Podcasts about Richelieu

The Time Riders: Part 14 Visiting old friends, and Nanu discovers hot sauce. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. A certain bedroom. If she'd been worried about feeling alone, she wasn't noticing at the moment. There were so many fascinating things around here, all requiring her examination. There was an entire world to explore, after all, and it was apparently much bigger than the one she'd left behind. It was hard to conceive of, really; a world larger than Rome, than the empire, but according to her Mistress, Re-be-kah, she was not going to run out of things to be stunned by. So far, Mistress had been right. Nanu was kneeling on the bed, minutely examining the fabric that made up the soft sheets they'd been sleeping on. She tugged at the material, noticing how it was so tough that she needn't worry about tearing it. She tugged and tugged, giggling with delight when she couldn't wreck it. How clever the people of tomorrow were! She clambered off the bed and walked over to the window. She had only briefly put on any clothes, and that was to see her Mistress to the door as she left for work. Becky had made sure Nanu understood how the front door lock worked before she left. Nanu was only wearing the burning cock-sack garment, the one with the symbol of the musical group Let Zeppli on it, but the second Mistress was gone, she'd shucked it off and scampered around naked, laughing in delight. She'd been so tempted to stand in the window wearing no clothes and shake her nude body at the world, because she promised Mistress she would stay out of trouble, because she didn't want the vigiles coming for her since she'd only just gotten here. Mistress' 'free country' wasn't as free as it sounded, at least in her opinion. The tiny Egyptian girl walked up to the window of the bedroom and leaned on the frame, sighing dreamily as she rested her chin on her arms and gazed out at the world beyond the glass. Trees were starting to be green, and the grass of Mistress' lawn was visible, along with plants that would apparently become lovely flowers. High up in the blue sky, a strange bird flew. It barely moved, just gliding along, and seemed to have an almost cruciform shape. It left a weird trail of white cloud behind. What strange animals there were in the world of tomorrow. She left the window and went into the bathroom, plunking herself down on the commode and peeing, giggling at the sound produced by the material the bowl was made from. Once she was done, she headed downstairs, feeling a mite peckish. She went up to the fridge and opened the door, fascinated by the chill she felt as she leaned in to see what was available. Re-be-kah had left food for her to eat, all prepared and with her name on it, so that she knew what was safe. Seeing as how the ba-lo had made her almost shit herself to death the day before. The parfait was sitting in a bowl, with yummy-looking red and black berries swirled into it, along with a cereal that Mistress had called 'granola'. She took that and then retrieved a few slices of homemade bread from a little wooden container on the counter. Mistress had left some utensils and butter on the table, and even the peanut butter! Nanu loved the peanut butter; she couldn't wait to have it licked off her cunt! Sated some minutes later, Nanu wandered around, examining little things about the house that she hadn't noticed yet. She was careful to not mess with any switches, because she didn't know what all of them did. Apparently they weren't all just for the lights. She jumped up and down on the sturdy long chair, which was apparently called a 'chesterfield', rolled around on the comfy rug, and diddled herself in front of a mirror, cumming loudly and shamelessly. She loved looking at herself while she masturbated, she was so beautiful! Nanu flopped back on the rug, breathing heavily after a lovely climax. Her whole body tingled, and wonderful images of herself and her Mistress fucking floated through her mind. The house was warm, in a way she'd never felt before. Living in the slave quarters, and wearing what amounted to little more than a poorly made sack for clothing, she had often been cold, and rarely warm enough to suit her. This was; wonderful. This new world confused and frightened her, but she also knew she would acclimate, and then she would be warm, well-fed, and she could fuck to her heart's content. She was going to love her new life, she was sure. She hoped Re-be-kah was having as wonderful a day as she was. The Education of Nanu, as 'The Gods Will It'. Mooredale Secondary. Becky sat behind her desk, trying to conceal the way her eyes were spiraling with exasperation and boredom. While not every student in her Physics class was a dunce, only a few of them truly cared and paid attention. Most were just doing what was required to pass. Even if they got great grades, they weren't interested in retaining the material. And then there was one young dunce in particular. She tried not to scowl at Mark, who was zoning out at his desk, looking out the window. She could see even from here that his notes were inadequate. He couldn't claim to be memorizing the material; he had the memory of a goldfish crossed with a sieve. How had he made it into this prestigious high school to begin with? She was ultimately happy he had, of course, since that meant three months from now (from his point of view), he would be taking her on adventures with the Holmes Field Device. But this twerp sitting in front of her wasn't that time traveler yet, was he? He was just some lazy kid who was going to fail her course. Then he'd come back in time to fuck her, and convince her to not fail him. She'd agree, as long as he showed her the time machine and took her on adventures. Looking at him now, she couldn't believe she'd made the agreement. But she had, and now she was stuck passing him. She couldn't get out of it if she tried. She'd solidified her personal future. Fating, as people in the time travel community called it. Once you knew for certain that something factually was going to happen to you down the road, there was nothing you could do to change it, no matter how hard you tried. You might even hurt yourself doing it. Time lock. It was a thing. So if you enjoyed feeling like you were in control of your destiny, then you did your best not to find out what was to happen to you in the future. Loose talk stops clocks, and all that. She looked at Mark again, still trying not to frown. It was so strange to think that this boy, who was weeks away from being eighteen, was the same knucklehead who would be her time-travelling companion. She'd be having sex with him, and they'd be sharing girls in the time stream, including Nanu, who was waiting for her back at home. The Mark in front of her was seventeen, almost eighteen. Time travel made the rules seem so arbitrary, and even dumb sometimes. She couldn't have sex with him right now. She couldn't sext him under her desk right now. It was illegal. Yet somehow, magically, in a few weeks, on a particular day, Mark's upcoming birthday would make him an adult, even though functionally nothing was different about his biology. This Mark didn't know that they were lovers. That they would be lovers, in any event. Like all the other dumb boys in the school, he talked about her being hot, and what he'd do to her, childish boasting and hormonal nonsense. They talked about how she tended to dress rather conservatively, but clearly she had a rocking' bod underneath her clothes. They'd seen her in the school gym a few times. Becky didn't know why she dressed so conservatively, now that she thought of it. There were certainly less attractive teachers on staff who dressed more sexily than she did. Connie Marangos, the English Lit teacher, was shaped like a pear and had a face like a foot, but she somehow managed to dress sexy. What was Becky's excuse? She didn't want to give the horny students any more masturbation material than they already got. Horny teenage boys were annoying. Even Mark was annoying. Would he get better by the time she caught up with him in the future, three months from now? She could hope, but she doubted it. He hadn't exactly proven so thus far on their adventures. Another quiet sigh escaped her as she glanced for a moment in his general direction. She wanted to pin that boy down right now and fuck him, hard. She couldn't, but she wanted to. It bothered her that she was starting to feel a tingle in her needy cunt, and there was nothing she could do about it. She'd have to wait to get home and take out her horny frustrations on Nanu. Not that the Egyptian girl would mind, of course. She thought back about what she and Mark had experienced so far in the time stream. They'd gone to seventeenth century France, gotten in several brawls, and Mark had been fatally shot, only surviving because he wasn't meant to die yet. She'd been kidnapped by Cardinal Richelieu and made a lady-in-waiting to Anne of Austria, and she'd met her own ancestor, the gorgeous, brilliant, and deadly noblewoman Alexandra D'Assaut, who had helped Mark rescue her from the Louvre, and out from right under the nose of the Sun King. Becky might have shot Porthos And might also have kicked Richelieu in the nuts. That sounded so weird, but it had happened. She was there. That, or she was on the world's longest and most intense acid trip. They went to Rome, to participate in a genuine orgy, and they'd met and bought the beautiful slave girl Nanu. The intent had been to set her free, and Becky had even paid gold for her; but Mark screwed everything up by getting arrested for fucking a Vestal Virgin, one of Rome's most sacred priestesses. One thing led to another, and they'd had to rescue him from being skewered by gladiators in the Colosseum, mostly by dropping the roof on the emperor. Mark, or 'Bonosus' as he was known in ancient Rome now, was probably the most notorious criminal in the empire not named Spartacus. It didn't surprise Becky that even in the time stream, everyone wanted to kill Mark. He had that effect on people. They'd finally brought Nanu forward in time with them, since she was hopelessly devoted to them, and leaving her on her own in Rome was dangerous for her, even if she had proof of her manumission. It had been an eventful few days since their arrival back home, with Nanu getting a crash course in the fact that everything wanted to kill her. At least to hear Nanu talk about it. Even common household items were absurdly dangerous for her, and noises that modern people just took for granted drove the younger girl nuts. Food was a big gamble with Nanu. Modern preservatives and nitrates wreaked havoc on her digestive tract, something she couldn't possibly have built any immunity to. To Becky's surprise, Nanu wasn't lactose-intolerant, because as a slave, she'd been given cow's milk, something peasants and slaves subsisted on and normal people were too good for. It was strange to Becky that bovine milk and beef had been considered low-class food back then. They'd probably change their minds if they'd ever had a filet mignon or a good porterhouse. Dumb ancient people. At least Nanu ate everything she possibly could. A yawn from Mark's direction brought her out of her reverie, and she restrained another scowl in his direction. It was nowhere near the first time he'd annoyed her with his lack of interest, but she was getting more irritated with it of late, because she knew what was coming. She had to put up with this. She had to fail him. Because his future self would come back in time and convince her to change his grade. She couldn't just give him a passing grade now to speed things up if she tried. Something would make her fail him. Which he so richly deserved. Why the universe gave this kid a time machine was beyond her. A retarded chimp would have deserved it more, and probably been less of a menace. She couldn't fuck him, not yet. But that didn't mean she couldn't fuck with him, right? "Mr. Simmons," she called in his direction, raising her eyebrow and getting everyone's attention, including his. She called him 'Mark' so regularly now that saying 'Mr. Simmons' seemed strange. "Since you are clearly well ahead of the curriculum, what with having time to yawn and stare out the window, I thought maybe you could explain the differences in the scalar and vector measurements to the class?" "I, uh;” he fumbled, looking worried now. "I;” "Well, go on," she said, gesturing with her hand. "We spent the entire second half of last week on the model, after all. The copious notes you took are still fresh, yes?" "I; that is; uh;” he said, going pale. "Dumbass," laughed one of the other boys from nearby. Several other students laughed, and Mark got pelted with crumpled-up balls of paper for looking like a dolt. Becky didn't bother feeling bad for him, since this had to happen in order for things to work out in the future. That, and the brat deserved it. A girl near the front, one Gina Felton, put her hand up, looking smug. She seemed to have the answers, generally. Becky restrained a sigh as she allowed the brown-haired girl to answer. Gina dutifully recited off the material they'd been given, even offering some explanation along the way to demonstrate that she understood what she'd been taught, not just parroting the lesson. She wasn't as smart as she thought she was, and she'd never be a physicist, but she came from a wealthy WASP family type that was so common in this neighborhood, and she was a kiss-ass to the faculty. Becky would give Gina her passing grade and get rid of her. If only were so easy with Mark. "That's, uh; that was I was gonna say," Mark added once Gina had finished her singsong response. More laughter and mockery was hurled his way. "Okay, enough, people," Becky announced, standing up to get their attention and put an end to the paper projectiles. "Miss Felton, well done. Mr. Simmons, you can stay after class and clean up the room, along with my chalkboards." Becky liked using chalk boards, because one of her two favorite professors in her university years had insisted on using them. It had seemed like magic to her when he'd used them, all these wondrous equations laid out for her, explained thoroughly, and then they were gone, replaced by more fascinating numbers, a guided tour into how the universe worked. Only he could- "Ma'am?" a voice called. "Miss Fischer?" Becky blinked, coming out of yet another reverie. She was beginning to think that maybe she shouldn't be giving Mark shit for doing it, since she kept zoning out during class, thinking about the profs. She and Nanu had a playdate with them later this week at Blackwell Manor, so she'd just have to keep it in her pants until then. "Sorry, I was remembering a lesson," she said, recovering and sitting down again, just in case she leaked through her slacks. Thankfully, they were moments away from the period ending, and she'd be free of these yahoos for another day. "Tomorrow, we'll stick our toes into the concept of Fleming's Left-Hand Rule and its application in electromagnetism. Whether you're working on the Large Hadron Collider, or your grandfather's ancient lawnmower in the future, this is a good thing to understand. Go ahead and get ready, just wait for the bell. Mr. Simmons, the chalkboard awaits your attentions." Yet more razzing at Mark's expense, while Gina just sat at her desk looking smug. As annoying as Mark was, Becky simply did not like Gina Felton. She was eighteen now, and Becky had good reason to suspect that the skinny little broad was carrying on with the History professor, Mr. Browning. The less she knew, the better. Kind of like about her own future. Ah well, she thought as she watched Mark dully begin wiping off the chalkboards and then pounding out the erasers. Not much longer to put up with this, and then the real fun begins. Just show some patience, girl. She somehow refrained from subtly taking a picture of Mark's ass with her phone. "Mistress, you're back!" Nanu chirped as she skipped up to the door, quite naked. "I didn't break anything!" "The fact that you led with that statement makes me suspicious," Becky sighed as she closed the door behind her. She then hung up her blazer on a peg and allowed the Egyptian girl to take her hand and pull her into the house. "Did you eat?" "Yes, Mistress, everything you left for me," Nanu announced proudly. "Nothing left. Did I do well?" "You ate everything I left you for you?" Becky asked, raising an eyebrow. Nanu dragged her into the dining room and gestured grandly at the table. The top was covered in plates, bowls, and containers, along with utensils. Even the peanut butter jar, which had been mostly full this morning, was seemingly licked clean. "Holy shit," Becky mumbled in English, gazing at the table. "You ate absolutely everything." "Did I do right, Mistress?" Nanu asked. What did Becky tell her? That Nanu had eaten the food she'd prepped and was meant to last for a few days? She hadn't exactly been that explicit, because she hadn't thought to tell Nanu that. She'd overlooked how voracious Nanu could be. A lifetime of slavery saw to it that Nanu ate every meal as if it might be her last. Well, that was on Becky. She'd just start again and be more concise next time about her expectations. "I'm proud of you for looking after yourself," she said