hastily, his face pale. "Good," Mark grunted, shoving the cudgel bac through the bars at him. "Now fuck off and leave me alone." The guard hurried away while the crazy guy across from Mark cackled again and babbled incoherently at his retreating form. Mark slumped back down and continued moping. He'd been in this little crap-hole for the best part of a day now, without food or a chance to relieve himself, unless he chose to piss on the floor. He felt rather justified in sulking. Several minutes passed before he was interrupted once again. "Well, you look pretty grumpy for someone who spent most of yesterday getting laid;” chimed a sweet voice. Mark's eyes flicked open and he stood up hastily, gawking at his Physics teacher, who stood outside his cell, smiling at him in amusement. "Becks!" he said hastily, wiping at himself as if he had clothes on, forgetting that he was naked. "Hi! Uh; I'm glad you're okay!" "It's good to see you too, handsome," she replied, her eyes trailing down to his erection. She was wearing the elegant stola and accoutrements of a patrician woman now, much more modest than her attire just the day before. "Guess your hormones haven't worn off yet, hmm?" "Oh, he's got a mind of his own," Mark muttered, blushing slightly. "Trust me, the lynch mob was quite a libidoectomy. Where've you been?" "Well, once you got carted off, I thought I'd better take a look into what was likely to happen to everyone involved," she stated, seemingly not that concerned. "Roman litigation is a weird thing. They have trials, and you'll have a lawyer appointed to you, but the court of public opinion really counts as well, it seems." "So, I really screwed up when I fucked one of their Vestal Virgins?" Mark asked, trying not to sweat. Becky smiled. "Mark, you had no way of knowing, because she never should have been there to begin with. Vestal Virgins don't, in theory, belong to their parents any more, after they're selected for the honor. For her to be hiding in a room in her parents' house, jilling off, is a huge breach of her vows already, never mind getting caught with you bruising her brainstem." Mark thought about that for a moment. "So; Domitia's in trouble too?" "She's in even more trouble than you, to be honest," replied the teacher, shrugging. "You, you're some shmuck slave who got lucky. Her, she broke Rome's most sacred vows. She might as well have squatted over and peed on the Sacred Flame they protect, to extinguish it. Everyone associates the Vestals with the spiritual well-being of Rome itself. If one of the Virgins is impure, it's bad for Rome." "Damn;” he said under his breath, frowning at the floor. "Well, what about you? Are you in shit at all, because you're my owner?" "Well, not so far," Becky mused. "I'm sure that can change at a moment's notice, if anything goes really wrong." "Really wrong?" Mark exclaimed, gesturing to the cell around him in exasperation. "If this is only moderately wrong, I'd hate to see what's really wrong you're going on about!" "Oh, don't be such a drama llama," she cooed, waving dismissively. "We'll figure this out." "Are you okay, Becks?" he asked, making a wry face as he looked at her. "Last time we were in trouble like this, you kinda She-Hulked out on everyone, remember? You kicked at least five people in the crotch, one of whom was Cardinal Richelieu." "Yeah," she said almost wistfully. "I think my system is flooded with hormones from those tabs, and they're making me pretty mellow. I'm still in love with you right now, for instance." "Well, not to exploit your chemical imbalance here, but what are the chances of you doing something to make sure the man you're in love with doesn't die in this cell?" Mark said rather insistently. "Oh, you won't die in this cell," Becky pointed out. "The Romans weren't big on imprisonment at this point in their history. They're probably either gonna behead you or crucify you." "Becks!" Mark said loudly, going pale and beginning to panic. "You can't let them behead me, I like my head where it is!" "Yes, you are rather attached to it," she giggled. "And don't worry about getting crucified, only I'm allowed to nail you, after all. And speaking of;” She slinked forward, smiling saucily at him, lifting the hem of her long stola, revealing her wet cunt beneath. She turned around, presenting her shapely ass to him and swaying it back and forth while looking over her shoulder at him. "How about you put that stout nail of yours in my tool box?" she purred. "Now?" he exclaimed. "Not like you have anything else to do at the moment, Mark," she pointed out, still wiggling at him. "Move up to the bars and stick it out here;” Ignoring his exasperation, Mark sighed and pressed himself up against the bards, his rigid cock sticking out the other side. Becky lined up her sticky cunt with the head and pushed herself back on it, sighing in bliss as she did. Mark trembled as he penetrated her, having to admit to himself that it felt good to be inside his teacher. Becky closed her eyes as began squirming back against him, sliding his hardness in and out of her cunt. Eighteen hours without sex had felt like eighteen years, no doubt due to the hormones from the tabs. She guessed that their bodies, new to these stimulants from the far future, were not acclimated to the effects just yet; not that she was complaining, mind. She groped and massaged her tits as they spilled out of the top of her stola, reveling in the feel of Mark's lovely cock splitting her wide and touching deep inside. She stood up and pressed back against the bars, keeping his manhood firmly locked inside herself, wiggling and swaying, but also bringing his hands around to her tits, which he now squeezed and massaged in circles, making her groan loudly. The bars kept them apart somewhat, but he was still deep inside her, and that was what counted. Until she opened her eyes and saw the crazy guy in the cell across from them, looking at her with wild eyes, his tongue lolling out of his head, and jerking his filthy cock madly. "I miss seeing your face, Mark," she decided, turning around suddenly and pressing close to him again. She made him hold the bars, steadying his throbbing cock while she sidled forward, taking him inside her cunt again, sucking in her breath. She held onto the bars as well, squirming her hips. The bars were too closely spaced together to fit her legs through and wrap them around his hips, but he was still deep enough inside her to fuck her properly. "Hmm, baby;” If any guards knew what was happening, they chose to not interfere or even be nearby. They left the wealthy patrician woman alone. Of all the places Mark had expected to fuck Becky during their temporal travels, this would have been one of the last, he had to admit. Becky pushed her lips against his, kissing him deeply and lovingly. Their tongues tangled as she fucked him, exhilarating in the feel of his hard shaft in her and knowing she was going to cum quickly, and hard. She broke the kiss and stared into his eyes, her own flashing with lust. "You gonna cum in me, Mark?" she breathed, grinding on him hard, biting her bottom lip. "I want your cum in me, baby." He nodded, breathing heavily. He'd practically forgotten about his predicament, lost in the delirium of fucking his teacher. He pumped his hips back and forth in time with her movements, her cunt tightening around him and getting wetter with every second. He felt his cock throbbing and swelling inside her. "Yes, baby," she gasped, her skin flushed pink, her body trembling as she fought to hold on a few moments longer. "Cum deep inside me, Mark; oh God;” Becky clenched her teeth and arched her back as she pushed forward with her hips, straining hard; she felt Mark push against her as hard as he could, touching her cervix, and she shuddered and moaned loudly. The dam burst and he began cumming inside her, flooding her cunt with his desire. Becky shivered in pleasure, squeezing around him. They both sighed as the orgasm finally passed, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. Her fingers knotted with his and she gave him a peck on the lips before smiling. "Feel better?" she asked. "Oddly enough, yeah," he admitted, nodding. "So what do we do now? I don't wanna die here, Becks." "I know, don't worry, we'll figure it out," she replied, caressing his face with one hand while lowering the skirt of her stola with the other. "I've just gotta find out some things." "Can't we just bust me outta here and get out of Dodge?" he asked, not sure what the delay was. She gave him a quirky look. "Are we just supposed to leave Domitia to her fate? It's your fault she's doomed to death, you know. And there's also the matter of Nanu and what to do with her. We can't just prance around the timeline and mess up things with peoples' lives, Mark. I know you do it because you want to get laid, but there's still real consequences. You're living one of them." He sighed: "Yeah, you're right. I'm just worried." "I know you are, my love," she said gently, smiling warmly. "Just let me see what I can find out. Hang tight and stay out of trouble, okay?" She kissed him again lovingly and whispered something in his ear before sauntering out. He watched her leave and then sat back down, trying to ignore the fact that his hard-on was now sticky, on top of everything else. Getting shot by Richelieu may be have been ultimately worse, but this predicament was certainly less convenient. Some hours passed, and his mood decidedly did not improve. "Hello, my name is Faustus, and I am your legal representation during your trial," said a dull voice from beyond his cell. Mark's eyes drifted over to lay on a short, pudgy, balding man draped in a rather worn toga. He had some scrolls in a satchel he wore over his shoulder. He assessed Mark somewhat disinterestedly. "You are the slave Bonosus, yes?" Mark nodded. "And you are aware of the charges against you?" "Yup, I unknowingly boned a Vestal Virgin," Mark sighed, standing up, figuring he probably shouldn't be showing anyone any disrespect at this point. "What can I do for you, sir?" "Well, ignorance of the law is not likely to work as a defense in this particular instance, given the charge," Faustus said, tapping his satchel with his fingers. "Normally it might mitigate charges, but not where the Virgins are involved. At this point, I'm trying to spare you a cruel and painful death." "Swell," Mark said, his voice laden with apathy. "So, like, beheading instead of crucifixion sort of thing?" "Unless crucifixion is your preference, for some strange reason," replied the lawyer. "There is also the matter of your fee for my services in defending you?" Mark frowned: "I'm a slave, what am I supposed to be able to give you? Shouldn't you be talking to my owner, the Lady Aurora?" "The lady is proving difficult to contact, what with the entire city being in an uproar about you and all," Faustus reasoned, shrugging. "It may be up to you to see that my fees are met." "I don't have anything!" Mark protested somewhat angrily. Faustus trailed his gaze down Mark's well-built body, finally fixating on his erect cock and smiling lewdly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that;” Mark groaned and thunked his head against the iron bar that prevented his escape. He was wrong. This was worse than getting killed by Richelieu's men. Trial of Mark. Mark now found himself going through downtown Rome, but once again spending little time looking at the city; he was being hauled inside a cage on wheels along the Via Aurelia, with untold thousands of people lining the road, shouting, screaming and hissing at him. Rotten vegetables and rock-hard bread pelted his mobile prison, most of the projectiles not getting through to touch him. Mark didn't care. He stared out dully at the cacophony and churning masses of humanity, fully aware that his erect cock was pointing at them. He looked at the famed Palatine Hill and saw a large, rotund temple there, along with a vast manor. Outside the manor, standing on those distant steps, he saw many women dressed as Domitia had been, with their hair worn in the same style, staring down at him impassively. He almost laughed bitterly, knowing exactly who they are. No young person, ever, understood better than Mark now how important it was to pay attention to your studies. After all, it was about to cost him his head. His eyes widened when he saw Domitia dragged out the front doors of the manor by several servants and forced to look down at him. She seemed none the worse for wear, except for looking rather distraught and haggard. He saw, but could not hear her cry out at the sight of him, before being yanked back inside roughly, resisting the whole way. His lawyer, Faustus, had informed him that he'd be tried in a public court, his sentence determined there as well. If all went well, he wouldn't be made to wait long before his sentence was carried out. The waiting was the worst part, the lawyer assured him. The procession took forever, at least in his estimation. He was covered in tomato pulp and seeds, and bits of lettuce and other debris were sticking to him. "Will they at least allow me to bathe or clean up before my trial?" he'd complained to Faustus. He stank and he didn't like it. The lawyer said he'd see what he could do. On and on, his mobile prison rumbled slowly. They entered a crowded forum, surrounded by the white buildings Rome was renowned for. He saw several landmarks, but barely noted them. The presence of soldiers became heavier now, guarding against disturbances from the famously fickle and moody population of the city. They arrived at the courthouse, and he was hauled out of his cage by the chains his wrists were bound in. He ignored the cries and vitriol of the crowd, who had stopped throwing things, for fear of hitting a soldier or important person. At least there was that. He was brought into a small anteroom, where a pool sat in the center. He was unchained and shoved into it, allowed to bathe. Several Roman legionaries stood over him, one holding a whip in case Mark dawdled for any reason. Careful not to anger them, Mark cleaned himself diligently, but also as quickly as possible. When he got out of the pool, they dressed him in a plain but fresh tunic made of low-grade linen. There was one rather prominent problem, however, and the commander of the squad guarding him looked at Mark's crotch and scowled. "Does that thing ever go down?" he snapped. "Look, you're not as unhappy as I am about it," Mark shot back, exasperated about his condition. "Believe me! I had too many oysters at the orgy and now it won't go away." The commander thought about the predicament for a moment. He couldn't bring his prisoner into the courtroom sporting an erection. He finally ordered one of his men to tie a strap of linen around Mark's hips, keeping the obscene erection fixed flat against his belly. The legionaries chuckled as he was trussed, but then became serious as they prepared to lead him into the courtroom. Mark took a deep breath as he was led into the chamber that would determine his doom. Becky was squatting in a hallway, humming quietly as she sucked on the cock of a young lad who was running documents back and forth within the courthouse. He was pressed back against the wall, his eyes closed and moaning in pleasure as he let her work her magic. He didn't know exactly who this patrician woman was, but he wasn't about to stop her, either. Becky bobbed back and forth, swirling her tongue around his hardness and gently caressing his balls. She couldn't believe how horny she was! It had been more than twenty-four hours since the orgy and these sex stimulants were still wreaking havoc with her libido. If this kid lasted, maybe she could fuck him? She needed a good orgasm. A horn sounded outside the courthouse, and Becky paused mid-suck, opening her eyes and turning her head slightly to look in the direction of the noise, her cheek bulging comically as his cockhead pushed into it. The young man was still trembling and almost whimpering, even though she was distracted. "Damn, is it time for the trial already?" she exclaimed to herself before she stood up, straightened out her elegant stola and hurried down the hallway. The young paralegal gaped at her retreating form, his body trembling and his cock throbbing. "But I; I;” he protested, even though she was gone. He couldn't stop it. He whimpered and danced about on his toes, cum spurting from his aching cock. He grabbed his crotch and sighed deeply, doubling over at the release. Too late, he opened his eyes and noticed he'd spattered his jizz all over the documents he'd been bringing for the trial; "The accused is named Bonosus, a slave owned by Lady Aurora Horatia," announced one of the scribes in the room, a rotund chamber that had benches lining most of the walls, allowing for spectators. Today it was crowded, because the charges were so extraordinary. "Prior to this trial, the lady Horatia has been determined free of all guilt, with no investigation or charges needing to be brought forward." Becky, sitting near the trial stand, smiled and winked at the presiding praetor judge, an older, distinguished man, who subtly winked back at her before turning his attention back to Mark, staring sternly. Mark stood alone in the center of the rotunda, his hands and feet manacled, a single beam of wan light shining down on him from a hole in the center of the domed ceiling. He looked back at the judge blankly. "The accused is charged with disgracing a sacred virgin of the goddess, potentially putting great Rome in her disfavor, and such charges warrant only the ultimate of punishments, your honor!" declared a man in a well-embroidered toga made of exquisite fabric and trimmed in yellow. Mark assumed this was the lawyer meant to prosecute him. "For this heinous crime, Rome must be cleansed, to appear cleansed in the eyes of Vesta! We demand this Bonosus be burned at the stake!" Mark swallowed and looked at Faustus, who was sweating and wiping at his collarbone, trying not to fidget. People around the room were talking and whispering to one another. The judge looked down at the pudgy lawyer. "What say you on behalf of the accused, man?" "I;” he began, already faltering. "Your Honor, we feel that the defendant, being a mere slave ignorant of all law and education, had no way of knowing that he was indeed in contact with one of Rome's sacred girls. In that light, while we do not protest his guilt, we ask for clemency; lashes, if possible, or exile beyond the Empire's borders; but if he must die for this crime, let Great Rome show its much-famed mercy and give my client a swift beheading." People in the gallery began shouting angrily in protest at his words, while many of the advocates and adjudicates involved in the case began laughing derisively. Nobody seemed to be in Faustus' corner about this. Mark flicked his eyes up at Becky, and she was simply looking in impassively. A sinking feeling in his stomach took over his senses. Despite his fear, his cock throbbed in yearning at the sight of her. "Faustus, Faustus," chided the lawyer representing the city of Rome, shaking his head almost ruefully. "My dear Faustus, you are so good-hearted, but this defendant of yours did not simply assault one of the Sacred Virgins, he did not merely violate her chaste body, he sublimated her. He changed her! He has corrupted her! Bring in the girl!" Mark's eyes widened as Domitia was dragged into the chamber, clad in her sacred robes, but with strips of red fabric bound to her arms and around her forehead. She looked terrified, but then she saw Mark and her eyes widened. Before anyone could stop her, she broke free of the servants holding her and dashed forward, howling loudly and falling to her knees at his feet. Everyone gaped in astonishment as she lifted his tunic, releasing his cock from its confinement against his stomach, kissing and then sucking on it hungrily, plunging it all the way down her throat in crazed need. People howled in shock and outrage at the scene. Mark, who hadn't had any sex in over twenty-four hours and was in horny agony, groaned loudly despite himself and gripped her head, pumping his hips against her face desperately as people rushed toward him and tried to pull them apart. Someone finally managed to pry Domitia's mouth away from his cock, but when spectators tried to drag her away, she wildly latched her legs around his waist, grinding and humping at him in a desperate frenzy of lust, the skirt of her stola giving way and allowing her to spike herself onto him. The judge and other officials watched in bewilderment as the fracas stumbled around the rotunda, with people trying desperately to pull them apart. They were yanking at Domitia, who was panting and crying out in ecstasy, while Mark groaned in relief and need, despite the people clawing at him and punching him. One enterprising and rather stout legionary knelt beside the fornicators and grabbed hold of them, straining to separate them. Domitia's yelps and Mark's moans became desperate grunts to hold one to one another for several seconds. Eventually, though, Domitia's legs gave out and she was dragged back from him. Mark roared in protest as he shivered and came a split-second after she had been pulled off him. His cock, now released from its warm, wet confines, smacked the legionary across his nose and spat ropes of cum in his eye and across his face. He wailed at the sting and fell on the floor, kicking in panic and trying to wipe the spume out of his eyes. Domitia was finally restrained, and her mouth gagged to stop her howling. She continued to struggle, but it was no use. At last she sagged, seemingly exhausted. Mark looked around, finally noticing Lord Flavius and Lady Pompeneia in the crowd, looking on in horror and mortification. He glanced up at Becky, but she was looking at the ceiling and covering her mouth, trying not to laugh. "This!" said the prosecutor angrily, jabbing his finger first toward Mark and then at Domitia. "This is what the accused has done to one of the sacred Virgins! Turned her into an uncontrollable harlot! She is so completely undone that she cannot think of anything except quenching the fire between her wanton loins!" Many women gasped or cried out at his unprecedented words, while men muttered to one another. Lady Pompeneia looked like she was ready to faint again. "This is an outrage!" Lord Flavius shouted furiously. "We gave our daughter to the state willingly, to fulfill her destiny as a priestess of the goddess, and now we see ourselves unfairly shamed! And this; this; slave; endangers the safety of us all, calling our favor with Vesta into question!" "Do you call charges against the Lady Horatia to ruin your good name?" asked the prosecutor coolly. "Oh, no, no, of course not," Lord Flavius said hastily, shaking his head and looking over at Lady Aurora. "She remains blameless in all of this, assuredly." Becky winked at Lord Flavius, and then subtly at the prosecutor, who smiled and winked back. "Jesus, Becks;” Mark muttered, scowling at the ground. "You've been around the pool more times than Katie Ledecky since we got here;” "Silence!" boomed the judge angrily, his face still rather purple from witnessing the lewd chaos wreaked in his court. "Centurion, strike that man if he won't show respect!" Mark grunted and staggered as the centurion standing close to him cuffed him across the ear. He stayed upright, but glowered at the man. "Wanna try that while my hands aren't cuffed, asshole?" "Silence!" roared the judge, turning purple again as other guards kept Mark from jumping on his assailant. "You are a creature of vile sin!" shouted Lord Flavius from the benches, pointing a trembling finger at Mark. "Yeah? Who cares?" Mark shot back, glaring at his host. "Your wife wasn't complaining yesterday when she rode my hog to the Promised Land, was she? No complaints from your daughter, either!" Lord Flavius howled in fury as he tried to rush the floor but was restrained. Lady Pompeneia fainted again. Another guard cuffed Mark on the back of the head, staggering him again, but this time he didn't have a snappy comeback. He looked angry, but his face had a tic suddenly. People were shouting and crying out in horror at the chaos the proceedings had become. "What manner of devil are you, boy?" the judge hissed at Mark. "Oh, I'm here to fuck every woman in Rome," Mark said sarcastically, tired of this bullshit. "I meant for a Vestal Virgin to be last, ya' know, sort of the proverbial cum icing on the titty cake. But the opportunity came up, and wham, bam, thank you, Vesta;” People shrieked in outrage, and Faustus pissed himself, staring at Mark in dumbfounded horror. "That's right, gents, line 'em up!" Mark said angrily, his face still twitching. Why was he saying these things? Was the chip in his head giving him Tourette's? He wiggled his erection before the entire room, since his tunic had got caught on it when he was separated from Domitia and it was still in plain view, glistening with her spittle and cunt juice. "Bring your uppity wives and daughters to me, I'll make 'em behave!" Faustus just threw his legal scrolls in the air and stormed off. Another legionary tried to punch Mark, but he dodged the punch and rammed his forehead into the man's nose, just avoiding his helmet. The man fell backwards, holding his face. Mark might have tried to kick him, but there were suddenly ten legionaries surrounding him, their swords pointed at his throat. Mark held very still, glowering. The judged barked for the legal scrolls he was meant to consult during this trial, but they were not to be found. He yelled for them again, and a young man barged in hastily from the back door to the rotunda, and the chamber beyond, carrying armfuls of scrolls. He dumped them on the judge's stone table and scurried off without another word. The judge made to pick up one of the documents, but paused; it was sticking to another scroll. He frowned and pulled them apart, noticing that a pearly residue was the source of the problem. Worse, the scroll pages became slippery as he tried to pry them apart. The sticky substance was all over them. And his fingers now. He quietly put the parchments down and shoved them aside. Once the judge had composed himself, clearly livid about the circus his courtroom had become, and once Mark was facing him again, he leaned in and asked a question. "Do you have anything to say before your sentence is pronounced?" "Don't you think this is enough of a sham that we should just get it over with?" Mark grumbled. "What?" the judge asked, confused. "I said, how about you get this show on the road, because thousands of my potential children have a date with your mom's face tonight!" Mark snapped, jerking slightly. What the absolute fuck was happening? He wasn't speaking Latin anymore, he was speaking Greek! "You mock us by speaking Greek?" demanded the judge, rising from his chair. "Do you seek to invalidate this court?" "This court is full of invalids already!" Mark raged, the chip inside his head sputtering. Apparently one of the blows to his head had made it misfire. "Get your mother out here already! And your daughter too!" The judge slumped back on his stone chair, as if stunned by what Mark was saying. Everyone in the court was silent, waiting to see what happened next. He turned to Domitia, who was restrained nearby. "Domitia, former daughter of the Flavian household