finally, making the tiny girl beam with delight. "Did you have problems with anything I showed you?" "I played with the water makers a little bit, and practiced washing my hands," Nanu said, waiting impatiently while Becky started removing her work clothes. "Your soap is very different from what my masters used. It smells nice, not like piss." "Maybe because we don't use urine in our soap these days," the blonde observed as she tossed aside her skirt and then began undoing her bra. Nanu, predictably, just watched intently, almost salivating at the thought of her Mistress' tits. "So now you know how to keep yourself clean. Tonight, I'll let you try to work the shower, that way you can use it if I'm not home and you need to wash up." Nanu nodded. "It was awkward trying to get the peanut butter off my cunt. I am very flexible, but even I couldn't reach it all with my tongue. I used a cloth finally. But I tried, Mistress, I really did." "Nobody made you smear the peanut butter on yourself, silly," Becky laughed as she shucked her bra, revealing her lovely tits to Nanu. Then she bent over and peeled off her underwear. "But I'm glad you fed yourself and know how to get clean, my love. It sounds like you had a good day." "There were so many things to do, Mistress," Nanu breathed, enjoying the sight of Becky's hairless cunt. She'd never seen a more perfect cunt. "I was amazed by how strong your sheets are. And I glided up and down the hallway in my socks, and I listened to music and danced;” "I'm so pleased that you worked out the controller for the stereo," Becky cooed, caressing Nanu's cheek. The smaller girl closed her eyes, enjoying the touch before turning her head a little to kiss her Mistress' palm. "What music did you listen to?" "But I am proud to be your lover, and that you're my Mistress," Nanu protested. "And I am proud of you, Nanu," Becky assured her, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. "But just trust me on this, okay? Hearing people called 'Mistress' will be very weird to some of them. I want tonight to be fun, not awkward." Nanu sighed somewhat despondently and nodded. "So I must call you Re-be-kah tonight?" The blonde pondered the matter. "Can you say 'Becky'?" Nanu pursed her lips. "Beh-kee." "That's what all my friends call me," Becky said, pulling Nanu into a hug. It was weird to have their jackets in the way and not be able to feel their tits squashing together. "Except for M-ark," Nanu pointed out, enjoying the hug, even if she couldn't feel her mistress' tits. "He called you 'Beks'." "Well, Mark's an idiot, and he's lucky he's the one with the time machine, or I would flunk him into eternity," Becky muttered, preferring to not think about the bane of her academic existence. "Asshat." "Ass-hat;” Nanu repeated. "Mark is an ass-hat?" She's like a toddler, Becky thought, making a note to watch her language. She retains all the naughty words she shouldn't know. "Let's go, Noah Webster," Becky sighed, standing up again. "Your chariot awaits;” The Gardiner Expressway, heading south. Nanu was indeed turned sideways in her seat, despite the seatbelt, her face plastered to the window as she gaped in awe at the scenery that sped by. Aside from the endless metal monsters that were running with them or in the opposite direction, there were also tall buildings and houses, bright lights on tall posts, and even giant bridges that they went under and didn't fall on their heads! Nanu was too astonished to remember to be frightened of everything. Becky smiled as she drove, pleased that Nanu was distracted and not cowering in fear. Not that she would blame her. It had taken some convincing to get her into the car at all, but once she discovered how comfy the seats were, she warmed up to the idea quickly enough. Becky buckled her into her seat and even let Nanu honk the horn once before they pulled out. Nanu yelped in shock at the loud sound, but then clapped in delight, realizing that she could (if allowed) control the beast's roar. She took it slow at first, driving at a virtual crawl through her neighborhood, letting Nanu get a feel for the movement of the car. She was going places, but her legs weren't doing any of the work. It was like being in a palanquin or a chariot, only completely enclosed. The roar of something called an 'engine' surrounded her, replacing the clatter of iron-bound wooden wheels and horse hooves. It was almost twilight, and the lights on the tall posts glared brightly, making Nanu shield her eyes occasionally. She could see people in their own metal beasts, men and women, often with children riding along in the seats behind. She smiled brightly and waved back at one little girl who had seen her and waved to her. "We are going so fast," she breathed, almost wrenching her neck as she tried to watch cars whip by in the opposite direction. "Nobody in the world has ever gone as fast as this, I'll bet." Becky thought about that, realizing Nanu was probably right. She was going just over seventy kilometers per hour at the moment, but that was faster than anything had ever gone until locomotive engines came on the scene, once again in the mid-nineteenth century. It may have seemed slow to her, but it was light speed to Nanu. "Oh, we can go a lot faster than this, Nanu," she said casually, enjoying her lover's innocent wonder at everything. "Go faster!" Nanu urged in excitement. "Go faster than all the other metal beasts! Shame them!" "; except for maybe that one;” she added in a faltering tone as a red Ferrari whipped by, the roaring noise of its engine filling the interior of Becky's car. "How do you make the beast go faster, Mistress? I do not see reins or a whip." "It's not alive, remember? It's just a machine, a bunch of parts put together to make a mechanism," Becky answered, knowing most of this would go over Nanu's head. "I control its speed with the pedals at my feet, and which way it goes with this wheel in my hand." "Can we go faster and leave all these other beasts behind?" Becky smiled. "Not right now, my love. There are laws about how fast you're allowed to go when there are lots of other cars around. It prevents accidents." "But what could hurt us?" Nanu asked. "The beast is metal, we are surrounded by all this metal. We are invincible." "If we hit or got hit by another car, the metal won't protect us entirely," Becky pointed out, thinking that maybe she'd show Nanu some car crash safety videos, put the fear of the car gods into her. And if we hit a person, we'd pretty much kill them at this speed." Nanu thought about that. "But we'd be okay, right?" Becky sighed and resisted the urge to turn the car around. The Malted Cat, thirty minutes later. "Hi, everyone, sorry we're late," Becky called out, waving as she headed to the table where everyone was already gathered. "You know this time of night on the Gardiner, traffic was a bitch." "Bitch;” Nanu parroted, but was too far away still for anyone to hear her aside from Becky. Nanu was looking around at the establishment, which didn't remind her of any tabernus she'd ever seen before. This was loud and chaotic, with people everywhere and what might have been music blaring. People were wearing so many different outfits, some of which were almost nonexistent to Nanu. They walked up to the table, where five other people, three women, and two men, were already sitting. A few of them had the same straw-colored hair as her mistress. Two of the women were skinny, one was rather fat. One of the men was skinny and balding. She doubted he got fucked very often. Becky stopped at the table, with Nanu beside her. "Everyone, this is Nanu, she's staying with me." "Hi," Nanu said, holding up a hand and remembering the greeting word that people used in En-gush. "Hi." "Hello," they all said back pleasantly, smiling at her. She liked the fact that they greeted her and hadn't noticed she was a slave. Or at least, had been. Sometimes she worried it clung to her like a stench she would never be rid of. At least they'd brought her manumission documents with them from Rome to this world of tomorrow, just in case she had to prove it. "Nanu, let me introduce my friends and co-workers," Becky said in Latin, before pointing to people. "This is Kay, that's Shirley, this is Annie, that's Steve, and this is Ed." "What were you speaking to her just now?" Ed asked, seeming curious. He was the balding one. "Latin," Becky replied as room was made for them at the table, with Steve pulling up two more chairs. "She doesn't speak English, and I don't speak her native language, so we communicate in Latin." Becky's friends all looked at one another quizzically, but then realized that none of them spoke Latin. Becky would be interpreting all night. Frankly, that was just fine with Becky, since it allowed her to control things where Nanu was concerned. "Nanu-nanu!" Steve said to the new guest, holding his hand out sideways, fingers splayed apart in twos. Nanu seemed confused before she spread her own fingers tentatively and then slid them into Steve's, who grinned and began shaking up and down gently. "Good to meet you!" "Steve, I'm not drunk enough for Mork and Mindy jokes yet," Becky sighed, settling Nanu in a chair while the smaller girl looked at her hand curiously, still held open the way he'd shown her. What was that supposed to mean? Was it one of the standard greetings of this age? Then she started noticing small details, both of her new associates, and around the place. Her eyes widened when she saw a tattoo on the arm of the fat woman, Shir-lee. Then she noticed one on Steve. She looked around and saw that many people around this club had tattoos. She looked at Becky with concern. "So many people," she said quietly, hoping only Becky heard her. "They have stigma (tattoos). Some of your friends have them! Are we surrounded by criminals?" Becky thought about that for a moment and then shook her head. "No, Nanu. In my world, tattoos are just art. There have been times in the past where criminals or people considered undesirable have been branded, but this isn't a thing anymore. People wear tattoos because they mean something to them, or they're just art." Nanu sighed in relief. "I somehow avoided getting a tattoo or branded as a Flavian slave, I was lucky. Most of the other slaves had them, I found it humiliating." "Is she okay, Becks?" Annie asked curiously. "She looks a little spooked." Becky smiled and nodded. "The tattoos all around her freaked her out. Where she comes from, tattoos are brands on slaves or criminals and law-abiding citizens don't get them." "Well, I like to think I'm a bad girl," Shirley said in a sassy tone and wearing a wicked smile. "And I've got another tattoo in another place that'd prove it, for sure." This drew laughter from her friends, and she rolled onto one cheek subtly and patted the other one. Annie popped Shirley on the ass, making her squeak and more there was laughter around the table. "So, Nanu," Kay began, smiling across the table at her. Becky was on one side of Nanu, and Ed was on the other. Nanu almost needed a booster chair to sit at the table. Thankfully, the bouncer at the door had accepted her identification, even if he seemed skeptical at first. No doubt having Becky there helped. "Do you want a beer, honey?" Nanu knew she was being asked a question and looked at Becky, who translated. "Cervisia. Do you want one?" Nanu wrinkled her nose in distaste. "That is a barbarian's drink! I am civilized." "You thought cow's meat was barbaric until the other day too," Becky pointed out. "Now I can't keep you out of it. Your ancestors made beer before they discovered wine, you know. At least try it, it's polite. Do you remember what I told you about how to respond if someone offers you something?" Nanu looked at Kay and spoke slowly. "Please an-du fank you." Kay looked delighted and ordered beers for Nanu and Becky. The Egyptian girl settled in and just listened quietly while the conversation picked up around her. Becky had told her that she was free to simply listen, or look around the bar. If someone addressed Nanu, Becky would tell her. Nanu was more than happy to just sit quietly and observe. Beer arrived, with a tall pint glass for Becky, and a half-pint for Nanu. She frowned at her smaller glass. "Why did I get the child drink?" Becky almost laughed while Nanu seemed to glare at the golden liquid and the tiny bubbles. "First of all, children aren't allowed to drink beer because of the alcohol. Second, I got you a smaller glass in case you don't like it. Less goes to waste." Nanu glanced at Becky now. "So if I don't like it, I don't just smash the glass on the floor and demand a different drink I like?" Becky blinked. "No, darling. We are very respectful to our servers at all times." "But they are nobody." "Nanu, just; trust me on this, okay?" Becky almost pleaded. "Always be polite, always. When it time to not be polite, I'll let you know, I promise." "Fine," Nanu sighed, picking up the glass with both hands and tilting it so that she could take a sip while everyone watched. Her eyes widened and she put the glass back down on the table, her cheeks bulging as she looked at Becky in panic. "Swallow," Becky instructed. "It's fine." Hesitantly, the tiny girl swallowed and then gasped rather loudly and dramatically. "It is so cold, but it burns!" "You didn't mind when the pop was fizzing in your mouth," Becky said. "The pop was sweet. This is; why is this beer? It doesn't taste like beer at all!" "It's beer, I promise you, just that we make it differently than they did in your time." "Is she okay?" Steve asked, watching Nanu curiously. They all were, in fact. "She's never had beer like that before," Becky explained. "She only just tried pop for the first time the other day." "You said she's from Egypt?" Shirley queried. "Is she Muslim and she's not allowed to have alcohol?" "Trust me, she's not Muslim," Becky assured her co-worker while Nanu eyed her beer suspiciously. "She was a slave most of her life, and she has very limited experience with, well, just about anything. We're taking it slow, but I want her to see what her new life is all about and has to offer." "Would she like wine instead?" Kay asked. "No, let her figure this out," Becky replied, going back to her own beer. "I have yet to find anything she won't eat or drink, so give her a bit." Becky knew she'd have to get some food in Nanu before long, because Nanu's alcohol tolerance might be perilously low, especially on what was essentially an empty stomach. She'd let Nanu pick whatever sounded good, and just deal with the consequences later. There was only so easy she could make this for her. Her body needed to adapt to modern cuisine sooner or later, right? The conversation began again, mostly everyone venting about their stupid students and the idiotic things they said, did, or turned in. Every once in a while, someone asked Nanu something, and Becky translated, letting Nanu respond as best she could. But mostly, they simply adhered to Becky's rule of letting the new girl observe and listen. "I swear, this one girl is a complete moron," Annie groused. "Any of you have Angie Staples in any of your classes?" Nanu heard several of them moan and roll their eyes, almost slumping back in their chairs. They began griping about something or someone, repeating a word that sounded like a name. It reminded her of how her mistress complained about M-ark. "Hey, she's not a bigger dolt than Simmons," Becky pointed out. "That boy is hopeless in my class. If he made any less effort, he'd forget to breathe." "At least he's cute," Kay said, making Annie and Shirley laugh. "I'd totally fuck Mark if he was legal." At the mention of the name 'Mark' and the word 'fuck', Nanu perked up just slightly and then looked at Becky. And this was not lost on the other women. "Why did she just look at you when I mentioned fucking Simmons?" Kay asked, looked at Becky now. "I; no; Fischer, no;” "What?" Becky said rather defensively. "Rebecca Fischer, are you doing things with that boy?" Kay pressed, smiling slyly. Annie and Shirley's eyes lit up excitedly, whereas Ed and Steve remained silent, trying to not look put out. "Are you nuts?" Becky said rather more loudly than she should have. "He's my student!" "He's all of our students, and the only thing he's good at is Phys Ed," Annie laughed. "He's turning out to be a hunk, I saw him running track in the gymnasium with no shirt the other day. Kay's right, none of us would blame you if you were getting it in from him." "I assure you, I am not getting it in from that dough-head sitting in my classroom," Becky said firmly. It was technically true, if only because the Mark sitting in her classroom hadn't fucked her yet. "So why did Nanu look at you so suddenly?" Kay pressed, not willing to concede the point just yet. "She's heard me complaining about how abso-fucking-lutely useless he is in my class," Becky explained, which was also technically true. "He's failing harder than a SCUD missile. Makes me crazy." "I'd go crazy on him," Shirley quipped, smiling slyly behind her beer glass while Kay and Annie burst out laughing again. Becky sighed and shook her head, but at least she seemed to have deflected that particular line of inquiry. Despite Kay's contentions in private about her proclivities, most people believed Rebecca Fischer to be a prudish nun stuck in a porn star's