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,

What do we know about the woman's lot at the court of Charles II? Breeze Barrington's new book The Graces (published by Bloomsbury) explores the lives of several women of the Stuart court. These ladies include Maria d'Este, a.k.a. Mary of Modena, consort to James VII & II, as well as those of her Maids of Honour: Anne Finch, a revered poet, Hortense Mancini, a favourite of Charles II, Sarah Jennings, future Duchess of Marlborough and of course, the future Queen Anne of Great Britain. Let's welcome Breeze Barrington to the podcast. Welcome, Breeze!Find Breeze:https://www.breezebarrington.com/https://www.qmul.ac.uk/sed/english/staff/phd/profiles/barringtonb.htmlhttps://artuk.org/discover/profile/breeze-barringtonGet Graces:https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/graces-9781526663788/Find Baroque:https://www.ifitaintbaroquepodcast.art/https://www.reignoflondon.com/https://substack.com/@ifitaintbaroquepodcastSupport Baroque:https://www.patreon.com/c/Ifitaintbaroquepodcast/https://buymeacoffee.com/ifitaintbaroqueIf you would like to join Natalie on her walking tours in London with Reign of London:Saxons to Stuarts:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/london-the-royal-british-kings-and-queens-walking-tour-t426011/Tudors & Stuarts:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/royal-london-tudors-stuarts-walking-tour-t481355/The Georgians:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/royal-london-the-georgians-walking-tour-t481358/Naughty London:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/london-unsavory-history-guided-walking-tour-t428452/For more history fodder please visit https://www.ifitaintbaroquepodcast.art/ and https://www.reignoflondon.com/ Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The Time Riders: Part 4 A daring attempt to rescue Becky from Cardinal Richelieu. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. “Your Becky sounds like a very strong woman." Lady Alexandra reflected when Mark told of their conflicts in the time journey to old France. "Actually," Mark said, blushing again. "She reminds me of you, or you remind me of her. You actually look quite a bit alike." She smiled sweetly and reached forward to touch his knee. "High praise for me indeed, then. Am I right in assuming that she speaks French since you do not?" Mark nodded. "Then she should be safe inside the Louvre, which is where my mistress the queen is currently staying," Alexandra concluded. "So his Eminence is playing another little game, to make my mistress feel bad by bringing beautiful women into her service? We shall see to this, Mark, I promise you." "Thanks," he said. "I really, really appreciate this. You have no idea." "She must be very special to you." Alexandra said slyly. "Well, we're not in love, or anything," he said hastily, wishing he didn't have to keep explaining this. "But yeah, I guess you could say we're fond of one another, and she's the only person I time travel with." "Were I you," Alexandra said, sitting back now and taking another sip of one while crossing one leg over the other. "I would try to keep it that way. It has been explained to me, and it seems perfectly logical, that things just get more complicated when you involve other people or try to do too many things?" "You don't look at all like you're from this time," Mark admitted. "Are you actually from the Sun King's France?" She nodded. "That I am, to a noble family of ancient lineage, going even back to the reign of Charlemagne. But in service to my queen, I take very good care of myself and am in the peak of health." "No kidding," Mark breathed, earning a smirk from Alexandra. "Chester said you're good with a sword?" She shrugged in a non-committal manner. "Suffice to say that I am not afraid to take on Les Troi Inseparables." Mark assumed that she meant Athos, Porthos and Aramis. "D'Artagnan too?" She laughed, a beautiful, crystalline sound. "Aye, even the irascible Gascon. Nor do I cringe before the Duke of Buckingham, who is said to be the greatest swordsman in Christendom, barring possibly my brother." "No recognition for you?" She shook her head. "I dare not, my service to the queen would be compromised. I am not driven by fame, Mark, but devotion and duty. Secrecy is all that allows me to continue in my task." "You're like Wonder Woman." Mark laughed. She looked at him and tilted her head. "Comment?" "A fictional heroine from my own time," he said, waving it off. "She's powerful, she's brilliant, she can fight, she can fly, she's compassionate. They've been writing and drawing stories about her for about seventy years now." "It sounds fun," she sighed. "But I do not wish to be ensnared in these time troubles, and I do everything I can to avoid them. The less I know, the better. Protecting my queen is enough." He nodded. "I promise to try and not add to your troubles in this, and I'm sorry." "You needn't be," she said easily, draining her glass. "The debt I owe Chester for this is many years old, I am surprised that he has not called it in before now, to be honest. How long has Becky been at the Louvre?" Mark thought about that. "Uh; a week to get to the palace from where we were; then three weeks; and then it took me a week to get here, so best guess is four weeks." Alexandra nodded and considered. "The initial intense scrutiny she would have been under will be relaxing after a month. They are no doubt still training her, but she sounds very bright, so they will be eager to move her into the court." Mark nodded. "Alright, what do we do? Run in with pistols blazing and swords unsheathed?" She paused in her ruminations and looked at him for a moment before shaking her head slowly, saying nothing. She poured herself another glass of wine and nocked it back before sighing and returning to her thoughts. "Uh, may I ask a question?" Mark said somewhat meekly. Alexandra looked at him and waited. "If; you're one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting," Mark said somewhat awkwardly. "Shouldn't you have at least seen or have heard of Becky by now? I gotta admit, she's like you, she's really hard to miss." The French woman smiled prettily. "I have been away some two months now on a delicate errand for my queen, one that took me south to Spain." "Pretending I was from Spain got me shot." Mark grumbled. Alexandra raised her eyebrows. "Ah, tu hablas español?" "Nope," Mark said, holding up his hands. "Not goin' through this again. So, what do we do, Miss; uh, Miss;” "Just call me Alexandra, cher," she said easily. "And if we become friends, you may call me Alexa." He nodded. "Okay, Alexandra. What is our plan?" "I shall think on that," she replied. "We will not be doing anything until at least tomorrow, I assure you. I only returned this morning and even the queen does not know I am back yet. That being said, you will be my guest here in my private apartments." "Uh, okay," he said. "That doesn't sound too bad, I guess." "It is convenient, for one thing, but another is perhaps a bit more personal and selfish on my part," Alexandra added. "Be honest with me, Mark." "Okay." "Would your Becky be hurt or jealous if you and I were to fuck?" she asked plainly. Mark thought about that for a moment and then shook his head. "She'd probably think there was something wrong with me if I didn't; to be honest. Besides, if she thinks I'm dead, what's the harm?" "Bien," the woman stated, nodding and standing. "Tonight, you and I shall, oh, what is that English saying; ride below the crupper." "Never heard that, but I'm in," he said, chuckling. "And do not worry, unlike most people of this day and age, I bathe daily, so you should not find my closeness offensive." Alexandra added. "I'm pretty sure you could smell like a federal stimulus pork bill and I wouldn't notice," he laughed. "Don't you have quarters at the Louvre?" She nodded. "Oui, but my mistress allows me to stay here when possible, since I am closer to the people of Paris this way. I can look out my window, see them and remind myself of my duty to them." "You're pretty complicated for a noblewoman." Mark admitted. "History doesn't think much of your class of people." "A deserved indictment, no doubt," she sighed. "Alors, I did not keep you here to bore you with such ephemera, I intend to pleasure you before making you risk your life again in the days ahead." The French Art of Feminine Disrobing. He watched from his chair as she slowly turned around and began the French art of feminine disrobing. She began by removing the rather poufy blouse she was wearing, revealing her shapely back. She was beautiful, but now he could see the lines of athleticism in her shoulders and torso, and still somehow with the affectation of being delicate and womanly. Alexandra then lifted one leg and removed her short boot deftly, then reversed her pose as she removed the other boot. Her feet were surprisingly dainty, but they seemed to be planted firmly on the floor. Undoing the tie of her breeches, she wiggled them down over her lovely hips, exposing her incredible behind. She bent over to push the article of clothing down the rest of her statuesque legs and in spite of the dim light, he could almost see her cunt just below those temping cheeks. She stood up straight and stepped elegantly out of the pool of her breeches, putting her hands over her bust as she turned her head to smile at him coyly. As he watched, she slowly came around so she was facing him now. If Mark's jaw could have literally fallen off, it would have. In the flickering candlelight, she was bewitching to behold. Her skin was creamy and flawless, fair and yearning to be kissed. Her womanly hips carried strength, melting into her glorious legs. Her snatch was hairless, something he didn't associate at all with the period; especially the French. "So, do you like what you see?" she purred, enjoying his reaction. He nodded dumbly and she allowed her hands to fall away from her tits, revealing them. Large and perfectly shaped, sitting high no doubt because of her strong back and shoulders, and crowned with small, pink nipples that made his mouth water. "Now perhaps it is time for you to show me the man I will enjoy?" Alexandra said softly, smiling. "Stand up and let me see you, Mark." He couldn't do a thing about his hard-on, so he didn't even bother trying to conceal it. Still sitting, he removed his boots and socks before standing. Without any of the grace displayed by his anticipated new lover, Mark fumbled off his shirt, revealing his chest. He wasn't overly muscular, of course, but he had more than enough tone and definition because of the sports he'd played. She smiled and just watched quietly. He undid the tie of his breeches and bent over to pull them off. When he stood back up, his cock sprang to full attention, wobbling in front of him slightly. Alexandra nodded, apparently in approval. "Men of days to come seem to be gifted." Alexandra stated in a sultry voice as she stepped forward, moving toward him. “Or, perhaps today, for you; my dear Alexandra?” Mark flirted in a manner even he found uncharacteristically competent. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest as the blonde goddess stepped closer and closer to him. She was then standing directly in front of him, her glorious pelvic mound almost touching the tip of his pulsing erection. He thought he might cum right on the spot. Her elegant hand slowly reached out to take hold of his turgid shaft, the fingers wrapping around gently and giving him the lightest of squeezes. "And now," she said in a whisper. "We shall' The lock on the door clunked before it flew open and in stepped a young woman with wavy dark hair and eyes, apparently not noticing the activity within. "I am back, mistress," the girl chirped as she shut the door and locked it again. She seemed cheerful and energetic, her green dress twirling about her prettily. "I bought some wine and also the soap packets that you; oh! My apologies, mistress, I did not know you were busy!" "Do not worry, Lisette," Alexandra said easily, clearly not at all surprised to see the girl while Mark just gaped. Her hand was still on his cock and stroking gently as she acknowledged the newcomer. "You're just in time to share dessert with me;” Cirrhosis Of The Louvre Mark blinked as he stared at the young woman who had just sauntered in. About his age, she was rather short, but cute in a quirky kind of way, with wavy dark hair that reached her jawline and cheerful brown eyes, over which she wore small round spectacles. Her green dress looked like elegant and well-maintained peasant wear. She seemed rather surprised to see him as well. "A new playmate, mistress?" she asked in French, clearly not surprised to see Lady Alexandra naked on her knees and stroking Mark's cock. "For now," Alexandra said easily, smiling at her servant. "He actually is an associate of Monsieur Edgeworth and needs our help." "Oh, not that pain-in-the-ass again," muttered the girl named Lisette as she walked into the dimly-lit room, clearly put off by the mention of Chester Edgeworth. Her accent was distinctly different from Lady Alexandra's, more coarse and unsophisticated, even to Mark's untrained ears. His translator device was having trouble keeping up. "Like our lives are not difficult enough." "Perhaps, but we have time for some fun, I am happy to say." Alexandra pointed out, not at all bothered by her servant's mutterings. "You will be delighted to know that in helping this young man, we will be putting the spurs to the Red Duke." "Well, there's that at least," Lisette admitted, dropping the linen bags she had been carrying and coming toward them, beginning to shed her dress and underthings without batting an eye. "This one is tall, Mistress. And he has a blank expression about him. English? A colonial?" "Close enough, my love," Alexandra giggled, watching as her beloved servant removed the last vestiges of her modesty, standing naked before them now, except for her spectacles. Her tits were small, her figure trim, but rounded in a youthful way; and devoid of fat excess fat, but not skinny. Living and fighting alongside her Mistress meant Lisette had no time for being indolent. She was probably also the best marksman outside of the Sun King's army with a caliver. "He is indeed from the colonies." "And probably from some other time, if he's involved with Edgeworth, but I have learned not to care," the brunette sighed as she joined Alexandra in kneeling in front of Mark. "Very well, let's fuck this one, before he gets killed, or unavailable like the others." "Wait, what?" Mark asked, his eyes widening and his erection threatening to retreat into his abdomen and his translator bud did its job. "Ignore her," Alexandra said easily, smirking at her companion. "She is just being salty about a boy she liked to fuck down at the market, no longer being available." "He die of dysentery or something?" Mark asked. Alexandra shrugged. "No, he got married." "I'm still going to fuck him the next time I see him;” Lisette said sullenly. "Oh, sorry," Mark said, somewhat embarrassed. "I guess I'm in the habit of assuming that you're the only person in this time I'm ever gonna meet who isn't riddled with a pox or sexual disease." "A fair assumption, my friend;” the blonde woman cooed as she began kissing along the length of his veiny, rippled shaft and making him shiver. The fireplace kept the room warm and also gave it an amber glow that was so comforting and conducive to their current activities. Lisette nestled in closer, smiling and fondling his sac gently while watching her mistress pleasure their new plaything. "He is large, Mistress," she mused, smiling slyly. "Nearly the size of Buckingham, I think." "Umm, the men of days to come do indeed seem to be gifted," Alexandra murmured as she tilted his hard cock up and traced the tip of her tongue along the vein on the underside. "Mark here is no exception, it would seem." Lisette's surprisingly well-kept fingernails grazed along his thighs while she edged inward, wanting to be closer to her mistress. Alexandra now swirled her tongue around his throbbing head before putting it inside her warm, wet mouth. She opened her eyes and looked up at him before slowly sliding in his length in one slow, steady motion. Mark shuddered in pleasure, feeling her tongue swirling around his length, even as she kept her mouth on him. His fingers found their way into her lush, golden hair, kneading at her scalp, and steadying himself while she began to bob back and forth expertly. In the back of his mind, he realized that she was as good as any girl from his own time at sucking cock. He shouldn't have been surprised, but sex seemed to be the one human endeavor that didn't really progress as time moved forward. People were either good at it, or weren't, and the best techniques had probably been around for thousands of years, needing no refinement. Alexandra was living proof of that theory. Lisette moved in and began kissing her mistress' neck and collarbone, her hands now wondering and caressing the noblewoman's body with a practiced ease. Alexandra continued to suck on Mark's cock readily, not at all distracted by her servant's touch, but rather excited by it. She squirmed as her cunt grew moist, yearning to feel this man's tool inside her. Alexandra's strong lips held his glans and her tongue rolled around his purple tip. Lisette's mouth now joined Alexandra's in sliding up and down the sided of his length before they kissed around his cock tip, tongues flickering and sliding wetly as they moaned. His hands were on the back of their heads and he shivered again, lost in the unreal sensations. He felt the brunette girl take over sucking on him, while her blonde mistress nipped at the skin of his waist. "Umm, he has a big tool, mistress," purred Lisette before bobbing along his shaft again. "A pity he will not be available to us regularly." "I think my friend is pleased with you, Mark," Alexandra said, smiling up at him slyly. "Do you wish to fuck us both?" "That; sounds great;” he grunted, closing his eyes and concentrating on not cumming so damn quickly. These two were a wicked tag team. "But what if one of you;” "Fear not, cher, we will not," Alexandra assured him. "I am classically trained, including in Roman medicines and can prevent unexpected complications from arising. Or our bellies." Mark didn't know exactly what 'Roman medicines' had to do with contraception, but she was the expert in this time, so he'd take her word for it. From what he'd read, the alternative in this era was a condom made of linen, which wasn't even meant to prevent pregnancy so much as inhibit pleasure. Hell with that. "Are you any good with that tongue, man of the New World?" she asked now, smiling at him wickedly. "Becky seemed to think so." Mark replied, trembling as he fought to hold on. He would welcome a chance to lick cunt if it would keep him from embarrassing himself before he had properly fucked either of them. "Then Lisette will continue to see you your needs down below, while I become acquainted with your face." Alexandra breathed. Mark sighed as Lisette stopped sucking on his cock long enough to retrieve several large, plush pillows and lay them on the floor near the fireplace. He was almost in a daze as the blonde noblewoman led him to the scarlet and gold oreillers, plump with down and feathers, and then rested him on top of them. Without more ado, she nestled over his face, looking down his body, allowing him to examine her while Lisette knelt between his legs and resumed wrapping her lips around his cock loudly. He marveled at her shining, slippery cunt, so tempting in the flickering orange light of the hearth. He had now fucked a few French girls in this time period, along with Becky, and they were all completely natural, often unusually hairy between their legs. This glorious woman, however, kept her twat completely smooth, a total aberration from the norm. Lisette was almost shaven clean, which he could only assume was at her mistress' behest. He could see Alexandra's tiny, pink clit just peeking out from under its hood, begging for attention. The wet, exquisite heat of Lisette's mouth made his belly groan. He pulled the blonde down onto his waiting mouth, needing to distract himself. His tongue snaked between her wet nether lips and inside her. Alexandra sighed shamelessly and squirmed on his mouth while fondling her opulent tits. His fingers gripped her thighs tightly, flexing into her delicate flesh. She was not kidding about taking care of herself compared to her contemporaries. Her scent and her taste reminded him of Becky more than anything. He pushed his tongue deeper inside her, massaging her walls and core and making her gasp and shudder in delight. She pulled at her nipples as she rocked back on forth on Mark's mouth, enthralled by how skilled he was proving to be at pleasuring her orally. He was quite possibly as good as Lisette, which was no small feat in her opinion. Her calves pressed in around his ears, her pert derriere bumping against his face. Mark's tongue flickered inside her and he buzzed his lips on her, sending jolts through her whole body. "Mistress, he is ready for you," Lisette said, pulling her mouth off his cock and looking up at her lady while pumping her tiny hand along his shaft. "Would you like to fuck him now?" "Non, ma couer," breathed Alexandra, her body now showing a sheen of sweat. "You may fuck him first. I assure you he will bring you bliss. I am fine where I am for now." Lisette nodded and moved to straddle Mark's hips, facing her mistress. She took hold of his cock, biting her lip as she toyed it against her cuntlips and clit. Finally, she pushed down, taking the head inside herself. She sighed while Mark shuddered as he penetrated hervery tight cunt. She then groaned loudly as she sank down, taking him all the way inside herself. She was very tight and Mark made an incoherent sound into Alexandra's twat, making her gasp and shudder violently, cumming suddenly. She leaned forward and grappled onto Lisette, kissing her greedily as she came. Mark could feel her wetness soaking his face, the heady aroma enthralling him. Enveloped in a type of pleasure he had probably never experienced before, even with Becky, he simply fought to control himself, lashing Alexandra's inside with his tongue while Lisette squirmed up and down on his cock, fucking him. Her cunt flexed and clenched expertly around him. He made a guess about the blonde noblewoman above him and took hold of her ass cheeks, pulling them apart before sliding a thumb through her puckered knot. Alexandra wailed in unexpected delight at the intrusion inside her back passage, pressing down and back against his hands and face. She rocked wantonly, genuinely thankful for the meddlesome Chester Edgeworth on this occasion. Mark showed no signs of relenting in his carnal assault. Whatever courtesies men of days to come were taught about a woman's pleasure, she envied the recipients. "Uh, mistress," whimpered Lisette as she squirmed, leaning backward while pumping her cunt on his cock. Alexandra could see the burgeoning shaft splitting her servant-girl's puffy cuntlips wide, glistening now with her wet desire as she squeezed around him. "Mistress, he's going to make me cum!" "Then cum, my dearest," Alexandra cooed, eager to see her beloved Lisette in the throes of unbridled passion. "And then I shall fuck him and we can cum; all of us, non?" The mere mention of cumming with her mistress made Lisette moan loudly, gyrating on Mark's cock with wild abandon. She was fairly bouncing as the liquid heat washed through her, followed by the unreal tingles of la petit mort. She leaned forward and kissed her mistress passionately, her cunt clamping around Mark like a silken vise as she came. "And now you, mistress!" she panted as she regained control of her body, sliding off Mark's throbbing tool to make room for the blonde woman. Somewhat reluctantly, Alexandra pulled her gooey cunt away from Mark's mouth, shivering as his finger popped out of her ass. She leaned down his body sensually, leaning over to take his cock in her mouth, moaning in pleasure as she tasted Lisette's cum on his rigid staff. Her head rose back up and her mouth left his coc,k and she smiled back at him while she stroked his length. "Perhaps you could take me from behind, my friend? It has been some time since I have felt it done properly." Mark nodded and clambered up to his feet, moving around while Alexandra arranged Lisette, lying the brown-haired girl on her back. She then sank down onto her, their arms wrapping around one another and they kissed deeply and passionately, the mere sight of it driving Mark wild. They were so total in their devotion that he wondered if they were in love. Lisette then moved around deftly, so that her mouth was beneath her mistress' dripping cunt, while the blonde woman hovered over her servant, on her hands and knees. Mark stood behind Alexandra and settled onto his knees. Lisette confidently reached up and took hold of Mark's pulsing cock, guiding him closer, until he was holding Alexandra by the hips. She placed the knob of his cock against her mistress' cunt lips, teasing it up and down for a few moments. Alexandra's response was to sigh and kiss her servant's cunt lovingly, making her shiver. Mark pursed his lips as Lisette finally guided him inside the aristocrat's snatch, with a slow, steady push. Already wet and ready, Alexandra's cunt yielded before him easily, but he soon groaned as he realized that further in she was as tight, if not tighter, than her servant, who was considerably smaller in frame. Alexandra moaned into Lisette's cunt while Mark trembled at the exquisite, wet heat. Once he had sunk in right up to the hilt, he paused for several moments, adjusting to the wicked sensation. He already understood he was no match for this woman's sexual prowess, and he was thankful for her indulgence. Once he was inside her, Lisette released him and wrapped her hands around her mistress' thighs, holding them firmly while she began kissing devotedly at her cuntlips, clit. Mark's visible shaft and balls bounced upon her forhead. Clearly she intended to facilitate their mutual climax and make sure they both experienced as much pleasure as they could handle. Knowing not to wait any longer and to simply take cues from Lisette, Mark made sure he had a firm grip and began pushing back and forth inside Alexandra, using long, slow, and deliberate thrusts to begin. The blonde moaned in appreciation of his efforts. "Hmm, you are very skilled with your phallus, my friend," she sighed, smiling back at him before returning to kissing Lisette's cunt and sliding a slender finger inside her. "You do not just fuck, like so many men of this day, but you know how to make love. Your Becky is a lucky girl." "Thanks;” he managed to say, praying for endurance as he felt her rhythmically squeeze herself around him with every thrust, even while she pleasured her servant girl. This woman was a succubus. Hadn't she said she was an agent of Anne of Austria? She'd be formidable indeed. And if she was one tenth as good with a sword or pistol as she was at fucking. Alexandra giggled at his inability to speak in full sentences, resolving to go easy on him and simply enjoy herself. A small allowance, perhaps, since she was obligated to help him. She pushed back slightly until her ass cheeks met his hips and her wet cuntlips pressed against his skin, enveloping his cock entirely. Beneath her, Lisette kissed and slid her tongue all over them, lost in a dutiful reverie. She realized Mark could take guidance and instruction without words, if she made her intentions known. She made him fuck her a little faster now by not only moving back and forth, but by squeezing him inside her more quickly, a technique she had taken years to perfect, but always to advantage. Soon, he was sliding in and out of her rhythmically, almost pulling his cockhead out of her before pushing all the way back in. Given his ample length, this was a wicked delight