body. Only this small crew ever saw her let her hair down, like tonight. Garlic bread, mozzarella sticks, and wings arrived at the table as an appetizer, and Becky encouraged Nanu to try everything. The teachers all watched in astonishment as she tried each of the items and then began devouring them in rapid succession. "Guess I'm buyin' this round of appetizers," Becky said, shaking her head as she watched her charge annihilate the food. "I'll buy the next round too, just to make sure everyone gets something." "Oh, I'm buyin' her a round as well, just to keep watching," Annie said in fascination while Nanu mowed through the appetizers like the Tasmanian Devil. "Do you ever feed her, Becks?" "I told you, she was literally a slave in her old life, and she eats everything in sight as a defensive measure," Becky sighed. "She's not being rude, I promise. I've literally watched her eat a pound of bologna and empty a full jar of peanut butter." "Ba-lo;” Nanu managed to mumble through a mouth full of biomass as she kept storming the appetizers. Everyone was enjoying watching, even if they had to wait for their own shares to arrive again. She also kept sipping at her beer, seeming to have dropped her objections to it. Becky realized she might actually need help from the time stream to keep this girl fed. Nanu had pretty much polished off all her food when the second round of appetizers arrived. She eyed Steve's basket of wings hungrily. He saw her staring and gestured to the steaming heap of saucy poultry. "Want to try one?" "Nanu, darling," Becky said, holding up a hand to interrupt. "You might find that' But Nanu had already stripped most of the meat off the tiny bones of one wing by the time Becky had begun to object. She was chewing away when she paused on her eyes went wide. "Steve, you jerk," Becky said, scowling at her co-worker while Nanu started trembling while still chewing, her face turning red and her eyes starting to water. "She doesn't know what suicide sauce is." Nanu had her forehead pressed against the table and was thumping her little fist against the surface, still resolutely chewing, even as she whimpered and moaned in pain. "Gotta admire her pluck, though," Kay mused, watching the tiny girl try not to writhe. "I didn't know she couldn't handle it," Steve protested. "Don't they have hot food where she comes from?" "See if I ever sub for you the next time you need a day off," grumbled the blonde, patting Nanu on the back gently while calling over a server. Fifteen minutes and a gallon of milk later. "I can't believe she ate all my wings," Steve murmured, watching Nanu polish off the last wing while staring directly at him defiantly. "A whole pound, I got like, one." "Serves you right," Becky grunted, making sure Nanu had lots of wet wipes and used them regularly in case she tried to rub her eyes. Milk wouldn't help then. "I can't believe she's still eating them," Annie said, watching with morbid fascination. "I mean, you can see they still hurt her, but she won't quit." "Now that she knows milk dulls the fire, she doesn't have to," Becky sighed, also watching while eating her own honey-garlic wings. Nanu had stolen half of those, too. The only reason Shirley and Kay's food was (mostly) safe was because Nanu was too short to reach across the table. "And she's mad at Steve, so she's making a point." She knew that she and Nanu could both regret this in a few hours, that Nanu might be up all night again in the bathroom, but apparently she was willing to risk that to get the message across; don't fuck with Nanu Tehemet. Nanu polished off the wings and then knocked back several glasses of milk Becky had lined up for her, followed by her beer. She put the last down and let out a thunderous belch that echoed around the area. Everyone's eyes widened at the noise, except for Becky, who just shook her head. People at other tables looked over, perplexed that someone so small could release such a giant noise. Annie cleared her throat. "Well, I; I hear that in some Middle Eastern cultures, burping is a sign that a person appreciates the food they were served." Nanu patted her chest with her little fist and sighed happily. "Nanu," Shirley said, getting her attention directly. She gestured to her shirt and then at Nanu's. "I like your shirt." Nanu realized what the fat woman was talking about and then beamed happily, thrusting her chest forward and thumbing at the logo. "Let Zeppli!" "Do you like them, honey?" Shirley asked. Becky translated and Nanu nodded eagerly. "Let Zeppli!" "I like them too," Shirley said, pleased to be connecting with the exotic foreign girl. "Shirley says she likes Led Zeppelin too," Becky explained, leaning in to be heard over all the noise. The karaoke had begun, and they were near the stage. "The fat one likes Zeppli?" Nanu asked, shocked. "Is she allowed?" "Nanu!" Becky gasped, bursting into snickers. "You can't just comment about people's weight like that!" "What's funny, Becks?" Annie asked, curious. Becky was still snickering as she tried to wave it off. "Pretty sure Nanu thinks only she's allowed to like Zeppelin. And maybe I'm allowed. Pop culture still eludes her." "Well, she's got the hot wings and big tits part down already, I'd say she's halfway there," Kay quipped, making everyone laugh. Shirley had excused herself from the table for a moment. More food was ordered, along with beer or cocktails, and the gripe session continued about what complete morons the kids of this day and age were becoming. And the ones that weren't morons were completely unlikable. "So how long is she stayin' with you?" Kay asked as she watched Nanu attack the jalapeno poppers. "For the foreseeable future, really," Becky answered. "Like I said, she was a slave back home, she has no life to return to, and it was borderline Stone Age subsistence. I can't just let her go, or turn her over to the system, she'll die. She knows nothing. I'm doing what I can to help her adapt and learn about her new world. One day, she'll be fine." "That's really noble of you, Rebecca," Ed stated, getting his share of an onion blossom before Nanu saw it and murdered it. "But it could be years. I'm not trying to make her sound like a pet dog, but this could be a long commitment on your part. How did you even meet her?" "Honestly?" Becky said, having a rehearsed answer already. She'd tried to anticipate as many questions as possible for tonight. "I met her in Rome. That's where I managed to get her out of her slavery life." "Wow, Becks, you have like a whole secret agent life goin' on," Annie said, sounding impressed. "When the heck did you even go to Rome?" "It seems like ages ago," Becky said rather evasively. "Frankly, things have been crazy of late and I almost can't keep track without a time machine." A round of laughter from her friends, and Becky heaved a sigh of relief. She didn't expect anyone to be making inquiries, but the fewer questions, the better. Nanu seemed oblivious, noshing away happily on more pub grub and seeming determined to try everything. She'd just plowed through the calamari Annie had bought for her. "Hey, everyone!" called a voice from the stage, sounding tinny over a microphone. Becky looked up and saw Shirley standing on stage, smiling at them all. "I'm dedicating this number to a new friend I met tonight, I hope she likes it! Nanu, this one's for you!" Nanu looked up at the mention of her name, right before the music began, blaring through the bar's speakers all around them. Her eyes flashed in excitement as she looked at Becky, grabbing her hands. "Zeppli! Zeppli!!!" she squeaked, bouncing up and down in her seat. "Yes, my love," Becky laughed. "Shirley is about to sing a Zeppelin song for you, and it's the one you know already." Nanu clapped and squealed some more, bouncing up and down in her seat as she watched the fat woman begin to sing. "Let me take you to the movie, Can I take you to the show, Let me be yours ever truly, Can I make your garden grow?" "Nanu, you should go up and dance," Becky suggested, bumping and gyrating in her seat. "I'm sure Shirley would love it." "Really, Mistress?" Nanu gasped, his features alight with eagerness. She'd forgotten to call her Mistress by her name, but nobody seemed to notice. "Just make sure you keep your clothes on, okay?" Becky warned, trying to sound serious, but winking at her lover. "Go have fun." Nanu was out of her seat like a shot and scrambling up onstage before she began to dance around, just like Becky had shown her. Everyone at the table hooted and cheered while Shirley laughed, still between stanzas. While Nanu bounced and wiggled around the stage, the teacher started singing again. The pneumatic effect Nanu's movement had on her body held everyone spellbound. Her jeans were snug enough to show off her amazing ass, and her Zeppelin shirt was stretched tight across her ample tits, which jiggled continuously. "From the Houses of the Holy, We can watch the white doves go, From the door comes Satan's daughter, And it only goes to show, that you know!" Becky laughed gaily as she watched, clapping along. She couldn't believe how well this was going! Nanu was having a blast, and even if she was going to be shitting herself all night because of the hot wings Steve had let her eat, it was a small price to pay to see the Egyptian girl absolutely radiant and doing what she did best, dancing. They'd have to do this more often, as long as she kept Nanu safe. Not that this bar was dangerous, of course. "There's an angel on my shoulder, In my hand a sword of gold, Let me wander in your garden, And the seeds of love I'll sow, you know!" Nanu spun and pranced around the stage, lost in the joy of her dancing. She never felt more alive than when she was dancing, even when she was fucking. Or at least very rarely, and pretty much never when she'd been a slave. This new world and new life were going to teach her so many wonderful new things! She stopped dancing for a moment, breathing heavily in excitement as she just watched Shirley sing, standing close enough to understand that she was singing into some little thing that looked like a black cock and made her voice echo all around the room. "So the world is spinning faster, Are you dizzy when you stall? Let the music be your master, Will you heed the master's ca" In her mounting excitement, Nanu had grabbed the microphone out of Shirley's hands and was now closing her eyes and singing into it with all her heart. "Ah; Wa-Oh-Gur-Oah! Or-Nyu-Wo-Ah!" The entire audience was just watching in confused and then stunned silence as Nanu wailed discordantly into the microphone, assaulting everyone's ears with the blistering noise she was making. Eventually, even the recording of the Zeppelin song was halted, and Nanu was screeching to a silent space. Realizing the music had ended, she opened her eyes and then paused, seeing everyone gaping at her. But then a group at one large table right next to the one she'd been sitting at burst into derisive laughter, jeering and mocking her, apparently imitating the sounds she'd been making, and also flailing their limbs about like they were having seizures. Their faces were screwed up, made to look like the cursed child jesters that the Roman elite kept at their courts and made fun of. They were making fun of her! "Hey, someone get the retard off the stage!" guffawed one man, still mocking her by slapping a limp hand and forearm against his chest and making the stupid face. His buddies howled with laughter as he imitated her sound again. Until he was spun in his chair and Becky's fist slammed across his jaw, snapping his head to the right and knocking him out cold. Everyone at the table went very still, not daring to move as Becky glared at them all, her blue eyes flashing menacingly. "Anyone else?" she challenged. The men all stayed silent, not daring to say a word of move a muscle. "That's what I thought," she growled, standing up now and looking down at them in contempt. "Fucking cowards." She looked over at the door and caught the attention of the bouncer on shift, an imposing guy named Jake. She tilted her head at the idiot she'd just coldcocked, and he nodded, knowing he was about to clear out that table and make them take their unconscious friend home. He'd seen Becky drop guys before, and it was always justified. If she hadn't dealt with them for mocking the screaming girl, he might have. Thankfully, it was seen to. "C'mon, honey," Becky said, walking up to the stage and removing the mic from Nanu's hands, while she just stared at her Mistress, seemingly frozen. "Shirley, take over, will you?" Shirley nodded and got another song going, beginning to sing again while Becky led Nanu back to her seat. Around the bar, things had returned to normal. Nanu still seemed silent and very out of sorts. Becky sat her down and took her hands, smiling at her. "I'm sorry, honey," she said softly, caressing the crestfallen girl's cheek. "What they did was wrong. He deserved to get punched, I promise you." Nanu looked up at her now, perplexed. "Am I; am I that awful to listen to, Mistress?" Becky apparently hesitated a split second too long, because Nanu seemed aghast at the lack of response. "I am terrible! Please, Mistress, tell me! How bad am I? Be honest." A deep breath as Becky composed her thoughts. "Truth, Nanu?" The Egyptian girl nodded nervously. "You; well, it; it sounded like a cat getting run over by a chariot with knives for wheels," Becky confessed, blushing while the other teachers looked on, having a fairly good idea what was happening, even if none of them spoke Latin. She smiled somewhat wanly. "Maybe; just stick to dancing, okay? You're so very good at that, after all;” Nanu slumped back in her chair, seemingly in disbelief, even failing to notice the table right next to them getting cleared out by the bouncer. She stared off into space for some seconds, not even noticing the other Zeppelin song that Shirley was now singing. "I'm terrible," she murmured to herself. "Cats getting murdered sounds better than me singing;” She then blinked and looked at Becky, seemingly her normal self. "Oh well. May I have more food and another beer now?" Becky laughed in relief and nodded. No trauma seemed to affect Nanu for too long. She always had food and fucking to retreat to. She ordered more hot wings, knowing Nanu felt she had even more to prove now. An hour later. "So you seemed like you had a good time, hmm?" Becky mentioned as she drove north on the Gardiner, taking them home. It was quite dark out, and she hoped against hope that Nanu wouldn't be up all night in the bathroom, or that she wanted to stay awake and fuck, because Becky had to work in the morning. "I did, Mistress," Nanu replied, nodding as she sat in her seat. She wasn't turned sideways with her face plastered to the window, watching the world race by. In fact, she was sitting rather placidly, her eyes somewhat unfocused. "And the food was all so good. And I think I'm drunk." Becky smiled. "We'll deal with that when we get home. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Should we do it again?" "Can we?" Nanu gasped in delight, seemingly excited. "Let's do it every night!" "Not every night," laughed the blonde. "I can't afford to go out to eat and drink every night. But if you're good, maybe we'll make a treat of it once a week. There are lots of other places to try as well." "As long as assholes don't make fun of me for singing," Nanu sniffed, determined to not get over being impugned. "I hope they dumped him behind the building and people walking by just put their dicks in his mouth while he was sleeping." Becky smirked. Nanu clearly had a vengeful streak in her. Not that she blamed her, mind. Nanu had to simply watch while Becky meted out the punishment. She doubted Nanu was capable of inflicting any real damage on people who slighted her. "Do you think you can teach me to drive this beast, Mistress?" the tiny woman asked. "That's a long way off, honey," Becky replied. Hell, she doubted Nanu could see over the dashboard and reach the pedals at the same time. "Let's conquer walking properly in running shoes before moving on to wheeled death machines, shall we?" Nanu huffed and crossed her arms, looking put out. "I wouldn't run down THAT many people;” she muttered. Becky's home, half an hour later. They managed to close the front door behind them before they fell to their knees, arms wrapped around one another and kissing hungrily. They moaned as they began removing their clothes, swallowing each other's tongues. Earlier, Becky had hoped to make it through the night without any romantic interludes because she had to work tomorrow, but in the car, Nanu had started being naughty, reaching over and rubbing Becky's crotch or fondling her tits. It also didn't help when she shimmied down her jeans and began fingering her cunt, teasing Becky and nearly causing her to drift off the road more than once. A trucker had cruised by them, looking down at them from his cab. Nanu had lifted her shirt to show off her tits, as well as stroking her nether lips plainly for him to see. He'd honked his horn loudly in approval, despite the late hour. And Becky was obviously hornier than she'd been willing to admit, and she couldn't even blame it on alcohol, since she'd only had two beers and one cosmopolitan. No, she just wanted to fuck, and Nanu