for her; fucking his cock was even better than sitting on his long eager tongue! Lisette was not only pleasuring them, but helping to regulate their coupling, something she could now do instinctively. Her devotion to her mistress was total. If Alexandra was fucking a man, Lisette was not jealous (usually), but simply played her part in making sure everyone enjoyed the experience as much as possible. They were practiced lovers who knew one another's needs and desires completely, and Lisette now fulfilled her role in the tryst with sublime skill. Mark shuddered as he felt Lisette's fingers massaging beneath him, along his balls and even his taint. To his surprise, it served to help distract him from the unreal pleasure if being deep inside Alexandra, allowing him to last longer than he had any business hoping to. He began pushing in and out a little harder, asserting himself and making the blonde goddess moan in pleasure. Soon, Mark was slapping his hips against her ass cheeks loudly, increasing the tempo to the place where Lisette couldn't readily use her dainty fingers on him. She instead continued lapping at her mistress' clit and massaging the split lips as he fucked her. Lisette trembled as Alexandra pushed two fingers deep inside her now, finding her pleasure points with unfailing skill while she sucked on her servant's clit, moaning around it. Alexandra squirmed back against Mark lustily and onto Lisette's mouth, panting in delight. "Oui!" she gasped, gyrating her pelvis expertly, the rings of her cunt muscles rippling along Mark's throbbing cock. "Right there! So good!" Mark was finding his body trembling, the familiar tingle starting to well up within him. His thrusts were faster but less controlled now, his hips performing an almost shoving and scooping motion as he dug inside the French noblewoman. Lisette was massaging her Mistress' cunt eagerly, delighting in the mingling taste of desire on her two lovers. She watched as Mark's glistening shaft slid back and forth, pulling wetly at Alexandra's nether lips. "Gonna cum!" he grunted, stiffening, trying to hold on while making sure that was what she wanted. "Yes!" Alexandra purred, her body flushing with warmth at his words. She heard him groan and press as hard as he could against her. She obliged by pushed back against him and squeezing for all she was worth. She sighed loudly, sliding her fingers as deeply into Lisette as she could, shivering in pleasure as her orgasm blossomed through her. Her wanton cunt fluttered around Mark's cock as she felt it pulsing and spurting his pearly cum deep inside her. They heaved and ground against one another for nearly a minute until Mark sagged back on his haunches, while Alexandra slowly laid forward, his cock sliding out of her with a wet pop. She rested her tits now on top of Lisette, who busied herself by tilting her head up between her mistress' legs, kissing her cunt and then lapping at it hungrily, her tongue finding the creamy globules of Mark's cum inside her, thrilling to the tangy taste. Alexandra sighed in contentment, her eyes closed, squirming gently. Not long had passed before the dutiful girl had cleaned her mistress thoroughly, ending her task with loving kisses of devotion. Alexandra rolled gently off to the side while Lisette got on her hands and knees, moving over to between Mark's legs, He was serenely staring at the rafters and trying to catch his breath. Without waiting for any particular permission (not that any was forthcoming or needed), she took hold of his still-swollen but softening cock and laved it with her mouth, once again thrilling to the taste of his cum mixed with her mistress'. She cleaned him off readily, loving how responsive he was to her touch. Finally, Alexandra rose to her feet and came to stand beside them. She pulled Lisette to her feet and wrapped her arms around the shorter girl, kissing her deeply and lovingly. Lisette melted into her embrace, submitting completely and with reverence. The kiss finally ended, and the patrician smiled down at Mark before offering her hand to help him up. "I found Lisette in Provence maybe three years ago, trapped in a tiny chapel and being disgraced by a priest. I ran him through with my blade and took her under my wing." "Mistress has had my undying devotion and unconditional love since then." Lisette added in very thick English, the first sounds of it she had offered. The phrase sounded almost practiced or rehearsed to Mark's ears, then he realized it probably was. Alexandra had taught Lisette what to say about herself once she had initiated a beginning statement she'd recognize. It was how they protected her in English, because it demonstrated the depth to which they were devoted to one another; Alexandra would kill a man of God for Lisette, and there was nothing in creation she would not do for her mistress. "I believe it," Mark replied, nodding. "I'm glad she saved you, Lisette, and Alexandra's lucky to have you." Lisette was taken off-guard by what Mark had said once her blonde mistress had translated for her, and she blushed and looked at the floor. It occurred to Mark that she probably wasn't used to anyone aside from Alexandra expressing any concern about her life or safety. She was just another peasant, after all. "Let us clean ourselves lightly and then prepare for a light meal and then bed, shall we?" Lady D'assaut suggested. "Mark, I do not know if you are a man of faith or not, but Lisette and I usually have about an hour of devotional time just before we turn in. You may join us or do as you please, as long as you're respectfully quiet." Mark nodded and joined the pair in going to another room that was clearly dedicated to bathing, something he doubted was all that common in this time and place. Lady Alexandra really was out of the ordinary. He watched with interest as Lisette helped her mistress into the large, round wooden tub, under which a contained fire was glowing. Easily big enough for the three of them (no doubt by design, he thought), he allowed himself to be helped in before the two women began washing him, giggling as they used tiny packets of powdered soap and their bodies to make sure he was clean all over. "Normally, to come across water like this is rare and expensive," Alexandra explained as she knelt patiently and looked at him while Lisette squeezed her tits into her mistress magnificent orbs, lathering her. "But this particular building has an underground stream running below it, so retrieving water from a well in the courtyard is comparatively simple. And I do love to be clean." "I can get behind that." Mark agreed. "Maybe in the morning." Alexandra quipped readily, winking at him. They finished bathing and then Lisette dutifully dried them both off. Linen shifts were provided and then Mark sat with his host in the study while Lisette prepared a light meal for them all. He'd never eaten a pigeon before, but it was surprisingly good. Small nibs of sweetened chocolate comprised dessert, and of course there was the wine. Once they had finished, Alexandra and her companion excused themselves and went into another small room to say their devotionals for maybe an hour. Then they invited Mark to come and sleep with them in Alexandra's massive, plush bed, covered in crimson sheets threaded with gold. Everyone removed their linen shifts and clambered into bed. Alexandra and Lisette kissed one another and then Mark goodnight. In spite of having two naked women nestled into his sides, he slept surprisingly well. A Louvre Incarceration. The moon was a bright white orb overhead as Rebecca looked out the window from her stately bedroom. A tear glistened on her cheek, as it had every night since her abduction and arrival in Paris. Not only was she stuck here, in the Sun King's France, with no method of returning home, but she was the unwilling 'guest' of Cardinal Richelieu, who was seeing her trained to serve Queen Anne. Worse still, and what truly broke her heart, Mark was dead. Killed by the Cardinal's men and no doubt still lying in that fateful field, his body ravaged by scavengers. She bit her lip as tears started to roll down her face, willing herself not to break into sobs that everyone on this floor of the palace would hear. She buried her face in her hands and surrendered to the grief, shuddering as she wept, not caring about the moon framing her in rays of silvery light. She was so alone. Mark had to exercise patience that morning, since they were eating a leisurely breakfast and casually discussing matters. But the matters were nothing of import, at least not from his point of view; they were not improvising plans to save Becky, which was foremost on his mind. Alexandra was well aware of the agitation just under his calm surface and she finally sought to allay it. She smiled and put a hand on top of his as she sat next to him at the table. "My friend," she said gently in her impeccable English. "Worry not for your Rebecca." "How can you say that?" he asked, trying to keep any exasperation out of his voice. "It's all that really matters to me, not that I'm not grateful, of course. But I feel; I feel like we are dawdling." "I understand," she allowed, smiling her beautiful smile that would drive the clouds away. "But I assure you, she is in no immediate danger, now that she is in the Louvre. And as you have already noted, she has been there for a month. We cannot simply rush in and storm the palace, because we would be risking her life, along with many others, not the least of which is my queen, Anne." He sighed and nodded. "But you are helping me rescue her, right? As in, we free her from the palace and she and I can get away, find my time machine and go home?" She smirked and nodded. Maybe she didn't blame him for his suspicions. "Yes, Mark. That is the only end here. I cannot remain indebted to our mutual associate Chester Edgeworth, especially not since this is one of his temporal matters. I want nothing to do with them, so leaving; oh, what is the term; 'loose ends', if you will, does not suit me. It pains me to say so, since I like you, but with any luck, I will never see you again once we have rescued your Rebecca." She smiled and squeezed his hand again. "Please trust me. And exercise patience. I already have a plan in mind, I just need more information from the palace." "Oh, okay," he said finally, hoping he wasn't being unreasonable. "Just out of sorts, I guess. Not a lot of experience with the Baroque Period." She tilted her head slightly and smirked. "Baroque Period? Is that what people in your time refer to this era as?" Mark shrugged. "Yeah, I dunno why." "In my language, baroque refers to an oddly-shaped pearl," she mused. "You might have a better understanding of my time and history than I do, in retrospect." "I doubt it," he chuckled, put at ease once again by her gracious manner. "I never really had much of a head for history. Might actually be pretty skewed, since everything I know comes from movies and novels written by people from your future." "I don't know what a 'movie' is, but I think it's best I not either," she mentioned, stroking his wrist. "Once Lisette has finished serving dejeuner, she will proceed to the palace to see what she can find out. While it is known that I am back in Paris, I do not want to appear just yet for my royal duties. Maybe later today or tomorrow. While the Cardinal cannot absolutely confirm that I am more than a lady-in-waiting for the Queen, I wish to not give him any reason to start looking." "Fair enough," Mark allowed. "So, what'll we do until then?" "While I could indeed provide endless hours of pleasant discourse for you, I think that would not be the best idea, since you are a man of tomorrow." Alexandra pointed out. "And, to be honest, I am rather smitten with your lovely cock at the moment. So, I was thinking that we might continue to fuck one another until it is time for us to undertake your mission." Mark laughed. "Yeah, I'm good with that. "Becky would think I had gone totally stupid if I didn't agree to kill time that way." "I do not know her yet and I think I love her," Alexandra mused, smirking. Her sapphire eyes glittered with delight. "We shall make the most of our time together." They went back to eating their breakfast, prepared by Lisette, and if Mark found the fare unusual, he certainly couldn't complain about the taste. Sausages, hearty bread, along with some vegetables and a broth. A new delicacy to the Sun King's France, Chantilly cream, rounded out the meal, and she promised him that later they would share of bottle of a very special new type of wine, from the region of Champagne. Lisette had dressed and excused herself, heading off to the Louvre to find out information for her Mistress. This left Mark alone with Alexandra, and if he was feeling any awkwardness, she certainly wasn't. She smiled and shed her clothes, exposing her glorious body. She took him by the hand and led him back to her bedroom, smiling at him. "Not to seem indelicate, Mark, but; have you ever fucked a girl in her behind before?" she asked. He nodded. "Done it with Becky more than a few times recently. And yeah, I'd really like to fuck yours." She smiled, pleased with his response. "Excellent, it has been a while for me, at least since a man has done it to me." "Lisette certainly has her uses." Mark chuckled. "More than you can ever know, my friend," she agreed as she stood in front of him and helped remove his clothing. She was close enough that her tits pressed to his chest, her hips touched his and her cunt was nestled against his cock, which was beginning to swell. She looked up into his eyes, her own glinting with desire. "I look forward to feeling you in my ass, Mark." She put her arms around him and pressed her lips to his, kissing him deeply. He was thrilled by her assertiveness, even if she wasn't being dominant. His own hands rested on her hips before starting to wander around her divine form, finally finding her ass cheeks, squeezing and massaging them, making Alexandra moan. "What I am starting to appreciate about you men of the future is that you enjoy lovemaking and carnal activity for its own sake," she purred, one of her hands now sliding down to find his cock and stroking it. "You seem free of the confines of the church's strictures, proscribing pleasure through sexual activity." "Not much point in doing it if you don't enjoy it," he agreed, shivering as her nipples poked against his chest while she squirmed her tits around. She bit his lower lip and tugged back on it, wiggling her ass cheeks against his hands. "And you seem to enjoy it a lot for someone from this time." She broke their kiss to look up at him again, her eyes flashing with her growing to fuck. Her hand was fondling his cock, which was now rigid and pulsing. "In my service to the queen, sex is often a weapon I employ. I am required to be proficient in its use to defend her and the realm." "Lucky me," he breathed as she knelt in front of him, dragging her opulent tits down his torso before arriving at his phallus. He shuddered as she began kissing his cockhead before slowly sliding him into her mouth and down her throat. "Uh, God. Beck; I mean, Alexandra." She giggled and pulled her mouth off his cock to look up at him in amusement, her hands still stroking. "Our techniques are that similar? It took much training for me to be this good, if the women of your time are this competent with ease, then I am jealous." She buried his cock in her mouth again, bobbing back and forth lustily and making him shiver and grasp at her golden locks. Her own hand snaked down between her legs and began playing with her increasingly wet cunt, teasing it. She knew they had at least a few hours before Lisette's return and she intended to make the most of them. Mark groaned and fought to control himself, little or no match for her exquisite technique. He knew he'd have to fuck her soon, or he'd be cumming in her mouth. And he was really looking forward to fucking her ass, as she intended. "Hmm," she purred, popping her mouth off of his cock and smiling slyly while sliding her tongue up the underside as she held it up. "Would you care for a chance to reciprocate, lover?" He nodded, and she stood before pulling him onto the bed. She laid him on his back and then crawled over him, facing down his body. She didn't suck on him again, so much as she toyed with his cock to keep him hard, while allowing him to kiss and lick her slick, pliant snatch. Mark buried his tongue inside her and Alexandra moaned loudly, pumping his cock. Mark slid his tongue in and out of her, marveling at her taste. He also began teasing her little knot, slipping the tip of his finger into her ass, making her groan shamelessly. She wriggled back against him, her glorious behind swaying above his face while her cunt pressed to his mouth. His finger pushed further inside her ass, wiggling about, exploring her. He gently added another and she keen as his fingers stretched her knot, preparing her for his cock. She was gasping now, her body incredibly warm and her skin flush with desire. She lunged his cock back into her mouth again, bobbing up and down hungrily. She pulled herself off his tongue and fingers, squirming down his body until she was straddling his cock. She eagerly slid his throbbing cock inside her cunt, causing him to stiffen and arch his back. She rode up and down lustily on him, while reaching back and pulling her ass cheeks apart. Mark took the hint and began fingering her puckered hole again, making sure it stayed limber and ready to receive him when she was ready. He shuddered as she squeezed herself around him, rippling her cunt wickedly until they were both sweating and shaking. Then she looked back at him and he nodded. She pulled off his cock and spun herself around, now facing him. She put on hand on his chest to steady herself, while the other reached back and took hold of his tool, helping to guide it to her quivering notch. Her felt it press against her ring, slippery with her cunt juices and then popping through readily. Alexandra sighed as she slowly but steadily settled down, taking him inside her back passage. Within seconds, he was buried to the hilt inside her. They both sat still for several seconds, just reveling in the feel of their union. Alexandra began slowly moving up and down, Mark's cock sliding inside her ass. She pulled up until only the head was inside her, then sank back down, taking him all the way back in. Mark's hands moved up to her opulent tits and began caressing and squeezing them. She murmured in pleasure at his touch and clenched her cheeks, squeezing him tightly inside herself. "Yes, I will certainly miss this," she breathed, her eyes closed. "You are so deep inside me." He pushed his hips up and down in rhythm with her movements, his fingers now rolling around her nipples, pinching and tugging on them, the sting sending taboo thrills lancing through her. Her fingernails pressed against the skin of his chest before she leaned down and kissed him heatedly, their tongues tangling. The change in the angle of penetration meant she rocked back and forth along his length now. His hands moved down to cup her ass cheeks again, massaging them in circles and pulling them apart, making her whimper in delight. Their bodies churned and writhed against one another heatedly, mingling in pleasure. Their kissing became more fevered as tingling warmth enveloped them both. Then panted through the kiss, with Mark bracing his legs to thrust himself up deeper inside her while she braced her hands outside his shoulders and pushed back against him, burying his cock deeper in her ass than ever. Sweat shone on their skin as she pulled back from the kiss and started down into his eyes. Mark shook uncontrollably and groaned loudly, pushing up with all his might. Alexandra sighed and sat up tall, sinking onto him as he began pumping his cum into her ass. Her knot clenched greedily, throbbing around him as he filled her tight confines with his essence. She massaged her cunt frantically, her fingers flying over her clit. She bathed his groin with her cum. Colors swirled behind her eyes as the climax permeated her being. She couldn't remember the last time a man had made her cum so hard. Not since; She shuddered and collapsed on top of Mark, trembling. He lay beneath her, his hands tiredly coming to rest on her lower back. They lay in exhausted bliss together, unwilling to move. His cock throbbed in her ass, which gripped him possessively, unwilling to relinquish his prize. He showed no sign of softening, which she was thankful for, since she was deliciously pinned to him. A full hour-hour passed before they stirred. She smiled down at him before kissing him again. She rocked on his stiff cock before slowly pulling off and then laying on her side, pressed to him. She kissed his jaw, whispering words of gratefulness to him. She felt the need to do so, since there was a distinct possibility that these might be his last days alive, given the danger they would face in rescuing Rebecca. Alexandra had sworn to try and help him, and she would do everything she could, so long as it did not compromise her service to the queen. She couldn't tell him exactly how much planning and detail this required as a result, since letting the silly boy know the extreme danger he was about to face might make him balk at a crucial moment and then death was inevitable. She could only hope that his excellent physical health and desperation would see him through. It was all they had. Lisette would be back soon, and it would time to plan their mission. God help us all. Rebecca sat in her chair at the small desk of her bedroom, scowling as she drained her glass of red wine, the fourth she'd had in the past hour. She knew she was drunk, but she was too sullen and angry to feel it. She'd done little except drink since she'd been brought to the Louvre. Except for when she was heading to bed, she was rarely alone, surrounded by women who dressed her as a lady of the court and attempted to train her in her duties. She proved predictably reticent, although she had stopped punching her handlers over the last week or so. It wasn't their fault, after all. A few of them seemed worried about her well-being if she continued to prove so difficult, but Becky was mostly beyond caring. What did she have to look forward to, now? Life amongst these backward, stymphian midgets? She had a distinct feeling she was better off dead. She sighed and opened another bottle, pouring her fifth glass of the evening. Oblivion in wine was all she looked forward to. "Oh, there you are. I was hoping to meet you;” lilted an attractive voice from her door. Facing away from the entrance to her room, Becky looked up into the mirror on the wall, and saw a striking silhouette standing in the entranceway. A tall woman in a burgeoning gown stood there, apparently waiting for permission to enter. Slowly she turned around, hoping her eyes weren't too bleary with wine and grief. She rose from her chair and stood quietly, holding her hands primly in front of herself. She dipped her knees slightly in a curtsey, just in case this was Anne of Austria. The figure came into the room slowly, approaching her. The lamps and candle finally illumined her, and Becky's breath was taken away; the woman was stunning! Golden blonde hair spilled down her back, while her sapphire eyes gleamed with a sensual intelligence. Her face was classically beautiful and her impressive bust sat high inside her dress, the cleavage prominently displayed, as was typical of the court. Becky felt a tingle inside herself as she approached. "You are Rebecca, oui?" the woman asked, her voice glorious in Becky's ears. She stopped in front her and smiled dazzlingly before returning the curtsey. "I am Alexandra D'assaut, one of her majesty's ladies. I am pleased to finally meet you." "I; it is a pleasure to meet you, too, my lady." Becky said falteringly. This woman was more beautiful than she thought possible for someone of this era. "I know you are new to the palace, and it is rumored that the circumstances of your arrival were less than ideal," continued Alexandra. "You are even more beautiful than I have been told, Rebecca, and I sense a great sadness in you." She stepped even closer to Becky, who bit her lip and swallowed slightly. Their tits were almost touching, and she could feel her heart thumping in her chest. "But I say to you now, my friend, despair not and take heart," Alexandra said in a voice barely above a whisper, as if what she was saying was a secret meant only for Rebecca. "The days to come will give you hope." Becky didn't know what this woman meant, but she wanted to believe her. The ache in her heart lessened slightly. They stared into one another's blue eyes quietly, lost in what they saw. And then Alexandra leaned in and pressed her lips to Becky's, kissing her gently. Becky did not retreat from the kiss, although it was a second or two before she could react. She then moaned slightly and returned the kiss. The two women moved closer, tits pressing as they held one another by the arms and continued to kiss. Becky trembled, thrilling to the intimacy they shared. Alexandra pulled back from the kiss, a tempting strand of desire hanging between their lips. They both breathed as they stared, but she finally smiled and delicately used her finger to wipe the strand from their lips. "You will see me again soon, my friend," she cooed, her fingers gently caressing Becky's cheek. "I look forward to our reacquaintance." She backed up two steps and curtseyed gracefully, compelling Becky to hastily do the same, before she turned and glided out of the room, like a vision. Becky unsteadily sat back in her chair and let out a heavy sigh. Her heart was still pounding, and for the first time in weeks, she felt something other than heartache. Becky turned back to her bottle, trying to distract herself from the unexpected throb in her loins. "Your majesty." Alexandra said reverently, her curtsey deep and formal. "I have come to speak with you about a matter of some concern." Sitting in an ornate chair in the lavish boudoir, Anne of Austria, probably the most famous woman in Christendom, smiled at her trusted servant. "You have only just returned from Spain, my dearest Alexandra, and you have yet another matter to bring before me?" Alexandra nodded humbly, her hands in her lap. "Yes, my queen. Though it pains me to do so, I must beg a boon and ask you to trust me." "My trust in you is implicit, Alexandra D'Assaut, and needs no confirmation. Has it ever?" the queen intoned, gesturing for Alexandra to approach her, while waving for her attendants to live them alone. The two women curtseyed and exited quickly. Alexandra knelt in front of Anne and put her hand on the queen's knee in supplication, not looking up. "Your majesty, a beautiful young woman has recently been added to your retinue, and is set to enter your service within the next few weeks." Anne smiled and nodded. "I have not met her, but I am told she is quite possibly the only woman in France who rivals you in beauty. Her name is Rebecca, oui?" "Just so, my queen." Alexandra confirmed. "Do you wish for her to serve directly under you as a lady of the court?" Anne asked, knowing full well that Alexandra also enjoyed the company of woman, not merely men. "She is indeed breathtaking to behold, my queen, but no, that is not my request of you. The girl, Rebecca, do you know how she was brought to Paris?" Anne considered. "The rumor is that she was found by the Cardinal, who was convinced she would make a magnificent addition to my household. She did not come willingly, initially, and has proven somewhat intractable since." Alexandra nodded. "It is as you say, your majesty. But I know something about this woman that not even the Cardinal knows or can begin to guess at." The queen frowned slightly. "She is not a danger to us, is she?" "Not as such, no," Alexandra admitted. "But please accept my word on faith that we have no right to her and must not keep her." Anne tilted her head. "Is she secretly a member of a royal family?"

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. <

In case you missed it or want to hear it again, the replay of the 'War on the Shore' between Queen Anne's and Kent Island on Thursday, October 30th.

As Britain's modern party system frays, we rewind 300+ years to Queen Anne's reign to trace the messy, very human birth of Britain's party politics in conversation with historian George Owers, author of Rage of Party. He charts how religion, war, and raw parliamentary management forged early party politics, as the Whigs and Tories hardened into recognisable parties. Parliament turned from an occasional royal event into a permanent institution, and the job that would later be called “Prime Minister” began to take shape through court craft and parliamentary number-crunching.___ Please help us improve Parliament Matters by completing our Listener Survey. It will only take a few minutes.Go to: https://podcastsurvey.typeform.com/to/QxigqshS ___ The Glorious Revolution triggered one change that proved transformational: Parliament now had to sit, and sit often. The Monarch's continental wars needed constant funding, and constant funding required annual Parliaments. That imperative created a new game: the Crown's ministers had to manage two chambers increasingly organised along party lines, avoiding the dreaded scenario in which a single faction could “force the chamber” and dictate to the Monarch. Out of that pressure cooker evolved new techniques of parliamentary management: whipping, coalition-stitching, patronage-trading. The dark arts of parliamentary arithmetic were born in this crucible.With Queen Anne's death in 1714, the Hanoverian succession froze out suspected Jacobite sympathisers and handed the initiative to the Whigs. Over the following decade, Robert Walpole consolidated that advantage into something new: stable, one-party government under a single commanding figure. His mix of administrative grip, parliamentary mastery, and monarchical confidence is why he is widely counted as Britain's first true Prime Minister.Our conversation lands back in the present with a sobering parallel. If today's House of Commons continues to splinter, tomorrow's successful leaders may look less like top-down disciplinarians and more like Walpole: Commons operators who live in the tea room, count every vote, understand every constituency interest, and build governing majorities from shifting factions rather than from iron party control. It's a story about where our party system came from – and a primer for the coalition politics it may be heading back towards.___

In this Halloween week episode, host Aaron Sagers takes a trip to New Orleans' Garden District to uncover the ghostly secrets of one of the city's most intriguing stays: The Parks-Bowman Mansion, a Victorian-era Airbnb that's said to be haunted by a young girl in a yellow dress. Built in 1884, this Queen Anne-style home is a living museum filled with artifacts, books on folklore and the occult, and maybe a few lingering spirits. Joining Aaron is the mansion's owner, Adrienne Parks, who shares eerie encounters, missing-object mysteries. They talk about the home's distinctive Haunted Bedroom, the stories psychics have told about four resident ghosts, and what it's like hosting guests in a place where the past never seems to rest. If you've ever wanted to sleep in a haunted mansion, sip coffee near a lap pool under live oaks, or stay footsteps from the famous Lafayette Cemetery No. 1,  this is your ghostly travel guide to New Orleans' most spirited Airbnb. _______________________________________________________________ The Talking Strange Show with Aaron Sagers is a weekly paranormal pop culture show featuring celebrity and author interviews, as well as experts in all things strange and unexplained. Talking Strange is a creation of Aaron Sagers with production help from Michael Ahr. Host Aaron Sagers is a paranormal TV host and journalist who appears as host of 28 Days Haunted on Netflix, and on Paranormal Caught On Camera on Travel Channel, Discovery+, and MAX streaming service. If you like Talking Strange, please subscribe, leave a nice review, and share with your friends. The Talking Strange Paranormal Show is available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, and wherever you check out spooky content. Connect with the show community on Facebook as well. Email us with episode ideas, guest suggestions, and spooky stories: Contact@TalkingStrange.com Follow Host Aaron Sagers: Twitter/X Blue Sky Instagram Facebook TikTok Patreon (For Q&As, livestreams, cocktail classes, and movie watches) Until Next Time: Be Kind. Stay Spooky. Keep It Weird. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Lady Annabelle & Kate Two stories from 3 centuries, about one English mansion. By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. An aristocrat has an exciting encounter with a highwayman It is the Year of Our Lord 1760, and the roads leading to and from London be the most perilous for any traveler. Hounslow Heath being a favorite haunt of the highwayman and footpad. Folly indeed, for the unwary to wander alone. And London be a very wicked place, so it hath been told, with whores, beggars and cutpurses on every street corner, The journey of Lady Emily Arundel and her daughter Annabelle had been an uneventful one so far. "And when we arrive at Mablethorpe Hall, be sure to show your appreciation to Lord Barrington-Smythe. His son, William, wishes to seek your hand in marriage," Lady Emily began. "Yes Mother," her daughter replied, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "His estate comprises over a hundred acres of land," "Well, hark at that!" "owns several horses related to Whistlejacket," Annabelle struggled to contain a sigh. "properties in the colonies," "How glorious, Mother." "knows a clutch of fashionable London society in beautiful silk suits and powdered wigs attended by almost equally well appointed valets! Whom are accompanied by gorgeous ladies in even more elaborate wigs and dresses in the latest Paris fashions," The corpulent gentleman sat opposite them in the coach was Lord Bracewell, an old and dear friend of Lady Emily. He grinned at Annabelle, sensing her discomfort. "Your Ladyship, it may please you to know, that we are but a mile from our journey's end." And thank heaven for that, Bracewell thought to himself, now feeling the great need of a chamber pot after drinking an excess of ale. He adjusted his periwig. "Erm, perhaps an opportunity at this gathering for a, f, er, you know, eh?" He gestured something and Lady Emily quickly tapped his leg with her foot. "Shush. Manners, Cuthbert! Later, perhaps," At that moment the coach lurched as it hit a particularly large pothole. This stretch of road was notoriously bad. Suddenly, the coach shuddered to an uncomfortable halt and the horses squealed. Other hooves could be heard alongside. "Stand and deliver!" "Oh dear God!" Lord Bracewell exclaimed, crossing himself. "I fear we are about to be robbed!" The masked stranger yelled at the coachman. "Throw down your weapons my bonny boy, or I'll spill your guts on the road!" There was the sound of muskets hitting the ground. Inside the coach, Lady Emily trembled and uttered a prayer. A robber might take more from a lady than her silver. Annabelle should've been as terrified as her mother, but her wildly-beating heart was more out of excitement. "Perhaps this man may be more merciful than we give him credit for?" "Hush, my dearest daughter. These bandits are without scruples! Pray to the Lord!" A bay-colored horse's head and then its rider appeared outside the window. The figure who leaned down to peer into the window appeared tall, wearing a cape, a three-cornered hat and a black handkerchief across his mouth. Dark brown eyes. "Well now, what fabulous treasure do I find?" The highwayman pointed a flintlock pistol inches from Annabelle's face. He leaned forward and with a move of his wrist he flicked back her hood with the muzzle of the pistol. "Ah. A true English Rose." "Sir, I beg of you, do not harm my daughter," Lady Emily intervened. "She is but eighteen, an innocent child, she has no silver!" "Her fortune awaits at Mablethorpe Hall no doubt. But it is she I am taking, not her money. Come." And he beckoned, the hand still held out to help Annabelle down. "Why, what foul swine would take a young lady's honor? I forbid you to lay one finger on her!" Lady Emily yelled. "Take me in her place." "No Mother, I shall do as he asks," Annabelle interrupted, taking his hand. "My child, no!" "It shall be alright Mother," Annabelle replied. "Your daughter knows her own mind, Madam," the highwayman said. "So now, I must ask you to keep thine own counsel. It would give me no pleasure to shoot your coachman and your gentleman companion." Lady Emily could do nothing but remain in the coach as the mysterious stranger led Annabelle away and into the trees at the side of the road. "Sir. If I may be so bold, may I request a merciful death?" The damsel inquired. This rather caught the highwayman off guard. This young lady intrigued him far more than the other wealthy folks he'd ambushed in the past. How the ladies had screamed like banshees and pleaded for their lives. The simpering, periwigged dandy who'd pissed his breeches when a gun was pointed at his head. Aristocrats. The damned preening lot of them! How he loathed these ruling peacocks. Oh, he hadn't always been a highwayman. Back in his old life he'd fought for king and country. Until good fortune and those he looked up to had betrayed him, He had planned to kidnap the girl and hold her to ransom. Lord Arundel's daughter would command a high price. "You are indeed bold. And, I have no wish to kill you. Your beauty and grace are extremely attractive to young men and it is bound to rouse their passions." Annabelle thought for a moment. "Since I am without silver or jewels, perhaps I could offer you a gift of a different kind? If I were to sufficiently please you, would you let my mother, Lord Bracewell, the coachman and myself go free? I'll do anything, to please you." He blinked. "Even the most unladylike of things? Do you realize what you are saying?" "Sir, I am shortly to be married. It would be most helpful if I were sufficiently skilled in how to pleasure my husband on our wedding night. I have no experience whatsoever in meddling with a man, perhaps if I could, practice somehow." Those less-than-polite urges that had been assaulting her body recently, had now found the perfect outlet. "Will you service my prick like a common whore?" "Yes sir," Annabelle replied, kneeling before him. "Let's see you try then." He kept his pistol in his right hand. "No teeth." Annabelle unbuttoned the highwayman's breeches slowly, her careful motions at odds with the look in her blue eyes and pulled out the large and swollen member. She couldn't help but stare at his impressive length, simultaneously afraid and eager. A man's weapon in all its hardened glory. A thing she'd previously glimpsed from afar, now in her hands. He expected her to hesitate, but to his surprise, she leant forward and ran her tongue up the shaft. With all haste, she opened her mouth, allowing him to move it inside. He began to thrust his cock inside her mouth, holding her head steady. Shocked at herself, Annabelle couldn't deny that as she heard him pant and moan, she felt somehow strangely empowered. She began to suck, working her tongue around his member. The highwayman cursed and blasphemed holding her head firmer as he began to thrust faster. Eventually, he grasped her blonde hair tightly as he groaned, pushing his entire length down her throat and shot his seed into her. She swallowed every drop of it, rather liking the taste. "Impressive," he panted. He'd enjoyed that a lot more than he was willing to admit, but wasn't done with this little rich girl just yet. "Have you had enough yet, Marchioness Whore?" Panting she replied, "I think not. Please." "Please?" He ran his hand under her dress and up her thigh. "Please what?" "Please sir." He fingered her tantalizing wet womanhood. "Louder, if you please." "Ah, Please sir!" He chuckled, and withdrew. She was ready to beg him, but before she could he had her up against a tree, hands tied then the rope wrapped hight around the thick trunk. With swift action he pulled up her skirting and down went her petticoat. Pulling her ass out to meet him, had entered her virgin cunt from behind, feeling the satisfying tightness of a deflowering. She winced and made a squeal similar to those a fox makes when mating. It hurt, but at the same time it felt so good. The highwayman withdrew until just his cockhead was still engaged, leaving Annabelle feeling a little disappointed. But then he pushed back in, all the way and in one go. His animal instinct had kicked in and he had one overriding desire; to plant his seed in this nubile young lady. He picked up speed, plunging deeply each time. Annabelle's own arousal was equally uncontrolled. She knew what was about to happen after her recent voyeurism of Lord Bracewell fucking her mother across a grand piano one afternoon. A more amusing rather an arousing spectacle that brought to mind an overfed pug mounting a chair leg. This time the explosion was even more powerful - and it was accompanied by the highwayman's roar as she felt him fill her passage with his issue. It seemed to go on forever and she felt it leaking out around his shaft and down her legs. "God," he gasped as he finally withdrew from Annabelle. He untied her and helped her stand. "Did I, please you sir?" Annabelle inquired in her refined & well-bred cadence. The highwayman finally removed his face covering. Annabelle was surprised to see a weathered but good-looking man, with cheeks bearing scars. Under his cape, she had glimpsed a torn and darkened coat, that had been, long ago a Redcoat officer's uniform. This man was no stranger to battle, and had a long history that he wasn't prepared to reveal. "You and the others have earned your freedom Your Ladyship." He said with a bow, removing his 3-point hat in the process. Her charms prevailing to ransom her entourage. His siring became her own treasure, preparing her for yet more charming accomplishment in the upcoming matrimonial bedchamber. A Night at Mablethorpe Hall Two millennials Ravished by the ghost of a Redcoat on Halloween. "Don't you just love a Halloween-themed tour and a meal at an English country house?" Kate said to her friend as the minibus they were in pulled into the grounds of Mablethorpe Hall. "Yeah, these old places have a real atmosphere!" Chloe replied. "I've wanted to do something like this for like, forever. Stay overnight in some old place, pretend I'm lady of the manor. I'm so glad I booked this trip." "Kate you are such a history nerd. Lucy Worsley has a rival." "My heart is in the 18th century. Seriously. I just love anything from that time." Kate had often been described as an atypical millennial. They got off the bus and collected their luggage. "Come on, the tour is about to start. Let's dump our luggage. Apparently this place is haunted." Kate smiled. "All good English manors should have at least one ghost! Three hours in a minibus. I'm stiff from sitting so long." They collected their room keys. The Hall had not yet upgraded to the modern electronic key cards. Kate liked that. A traditional brass key was more in keeping with the decor. The receptionist looked worried. "Are you ok with having Room 13?" she asked. "Sure. I'm not superstitious. Don't tell me it's haunted?" "Well, some guests have reported that really strange things happen in that room. And the wi-fi doesn't work in there." Kate just assumed the woman was joking. "In that case, it sounds like my kind of room! Think I can last a few hours without wi-fi." The room was large and splendid. "Seriously? I get a king-size four poster bed?" Kate exclaimed as she gazed in awe. "This is so fantastic! I feel like Queen Anne." The bed looked so inviting, Kate couldn't resist just flopping back on it and spreading out. "Bliss!" she sighed. So much better than the single bed back at her cramped one-bed flat. She closed her eyes, Abruptly, Kate was overcome by a bizarre horniness, and masturbated more than she'd done in a long time. She was getting so wet, so hot and in a rush to give herself the release she so desperately needed. She hitched up her dress and pushed her panties down just a bit, then shoved her right hand down to her cunt. She used her left hand to push up her nightshirt and play with her breasts, pinching her nipples hard, making her moan with pleasure. Kate's right hand was busy with her cunt, alternately slipping down between her cunt lips and inside her hot, wet core, fucking herself with fingers, then pulling out to rub her clit. Back and forth, over and over. She was moaning, fantasizing about being pounded, pounded by an unknown uniformed man. Begging him to fuck her harder and send her climaxing in ecstasy, Kate was screaming. Suddenly her orgasm peaked and hit full force. She stopped all movement with her hands momentarily then began again, at first very fast and hard, then slowing as her orgasm began to subside. She lay there as her breathing slowly returned to normal. "Jesus," she muttered, when she could finally catch her breath again. "What the hell just happened?" The tour had already begun when Kate arrived to join the others. "What took you so long?" Chloe asked. "Thought you'd got lost." "Oh I just, er, oh wow, check out that tour guide!" "Mablethorpe Hall, one of Berkshire's finest country estates back in the day," the tour guide began. He was dressed in early 18th century period costume, with a long wig, frilled cuffs and breeches. "He looks just like John Hurt did in Rob Roy. I love the costumes in that movie." Kate whispered to Chloe, who rolled her eyes. Kate listened intently as every detail of the building's history was described. "But the most fascinating story of Mablethorpe," the guide continued, "is that it's said to be haunted by Major Robert Wolfe, a British Army officer." The was a chorus of "oh!" from the assembled tourists. "The Major is said to return to Mablethorpe every Halloween night, in hope of seeing the woman he once loved." "So the poor sod just wants to get laid?" a middle-aged bloke at the front said, and everyone burst out laughing. The tour guide evidently took this old legend extremely seriously and did not see the funny side. "As I was saying, the Major was in love with Lady Annabelle Barrington-Smythe. That in itself was a scandal, for she was married to William Barrington-Smythe. Rumor has it that the Major was actually a notorious highwayman known as The Fox, " Later, the guests were treated to a Halloween-themed meal in the Hall's grand banqueting room. There were the usual things adorning the tables - Jack o' lanterns, candles everywhere, fake cobwebs. In the background, a string quartet dressed as witches played a medley of Bach and Handel. "Not as spooky as I was expecting," Chloe said as she sampled the pumpkin pie and spiced rum. "I was hoping the lights were going to go out and there'd be a jump-scare or something. Like two years ago when we went to that zombie-themed night at Castle Howard. That was creepy as hell!" "This is nice though. Lots of atmosphere. I like it here. I'd like to, get married in a place like this. Have a historical-themed wedding. That is, if, " "When, Kate. When you meet that ideal guy. And you will. He's out there. Plenty of fish. Steve was a complete areole, but he's ancient history. A bit like this hall." "True!" After the meal concluded, there was more live music and dancing. "Think I'm going to call it a night," Kate said. "Oh you lightweight," Chloe replied, already tipsy. "Aren't you going to stay up for the midnight ghost walk in the grounds? You might see a good-looking highwayman." "No, I'm totally exhausted. Really. You can tell me all about it in the morning." "Fine, whatever. I know you're too afraid!" Kate headed up to her room, surprised at being overcome by such tiredness. She hadn't drunk that much, and it had hardly been an energetic evening. The glorious king-size bed and it's luxurious blankets beckoned, Sometime after midnight, Kate was in a deep slumber, but also in the throes of a nightmare. He's coming, Kate did not dream often, and she was even less often plagued by bad dreams. Several times she stirred, came half awake, and heard herself gasping in panic. Once, drifting up from some threatening vision, she heard her own voice crying out wordlessly in terror, and she realized she was thrashing about in the bed. Suddenly the air was oppressively heavy, hot, thick; as if it were not air at all but a bitter and poisonous gas of some kind. She tried to breathe, couldn't. There was an invisible, crushing weight on her chest. The unmistakable smell of gunpowder. Hoofbeats, many horses. Some kind of battle? A murderous barrage of lightning crashed like a volley of mortar fire, seven or eight tremendous bolts; and woke her from sleep in an instant. "Holy shit." Kate gasped as the storm made her sit upright in bed. She remembered what Chloe had said earlier, about the tour not being scary. Evidently, nature had now delivered a jump, a scare of its own. Already her memory of the nightmare had begun to dissolve; only fragments of it remained with her, and each of those disassociated images was evaporating as if it were a splinter of ice. All she could remember was that she'd been in a battle of some kind, and there had been many men - soldiers on horseback. They'd been pursuing her. Firing guns. As the nightmare receded, Kate became uncomfortably aware of how dark the bedroom was. Before going to sleep she had switched off both the bedside lamps. The curtains were all closed, and only thin blades of moonlight were visible between the gap she'd left. She had the irrational but unshakable feeling that something had followed her up from the dream, there was another presence in the room, oh God! She fumbled for the lamp switch, damn, where was it? Groped around, switched it on. Relief as golden light flooded the room, And then she saw him. Stood at the side of the bed. He was dressed in a Redcoat uniform, just calmly standing there. She gasped, but was so shocked, she couldn't utter a sound for a moment. Then her initial shock turned to anger. Was this part of the Halloween tour? Having re-enactors actually enter the guest bedrooms was completely unacceptable. "What the hell are you doing?" Kate yelled. He seemed taken aback by her reaction. "Who are you?" She demanded once she had caught her breath again. "I beg your pardon, Miss," he began. He removed his hat as he moved closer. "Major Robert Wolfe of His Majesty's 58th Regiment of Foot." "What are you doing here?" He smiled politely. "Where I come from, when a gentleman introduces himself, a lady generally responds in kind." Kate was about to respond with a sarcastic remark, but then she noticed that he was surrounded by a faint, silver glow. Her heart began to pound like crazy. Gathering all her courage, she decided to ask him directly. "Are you, dead?" The Major's face relaxed into a smile. "Oh indeed. Quite, quite dead. As I have been since the last night of October, Seventeen Sixty-five." Kate thought she might faint. "You're a," "A spirit, why yes. An earthbound and restless one, forever drawn to return to Mablethorpe every All Hallow's night. Isn't that quite a tale? I most humbly apologies for subjecting you to my battle experiences earlier, but t'was the only way I was able to wake you." She looked him up and down. He did look a gentleman, to be sure, and a handsome one at that. The signature red coat, crossed with white belts, the brown hair tied back in a queue and neatly curled at the sides, the breeches, knee-high leather boots. A brass gorget glinted round his neck. The Major took one of her pale, slender hands. Kate was surprised to feel solid flesh, rather than some kind of gaseous form, as expected of a ghost. Was he more of a zombie? His hand was as cold as ice. Kate suddenly felt her cheeks flush, under his intense gaze. If all those old stereotypes about ghosts were true, then he could probably see right through her nightie, as well as walk through walls, "Um, why did you wake me?" He was still holding her hand. "Well, I must beg your forgiveness for the manner of this intrusion, my lady. I am honored to make your acquaintance. I was drawn to you from the moment you arrived here. You resemble so much, someone I lost, long ago. For the past 255 years I keep returning here, hoping to find a lady who might be able to satisfy my most urgent of needs," Kate bit her lip, as she recalled that earlier incident in the bedroom when she'd pleasured herself. She'd never been a religious person. But now she was considering sex with a ghost. Was she about to embark on something that might damn her soul? On the other hand, she'd been single for a while, had been craving the touch of a man, "Major, I am willing to help you in any way I can." "You are lovely beyond belief. If I may so bold as to show my appreciation?" He leaned in to kiss the exposed skin of her neck; his lips leaving a hot trail from just below her ear to the center of her throat at the neck of her nightie. Kate closed her eyes and moaned. "A little more, my lady?" "Yes, oh yes," He kissed her and she parted her lips to let him in. The heat of his mouth and his probing tongue sent shivers through her body and she shifted closer to him to feel the heat of his body against hers. She breathed in the faint masculine scent. Major Wolfe pulled back the bedcovers. Then he pushed her nightie up to bare her belly. Leaning her back, he took one hardened nipple with his lips and she gasped. He sucked, pulling with his lips. At Kate's soft moan, he drew in a shuddering breath. "Touch me," he pleaded hoarsely, bringing her hand to the waistband of his breeches, and then guiding it down to cup the bulge in his groin. She explored eagerly, desperately, feeling his full erection through his breeches and groping lower to feel his balls. Oh lord, she was trembling so much with excitement. Unfastening the fall front flap, she pulled out his engorged organ. She couldn't believe this was happening. She was groping the cock of a dead man! And she was so wet. Kate took his hot length in her hand, feeling it, and stroked it up and down as she licked and sucked at the tip. The Major was generously endowed, and she felt herself blush. "Here," he said, moving her unoccupied hand to cup his balls. "Don't be shy, my lady." Gently squeezing his balls, she slowly took his throbbing cock into her mouth. He moaned as she deep-throated him. "Oh my lady," he groaned. Then Major Wolfe clambered on the bed and put his head between Kate's thighs. The tip of his tongue brushed her clitoris. She jumped and willed him to move faster. At first his tongue explored her wet folds, but he replaced his tongue with gentle fingers that probed and rubbed and finally penetrated. Kate's wetness was dripping down her arse crack and he rubbed it around with his fingers. The sensation made her squirm and she placed her feet on his shoulders, and when he finally sucked on her clit, she lifted herself up to meet his tongue. None of her previous partners had ever thrilled her as much as this. His face was flushed and damp and his expression was one of pure longing. "My lady, I want you so much. "He whispered and pushed up into her. "Ah!" Kate gasped, more from surprise than the stretching sensation. "Are you alright?" he said, wrapping one arm around her and holding her close. She gave her answer by kissing him. He insinuated his hand between their bodies and fingered her clit as he began to move inside her. Holy shit, those fingers, he knew exactly how to pleasure a woman for maximum effect! For a moment Kate thought of the fact he'd been waiting over two and a half centuries for this! He stroked her again with wet, slippery fingers and thrust steadily up into her. The combination awakened something within that she'd never felt before. Kate dug her hands into his back and tried to speak, but couldn't form words. The Redcoat's large cock filled her completely, stretching her walls to the limit. He was groaning and fucking her like a wild beast. "Come for me, my lady," Major Wolfe whispered in her ear, and she cried out. "Come for me, release for me. Let us spend together," he pleaded, and she did, her head falling back, her whole body shaking and clenching with the intensity of orgasm. He followed immediately; in an instant their coupling reached its conclusion and she was filled to the brim with his seed, Kate didn't want to let him go. They lay joined for what seemed like a long time. Eventually, Major Wolfe gently withdrew his softening member from his mortal lover. "Dawn approaches, my lady." "No, Major, stay, please," she whispered, tiredness overcoming her. "Rest now, my love. I must go." Kate tried to say something, but sleep was rapidly overcoming her. "We shall meet again. Soon, my love," was the last she heard. The sound of someone knocking on the door finally woke Kate. She squinted at the curtains. Bright sunlight was streaming through the gap. "Kate, are you awake?" Chloe's muffled voice could be heard. Fumbling for a dressing gown, Kate staggered out of bed and opened the door. "There you are! Were you in a coma or something? It's 11 o'clock! You've missed breakfast and the minibus will be here in half an hour!" "Oh God, sorry, I forgot to set my phone's alarm clock. I, er, I'll be down as quick as I can." "Are you ok? You look a bit peaky." "Just crashed out. How was the midnight ghost walk?" "Midnight wash-out you mean. Did you see that storm last night? It was unreal. So much lightning. Thought a freaking nuclear bomb had gone off!" "Oh. Guess I missed that." "Jeez, you were in a coma. That thunder could've wakened the dead!" "Maybe it did," Kate wondered. Alone in the room again, Kate returned to the bed. Her mind was a tumult of emotions. "It wasn't all a dream, was it? The product of a Halloween-crazed imagination? It couldn't have been, " Suddenly she spotted something under the pillow. Eyes widening, she picked it up. The brass gorget. "He was real!" She clutched it to her chest. And hoped she wouldn't have to wait until next Halloween before she saw Major Robert Wolfe again. By Blacksheep for Literotica