Cette affaire a bouleversé le royaume de France à l'époque de Richelieu : les « possédées de Loudun » avaient-elles commerce avec le diable ? Ou un compte à régler avec le prêtre Urbain Grandier ? Mention légales : Vos données de connexion, dont votre adresse IP, sont traités par Radio Classique, responsable de traitement, sur la base de son intérêt légitime, par l'intermédiaire de son sous-traitant Ausha, à des fins de réalisation de statistiques agréées et de lutte contre la fraude. Ces données sont supprimées en temps réel pour la finalité statistique et sous cinq mois à compter de la collecte à des fins de lutte contre la fraude. Pour plus d'informations sur les traitements réalisés par Radio Classique et exercer vos droits, consultez notre Politique de confidentialité.Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

durée : 00:11:31 - Le Fil de l'histoire - par : Stéphanie Duncan - En 1638, Anne d'Autriche donne naissance au dauphin, futur Louis XIV. Forte d'une assurance nouvelle, Anne d'Autriche va consacrer toute son énergie et son action politique à devenir régente de France. Tout l'y prépare : Louis XIII tombe malade, Richelieu, le grand ennemi de la reine, meurt en 1642. - invités : Joël CORNETTE - Joël Cornette : Historien français - réalisé par : Claire DESTACAMP Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les autres épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France.