Lady Annabelle & Kate Two stories from 3 centuries, about one English mansion. By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. An aristocrat has an exciting encounter with a highwayman It is the Year of Our Lord 1760, and the roads leading to and from London be the most perilous for any traveler. Hounslow Heath being a favorite haunt of the highwayman and footpad. Folly indeed, for the unwary to wander alone. And London be a very wicked place, so it hath been told, with whores, beggars and cutpurses on every street corner, The journey of Lady Emily Arundel and her daughter Annabelle had been an uneventful one so far. "And when we arrive at Mablethorpe Hall, be sure to show your appreciation to Lord Barrington-Smythe. His son, William, wishes to seek your hand in marriage," Lady Emily began. "Yes Mother," her daughter replied, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "His estate comprises over a hundred acres of land," "Well, hark at that!" "owns several horses related to Whistlejacket," Annabelle struggled to contain a sigh. "properties in the colonies," "How glorious, Mother." "knows a clutch of fashionable London society in beautiful silk suits and powdered wigs attended by almost equally well appointed valets! Whom are accompanied by gorgeous ladies in even more elaborate wigs and dresses in the latest Paris fashions," The corpulent gentleman sat opposite them in the coach was Lord Bracewell, an old and dear friend of Lady Emily. He grinned at Annabelle, sensing her discomfort. "Your Ladyship, it may please you to know, that we are but a mile from our journey's end." And thank heaven for that, Bracewell thought to himself, now feeling the great need of a chamber pot after drinking an excess of ale. He adjusted his periwig. "Erm, perhaps an opportunity at this gathering for a, f, er, you know, eh?" He gestured something and Lady Emily quickly tapped his leg with her foot. "Shush. Manners, Cuthbert! Later, perhaps," At that moment the coach lurched as it hit a particularly large pothole. This stretch of road was notoriously bad. Suddenly, the coach shuddered to an uncomfortable halt and the horses squealed. Other hooves could be heard alongside. "Stand and deliver!" "Oh dear God!" Lord Bracewell exclaimed, crossing himself. "I fear we are about to be robbed!" The masked stranger yelled at the coachman. "Throw down your weapons my bonny boy, or I'll spill your guts on the road!" There was the sound of muskets hitting the ground. Inside the coach, Lady Emily trembled and uttered a prayer. A robber might take more from a lady than her silver. Annabelle should've been as terrified as her mother, but her wildly-beating heart was more out of excitement. "Perhaps this man may be more merciful than we give him credit for?" "Hush, my dearest daughter. These bandits are without scruples! Pray to the Lord!" A bay-colored horse's head and then its rider appeared outside the window. The figure who leaned down to peer into the window appeared tall, wearing a cape, a three-cornered hat and a black handkerchief across his mouth. Dark brown eyes. "Well now, what fabulous treasure do I find?" The highwayman pointed a flintlock pistol inches from Annabelle's face. He leaned forward and with a move of his wrist he flicked back her hood with the muzzle of the pistol. "Ah. A true English Rose." "Sir, I beg of you, do not harm my daughter," Lady Emily intervened. "She is but eighteen, an innocent child, she has no silver!" "Her fortune awaits at Mablethorpe Hall no doubt. But it is she I am taking, not her money. Come." And he beckoned, the hand still held out to help Annabelle down. "Why, what foul swine would take a young lady's honor? I forbid you to lay one finger on her!" Lady Emily yelled. "Take me in her place." "No Mother, I shall do as he asks," Annabelle interrupted, taking his hand. "My child, no!" "It shall be alright Mother," Annabelle replied. "Your daughter knows her own mind, Madam," the highwayman said. "So now, I must ask you to keep thine own counsel. It would give me no pleasure to shoot your coachman and your gentleman companion." Lady Emily could do nothing but remain in the coach as the mysterious stranger led Annabelle away and into the trees at the side of the road. "Sir. If I may be so bold, may I request a merciful death?" The damsel inquired. This rather caught the highwayman off guard. This young lady intrigued him far more than the other wealthy folks he'd ambushed in the past. How the ladies had screamed like banshees and pleaded for their lives. The simpering, periwigged dandy who'd pissed his breeches when a gun was pointed at his head. Aristocrats. The damned preening lot of them! How he loathed these ruling peacocks. Oh, he hadn't always been a highwayman. Back in his old life he'd fought for king and country. Until good fortune and those he looked up to had betrayed him, He had planned to kidnap the girl and hold her to ransom. Lord Arundel's daughter would command a high price. "You are indeed bold. And, I have no wish to kill you. Your beauty and grace are extremely attractive to young men and it is bound to rouse their passions." Annabelle thought for a moment. "Since I am without silver or jewels, perhaps I could offer you a gift of a different kind? If I were to sufficiently please you, would you let my mother, Lord Bracewell, the coachman and myself go free? I'll do anything, to please you." He blinked. "Even the most unladylike of things? Do you realize what you are saying?" "Sir, I am shortly to be married. It would be most helpful if I were sufficiently skilled in how to pleasure my husband on our wedding night. I have no experience whatsoever in meddling with a man, perhaps if I could, practice somehow." Those less-than-polite urges that had been assaulting her body recently, had now found the perfect outlet. "Will you service my prick like a common whore?" "Yes sir," Annabelle replied, kneeling before him. "Let's see you try then." He kept his pistol in his right hand. "No teeth." Annabelle unbuttoned the highwayman's breeches slowly, her careful motions at odds with the look in her blue eyes and pulled out the large and swollen member. She couldn't help but stare at his impressive length, simultaneously afraid and eager. A man's weapon in all its hardened glory. A thing she'd previously glimpsed from afar, now in her hands. He expected her to hesitate, but to his surprise, she leant forward and ran her tongue up the shaft. With all haste, she opened her mouth, allowing him to move it inside. He began to thrust his cock inside her mouth, holding her head steady. Shocked at herself, Annabelle couldn't deny that as she heard him pant and moan, she felt somehow strangely empowered. She began to suck, working her tongue around his member. The highwayman cursed and blasphemed holding her head firmer as he began to thrust faster. Eventually, he grasped her blonde hair tightly as he groaned, pushing his entire length down her throat and shot his seed into her. She swallowed every drop of it, rather liking the taste. "Impressive," he panted. He'd enjoyed that a lot more than he was willing to admit, but wasn't done with this little rich girl just yet. "Have you had enough yet, Marchioness Whore?" Panting she replied, "I think not. Please." "Please?" He ran his hand under her dress and up her thigh. "Please what?" "Please sir." He fingered her tantalizing wet womanhood. "Louder, if you please." "Ah, Please sir!" He chuckled, and withdrew. She was ready to beg him, but before she could he had her up against a tree, hands tied then the rope wrapped hight around the thick trunk. With swift action he pulled up her skirting and down went her petticoat. Pulling her ass out to meet him, had entered her virgin cunt from behind, feeling the satisfying tightness of a deflowering. She winced and made a squeal similar to those a fox makes when mating. It hurt, but at the same time it felt so good. The highwayman withdrew until just his cockhead was still engaged, leaving Annabelle feeling a little disappointed. But then he pushed back in, all the way and in one go. His animal instinct had kicked in and he had one overriding desire; to plant his seed in this nubile young lady. He picked up speed, plunging deeply each time. Annabelle's own arousal was equally uncontrolled. She knew what was about to happen after her recent voyeurism of Lord Bracewell fucking her mother across a grand piano one afternoon. A more amusing rather an arousing spectacle that brought to mind an overfed pug mounting a chair leg. This time the explosion was even more powerful - and it was accompanied by the highwayman's roar as she felt him fill her passage with his issue. It seemed to go on forever and she felt it leaking out around his shaft and down her legs. "God," he gasped as he finally withdrew from Annabelle. He untied her and helped her stand. "Did I, please you sir?" Annabelle inquired in her refined & well-bred cadence. The highwayman finally removed his face covering. Annabelle was surprised to see a weathered but good-looking man, with cheeks bearing scars. Under his cape, she had glimpsed a torn and darkened coat, that had been, long ago a Redcoat officer's uniform. This man was no stranger to battle, and had a long history that he wasn't prepared to reveal. "You and the others have earned your freedom Your Ladyship." He said with a bow, removing his 3-point hat in the process. Her charms prevailing to ransom her entourage. His siring became her own treasure, preparing her for yet more charming accomplishment in the upcoming matrimonial bedchamber. A Night at Mablethorpe Hall Two millennials Ravished by the ghost of a Redcoat on Halloween. "Don't you just love a Halloween-themed tour and a meal at an English country house?" Kate said to her friend as the minibus they were in pulled into the grounds of Mablethorpe Hall. "Yeah, these old places have a real atmosphere!" Chloe replied. "I've wanted to do something like this for like, forever. Stay overnight in some old place, pretend I'm lady of the manor. I'm so glad I booked this trip." "Kate you are such a history nerd. Lucy Worsley has a rival." "My heart is in the 18th century. Seriously. I just love anything from that time." Kate had often been described as an atypical millennial. They got off the bus and collected their luggage. "Come on, the tour is about to start. Let's dump our luggage. Apparently this place is haunted." Kate smiled. "All good English manors should have at least one ghost! Three hours in a minibus. I'm stiff from sitting so long." They collected their room keys. The Hall had not yet upgraded to the modern electronic key cards. Kate liked that. A traditional brass key was more in keeping with the decor. The receptionist looked worried. "Are you ok with having Room 13?" she asked. "Sure. I'm not superstitious. Don't tell me it's haunted?" "Well, some guests have reported that really strange things happen in that room. And the wi-fi doesn't work in there." Kate just assumed the woman was joking. "In that case, it sounds like my kind of room! Think I can last a few hours without wi-fi." The room was large and splendid. "Seriously? I get a king-size four poster bed?" Kate exclaimed as she gazed in awe. "This is so fantastic! I feel like Queen Anne." The bed looked so inviting, Kate couldn't resist just flopping back on it and spreading out. "Bliss!" she sighed. So much better than the single bed back at her cramped one-bed flat. She closed her eyes, Abruptly, Kate was overcome by a bizarre horniness, and masturbated more than she'd done in a long time. She was getting so wet, so hot and in a rush to give herself the release she so desperately needed. She hitched up her dress and pushed her panties down just a bit, then shoved her right hand down to her cunt. She used her left hand to push up her nightshirt and play with her breasts, pinching her nipples hard, making her moan with pleasure. Kate's right hand was busy with her cunt, alternately slipping down between her cunt lips and inside her hot, wet core, fucking herself with fingers, then pulling out to rub her clit. Back and forth, over and over. She was moaning, fantasizing about being pounded, pounded by an unknown uniformed man. Begging him to fuck her harder and send her climaxing in ecstasy, Kate was screaming. Suddenly her orgasm peaked and hit full force. She stopped all movement with her hands momentarily then began again, at first very fast and hard, then slowing as her orgasm began to subside. She lay there as her breathing slowly returned to normal. "Jesus," she muttered, when she could finally catch her breath again. "What the hell just happened?" The tour had already begun when Kate arrived to join the others. "What took you so long?" Chloe asked. "Thought you'd got lost." "Oh I just, er, oh wow, check out that tour guide!" "Mablethorpe Hall, one of Berkshire's finest country estates back in the day," the tour guide began. He was dressed in early 18th century period costume, with a long wig, frilled cuffs and breeches. "He looks just like John Hurt did in Rob Roy. I love the costumes in that movie." Kate whispered to Chloe, who rolled her eyes. Kate listened intently as every detail of the building's history was described. "But the most fascinating story of Mablethorpe," the guide continued, "is that it's said to be haunted by Major Robert Wolfe, a British Army officer." The was a chorus of "oh!" from the assembled tourists. "The Major is said to return to Mablethorpe every Halloween night, in hope of seeing the woman he once loved." "So the poor sod just wants to get laid?" a middle-aged bloke at the front said, and everyone burst out laughing. The tour guide evidently took this old legend extremely seriously and did not see the funny side. "As I was saying, the Major was in love with Lady Annabelle Barrington-Smythe. That in itself was a scandal, for she was married to William Barrington-Smythe. Rumor has it that the Major was actually a notorious highwayman known as The Fox, " Later, the guests were treated to a Halloween-themed meal in the Hall's grand banqueting room. There were the usual things adorning the tables - Jack o' lanterns, candles everywhere, fake cobwebs. In the background, a string quartet dressed as witches played a medley of Bach and Handel. "Not as spooky as I was expecting," Chloe said as she sampled the pumpkin pie and spiced rum. "I was hoping the lights were going to go out and there'd be a jump-scare or something. Like two years ago when we went to that zombie-themed night at Castle Howard. That was creepy as hell!" "This is nice though. Lots of atmosphere. I like it here. I'd like to, get married in a place like this. Have a historical-themed wedding. That is, if, " "When, Kate. When you meet that ideal guy. And you will. He's out there. Plenty of fish. Steve was a complete areole, but he's ancient history. A bit like this hall." "True!" After the meal concluded, there was more live music and dancing. "Think I'm going to call it a night," Kate said. "Oh you lightweight," Chloe replied, already tipsy. "Aren't you going to stay up for the midnight ghost walk in the grounds? You might see a good-looking highwayman." "No, I'm totally exhausted. Really. You can tell me all about it in the morning." "Fine, whatever. I know you're too afraid!" Kate headed up to her room, surprised at being overcome by such tiredness. She hadn't drunk that much, and it had hardly been an energetic evening. The glorious king-size bed and it's luxurious blankets beckoned, Sometime after midnight, Kate was in a deep slumber, but also in the throes of a nightmare. He's coming, Kate did not dream often, and she was even less often plagued by bad dreams. Several times she stirred, came half awake, and heard herself gasping in panic. Once, drifting up from some threatening vision, she heard her own voice crying out wordlessly in terror, and she realized she was thrashing about in the bed. Suddenly the air was oppressively heavy, hot, thick; as if it were not air at all but a bitter and poisonous gas of some kind. She tried to breathe, couldn't. There was an invisible, crushing weight on her chest. The unmistakable smell of gunpowder. Hoofbeats, many horses. Some kind of battle? A murderous barrage of lightning crashed like a volley of mortar fire, seven or eight tremendous bolts; and woke her from sleep in an instant. "Holy shit." Kate gasped as the storm made her sit upright in bed. She remembered what Chloe had said earlier, about the tour not being scary. Evidently, nature had now delivered a jump, a scare of its own. Already her memory of the nightmare had begun to dissolve; only fragments of it remained with her, and each of those disassociated images was evaporating as if it were a splinter of ice. All she could remember was that she'd been in a battle of some kind, and there had been many men - soldiers on horseback. They'd been pursuing her. Firing guns. As the nightmare receded, Kate became uncomfortably aware of how dark the bedroom was. Before going to sleep she had switched off both the bedside lamps. The curtains were all closed, and only thin blades of moonlight were visible between the gap she'd left. She had the irrational but unshakable feeling that something had followed her up from the dream, there was another presence in the room, oh God! She fumbled for the lamp switch, damn, where was it? Groped around, switched it on. Relief as golden light flooded the room, And then she saw him. Stood at the side of the bed. He was dressed in a Redcoat uniform, just calmly standing there. She gasped, but was so shocked, she couldn't utter a sound for a moment. Then her initial shock turned to anger. Was this part of the Halloween tour? Having re-enactors actually enter the guest bedrooms was completely unacceptable. "What the hell are you doing?" Kate yelled. He seemed taken aback by her reaction. "Who are you?" She demanded once she had caught her breath again. "I beg your pardon, Miss," he began. He removed his hat as he moved closer. "Major Robert Wolfe of His Majesty's 58th Regiment of Foot." "What are you doing here?" He smiled politely. "Where I come from, when a gentleman introduces himself, a lady generally responds in kind." Kate was about to respond with a sarcastic remark, but then she noticed that he was surrounded by a faint, silver glow. Her heart began to pound like crazy. Gathering all her courage, she decided to ask him directly. "Are you, dead?" The Major's face relaxed into a smile. "Oh indeed. Quite, quite dead. As I have been since the last night of October, Seventeen Sixty-five." Kate thought she might faint. "You're a," "A spirit, why yes. An earthbound and restless one, forever drawn to return to Mablethorpe every All Hallow's night. Isn't that quite a tale? I most humbly apologies for subjecting you to my battle experiences earlier, but t'was the only way I was able to wake you." She looked him up and down. He did look a gentleman, to be sure, and a handsome one at that. The signature red coat, crossed with white belts, the brown hair tied back in a queue and neatly curled at the sides, the breeches, knee-high leather boots. A brass gorget glinted round his neck. The Major took one of her pale, slender hands. Kate was surprised to feel solid flesh, rather than some kind of gaseous form, as expected of a ghost. Was he more of a zombie? His hand was as cold as ice. Kate suddenly felt her cheeks flush, under his intense gaze. If all those old stereotypes about ghosts were true, then he could probably see right through her nightie, as well as walk through walls, "Um, why did you wake me?" He was still holding her hand. "Well, I must beg your forgiveness for the manner of this intrusion, my lady. I am honored to make your acquaintance. I was drawn to you from the moment you arrived here. You resemble so much, someone I lost, long ago. For the past 255 years I keep returning here, hoping to find a lady who might be able to satisfy my most urgent of needs," Kate bit her lip, as she recalled that earlier incident in the bedroom when she'd pleasured herself. She'd never been a religious person. But now she was considering sex with a ghost. Was she about to embark on something that might damn her soul? On the other hand, she'd been single for a while, had been craving the touch of a man, "Major, I am willing to help you in any way I can." "You are lovely beyond belief. If I may so bold as to show my appreciation?" He leaned in to kiss the exposed skin of her neck; his lips leaving a hot trail from just below her ear to the center of her throat at the neck of her nightie. Kate closed her eyes and moaned. "A little more, my lady?" "Yes, oh yes," He kissed her and she parted her lips to let him in. The heat of his mouth and his probing tongue sent shivers through her body and she shifted closer to him to feel the heat of his body against hers. She breathed in the faint masculine scent. Major Wolfe pulled back the bedcovers. Then he pushed her nightie up to bare her belly. Leaning her back, he took one hardened nipple with his lips and she gasped. He sucked, pulling with his lips. At Kate's soft moan, he drew in a shuddering breath. "Touch me," he pleaded hoarsely, bringing her hand to the waistband of his breeches, and then guiding it down to cup the bulge in his groin. She explored eagerly, desperately, feeling his full erection through his breeches and groping lower to feel his balls. Oh lord, she was trembling so much with excitement. Unfastening the fall front flap, she pulled out his engorged organ. She couldn't believe this was happening. She was groping the cock of a dead man! And she was so wet. Kate took his hot length in her hand, feeling it, and stroked it up and down as she licked and sucked at the tip. The Major was generously endowed, and she felt herself blush. "Here," he said, moving her unoccupied hand to cup his balls. "Don't be shy, my lady." Gently squeezing his balls, she slowly took his throbbing cock into her mouth. He moaned as she deep-throated him. "Oh my lady," he groaned. Then Major Wolfe clambered on the bed and put his head between Kate's thighs. The tip of his tongue brushed her clitoris. She jumped and willed him to move faster. At first his tongue explored her wet folds, but he replaced his tongue with gentle fingers that probed and rubbed and finally penetrated. Kate's wetness was dripping down her arse crack and he rubbed it around with his fingers. The sensation made her squirm and she placed her feet on his shoulders, and when he finally sucked on her clit, she lifted herself up to meet his tongue. None of her previous partners had ever thrilled her as much as this. His face was flushed and damp and his expression was one of pure longing. "My lady, I want you so much. "He whispered and pushed up into her. "Ah!" Kate gasped, more from surprise than the stretching sensation. "Are you alright?" he said, wrapping one arm around her and holding her close. She gave her answer by kissing him. He insinuated his hand between their bodies and fingered her clit as he began to move inside her. Holy shit, those fingers, he knew exactly how to pleasure a woman for maximum effect! For a moment Kate thought of the fact he'd been waiting over two and a half centuries for this! He stroked her again with wet, slippery fingers and thrust steadily up into her. The combination awakened something within that she'd never felt before. Kate dug her hands into his back and tried to speak, but couldn't form words. The Redcoat's large cock filled her completely, stretching her walls to the limit. He was groaning and fucking her like a wild beast. "Come for me, my lady," Major Wolfe whispered in her ear, and she cried out. "Come for me, release for me. Let us spend together," he pleaded, and she did, her head falling back, her whole body shaking and clenching with the intensity of orgasm. He followed immediately; in an instant their coupling reached its conclusion and she was filled to the brim with his seed, Kate didn't want to let him go. They lay joined for what seemed like a long time. Eventually, Major Wolfe gently withdrew his softening member from his mortal lover. "Dawn approaches, my lady." "No, Major, stay, please," she whispered, tiredness overcoming her. "Rest now, my love. I must go." Kate tried to say something, but sleep was rapidly overcoming her. "We shall meet again. Soon, my love," was the last she heard. The sound of someone knocking on the door finally woke Kate. She squinted at the curtains. Bright sunlight was streaming through the gap. "Kate, are you awake?" Chloe's muffled voice could be heard. Fumbling for a dressing gown, Kate staggered out of bed and opened the door. "There you are! Were you in a coma or something? It's 11 o'clock! You've missed breakfast and the minibus will be here in half an hour!" "Oh God, sorry, I forgot to set my phone's alarm clock. I, er, I'll be down as quick as I can." "Are you ok? You look a bit peaky." "Just crashed out. How was the midnight ghost walk?" "Midnight wash-out you mean. Did you see that storm last night? It was unreal. So much lightning. Thought a freaking nuclear bomb had gone off!" "Oh. Guess I missed that." "Jeez, you were in a coma. That thunder could've wakened the dead!" "Maybe it did," Kate wondered. Alone in the room again, Kate returned to the bed. Her mind was a tumult of emotions. "It wasn't all a dream, was it? The product of a Halloween-crazed imagination? It couldn't have been, " Suddenly she spotted something under the pillow. Eyes widening, she picked it up. The brass gorget. "He was real!" She clutched it to her chest. And hoped she wouldn't have to wait until next Halloween before she saw Major Robert Wolfe again. By Blacksheep for Literotica

In this episode of Home in Progress, host Dan Hansen explores the rich and intricate world of Victorian architecture—a collection of styles that flourished during Queen Victoria's reign from 1837 to 1901.Hansen unpacks the key visual hallmarks of the period—turrets, spindles, gingerbread trim, bay windows, and ornate color schemes—and the social and technological forces that made them possible. He traces how the Industrial Revolution transformed craftsmanship, allowing mass production to bring beauty and ornamentation within reach of the middle class.Listeners will hear the dramatic story of the Great Fire of 1834 that destroyed the Palace of Westminster and sparked a design competition that launched one of the most influential collaborations in architectural history: Charles Barry and Augustus Pugin. Hansen explains how their Gothic Revival masterpiece reshaped British identity and inspired the exuberant architectural language that became synonymous with the Victorian era.The episode also highlights the philosophical contributions of thinkers like John Ruskin and Pugin, who saw beauty and ornament as moral imperatives—an idea that spread from cathedrals to cottages. Hansen then follows the movement's evolution into ever-richer styles like High Victorian Gothic and Queen Anne, before charting its decline under the influence of William Morris and the Arts and Crafts movement.Finally, the episode reflects on the lasting legacy of Victorian architecture—its optimism, craftsmanship, and celebration of individuality—and concludes with a look at Benjamin Moore's 2026 Color of the Year and a special listener contest.Episode Timeline00:00 — Introduction and Overview00:07 — Victorian Architecture: An Era of Styles01:52 — The Great Fire of 1834: A Turning Point02:54 — The Industrial Revolution and Its Impact04:57 — The Rise of the Middle Class and Architectural Changes07:36 — The Gothic Revival and Its Champions12:38 — John Ruskin: Beauty as a Moral Good17:14 — From Philosophy to Painted Ladies18:24 — Ruskin's Influence and High Victorian Gothic19:45 — Ornamentation and the Machine Age20:44 — Queen Anne: Victorian Eclecticism at Its Peak23:39 — Inside the Victorian Home: Layers of Luxury27:54 — The Decline of Victorian Design32:24 — The Lasting Legacy33:59 — Benjamin Moore's 2026 Color of the Year and Contest

As a boy, I loved reading stories about pirates. How those adventures spurred my imagination! Now I live in an area where one of the most infamous of those pirates—Blackbeard (real name: Edward Teach)—had his headquarters. Shipwrecked in the waters off the coast here is Blackbeard’s ship, the Queen Anne’s Revenge. We can easily romanticize the wrecks and the high-sea adventures of history. The apostle Paul, however, wrote about a very different kind of shipwreck that provides us with a caution and an exhortation. In his first letter to Timothy, Paul warned his son in the faith to “[hold] on to faith and a good conscience, which some have rejected and so have suffered shipwreck with regard to the faith” (1 Timothy 1:19). What is this “shipwreck”? Two men, Hymenaeus and Alexander, had in some devastating way departed from the true faith, and the apostle turned them over to Satan “to be taught not to blaspheme” (v. 20). Paul desired them to repent, but the consequences of their actions were dire. Our faith isn’t static, nor can it exist in a vacuum. We must actively nurture and cultivate our relationship with God to grow strong and healthy in faith and good conscience. May we join with other believers, yield to God’s Spirit, and allow Him to work in us. We can avoid shipwreck.

National Geographic Explorer Dr. Lisa Briggs, an underwater archaeologist, archaeological scientist and documentary filmmaker is best known for her work excavating shipwrecks. Dr. Briggs discusses her scientific analysis on artifacts recovered from some of the world's most important underwater archaeological sites including Blackbeard's flagship, the Queen Anne's Revenge. Then biologist and author Karen Lloyd breaks down her firsthand account of the hunt for life beneath Earth's surface.

Oct. 20, 2025: In this episode of MedCast, Dr. Stephen Rockower sits down with Dr. Eric Wargotz, a pathologist from Queen Anne's County and the MedChi President for 2025-2026. The two discuss Dr. Wargotz' fascinating path to medicine, including a stint as a working actor, and his interest in politics. Join Dr. Rockower to learn more about Dr. Wargotz' interest in food insecurity and access to food and other areas of focus for his year as president of MedChi.

Laura Marie Rivera is running for Seattle School Board District 4, which covers Queen Anne, Belltown, South Lake Union, Downtown to I-5, Pioneer Square area, and parts of Fremont and Wallingford (including Lincoln High School). Her opponent is Joe Mizrahi. This interview is part of our 2025 Seattle School Board Candidate series. Every Seattle voter will vote on four school board races in the general election: Districts 2, 4, 5, and 7.About Laura Marie RiveraRecently completed Doctor of Education (defended dissertation during campaign)Two decades as educator, nonprofit professionalFounded nonprofit on motherhood and leadership (first-of-its-kind study with nearly 1,000 responses)Parent of four: two recent SPS graduates, twins in elementary schoolMember of four unions throughout careerWent to school in San Juan Unified School District, Sacramento, CaliforniaKey PositionsFirst Priority:Restore second school board meeting every monthMore public engagement and better communication with staffOn School Board Role:Directors need to be more flexible beyond policy-settingShould look at individual students and how they're reaching goalsBoard should facilitate responses when systems aren't working for studentsOn Superintendent Search:Need someone with experience managing large budget and deficitWant actual education experience to understand classroom impactBoard needs to improve relationship with superintendent's office and publicConcerned current board hasn't set up next superintendent for successOn District Structure:Flexibility is keyFront-line educators and staff should make decisions (they see kids daily)All kids don't need same things—they're individualsCan't set one approach for 50,000 students at district policy levelOn When Goals Aren't Met:Goals are modest; would like higher goalsMust step down to individual level to understand what each child needsCould be classroom support, breakfast, undiagnosed learning disabilityEach individual child needs to meet standards for best chance at successOn Community Engagement:SPS has talked about engagement and communication for entire decadeReducing public engagement was a mistakeNeed to be thoughtful about what to do with community inputTask force recommendations should not be ignoredOther Positions:Strongly supports SPS non-discrimination policy (though notes it doesn't always work in practice)Sees board role as both trustee and representativeBelieves budget is a moral documentEducational Leader She Admires: Gina Davis (founder of Gina Davis Institute on Gender in Media)Looking Forward to Working With: Liza Rankin (though they don't see eye to eye on many things)Important InfoBallots mailed: October 15th | Due: November 4thAlso listen to: Interviews with all District 2, 4, 5, and 7 candidates at rainydayrecess.orgLaura Marie's campaign: https://lauramarie4seattleschools.com/Podcast info: rainydayrecess.org | hello@rainydayrecess.orgSupport the showContact us at hello@rainydayrecess.org.Rainy Day Recess music by Lester Mayo, logo by Cheryl Jenrow.