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,

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. <

Stéphane Bern raconte l'ambitieux Richelieu, le cardinal qui s'est hissé patiemment dans les hautes sphères du pouvoir et qui, au milieu d'un affrontement larvé entre Marie de Médicis et le roi Louis XIII, entre la mère et son fils, a su qu'il avait une carte à jouer, d'abord dans l'ombre de Marie de Médicis, avant de s'imposer auprès du jeune souverain qui en a fait son principal ministre, auprès de qui il a passé près de 20 années...Comment fonctionnait son couple politique avec Louis XIII ? Quels étaient les grands axes de sa politique ? Comment est née la légende noire de l'homme en rouge ?Pour en parler, Stéphane Bern reçoit Laurent Avezou, historien et auteur de "Richelieu, au service de sa Majesté” (Editions Calype). (rediffusion)Au Coeur de l'Histoire est un podcast Europe 1.- Présentation : Stéphane Bern- Réalisation : Guillaume Vasseau- Rédaction en chef : Benjamin Delsol- Auteur du récit : Jean-Christophe Piot- Journaliste : Clara Leger- Programmation : Morgane VianeyHébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Floppy Days 156 - Interview with Paul Schindler, Computer Chronicles Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/FloppyDays Sponsors: 8-Bit Classics Arcade Shopper and https://thekeep.net FutureVision Research Tuc's Workbench Hello, and welcome to episode 156 of the Floppy Days Podcast for October, 2025. I'm Randy Kindig, your host for this "retro"spective covering vintage computers of the late 70's through the 80's and the people who were on the forefront of that incredible revolution. This month, I'm bringing you another interview episode with a tech media personality that was involved with the Computer Chronicles TV show (among many other things): Mr. Paul Schindler. Paul has a big personality and has a lot of great stories about Computer Chronicles and about the tech industry in general in those days. I really enjoyed talking with Paul and he made me laugh a lot! As you know, if you're a regular listener, I was able to interview Stewart Cheifet some ago about Computer Chronicles. Computer Chronicles was a great way to get information about computers in those early days and I've always wanted to do some follow-up. Thanks to S.M. Oliva, who is mentioned in the resulting interview, and who runs a blog called "Computer Chronicles Revisited", I was able to get in contact with Paul. Next up for Floppy Days will be a series of podcasts on the KayPro line of computers, for which I was able to line up an interview with a key figure from that company and was also able to find someone who knows a lot about the computer line to help me discuss the technical topics. Stay tuned for that series. As usual, I will begin this podcast going through new acquisitions and what I've been up to, upcoming vintage computer shows and more. Video version of the episode at YouTube: New Acquisitions/What I've Been Up To Tandy Assembly - https://www.tandyassembly.com TRS-80 LED sign - https://techdungeon.xyz TS2068 mailing list - https://ts2068.groups.io/g/main/topics Compute!'s Gazette - https://www.computesgazette.com Atari Tricky Tutorial #7 Disk Utilities by Jerry White - https://www.atarimania.com/documents/Tricky-Tutorial-7-Disk-Utilities.pdf TenoxVGA for Atari TT - https://www.legacypixels.com Call-A.P.P.L.E. - https://www.callapple.org/ News Compute's Gazette article from the October, 2025 issue about Floppy Days written by Brian Cox of FutureVision Research - https://shop.computesgazette.com/product/computes-gazette-issue-4-digital-edition-october-2025/ Upcoming Shows Ami West - November 1-2, Sacramento, CA - https://www.amiwest.net Atari Party 2025 - Nov. 22, 2025 (noon to 4) - Quakertown, PA Train Station - http://atariparty.org/ World of Commodore 2025 - December 6-7 - Admiral Inn, Mississauga, Ontario, Canada - https://www.tpug.ca/world-of-commodore/world-of-commodore-2025/ Vintage Computer Festival Montreal - Jan. 24-25, 2026 - Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, QC - https://vcfed.org/vcf-montreal/ Tandy Retro Show 2026 - Jan. 24-25 - virtual - tandyretroshow.com Vintage Electronics Expo - Jan. 31, 2026 - Oakland Expo Center, Waterford, MI - https://www.thevee.org/ Vintage Computer Festival SoCal - February 14-15, 2026 - Hotel Fera Events Center, Orange, CA - vcfsocal.com Indy Classic Computer and Video Game Expo - March 20-22 - Wyndham Indianapolis Airport Hotel, Indianapolis, IN - https://indyclassic.org/ VCF East - April 17-19 2026 - InfoAge Science and History Museums, Wall, NJ - https://vcfed.org/events/vintage-computer-festival-east/ Midwest Gaming Classic - April 24-26 - Baird Center, Milwaukee, WI - https://www.midwestgamingclassic.com/ The Annual "Last" Chicago CoCoFEST! - April 24-25, 2026 - Holiday Inn & Suites Chicago-Carol Stream (Wheaton), Carol Stream, Illinois - https://www.glensideccc.com/cocofest/ Schedule Published on Floppy Days Website - https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vSeLsg4hf5KZKtpxwUQgacCIsqeIdQeZniq3yE881wOCCYskpLVs5OO1PZLqRRF2t5fUUiaKByqQrgA/pub Interview Paul's general Website - https://www.schindler.org Paul Website about the Computer Chronicles - http://compchron.com/ S.M. Oliva's Computer Chronicles Revisited Paul's long-running blog Paul's podcast, PS A Podcast on Things Paul recounts some tales from his Chronicles days Paul's YouTube channel Computer Chronicles at archive.org Computer Chronicles episodes on YouTube

ANTIC Episode 122 - Atypical Kay In this episode of ANTIC The Atari 8-Bit Computer Podcast… we introduce a new format for the news, there's lots of archiving going on, new software and hardware for our favorite 8-bits, and we find out Kay is atypical… READY! Recurring Links Floppy Days Podcast AtariArchives.org AtariMagazines.com Kay's Book "Terrible Nerd" New Atari books scans at archive.org ANTIC feedback at AtariAge Atari interview discussion thread on AtariAge Interview index: here ANTIC Facebook Page AHCS Eaten By a Grue Next Without For What we've been up to Via Mark Knudsen: 2" binder of "August 1987": Atari newsletter time capsule 1987-08 - https://archive.org/details/antc_Atari_newsletter_time_capsule_1987-08/ And individual newsletters - https://archive.org/details/@savetz?query=identifier%3Aantc_*1987-08 scanning Harry Stewart material: Here's his obit - https://www.mercurynews.com/obituaries/harry-stewart-san-jose-ca/ https://archive.org/details/stx_MicroTec_6500_Relocatable_Macro_Assembler_Manual https://archive.org/details/Bruce_Sherwood_Articles_about_Speech_Synthesis https://archive.org/details/Atari_Speech_Handler_Preliminary_Specification_1983-03-31 https://archive.org/details/Steve_Bristow_memo_on_Atari_810_drive_manual_1981-02-22 https://archive.org/details/atari-810-model-810-rear-board-schematic https://archive.org/details/Atari_810_disk_controller_firmware_memo_1980-12-22 https://archive.org/details/Atari_810_Disk_Drive_Peripheral_Device_Description_preliminary_release https://archive.org/details/Atari_810_Disk_Drive_Controller_Program_Report_1980-11-18 Atari Usenet groups on IA (so far, more to come): https://archive.org/details/net_micro_atari https://archive.org/details/net_micro_atari8 https://archive.org/details/net_micro_atari16 https://archive.org/details/comp_sys_atari https://archive.org/details/comp_sys_atari_announce https://archive.org/details/comp_sources_atari_st Allan and Kay continuing work to archive all APX programs. Still need: Missing (any version) manuals: Algicalc Basic Arithmetic Basic Renumber Utility (Renum) Character Set Editor Database/Report System Deep Blue C Disk Menu Dragons Quest or a twist in the tail Geography Gossip. (?) Home Loan Analysis Market Place Reversi Missing programs (some have other versions other than APX): Basic Utility for Renumbering Programs BURP Calculator Earth Science Geography (both lists) Home Loan Analysis (both lists) Instructional Computing Demonstration Market Place (both lists) Variable Changer Spreadsheet of APX archiving progress Atari poster - https://www.redbubble.com/i/poster/BASIC-Programmers-Guide-from-1981-by-ChoccyHobNob/39504539.LVTDI?asc=u&c=1128814-wall-art&ref=work_collections_grid Tricky Tutorial #7 from Kevin Lund - https://www.atarimania.com/documents/Tricky-Tutorial-7-Disk-Utilities.pdf News New and Updated Games: FujiLlama: https://www.atariorbit.org/2025/09/26/fujilama-is-a-new-multiplayer-game/ https://forums.atariage.com/topic/384764-a-new-fuji-net-game-fuji-llama-coming-soon/ https://boardgamegeek.com/boardgame/266083/llama New Italian text adventures for the Atari 8-bit: https://www.atariteca.net.pe/2025/10/nuevas-aventuras-de-texto-italianas.html Wild West - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/385434-wild-west-text-adventure-released/ Tin Star - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/385435-tin-star-text-adventure-released/ Desperados - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/385436-desperados-text-adventure-released/ New & Updated Software: https://forums.atariage.com/topic/234684-atari-8-bit-software-preservation-initiative/page/113/#findComment-5735315 Atari OS ROM collection - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/201133-os-source-code-all-revisions/page/6/#findComment-5730231 Mark "atarimac" Grebe updated Atari800MacX to 6.1.0 - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/385276-atari800macx-61-released/ Paulo Garcia continues his fantastic work on the FujiSan emulator (based on Atari800 emulator with emphasis on UI). - https://github.com/pedgarcia/fujisan/releases/tag/v1.0.5 Eric Carr updates the VSCode Extension for FastBASIC - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/351055-fastbasic-debugger-extension-for-vscode/ Publications Atari Insights October issue - https://ataribasics.com/newsletter-hub/ Compute's Gazette October issue - https://www.computesgazette.com ABBUC Magazine Special Mag 56 available in English (downloadable) for members - https://abbuc.de/download/abbuc-sondermagazin-56-papierbeilage-englisch/ Old School Gamer #48 - https://shop.oldschoolgamer.com/products/osg-issue-48-september-2025 New & Updated Hardware Atari 1027 printer belt by Jeri Ellsworth - https://bsky.app/profile/jeriellsworth.bsky.social/post/3m3ojeg7x6c2e New 1:1 1000dpi Replica of Atari XE Motherboard in production - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/383379-new-11-1000dpi-replica-of-atari-xe-motherboard-%E2%80%93-interest-check/page/7/ New 1:1 1000dpi Replica of Atari 600XL Motherboard – Interest Check - Piotr D. Kaczorowski - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/384709-new-11-1000dpi-replica-of-atari-600xl-motherboard-%E2%80%93-interest-check/ Contests ABBUC Software Competition: https://forums.atariage.com/topic/381593-abbuc-software-contest-2025 Video of the 13 games from the contest run on real hardware (Philsan) - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/381593-abbuc-software-contest-2025/page/5/#findComment-5735942 ABBUC Hardware Competition - https://forums.atariage.com/topic/381594-abbuc-hardware-contest-2025/ ATASCII Compo 2025: https://atariscne.org/news/index.php/atascii-compo-2025-is-running https://logiker.com/ATASCII Other https://tedium.co/2025/10/20/computers-fcc-rf-interference-history/ Atari 8-bit calendar (from Atariteca on Facebook): Article - https://www.facebook.com/share/p/17NVFQ4pA8/ Ordering - https://www.facebook.com/martin.grundy.94 Upcoming Shows 2025 Atari Party 2025 - Nov. 22, 2025 (noon to 4) - Quakertown, PA Train Station - http://atariparty.org/ 2026 Vintage Computer Festival Montreal - Jan. 24-25, 2026 - Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, QC - https://vcfed.org/vcf-montreal/ Vintage Electronics Expo - Jan. 31, 2026 - Oakland Expo Center, Waterford, MI - https://www.thevee.org/ Vintage Computer Festival SoCal - February 14-15, 2026 - Hotel Fera Events Center, Orange, CA - vcfsocal.com Indy Classic Computer and Video Game Expo - March 20-22 - Wyndham Indianapolis Airport Hotel, Indianapolis, IN - https://indyclassic.org/ VCF East - April 17-19 2026 - InfoAge Science and History Museums, Wall, NJ - https://vcfed.org/events/vintage-computer-festival-east/ Midwest Gaming Classic - April 24-26 - Baird Center, Milwaukee, WI - https://www.midwestgamingclassic.com/ VCF Southwest - May 29-31, 2026 - Westin Dallas Ft. Worth Airport - https://www.vcfsw.org/ Retrofest 2026 - May 30-31 - Steam Museum of the Great Western Railway, Swindon, UK - https://retrofest.uk/ Southern Fried Gaming Expo - July 31-Aug 2, 2026 - Atlanta, GA - https://gameatl.com/ Fujiama - August 26-30 - Lengenfeld, Germany - http://atarixle.ddns.net/fuji/2026 Event page on Floppy Days Website - https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vSeLsg4hf5KZKtpxwUQgacCIsqeIdQeZniq3yE881wOCCYskpLVs5OO1PZLqRRF2t5fUUiaKByqQrgA/pub YouTube Videos A Brilliant Failure: The Atari 400 & 800 Story - Little Car - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gcUt0GCk-YI Atari Now! October 2025 News and Home brew for all Atari systems - Steve & Jeff Fulton - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMhNSFx6gyg New at Archive.org Allan: https://archive.org/details/@allan52 : https://archive.org/details/math-mission-apx-ver-3 https://www.oconnormortuary.com/obituaries/david-paul-kosmal/ https://archive.org/details/wordgo-apx-ver-3 https://archive.org/details/atari-xl-product-line-fact-sheets https://archive.org/details/@archivingisimportant : I Heart Atari newsletters french - https://archive.org/details/atarinews_1 https://archive.org/details/@ted_skrecky New at GitHub https://github.com/illuminated-g/atari_asm_moon Feedback https://oldbytes.space/@fluidlogic/115248639418865349