Joe Mizrahi is running for Seattle School Board District 4, which covers Queen Anne, Fremont, Belltown, and South Lake Union. His opponent is Laura Marie Rivera. This interview is part of our 2025 Seattle School Board Candidate series. Every Seattle voter will vote on four school board races in the general election: Districts 2, 4, 5, and 7.About Joe MizrahiSecretary Treasurer of UFCW 3000 (represents 60,000 frontline workers)Currently serving as District 4 school board director (appointed)Parent of three daughters in Seattle Public SchoolsCo-chair of $2 billion pension fundServes on multiple boardsHas testified to state legislature annually since 2008Key PositionsFirst Priority:Bring back committee structures for board membersNeed deeper dives on issuesOn School Board Role:Hold district accountable to voters' values and strategic visionApprove budget with eye toward sustainability for next decadeBe connective tissue with general publicOn Superintendent Search:Need someone who can hold system accountableStrong communication skills and ability to draw in communityBrings strong vision for districtOn District Structure:Worst choice is operating halfway between systemsLikes autonomy for different program choicesNeeds centralization for support and standardsEvery building should have its own feelOn When Goals Aren't Met:Hold superintendent accountable through evaluationsSet meeting agendas to make staff explain issuesCan reject plans and ask for better onesBe careful not to over-rely on standardized testsOn Community Engagement:Use board position to bring issues to meetings and agendaExample: forced district to address waitlists and enrollmentJob is to carry community concerns, not tell educators how to do their jobsOther Positions:Strongly supports special education inclusion and dual language immersionSees board role as both trustee and representativeEducational Leader He Admires: His mother (special education teacher who fought for inclusion)Most Aligned With: School Board President Gina ToppImportant InfoBallots mailed: October 15th | Due: November 4thAlso listen to: Interviews with all District 2, 4, 5, and 7 candidates at rainydayrecess.orgJoe's campaign: joe4schools.comPodcast info: rainydayrecess.org | hello@rainydayrecess.orgSupport the showContact us at hello@rainydayrecess.org.Rainy Day Recess music by Lester Mayo, logo by Cheryl Jenrow.

This week on the Conduit Street Podcast, Michael Sanderson...goes solo? Just kidding! He does set the stage, however, for a special recording from St. Mary's County, where MACo President and Queen Anne's County Commissioner Jack Wilson joins Michael for a briefing with St. Mary's County leaders to talk all things local governance. It's a lively, conversation that hits the big levers counties are wrestling with right now: the State's recent cost shifts (from tens of millions in teacher pensions to new assessment admin bills and even wrongful-conviction settlements), housing reform prospects that could realign local permitting and narrow public-input windows, and energy siting fights where Public Service Commission preemption leaves counties with a “weak hand” on large solar projects. They also touch on the federal shutdown's local ripple effects. If you want a real-world snapshot of budgets, Blueprint pressures, housing, and energy, all through a county lens, this field episode is for you.Follow us on Socials!MACo on TwitterMACo on Facebook

In this episode, Kathleen and Rochana introduce the 12 Windows of Plant Perception, a multi-dimensional approach to plant study developed by the Flower Essence Society. It's a significant component of our Flower Essence Practitioner Training Program, and helps us to cultivate a living, holistic understanding of a plant and its healing signatures. We discuss our experience with this approach and some of the "windows" explored during our in-depth study of the Chicory and Queen Anne's Lace flower essence plants. Learn about the objective and subjective practice of plant observation, how plant stories help cultures maintain stable information over time, and be encouraged to try it yourself!   

Violent incidents against trans women in Seattle have increased in the past year. They’ve happened to people while strolling through Queen Anne in daylight, and to people on Capitol Hill hanging out with friends. And this is all happening against the backdrop of anti-trans rhetoric and policy from the federal government. We’ll hear from Stranger News Editor Vivian McCall. We can only make Seattle Now because listeners support us. Tap here to make a gift and keep Seattle Now in your feed. Got questions about local news or story ideas to share? We want to hear from you! Email us at seattlenow@kuow.org, leave us a voicemail at (206) 616-6746 or leave us feedback online.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Book Title: The Blazing World: A New History of Revolutionary England, 1603-1689 Author: Jonathan HealeyHeadline: New Model Army and the Regicide of Charles I Parliament reorganized its forces into the New Model Army, led by Sir Thomas Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell, promoting based on effectiveness, not social status. After their decisive victory at Naseby in 1645, King Charles Isurrendered to the Scots in 1646. Following further conflict, Henry Ireton pushed for the king's trial, leading to Charles I's public execution in 1649, a shocking moment for many. 1600 QUEEN ANNE, KING JAMES, WALES, LATER CHARLES I

Send us a textOn our season finale to our 4th blockbuster year in the podcast space,  we're going to answer the burning question on everyone's mind these days: What's the deal with Richard Lester? In order to find the answer, we're digging into the notable works from his four decades in show business, starting with 1964's A Hard Day's Night starring John Lennon Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr aka the Beatles along with Wilfred Brambell, Norman Rossington, John Junkin and Victor Spinetti then onto 1973 &74's The Three & Four Musketeers starring Oliver Reed, Michael York, Richard Chamberlain, Frank Finlay, Raquel Welch, Faye Dunaway, Christopher Lee & Charleton Heston and topped off with 1983's Superman III starring Christopher Reeve, Richard Pryor, Jackie Cooper, Marc McClure, Annette O'Toole, Robert Vaugh, Annie Ross, Pamela Stevenson and Margot Kidder.My guests this week are the ever-reliable Roseanne Caputi and fresh from the sweltering fields of the Sacramento Valley, camera in hand and twice the photobug that Jimmy Olsen ever could be, Gordon Alex Robertson. Before we bumble and stumble and pratfall our way into the madcap, muddled mind of Mr. Lester, the synopses: A Hard Day's Night follows the Fab Four during a 24-hour period as they attempt to escape the responsibilities and madness of fame, their managers --who need them to just stay put for a television appearance-- and the misdeeds of Paul's ornery grandfather who keeps throwing a monkey wrench in everyone's plans. The Three & Four Musketeers adapts the classic Alexandre Dumas swashbuckler, following the adventures and exploits of D'artagnan a young swordsman who travels from Gascony to Paris to join the King's Royal Musketeers as his father did before him. D'artagnan soon joins forces with three of the most colorful and dynamic musketeers, the friends Athos, Porthos and Aramis when the scheming Cardinal Richelieu's Elite Guards attempt to arrest them all for dueling. From there it's non-stop intrigue, war and tragedy as D'artagnan and his three cohorts try to rescue Queen Anne and her dress maker, the lovely Lady Constance, from the dastardly machinations of Count Rochefort and Milady di Winter, two of the Cardinal's most dangerous and effective spies. Superman III features The Man of Steel pitted against Ross Webster, a ruthless business tycoon, who enlists a bumbling computer programmer Gus Gorman to try and control the global coffee and oil markets.  Thwarted by Superman at every turn, Ross and Gus build a living supercomputer to stop him for once and for all. But did Gus go too far?Did Richard Lester go to far? Is he  an unsung genius, a Hollywood hack or stuck somewhere in the messy middle?  Find out!Watch the video podcast on Youtube:https://youtu.be/oQWBL_l0I_c 

Queen Anne's County Commissioners Meeting - August 26, 2025

The President & CEO shares with us how she chooses locations for new stores, why there's not a veggie burger on the menu, and if we will see seating back in the Queen Anne store. We also cover the unique challenges of leading a family business as a member of the third generation, how the minimum wage increase impacted the business, and how she feels it is not the right time for the proposed B&O tax change.Top Stories:1. New(ish) Dick's Drive-In location2. Smartsheet and First Fed CEO step down3. Changes in labor market for tech grads4. Opinion: B&O TaxAdditional article referenced: PSBJ article about changes in labor marketOp-ed by Rachel SmithMy friend's businesses:Hairdresser: Charlie at Beehive Salon in Queen AnneMassage Therapist: Kat Murray in EastlakeAbout guest Jasmine Donovan - President & CEO, Dick's Drive-InJasmine is the granddaughter of founder Dick Spady. She grew up in the family business working on and off since 16, officially joining the executive team in 2013 and taking over as President from her father, in 2019. She is also a Navy veteran with degrees in math, chemistry, and business. Jasmine serves on the boards of the Seattle Metropolitan Chamber of Commerce, the Rainier Club, and Evergreen Operating Companies.About host Rachel Horgan:Rachel is an independent event producer, emcee and entrepreneur. She worked for the Business Journal for 5 years as their Director of Events interviewing business leaders on stage before launching the weekly podcast. She earned her communication degree from the University of San Diego. Contact:Email: info@theweeklyseattle.comInstagram: @theweeklyseattleWebsite: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠www.theweeklyseattle.com

Malcolm D. Purkey Born to Cockney Jewish immigrant parents who were entertainers, Malcolm Purkey  is an actor, director, playwright, influential drama lecturer, and theatre administrator.  He holds a BA and Honours from University of Witwatersrand, Johannesburg, an MA in Theatre Studies from the State University New York,  is a Fulbright Scholar and  he is a Graduate of the British Film School. His career and contribution to theatre is monumental. It started in the mad bohemian world of Adam Leslie. While still a student he designed and developed The Box and The Nunnery Theatres for Wits and then managed the influential Workshop 71. He surrounded himself with a group of artistic academic friends who met in a house in Junction Avenue, Parktown.  They formed the Junction Avenue Theatre Company that created politically conscious plays that had an influence on theatre in South Africa.Malcolm took a post lecturing drama at Wits (University of Witwatersrand) becoming Head of Department and an associate Professor. He was asked to assist the Market Theatre through a diffiult period and  turned it around. Malcolm has been a force in the theatre community and has had an enormous impact on hundreds of students. Elizabeth Howard, Producer and Host of the Short Fuse Podcast Elizabeth Howard is the producer and host of the Short Fuse Podcast, conversations with artists, writers, musicians, and others whose art reveals our communities through their lens and stirs us to seek change. Her articles related to communication and marketing have appeared in European Communications, Investor Relations, Law Firm Marketing & Profit Report, Communication World, The Strategist, and the New York Law Journal, among others.  Her books include Queen Anne's Lace and Wild Blackberry Pie, (Thornwillow Press, 2011), A Day with Bonefish Joe (David Godine, 2015) and Ned O'Gorman:  A Glance Back (Easton Studio Press, 2016). She leads reading groups at the Center for Fiction in Brooklyn, New York.  @elizh24 on InstagramThe Arts Fuse The Arts Fuse was established in June, 2007 as a curated, independent online arts magazine dedicated to publishing in-depth criticism, along with high quality previews, interviews, and commentaries. The publication's over 70 freelance critics (many of them with decades of experience) cover dance, film, food, literature, music, television, theater, video games, and visual arts. There is a robust readership for arts coverage that believes that culture matters.The goal of The Arts Fuse is to treat the arts seriously, to write about them in the same way that other publications cover politics, sports, and business — with professionalism, thoughtfulness, and considerable attitude. The magazine's motto, from Jonathan Swift, sums up our editorial stance: “Use the point of your pen … not the feather.” The Arts Fuse has published over 7,000 articles and receives 60,000+ visits a month. This year they are celebrating their 5th birthday, a milestone for a small, independent magazine dedicated to covering the arts.Why The Arts Fuse? Its birth was a reaction to the declining arts coverage in newspapers, magazines, radio, and television. When the number of news pages shrink in the mainstream media, attention is paid. But the continual whittling down of arts coverage has been passed over in silence. Editor-in-Chief Bill Marx started the magazine to preserve the craft of professional arts criticism online, while also looking at new and innovative ways to evolve the cultural conversation and bring together critics, readers, and artists.Serious criticism, by talking about the strengths, weaknesses, and contributions of the arts, plays an indispensable role in the cultural ecology. Smaller, newer organizations need a response. When they are ignored as they are by the mainstream media, they fail to gain an audience. And without an audience, they fold, further weakening the entire ecosystem.Assist The Arts Fuse in their  mission: to keep arts and culture hale and hearty through dialogue rather than marketing.SUBSCRIBE to the weekly e-newsletterLIKE The Arts Fuse on Facebook, FOLLOW  on TwitterHELP  The Arts Fuse thrive by providing underwriting for the magazine. Even better — make a tax deductible donation. 

Queen Anne's County Commissioners Meeting - August 12, 2025

Today we have a very special episode: we have the writers and co-producer of the new musical The Queen is Mad about the rise and fall of Juana of Castile, the elder sister to Katharine of Aragon and daughter to Ferdinand and Isabella, the great Catholic monarchs.To make things even more special, we have acclaimed historian Heather R Darsie on the call as well to tell us what really happened back in 16th century Europe.See the Musical:https://www.edfringe.com/tickets/whats-on/the-queen-is-madFind the Musical:https://pineconeperformance.com/the-queen-is-mad/https://www.instagram.com/thequeenismadmusicalHear the Musical:https://open.spotify.com/album/66QRuwxkyD3lXWu9rXF49BFind Heather:https://maidensandmanuscripts.com/https://www.instagram.com/hdarsiehistoryRead Heather:https://www.amberley-books.com/katharine-of-aragon-spanish-princess.htmlhttps://www.pen-and-sword.co.uk/Stuart-Spouses-A-Compendium-of-Consorts-from-James-I-of-Scotland-to-Queen-Anne-of-Great-Britain-Hardback/p/51167/aid/1238https://www.amberley-books.com/anna-duchess-of-cleves-9781398103269.htmlhttps://www.amberley-books.com/children-of-the-house-of-cleves.htmlhttps://www.amberley-books.com/if-any-person-will-meddle-of-my-cause.htmlFind Baroque:https://www.ifitaintbaroquepodcast.art/https://www.reignoflondon.com/https://www.instagram.com/ifitaintbaroquepodcast/Support Baroque:https://www.patreon.com/c/Ifitaintbaroquepodcast/https://buymeacoffee.com/ifitaintbaroqueIf you would like to join Natalie on her walking tours in London with Reign of London:Saxons to Stuarts:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/london-the-royal-british-kings-and-queens-walking-tour-t426011/Tudors to Windsors:https://www.getyourguide.com/london-l57/royal-london-georgian-and-windsor-monarchs-walking-tour-t481355 .For more history fodder please visit https://www.ifitaintbaroquepodcast.art/ and https://www.reignoflondon.com/ Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

To get live links to the music we play and resources we offer, visit www.WOSPodcast.comThis show includes the following songs:Bennet LeMaster - Nancy Sinatra FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYShelley Q - The Stand FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYRed Leaf Hill - Northern Wind FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYHannah Acfield - I Got You FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYQueen Anne - Real Enough FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYMaebh - If I Had A Daughter FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYChloe Sofia - Pulse FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYAngie Twelve - Shade of blue FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYStella Matteoni - One More Spring in LA FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYMary Hatley - Ricochet FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYTonights Sunshine - Urite Girl FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYSophie Gibson - Temperamental FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYZara Vespera - Save The World FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYLayla Spade - Float FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYCeara Cavalieri - OMG FOLLOW ON SPOTIFYFor Music Biz Resources Visit www.FEMusician.com and www.ProfitableMusician.comVisit our Sponsor Profitable Musician Newsletter at profitablemusician.com/joinVisit our Sponsor Bethany Rae Worship at bethanyraeworships.comVisit our Sponsor Jennifer Harper at jenniferharpermusic.comVisit www.wosradio.com for more details and to submit music to our review board for consideration.Visit our resources for Indie Artists: https://www.wosradio.com/resourcesBecome more Profitable in just 3 minutes per day. http://profitablemusician.com/join

CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW HUNTS THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH!! Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides Full Reaction Watch Along:   / thereelrejects   Visit https://huel.com/rejects to get 15% off your order Now that they've conquered Gore Verbinski's original Trilogy, Tara & Aaron are BACK to give their Pirates of the Caribbean on Stranger Tides Reaction, Recap, Commentary, Analysis & Full Movie Spoiler Review!! Tara Erickson & Aaron Alexander set sail once again in this Reaction & Review for Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (2011), the fourth installment in the swashbuckling Disney adventure series! Directed by Rob Marshall (Chicago, Into the Woods), this high-seas epic sees Johnny Depp (Edward Scissorhands, Fantastic Beasts) return as the iconic Captain Jack Sparrow, who finds himself entangled in a dangerous quest to find the mythical Fountain of Youth. Along the way, he reunites with the mysterious and cunning Angelica, played by Penélope Cruz (Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Vanilla Sky), who may or may not be the daughter of the infamous pirate Blackbeard, portrayed by Ian McShane (Deadwood, John Wick). Geoffrey Rush (Shine, The King's Speech) also returns as the scheming Captain Hector Barbossa, now a privateer in service to the British crown. The film features thrilling action sequences including a mutiny aboard the Queen Anne's Revenge, eerie mermaid attacks, and a treacherous jungle journey toward the Fountain. Other cast members include Kevin McNally as loyal first mate Gibbs, Sam Claflin (The Hunger Games, Enola Holmes) as a missionary entangled in a forbidden romance, and Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword) as the ethereal mermaid Syrena. With supernatural twists, swordfights, and Jack Sparrow's signature wit, On Stranger Tides offers a standalone adventure filled with peril, betrayal, and pirate legend. Follow Aaron On Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/therealaaronalexander/?hl=en Follow Tara Erickson: Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@TaraErickson Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/taraerickson/ Twitter:  https://twitter.com/thetaraerickson Intense Suspense by Audionautix is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/... Support The Channel By Getting Some REEL REJECTS Apparel! https://www.rejectnationshop.com/ Follow Us On Socials:  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reelrejects/  Tik-Tok: https://www.tiktok.com/@reelrejects?lang=en Twitter: https://x.com/reelrejects Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheReelRejects/ Music Used In Ad:  Hat the Jazz by Twin Musicom is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Happy Alley by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/... POWERED BY @GFUEL Visit https://gfuel.ly/3wD5Ygo and use code REJECTNATION for 20% off select tubs!! Head Editor: https://www.instagram.com/praperhq/?hl=en Co-Editor: Greg Alba Co-Editor: John Humphrey Music In Video: Airport Lounge - Disco Ultralounge by Kevin MacLeod is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Ask Us A QUESTION On CAMEO: https://www.cameo.com/thereelrejects Follow TheReelRejects On FACEBOOK, TWITTER, & INSTAGRAM:  FB:  https://www.facebook.com/TheReelRejects/ INSTAGRAM:  https://www.instagram.com/reelrejects/ TWITTER:  https://twitter.com/thereelrejects Follow GREG ON INSTAGRAM & TWITTER: INSTAGRAM:  https://www.instagram.com/thegregalba/ TWITTER:  https://twitter.com/thegregalba Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Queen Anne Hotel in San Francisco has been a fixture of the Pacific Heights neighborhood for more than 100 years. As the name reveals, this is an old Victorian styled house - a big one! Before it was the boutique hotel it is today, it was a school for girls run by headmistress Mary Lake. Mary loved the place and seems to have returned in the afterlife. She is one of the reasons many feel that this is the most haunted hotel in San Francisco. Join us for the history and hauntings of the Queen Anne Hotel. The Moment in Oddity features the Smooth Head Blobfish and This Month in History features the world's largest floating dock.   Check out the website: http://historygoesbump.com Show notes can be found here: https://historygoesbump.blogspot.com/2025/07/hgb-ep-595-queen-anne-hotel.html    Become an Executive Producer: http://patreon.com/historygoesbump Music used in this episode:  Main Theme: Lurking in the Dark by Muse Music with Groove Studios (Moment in Oddity) "Vanishing" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ (This Month in History) "In Your Arms" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Outro Music: Happy Fun Punk by Muse Music with Groove Studios Other music used in this episode: Music: Silent Movie 46 by Sascha Ende Link: https://ende.app/en/song/12464-silent-movie-46

====Sign up for the Ron & Don Newsletter to get more information at⁠⁠www.ronanddonradio.com⁠⁠ (http://www.ronanddonradio.com/)====To schedule a Ron & Don Sit Down to talk about your Real Estate journey, go to⁠⁠www.ronanddonsitdown.com⁠⁠ (http://www.ronanddonsitdown.com/) ====Thanks to everyone that has become an Individual Sponsor of the Ron & Don Show. If you'd like to learn more about how that works:Just click the link and enter your amount at⁠⁠https://glow.fm/ronanddonradio/⁠⁠⁠⁠RonandDonRadio.com⁠⁠ (https://anchor.fm/dashboard/episode/ea5ecu/metadata/RonandDonRadio.com)Episodes are free and drop on Monday's , Wednesday's & Thursday's and a bonus Real Estate Only episode on Fridays.From Seattle's own radio personalities, Ron Upshaw and Don O'Neill.Connect with us on Facebook⁠⁠Ron's Facebook Page⁠⁠ (https://www.facebook.com/ron.upshaw/)⁠⁠Don's Facebook Page⁠⁠ (https://www.facebook.com/theronanddonshow

The Conduit Street Podcast shifts its focus to county best practices. Here, hosts Michael Sanderson and Karrington Anderson welcome Beverly Churchill from Queen Anne's County and Stuart Sutley from Bolton to talk about a groundbreaking advance in employee health care. Queen Anne's County, and others across Maryland, are using dedicated health centers to provide better care, improved customer experience, and reduced costs as they support their essential public employees. Learn the basics about this innovative approach in a timely and important conversation.

Tucked in the heart of Norman, Oklahoma, the Moore-Lindsay House stands as a proud monument to Victorian beauty—and possibly something far more chilling. Built in 1899 by William and Agnes Moore, this ornate Queen Anne-style home has witnessed over a century of life, death, and transformation. But have all its residents truly left? Today, as the house operates as a museum, strange occurrences continue to spark one common question from visitors: Is the Moore-Lindsay House haunted? Join us as we explore the eerie energy and untold stories still echoing through the halls of this historic—and possibly haunted—Oklahoma landmark. This is Part Two of our conversation. On this episode, a conversation about the Moore-Lindsay Historical House Museum with Museum Manager Amy Pence. For more information, follow them on Facebook or visit their website at normanmuseum.org. Become a Premium Supporter of The Grave Talks Through Apple Podcasts or Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/thegravetalks) There, you will get: Access to every episode of our show, AD-FREE! Access to every episode of our show before everyone else! Other EXCLUSIVE supporter perks and more!