C dans l'air du 23 octobre 2025 : Quatre jours après le spectaculaire cambriolage du Louvre, l'enquête se poursuit et une nouvelle vidéo, filmée par un témoin, est apparue sur les réseaux sociaux. Deux hommes y sont filmés en train de descendre calmement par un monte-charge de la galerie Apollon, tentant de mettre le feu à l'engin — en vain — avant de s'enfuir en scooter. Les malfaiteurs, au nombre de quatre, auraient laissé dans leur fuite deux disqueuses, un chalumeau, de l'essence, des gants, un talkie-walkie, une couverture, ainsi que la couronne de l'impératrice Eugénie et un gilet jaune, selon des sources policières. Un casque aurait également été retrouvé sur place.Auditionnée au Sénat mercredi, Laurence des Cars, présidente-directrice du Louvre depuis 2021, a reconnu des failles dans la sûreté du musée : notamment un manque de caméras sur les façades de l'établissement. « J'assume totalement que nous avons une faiblesse dans la protection périmétrique du Louvre », a-t-elle affirmé. « Nous n'avons pas repéré suffisamment à l'avance l'arrivée des voleurs », a-t-elle concédé. « Les faiblesses de notre protection périmétrique sont connues et identifiées », a indiqué Laurence des Cars, assurant que le futur plan de sécurité permettrait de couvrir « l'ensemble des façades ».La ministre de la Culture, de son côté, a dénoncé les fausses informations circulant à ce sujet :Le dispositif de sécurité « a fonctionné ». « Les systèmes d'alarme ont été déclenchés à chaque effraction, et dès l'intrusion dans la salle, de la fenêtre aux vitrines ! Aucun système n'a été défaillant », a expliqué Rachida Dati. Pourtant, a-t-elle ajouté, « non », tout n'a pas été parfait et « oui », des choses sont à améliorer. Emmanuel Macron a demandé mercredi, en Conseil des ministres, une « accélération » des « mesures de sécurisation » du Louvre. Le président de la République attend sur son bureau une liste de propositions « pour la semaine prochaine », alors que les critiques se multiplient.Ainsi, l'ancienne ministre de la Culture Aurélie Filippetti (2012-2014) estime qu'« il y a aujourd'hui un défaut majeur dans le pilotage du ministère de la Culture (...). On a fait des choix de prestige, de communication souvent tape-à-l'œil, au détriment de l'entretien de base du musée (…) L'argent n'a pas été mis au bon endroit. Par exemple, depuis 2014, il y a eu une diminution de 14 % des personnels d'accueil et de surveillance du musée », a-t-elle expliqué mercredi sur le plateau de C dans l'air.Un rapport de la Cour des comptes pointe un retard « persistant » et « considérable » dans la mise en conformité des équipements de sécurité dans l'enceinte du Louvre. Il révèle notamment que 60 % des salles de l'aile Sully et 75 % de celles de l'aile Richelieu ne sont pas équipées de vidéosurveillance.Mais au-delà du Louvre, ce sont les débats autour de la sécurité des musées en France qui sont relancés. Nos journalistes sont allés à la rencontre de la directrice du musée du Hiéron, à Paray-le-Monial. Le 21 novembre 2024, ce musée d'art a été victime d'un braquage à main armée. Après avoir tiré des coups de feu, quatre individus, casqués, encagoulés et gantés, avaient fait main basse sur de précieux objets comportant de l'or, de l'ivoire et des pierres précieuses. Une partie seulement du butin a été retrouvée dans un sac, au fond de la rivière Arroux, en plein centre-ville de Gueugnon. Douze hommes ont été mis en examen jusqu'à présent dans cette affaire.LES EXPERTS :- Laurent Valdiguié - Journaliste d'investigation à Marianne- Christophe Barbier - Editorialiste politique, Conseiller de la rédaction Franc-Tireur - Didier Rykner - Directeur-fondateur, la Tribune de l'art- Caroline Pigozzi - Journaliste et écrivain- Anne-Elisabeth Moutet (en duplex) - Editorialiste au Daily Telegraph

Après le cambriolage du musée du Louvre dimanche matin, et le vol de huit pièces de joaillerie, la France est sidérée... Mais ce n'est pas une surprise pour tout le monde. La Cour des comptes s'apprêtait à publier un rapport alarmant sur la sécurité du musée Oui, dans les prochaines semaines. Mais tout de suite après ce rocambolesque fric frac, certaines observations ont fuité. Les alertes sont relatées par exemple par le Figaro. Ca donne l'impression que la sécurité du Louvre ressemblait à celle du Radeau de la méduse de Géricault (salle 700). Qu'on puisse s'y rendre comme dans un libre service avec un monte-charge de déménagement et une disqueuse semble finalement peu étonnant. Qu'est-ce qu'on apprend dans ce pré-rapport ? Vous savez, la Cour des comptes fait ce qu'elle sait le mieux faire. Compter.  Elle a par exemple compté les caméras de surveillance dans le Louvre. Sur 73 000 mètres carrés d'exposition, il y avait, en 2024, 432 caméras. C'est à dire autant que dans un grand centre commercial.  40% seulement des salles du musée sont équipée d'au moins une caméra. Dans l'aile Richelieu, les trois quarts des espaces n'en ont aucune. Le Louvre, c'est le cyclope Poylphème assis sur son rocher, sculpture visible salle 104. Il ne voit que d'un oeil Et le musée n'y remédie pas ? Visiblement, au compte-gouttes. Le Louvre implante des caméras quand il refait des salles, c'est à dire lentement. En cinq ans, 138 nouvelles caméras seulement ont été installées dans le musée.  La Cour des comptes est sévère : elle évoque un manque de volonté de la direction du musée, les dépenses ne suivent pas les besoins, visiblement connus de tous, et notamment du personnel. Il dénonçait en juin dernier le sous-investissement chronique dans la sécurité - pour le matériel et le personnel. Et puis le délabrement global. Ca va au-delà de la simple affaire des caméras. La cour des comptes pointe aussi un mal dont on a désormais pris l'habitude : l'inefficacité. Les études pour les systèmes de sécurité et de sûreté sont incroyablement longues, parfois plusieurs années. Et c'est aussi vrai pour la sécurité incendie, le désenfumage et les infrastructures techniques. Tout se délite et rien n'avance. C'est la nef des fous de Jérôme Bosch, un des trésors du musée Le Louvre manque de moyens ? Non. Le Louvre, c'est 317 millions de recettes, en billetterie, mécénat et subventions l'an dernier. Les recettes augmentent, avec le nombre de visiteur, qui va dépasser les 10 millions cette année.  Cela a même permis au musée de réaliser 19 millions de bénéfices en 2024. Donc, non, le Louvre ne crie pas misère.  Il y a quelques mois, la direction du Louvre s'est engagée avec l'État à rattraper le temps perdu, et à tout remettre  à niveau d'ici à 10 ans. Mais c'est long, 10 ans ! En attendant, le Louvre est comme une Vénus de Milo ou une victoire de Samothrace, impuissant, dépourvu de bras pour assurer sa sécurité. Et personne ne semble prêt à endosser la responsabilité du désastre. Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Après le cambriolage du musée du Louvre dimanche matin, et le vol de huit pièces de joaillerie, la France est sidérée... Mais ce n'est pas une surprise pour tout le monde. La Cour des comptes s'apprêtait à publier un rapport alarmant sur la sécurité du musée Oui, dans les prochaines semaines. Mais tout de suite après ce rocambolesque fric frac, certaines observations ont fuité. Les alertes sont relatées par exemple par le Figaro. Ca donne l'impression que la sécurité du Louvre ressemblait à celle du Radeau de la méduse de Géricault (salle 700). Qu'on puisse s'y rendre comme dans un libre service avec un monte-charge de déménagement et une disqueuse semble finalement peu étonnant. Qu'est-ce qu'on apprend dans ce pré-rapport ? Vous savez, la Cour des comptes fait ce qu'elle sait le mieux faire. Compter.  Elle a par exemple compté les caméras de surveillance dans le Louvre. Sur 73 000 mètres carrés d'exposition, il y avait, en 2024, 432 caméras. C'est à dire autant que dans un grand centre commercial.  40% seulement des salles du musée sont équipée d'au moins une caméra. Dans l'aile Richelieu, les trois quarts des espaces n'en ont aucune. Le Louvre, c'est le cyclope Poylphème assis sur son rocher, sculpture visible salle 104. Il ne voit que d'un oeil Et le musée n'y remédie pas ? Visiblement, au compte-gouttes. Le Louvre implante des caméras quand il refait des salles, c'est à dire lentement. En cinq ans, 138 nouvelles caméras seulement ont été installées dans le musée.  La Cour des comptes est sévère : elle évoque un manque de volonté de la direction du musée, les dépenses ne suivent pas les besoins, visiblement connus de tous, et notamment du personnel. Il dénonçait en juin dernier le sous-investissement chronique dans la sécurité - pour le matériel et le personnel. Et puis le délabrement global. Ca va au-delà de la simple affaire des caméras. La cour des comptes pointe aussi un mal dont on a désormais pris l'habitude : l'inefficacité. Les études pour les systèmes de sécurité et de sûreté sont incroyablement longues, parfois plusieurs années. Et c'est aussi vrai pour la sécurité incendie, le désenfumage et les infrastructures techniques. Tout se délite et rien n'avance. C'est la nef des fous de Jérôme Bosch, un des trésors du musée Le Louvre manque de moyens ? Non. Le Louvre, c'est 317 millions de recettes, en billetterie, mécénat et subventions l'an dernier. Les recettes augmentent, avec le nombre de visiteur, qui va dépasser les 10 millions cette année.  Cela a même permis au musée de réaliser 19 millions de bénéfices en 2024. Donc, non, le Louvre ne crie pas misère.  Il y a quelques mois, la direction du Louvre s'est engagée avec l'État à rattraper le temps perdu, et à tout remettre  à niveau d'ici à 10 ans. Mais c'est long, 10 ans ! En attendant, le Louvre est comme une Vénus de Milo ou une victoire de Samothrace, impuissant, dépourvu de bras pour assurer sa sécurité. Et personne ne semble prêt à endosser la responsabilité du désastre. Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

C dans l'air du 20 octobre 2025 - Louvre: braquage d'une france désargentéeCe dimanche, en plein jour, quatre malfaiteurs ont pénétré dans le musée du Louvre et dérobé en seulement sept minutes huit bijoux d'une valeur « inestimable ». Ce braquage spectaculaire, survenu sous les yeux de visiteurs médusés, fait la Une des médias du monde entier.En France, c'est la sidération. Mais très vite, une question s'impose : comment un tel vol a-t-il pu avoir lieu dans l'un des lieux culturels les plus emblématiques du pays ? Les voleurs seraient entrés par une simple porte-fenêtre donnant sur les quais de Seine. Les alarmes auraient bien fonctionné, mais les agents présents ne les auraient pas entendues.La sécurité du musée est au cœur des interrogations. Dès sa prise de fonction en 2021, la présidente-directrice du Louvre avait alerté les autorités et demandé un audit. Selon les syndicats, près de 200 postes équivalents temps plein dédiés à la surveillance des salles ont été supprimés en quinze ans.Une enquête judiciaire est en cours. En parallèle, la ministre de la Culture, Rachida Dati, a annoncé l'ouverture d'une enquête administrative pour reconstituer précisément le déroulé des faits. Le ministre de l'Intérieur n'a pas fait de commentaires sur d'éventuelles failles dans le dispositif, mais il a demandé à tous les préfets de renforcer la sécurité autour des musées. Un rapport de la Cour des comptes, publié dans les prochains jours, épingle la vétusté des installations techniques du Louvre. Il révèle notamment que 60 % des salles de l'aile Sully et 75 % de celles de l'aile Richelieu ne sont pas équipées de vidéosurveillance.« Nous avons failli », a reconnu le ministre de la Justice, Gérald Darmanin, dénonçant l'image déplorable donnée de la France. Les œuvres seront retrouvées et les auteurs traduits en justice a promis de son côté chef de l'État alors que la classe politique se désole de ce braquage.Cet événement ravive aussi le débat sur le financement du patrimoine. Cet été, Stéphane Bern rappelait dans un de nos reportages que le Louvre nécessitait des investissements massifs. Une note évoque un besoin de 700 millions d'euros. Le chroniqueur, nommé à la tête de la mission Patrimoine en 2017, appelait alors à faire de la culture une cause nationale et à ne pas sacrifier la culture sur l'autel du budget.Le projet de budget de l'État pour 2026 est justement examiné à partir de ce lundi en commission des Finances de l'Assemblée nationale, dans un climat d'antagonisme politique exacerbé et avec des délais contraints. La bataille budgétaire commence, et elle devrait occuper tout l'automne. LES EXPERTS :- Maryvonne DE SAINT-PULGENT - Ancienne directrice du patrimoine au ministère de la Culture- Anne ROSENCHER - Directrice déléguée de la rédaction de l'Express- Fabrice D'ALMEIDA- Historien et vice-président de l'université Paris Panthéon-Assas- Laurent VALDIGIUE - Journaliste d'investigation à Marianne et expert en sécurité- Nathalie ABBOU VIDAL (en duplex) - Experte en bijoux et pierres précieuses - Haute école de joailleriePRESENTATION : Caroline Roux - Aurélie casse - REDIFFUSION : du lundi au vendredi vers 23h40.PRODUCTION DES PODCASTS: Jean-Christophe ThiéfineRÉALISATION : Nicolas Ferraro, Bruno Piney, Franck Broqua, Alexandre Langeard, Corentin Son, Benoît LemoinePRODUCTION : France Télévisions / Maximal ProductionsRetrouvez C DANS L'AIR sur internet & les réseaux :INTERNET : francetv.frFACEBOOK : https://www.facebook.com/Cdanslairf5TWITTER : https://twitter.com/cdanslairINSTAGRAM :https://www.instagram.com/cdanslair/

François Roy, natif de Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, est un homme d'affaire déterminé, qui ne fait pas de politique pour le plaisir du pouvoir, mais pour remettre les citoyens aux commandes. Il explique sa démarche comme candidat à la mairie dans sa ville natale avec ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Jeff⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ et ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Gerry⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Consultez le plateforme de François Roy ici : https://www.equipefrancoisroy.ca/ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

RadioPirate LIVE édition du 8 octobre 2025 avec ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Jeff⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ Fillion⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ 0min00 - La rencontre Carney et Trump à la Maison Blanche a donné des résultats encourageants. Même s'il n'est pas fan du PM du Canada, ⁠Jeff⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ explique son point de vu avec ⁠⁠Gerry⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ sur cette rencontre. Voici dans les RadioPirate News! (Partie 1) 18min36 - Carney visite Trump à la Maison Blanche suite, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Jeff⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ analyse avec ⁠⁠⁠Gerry⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. RadioPirate News. (Partie 2) 40min46 - ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠François Roy, natif de Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, est un homme d'affaire déterminé, qui ne fait pas de politique pour le plaisir du pouvoir, mais pour remettre les citoyens aux commandes. Il explique sa démarche comme candidat à la mairie dans sa ville natale avec ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Jeff⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ et ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Gerry⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Consultez le plateforme de François Roy ici : https://www.equipefrancoisroy.ca/ 1h04min22 - ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Gerry⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ouvre sa Boîte aux nouvelles et nous raconte toute sorte d'histoires reliées à une panoplie de sujets, ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Jeff⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ et ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠MisterWhite⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ commentent. ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Substack du ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Gerry⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ ici https://gerrypizza.substack.com/⁠ 1h23min56 - L'actualité en free style avec les ⁠⁠⁠Dodu⁠⁠⁠ News live de Tampa avec ⁠⁠⁠Jeff⁠⁠⁠ et ⁠⁠⁠Gerry⁠⁠⁠. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Quand on pense à la France, trois images surgissent souvent : la baguette, le vin… et le croissant. Pourtant, l'histoire de ce dernier réserve une belle surprise : le croissant n'est pas né en France, mais en Autriche.L'histoire remonte à 1683, à Vienne, capitale des Habsbourg. Cette année-là, la ville est assiégée par l'armée ottomane. Les combats font rage et les habitants craignent l'invasion. Une légende raconte que ce sont les boulangers, levés aux aurores pour pétrir la pâte, qui entendirent des bruits suspects sous les remparts. Les Ottomans creusaient des tunnels pour pénétrer dans la cité. Prévenus à temps, les défenseurs purent contrecarrer l'attaque et repousser l'ennemi.La victoire fut éclatante. Pour la célébrer, les boulangers eurent une idée ingénieuse : façonner une pâtisserie en forme de croissant de lune, emblème du drapeau ottoman. Mordre dans cette pâte dorée revenait ainsi, symboliquement, à croquer l'ennemi. C'est la naissance du kipferl, ancêtre du croissant.Ce kipferl viennois n'était pas feuilleté comme celui que nous connaissons aujourd'hui. Il s'agissait plutôt d'une pâte briochée, dense, parfois enrichie d'amandes ou de noisettes. On en trouve d'ailleurs des variantes dans toute l'Europe centrale, où il est consommé depuis le Moyen Âge.Alors, comment cette viennoiserie est-elle devenue française ? La réponse se trouve au XIXᵉ siècle. En 1839, un officier autrichien à la retraite, August Zang, ouvre une boulangerie viennoise à Paris, rue de Richelieu. Ses kipferl séduisent rapidement la clientèle parisienne, avide de nouveautés. Les artisans français adoptent l'idée, mais la transforment : au lieu d'une pâte briochée, ils utilisent la pâte feuilletée levée, déjà employée pour les vol-au-vent ou les chaussons. Le croissant tel que nous le connaissons aujourd'hui, léger, croustillant, beurré, est donc une invention française… à partir d'un concept autrichien.Cette hybridation explique le paradoxe : le croissant est à la fois étranger et profondément français. Étranger par ses origines historiques, français par son perfectionnement culinaire et sa diffusion. C'est d'ailleurs seulement au XXᵉ siècle que le croissant devient un incontournable du petit-déjeuner hexagonal, accompagné d'un café noir ou d'un bol de chocolat chaud.Ainsi, derrière cette viennoiserie dorée se cache une histoire de guerre, de symboles et de métissage culturel. Le croissant n'est pas né en France, mais la France en a fait un emblème universel. Une preuve que, parfois, l'identité culinaire se construit dans la rencontre des traditions plutôt que dans la pureté des origines. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Au cœur de l'histoire est un podcast Europe 1. - Ecriture et présentation : Jean des Cars  - Production : Timothée Magot - Réalisation : Jean-François Bussière - Diffusion et édition : Clémence Olivier et Clara Ménard Bibliographie : - Jean-Christian Petitfils, Louis XIII, Perrin, 2008. - Arnaud Teyssier, Richelieu, l'Aigle et la Colombe, Perrin, 2014. - Richelieu, l'Art et le Pouvoir, Catalogue de l'Exposition du Musée des Beaux-Arts de Montréal, 2003.   Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Au cœur de l'histoire est un podcast Europe 1. - Ecriture et présentation : Jean des Cars  - Production : Timothée Magot - Réalisation : Jean-François Bussière - Diffusion et édition : Clémence Olivier et Clara Ménard Bibliographie : - Jean-Christian Petitfils, Louis XIII, Perrin, 2008. - Arnaud Teyssier, Richelieu, l'Aigle et la Colombe, Perrin, 2014. - Richelieu, l'Art et le Pouvoir, Catalogue de l'Exposition du Musée des Beaux-Arts de Montréal, 2003.   Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