RUNDOWN Mitch and Hotshot Scott kick off Episode 340 with an emotional twist — Hotshot is moving from Snoqualmie to Sammamish, leaving behind years of memories, including the house where his daughter was raised. The two reflect on the sentimentality of leaving home and Scott's surprising inability to cry… except maybe after a World Series loss. The conversation pivots to the 340 area code — the U.S. Virgin Islands — leading to a trivia-filled celebration of Kelsey Grammer, Tim Duncan, Sugar Ray Seales, and Dave Matthews. Mitch connects the dots between obscure sports facts and Seattle's ties to musical legends, including a memorable story about Dave Matthews' tour bus incident. Steve Phillips joins to break down Cal Raleigh's MVP case. Raleigh's home run pace, elite defense, and the grueling Seattle travel schedule all contribute to a narrative that may rival Aaron Judge's candidacy — if Cal keeps up the pace and the M's stay in the playoff hunt. Hughes Norton stops by to revisit his rollercoaster ride as Tiger Woods' original super-agent. From landing the record-setting Nike and Titleist deals to being fired over the phone with no closure, Norton shares never-before-heard behind-the-scenes drama from his memoir Rainmaker. Mariners No-Table with Brady Farkas and Joe Doyle returns. The guys react to a rollercoaster road trip, Joe's doomsday texts, and Cal's MVP surge. They debate whether Julio Rodriguez can be “just a singles hitter,” how much value Randy Arozarena has left, and what it'll take to reach the postseason.   GUESTS Steve Phillips | MLB Network & SiriusXM Analyst Hughes Norton | Author, Rainmaker Brady Farkas | Mariners No-Table, Host, Refuse to Lose Podcast Joe Doyle | Mariners No-Table, MLB Draft & Mariners Analyst   TABLE OF CONTENTS 0:00 | Mitch grills Hotshot on taking time off to move. The sentimental farewell to his longtime home sparks a discussion on fatherhood, loss, and whether Hotshot has ever cried. 8:00 | Area Code Trivia: Mitch dives into the legacy of St. Croix and the U.S. Virgin Islands — home to Tim Duncan, Sugar Ray Seales, and Dave Matthews (plus a trumpet player with serious Gorge credentials). 24:59 | Mitch and Hotshot honor Dave Parker's Hall of Fame–worthy legacy after his death and argue that the Mariners, led by breakout star Brian Woo, are poised for a strong second half despite early pitching struggles. 43:13 | Guest: Steve Phillips. The former Mets GM breaks down Cal Raleigh's historic season, the MVP race with Aaron Judge, and why the All-Star break might exhaust Cal more than help him. 1:02:26 | Guest: Hughes Norton. The former super-agent recounts how he helped launch Tiger Woods' pro 1:33:55 | Guest: Mariners No-Table with Brady Farkas & Joe Doyle. The guys relive a 6–4 road trip, Cal's Home Run Derby prospects, Julio's struggles, and debate whether 84–86 wins will be enough for a playoff spot. 2:09:00 | Other Stuff Segment: Mitch revisits old sideline war stories, and calls back the glory days of Queen Anne's Spaghetti Factory.

Tucked in the heart of Norman, Oklahoma, the Moore-Lindsay House stands as a proud monument to Victorian beauty—and possibly something far more chilling. Built in 1899 by William and Agnes Moore, this ornate Queen Anne-style home has witnessed over a century of life, death, and transformation. But have all its residents truly left? Today, as the house operates as a museum, strange occurrences continue to spark one common question from visitors: Is the Moore-Lindsay House haunted? Join us as we explore the eerie energy and untold stories still echoing through the halls of this historic—and possibly haunted—Oklahoma landmark. On this episode, a conversation about the Moore-Lindsay Historical House Museum with Museum Manager Amy Pence. For more information, follow them on Facebook or visit their website at normanmuseum.org. Become a Premium Supporter of The Grave Talks Through Apple Podcasts or Patreon (http://www.patreon.com/thegravetalks) There, you will get: Access to every episode of our show, AD-FREE! Access to every episode of our show before everyone else! Other EXCLUSIVE supporter perks and more!

RUNDOWN Mitch and Hotshot open Episode 339 by revisiting one of Seattle sports fans' oldest wounds — the Sonics' departure — while Oklahoma City dances in the NBA Finals. That leads to a spirited deep dive into Boston's music history, with Hotshot tested on everything from Aerosmith to New Edition. Mitch drops a classic Sonics tale: the time he painted his face in silent protest on a live Sonics pay-per-view broadcast. Pete Carroll makes a podcast appearance — not here, but on Get Got with Marshawn Lynch and Michael Robinson — and throws light shade at Earl Thomas while diplomatically reflecting on his Seahawks departure. Marshawn lets him cook. Mariners No-Table, Brady Farkas reacts to a 30-run explosion in Chicago, marvels at Cal Raleigh's historic pace, and debates whether Cal should skip the Home Run Derby to stay fresh. JP Crawford's All-Star case gets real, Solano suddenly looks irreplaceable, and the lineup finally shows life from top to bottom. Jason Puckett returns for the KJ-Aren'ts, where Mitch discovers Puckett's age through a Thunder hate-watch article and recounts legendary sideline reporting drama during the 1996 NCAA Final Four.   GUESTS KJ-Aren'ts; Jason Puckett | Former KJR Host Mariners No-Table; Brady Farkas | Host, Refuse to Lose Podcast   TABLE OF CONTENTS 0:00 | Sonics PTSD flares up as Thunder hit the Finals. Mitch challenges Hotshot to a musical trivia duel centered on Boston legends. 10:45 | Aerosmith, Boston, New Kids, New Edition, The Cars — and a surprise Dropkick Murphys finale. Mitch makes the case that Boston might outrank Seattle in music legacy. 21:03 | Pete Carroll joins Get Got and casually dunks on Earl Thomas. Marshawn just lets it ride. Pete also explains how control and roster vision led to his Seahawks exit. 29:24 | Mitch declares Cal's historic tear the most electrifying run by a Mariners hitter since Griffey '94 — name-dropping Mantle, Bench, and A-Rod along the way. 49:23 | Guest: Mariners No-Table with Brady Farkas. The Mariners explode for 30 runs in Chicago, Cal Raleigh enters historic territory, and Mitch argues he should skip the Derby to stay fresh. Farkas sees the other side. 1:22:03 | Guest KJ-Aren'ts Part 1: Mitch finds out Puckett's age by reading The Athletic, where Puckett is quoted from a Thunder hate-watch at Mike's Chili Parlor. 1:41:12 | Guest KJ-Aren'ts Part 2: Mitch tells the story of being banned from the Final Four — then shows up on live TV in full Syracuse face paint. Kevin and Marcus nearly lose it on air. 2:03:54 | Other Stuff Segment: Mitch confesses to miscrediting “The Twist” and recycling a decade-old John Olerud story, while Scott gleefully mocks his declining fastball. They also swap nostalgic war stories — Scott streaming Game 7 from a spaghetti joint, Mitch sideline-reporting with Syracuse face paint — before spiraling into Rick Ocasek's death, landline superiority, and the glory days of Queen Anne's Spaghetti Factory.

A Seattle man tried to gouge a Queen Anne business owner’s eyes out. Washington cherry growers are having a hard time finding people to pick the fruit. The LA Dodgers are claiming that they denied ICE agents access to the stadium, but ICE denies they were even there. // LongForm: GUEST: The manager of a business in Seattle’s Belltown neighborhood on the dangerous conditions she has to deal with on her block everyday. // Quick Hit: Actor Mark Ruffalo had some choice words for Trump at a ‘No Kings’ rally. Harris Faulkner takes Whoopi Goldberg to task for comparing the United States to Iran.

Tom in for Nick and we start with the news that legendary trainer Peter Easterby passed away yesterday at the age of 95. HIs younger brother Mick joins the show to bring us some wonderful memories of the time he shared with Peter and we are also joined by racing pundit and Peter's friend Jim McGrath who reflects on his incredible achievements over 46 years. Lee Mottershead is today's key contributor and he adds his voice to the debate of how to revive the Derby. Lee then brings us some Royal Ascot news as Economics misses the PrinceOf Wales's Stakes and he also asks whether Falakeyah will indeed go to this weekend's Diane now Lake Victoria misses the Coronation. We are also joined by Richard Hannon who gives us the latest on Rosallion ahead of the Queen Anne as well as a few others to look forward to. Timeform's Dan Barber gives a Derby / Oaks view and also puts some figures on the career of Peter Easterby. Trainer Willie McCreery is along to tell us about the situation at the Curragh where a gallop has closed due to travellers moving in next-door. Plus it's Tuesday so we go around the bloodstock world with Weatherbys and hear from Juddmonte's Simon Mockridge.

This week, we'll uncover the stories of four different shipwrecks. I'll start with an ancient Roman ship found near the Greek island of Antikythera which sank around 60 to 70 BC with mind blowing treasures on board. Next, I'll talk about the sinking of King Henry VIII's flagship, the Mary Rose, in 1545 and it's rediscovery twice in the 400 years since. Then we'll move on to my personal favorite, the Queen Anne's Revenge, which was intentionally run aground by the infamous pirate Blackbeard in 1718 and rediscovered in 1996. Finally, the HMS Victory which sank in the English Channel in 1744, one of the largest and most mysterious naval tragedies in British history. We'll take a closer look at the artifacts that came off of these wrecks and what they can teach us about the people once onboard. And, we'll dive into some difficult ethical questions. What is a shipwreck really? A museum? A treasure chest? A graveyard? And should that affect how we handle these discoveries?Support the show! Join the Patreon (patreon.com/historyfixpodcast)Buy some merchBuy Me a CoffeeVenmo @Shea-LaFountaineSources: Scientific American "An Ancient Greek Astronomical Calculation Machine Reveals New Secrets"Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution "Antikythera Shipwreck"Royal Museums Greenwich "Mary Rose"maryrose.org "The Mary Rose in History"Museum Crush "11 Tudor Treasures Recovered from the Wreck of the Mary Rose"Queen Anne's Revenge Project "Discovery of the Shipwreck"Wikipedia "Queen Anne's Revenge"BBC "HMS Victory: The English Channel's 'Abandoned Shipwreck'"The Guardian "Wreckage of HMS Victory's Predecessor Discovered in Channel After 265 Years"Time Magazine "The HMS Victory, Famed Shipwreck, Is Found"Shoot me a message!

Why do we know so little about Anne Neville, despite her significant role in history?Anne Neville led a life shaped by power, tragedy, and shifting allegiances. Daughter of the formidable Warwick the Kingmaker, Anne was widowed at 15 before marrying Richard, Duke of Gloucester - later Richard III. Crowned alongside him in a dazzling coronation, Anne's reign was brief and marred by heartbreak, especially after the death of her only son.Matt Lewis reflects on Anne Neville's life of resilience and sorrow - and the political and social dynamics of Medieval women in power - with historian Joanna Laynesmith.MoreA Voice for Richard IIIhttps://open.spotify.com/episode/0KhcblgXYqBTqfMAaAG18uThe Wars of the Roses: Originshttps://open.spotify.com/episode/3DHhrD90zRN0IppdA29QXkGone Medieval is presented by Matt Lewis. It was edited by Amy Haddow, the producer is Rob Weinberg. The senior producer is Anne-Marie Luff.All music used is courtesy of Epidemic Sounds.Gone Medieval is a History Hit podcast.Sign up to History Hit for hundreds of hours of original documentaries, with a new release every week and ad-free podcasts. Sign up at https://www.historyhit.com/subscribe. You can take part in our listener survey here: https://insights.historyhit.com/history-hit-podcast-always-on

Mike Bradley talks with Zach Davis a day after the news came out that he is stepping down as Kent Island Head Football Coach after one season and taking a Vice Principal's job at Queen Anne's County High School.

On the 2nd of May 1536 Anne Boleyn, queen of England, was summoned to present herself before her husbands small council at Greenwich Palace. Presenting herself, the queen was told that she was arrested on charges of adultery and high treason and was to accompany the men by barge along the river Thames to the tower of London. Anne's downfall, and those loyal to her, was shockingly fast and carried out with staggeringly swift efficiency. Despite her shock, Anne agreed to join the men, not knowing that within two weeks, she would be dead.  

We are two-thirds of the way through our tour of actors who starred in Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar during its initial run! This time, Edmond O’Brien is our titular investigator with the action-packed expense account in a story entitled “The Queen Anne Pistols Matter.” This episode sees Dollar hired to accompany the delivery of a […]

Nelson Aspen is an award winning journalist, author and co-host of the popular “Titanic Talk”and appears regularly on GB News as a political commentator.  His book, "Your Home is Your Castle: Live Like an A-Lister in a Post Pandemic World" debuted at #1 on Amazon's Home Remodel & Renovation charts and his popular, steamy semi-autobiographical series "Dancing Between the Raindrops" will soon see another sequel to complete the trilogy.  He lives in New York City and you may visit him at www.nelsonaspen.com. Award-winning journalist and author Nelson Aspen announces the release of his new historical fantasy, "Kindred Spirits: A Titanic Tale" (March 18, 2025 / $15.99).  Inspired by his own metaphysical connections to a lost TITANIC passenger, Aspen will celebrate the publication as part of the 113th anniversary commemoration during "Titanic Weekend," aboard the world famous RMS Queen Mary in Long Beach, California (April 12 - 14). Author, Nelson Aspen, will be joined by other Titanic authors, historians, experts and collectors.     Nelson's TITANIC knowledge has made him a sought after speaker on the subject for TV, radio, print and online outlets. As a showbiz presenter in addition to his Titanic expertise, Nelson is often engaged for commentary & analysis on any aspect of Titanic-mania and will be a special guest speaker on January's maiden voyage of Cunard's most anticipated new luxury liner, QUEEN ANNE. Inspired by the author's personal experiences, "Kindred Spirits: A Titanic Tale" spans time between the night in 1912 when Titanic met her tragic fate and the hedonistic party scene of modern Manhattan.  This is a story of love and redemption denied to gay men by the constraints of the Edwardian world into which they were born.  From rubbing elbows with the "Unsinkable" Molly Brown, John Jacob Astor and other iconic figures from the so-called Ship of Dreams to metropolitan globe-trotting in an effort to unravel the mystery of their metaphysical connection, our two heroes are Kindred Spirits.   Want to watch: YouTube Meisterkhan Pod (Please Subscribe)

The life of this week's final Scriblerian, Thomas Parnell, rounds out the picture of the entire Scriblerus club as a fraternity of wildly brilliant men all carrying some great pain or wound. Some of them clearly write out of that wound, while others seem to write in spite of it. Parnell straddles the line, and today's poem is a fine example of his blending of bright energy with a sharp edge. Happy reading.Thomas Parnell (11 September 1679 – 24 October 1718) was an Anglo-Irish poet and clergyman who was a friend of both Alexander Pope and Jonathan Swift.He was born in Dublin, the eldest son of Thomas Parnell (died 1685) of Maryborough, Queen's County (now Portlaoise, County Laois), a prosperous landowner who had been a loyal supporter of Oliver Cromwell during the English Civil War and moved from Congleton, Cheshire to Ireland after the Restoration of Charles II. His mother was Anne Grice of Kilosty, County Tipperary: she also owned property in County Armagh, which she left to Thomas at her death in 1709. His parents married in Dublin in 1674. Thomas was educated at Trinity College, Dublin and collated as Archdeacon of Clogher in 1705. In the last years of the reign of Queen Anne of England he was a popular preacher, but her death put an end to his hope of career advancement. He married Anne (Nancy) Minchin, daughter of Thomas Minchin, who died in 1712, and had three children, two of whom died young. The third child, a girl, is said to have reached a great age. The marriage was a very happy one, and it has been said that Thomas never recovered from Nancy's early death.He spent much of his time in London, where he participated with Pope, Swift and others in the Scriblerus Club, contributing to The Spectator and aiding Pope in his translation of The Iliad. He was also one of the so-called "Graveyard poets": his 'A Night-Piece on Death,' widely considered the first "Graveyard School" poem, was published posthumously in Poems on Several Occasions, collected and edited by Alexander Pope and is thought by some scholars to have been published in December 1721. It is said of his poetry, "it was in keeping with his character, easy and pleasing, enunciating the common places with felicity and grace."-bio via Wikipedia This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Melvyn Bragg and guests discuss the intense political activity at the turn of the 18th Century, when many politicians in London went to great lengths to find a Protestant successor to the throne of Great Britain and Ireland and others went to equal lengths to oppose them. Queen Anne had no surviving children and, following the old rules, there were at least 50 Catholic candidates ahead of any Protestant ones and among those by far the most obvious candidate was James, the only son of James II. Yet with the passing of the Act of Settlement in 1701 ahead of Anne's own succession, focus turned to Europe and to Princess Sophia, an Electress of the Holy Roman Empire in Hanover who, as a granddaughter of James I, thus became next in line to be crowned at Westminster Abbey. It was not clear that Hanover would want this role, given its own ambitions and the risks, in Europe, of siding with Protestants, and soon George I was minded to break the rules of succession so that he would be the last Hanoverian monarch as well as the first.WithAndreas Gestrich Professor Emeritus at Trier University and Former Director of the German Historical Institute in LondonElaine Chalus Professor of British History at the University of LiverpoolAnd Mark Knights Professor of History at the University of WarwickProducer: Simon TillotsonReading list:J.M. Beattie, The English Court in the Reign of George I (Cambridge University Press, 1967)Jeremy Black, The Hanoverians: The History of a Dynasty (Hambledon Continuum, 2006)Justin Champion, Republican Learning: John Toland and the Crisis of Christian Culture 1696-1722 (Manchester University Press, 2003), especially his chapter ‘Anglia libera: Protestant liberties and the Hanoverian succession, 1700–14'Linda Colley, Britons: Forging the Nation 1707 – 1837 (Yale University Press, 2009)Andreas Gestrich and Michael Schaich (eds), The Hanoverian Succession: Dynastic Politics and Monarchical Culture (‎Ashgate, 2015)Ragnhild Hatton, George I: Elector and King (Thames & Hudson Ltd, 1979)Mark Knights, Representation and Misrepresentation in Later Stuart Britain: Partisanship and Political Culture (Oxford University Press, 2005) Mark Knights, Faction Displayed: Reconsidering the Impeachment of Dr Henry Sacheverell (Blackwell, 2012)Joanna Marschner, Queen Caroline: Cultural Politics at the Early Eighteenth-Century Court (Yale University Press, 2014)Ashley Marshall, ‘Radical Steele: Popular Politics and the Limits of Authority' (Journal of British Studies 58, 2019)Paul Monod, Jacobitism and the English People, 1688-1788 (Cambridge University Press, 1989)Hannah Smith, Georgian Monarchy: Politics and Culture 1714-1760 (Cambridge University Press, 2006)Daniel Szechi, 1715: The Great Jacobite Rebellion (Yale University Press, 2006)A.C. Thompson, George II : King and Elector (Yale University Press, 2011)In Our Time is a BBC Studios Audio Production

When a young woman and her dog go mysteriously missing, only to be found dead in the Chesapeake Bay, police must untangle a series of events to determine if this was an accident or something far worse… murder.If you have any information about the death of Robin Pope in March of 2013, please contact the MD State Police at 410-822-3101, or the Metro County Crime Stoppers tip line at 1-866-756-2587. You can also anonymously contact the Queen Anne's County Sheriff's Office at 410-758-6666.Head to the Crime Junkie YouTube channel to check out The Deck's episode on Dana Chisholm! Source materials for this episode cannot be listed here due to character limitations. For a full list of sources, please visit: crimejunkiepodcast.com/mysterious-death-robin-pope Did you know you can listen to this episode ad-free? Join the Fan Club! Visit crimejunkie.app/library/ to view the current membership options and policies. Use promo code FREESUMMER to get access to all Fan Club exclusive episodes for FREE through July and August. Don't miss out on all things Crime Junkie!Instagram: @crimejunkiepodcast | @audiochuckTwitter: @CrimeJunkiePod | @audiochuckTikTok: @crimejunkiepodcastFacebook: /CrimeJunkiePodcast | /audiochuckllc Crime Junkie is hosted by Ashley Flowers and Brit Prawat. Instagram: @ashleyflowers | @britprawatTwitter: @Ash_Flowers | @britprawatTikTok: @ashleyflowerscrimejunkieFacebook: /AshleyFlowers.AF Text Ashley at 317-733-7485 to talk all things true crime, get behind the scenes updates, and more!