REDIFF - De son vivant mais surtout depuis sa mort en 1642, Richelieu, le principal ministre du roi Louis XIII est qualifié d'homme froid, machiavélique, cruel et vaniteux, profitant de la faiblesse du souverain pour manigancer. Cette légende noire doit beaucoup bien sûr au roman "Les Trois Mousquetaires" d'Alexandre Dumas. Mais Richelieu est également un amoureux des arts et des lettres... Chaque samedi en exclusivité, retrouvez en podcast un épisode des saisons précédentes de « Entrez dans l'Histoire ».Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

REDIFF - De son vivant mais surtout depuis sa mort en 1642, Richelieu, le principal ministre du roi Louis XIII est qualifié d'homme froid, machiavélique, cruel et vaniteux, profitant de la faiblesse du souverain pour manigancer. Cette légende noire doit beaucoup bien sûr au roman "Les Trois Mousquetaires" d'Alexandre Dumas. Mais Richelieu est également un amoureux des arts et des lettres... Chaque samedi en exclusivité, retrouvez en podcast un épisode des saisons précédentes de « Entrez dans l'Histoire ».Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

ANTIC Episode 121 - Dongle Disaster In this episode of ANTIC The Atari 8-Bit Computer Podcast… Special guest Brent Carroll joins as we bring you the Atari news and narrowly avoid disaster with our dongle talk … READY! Recurring Links  Floppy Days Podcast  AtariArchives.org  AtariMagazines.com  Kay's Book “Terrible Nerd”  New Atari books scans at archive.org  ANTIC feedback at AtariAge  Atari interview discussion thread on AtariAge  Interview index: here  ANTIC Facebook Page  AHCS  Eaten By a Grue  Next Without For  What we've been up to CX40+ Wireless Joystick:  https://atari.com/products/wireless-cx40-joystick-atari  https://www.amazon.com/Deep-Silver-Wireless-Joystick-Atari-2600/dp/B0DDR68ZXR  Harry Stewart died: his daughter sent me documents https://bsky.app/profile/savetz.bsky.social/post/3lyj77tjtns2j  Kay's 2017 interview with Harry - ANTIC Interview 295 - Harry Stewart, Pilot and WSFN  VCFMW - https://www.vcfwm.org  Video interview of Cynthia Solomon and Brian Silverman - https://youtu.be/lWmXPEyl9T8  FujiNet-enabled Atari800Macx: https://forums.atariage.com/topic/382899-adding-fujinet-support-to-atari800macx/page/3/#findComment-5709456  https://github.com/atarimacosx/Atari800MacX/releases/tag/Release_6.1.0Beta1  News Nick DiMasi (SCAT) passed way: Interview with Nick at VCFMW 13 - https://ataripodcast.libsyn.com/antic-the-atari-8-bit-podcast-episode-5-connect-your-atari-to-a-pc (Nick's interview is near the end of the show)  SCAT - http://www.scatarians.org/  Rare sighting of a working 1027 printer at latest TACO meeting - https://www.facebook.com/share/v/16vmTRRzHD/  Modified Atari 800 with a custom cpu board and a hp 1611a logic analyzer would plug into the external port - https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1Fv8FM9yxz/  RM800XL update on X - https://x.com/rm_800xl/status/1964665547821637818  Microsoft open-sources the 6502 BASIC coded by Bill Gates himself: https://www.theregister.com/2025/09/04/microsoft_open_sources_6502_basic/ https://github.com/microsoft/BASIC-M6502  Atari XL/XE -=Elite=- beta version: From AtariTeca - https://www.atariteca.net.pe/2025/09/inesperado-beta-jugable-de-elite.html  Saberman Retronews - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yi8Fr9XFxKQ  Download - https://www.atarimania.com/game-atari-400-800-xl-xe-elite_44548.html  5.25" Floppy Envelope Generator from Pawel “Lexx” Kawka: From Atariteca - https://www.atariteca.net.pe/2025/09/nuevo-generador-de-fundas.html  online tool for designing covers - https://ataricovers.com/generator-kopert/?lang=en  Cassette Cover Generator  Newsletter News September, 2025 issue of Atari Insights - https://www.ataribasics.com  ABBUC magazines 162 and special mag 56 - https://www.abbuc.de  Upcoming Shows Portland Retro Gaming Expo - October 17-19 - Oregon Convention Center, Portland, OR - https://retrogamingexpo.com/  Vintage Computer Festival Montreal - Jan. 24-25, 2026 - Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, QC - https://vcfed.org/vcf-montreal/  Vintage Computer Festival SoCal - February 14-15, 2026 - Hotel Fera Events Center, Orange, CA - vcfsocal.com  Indy Classic Computer and Video Game Expo - March 20-22 2026 - Wyndham Indianapolis Airport Hotel, Indianapolis, IN - https://indyclassic.org/  VCF East - April 17-19 2026 - InfoAge Science and History Museums, Wall, NJ - https://vcfed.org/events/vintage-computer-festival-east/  Southern Fried Gaming Expo - July 31-Aug 2 2026 - Atlanta, Ga - https://gameatl.com/  Event page created by Chicago Classic Computing - http://chiclassiccomp.org/events.html  Event page created by Floppy Days on Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/VintageComputerShows/  Event page on Floppy Days Website - https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vSeLsg4hf5KZKtpxwUQgacCIsqeIdQeZniq3yE881wOCCYskpLVs5OO1PZLqRRF2t5fUUiaKByqQrgA/pub  YouTube Videos How did the Atari beat the Commodore 64 in Chile thanks to Coelsa? - Frognum - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NW2ZkWQ-nw  Atari Now! News and Homebrews, September 2025 - Into the Vertical Blank - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKlmVrEHhhI  Atari 800XL FujiNet and Sega Genesis Retro.Link Networking Test - Greg Gallardo - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdYFlnNGm9o  New at Archive.org Ted Skrecky continues uploading XIO3 newsletters - https://archive.org/details/@ted_skrecky  https://archive.org/details/de-re-atari-spanish_202508  Listener Feedback O'Shea limestone cave - http://www.oshealtd.com/atari.htm  Long Island Gaming Expo in NY - https://liretro.com/   

Interview with Karl Hornell - C64 Game Developer, Cartoonist, Author Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/FloppyDays Sponsors: 8-Bit Classics  Arcade Shopper  FutureVision Research   Hello, and welcome to episode 155 of the Floppy Days Podcast for September, 2025!  I'm Randy Kindig, your host for this podcast, where we talk about the computers that got many of us started in our careers and which still hold a lot of interest for us today. This month, I'm bringing you another interesting interview with someone who at an early age started developing commercial-grade software for the Commodore 64, which started him on an amazing trajectory with his career in software development, cartoonist, and more.  His latest efforts include branching out into writing science fiction, which we will also discuss today. The person I'm referring to is Karl Hornell (Her-NELL). It's also an interesting story around how this interview opportunity came to me.  I'm not used to getting contacted by an ad agency.  This one indicated that their client, Karl, had just recently published a book and was looking for ways to advertise the book.  They suggested that Floppy Days would be a great fit based on Karl's background and could be beneficial for both.  I was skeptical at first, as I always am when I receive unsolicited, possibly spam email.  However, once I researched Karl's background it became clear that he was an accomplished Swedish developer for the C64 back in the day, with some notariety.  I felt his background might indeed be of interest to you, the listeners, and so happily agreed to interviewing Karl for the podcast.  I hope you enjoy Karl's story and will consider taking a look at his new book. New Acquisitions and What I've Been Up To Atari Bit Byter User Club (ABBUC) - https://www.abbuc.de  VCFMW - https://vcfmw.org/  Atari TT030 at Wikipedia - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atari_TT030  David Anderson's Timex Sinclair sites: https://andertone.com/  https://www.timexsinclair.com/  News Stan Veit's History of the Personal Computer - https://archive.org/details/stan-veits-history-of-the-personal-computer/mode/2up  David Greelish's YouTube channel - https://www.youtube.com/@TheComputerHistorian  Early chapters (1-9) of Stan Veit's book via audio - https://www.classiccomputing.com/CCPodcasts/Stan_Veit/Stan_Veit.html  Floppy Days YouTube channel - https://www.youtube.com/@floppydayspodcast  Upcoming Vintage Computer Shows Tandy Assembly - September 26-28 - Courtyard by Marriott Springfield - Springfield, OH - http://www.tandyassembly.com/  Portland Retro Gaming Expo - October 17-19 - Oregon Convention Center, Portland, OR - https://retrogamingexpo.com/  Chicago TI International World Faire - October 25 - Evanston Public Library, Evanston, IL - https://www.chicagotiug.org/home  Ami West - November 1-2, Sacramento, CA - https://www.amiwest.net  World of Commodore 2025 - December 6-7 - Admiral Inn, Mississauga, Ontario, Canada - https://www.tpug.ca/world-of-commodore/world-of-commodore-2025/  Vintage Computer Festival Montreal - Jan. 24-25, 2026 - Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, QC - https://vcfed.org/vcf-montreal/  Vintage Computer Festival SoCal - February 14-15, 2025 - Hotel Fera Events Center, Orange, CA - vcfsocal.com  Indy Classic Computer and Video Game Expo - March 20-22 - Wyndham Indianapolis Airport Hotel, Indianapolis, IN - https://indyclassic.org/  Schedule Published on Floppy Days Website - https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vSeLsg4hf5KZKtpxwUdQgacCIsqeIdQeZniq3yE881wOCCYskpLVs5OO1PZLqRRF2t5fUUiaKByqQrgA/pub  Interview Links Karl at Wikipedia - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karl_H%C3%B6rnell  Vic-Rapport Magazine (Wikipedia) - https://sv.wikipedia.org/wiki/VIC-rapport  “Generation 64 - How the Commodore 64 Inspired a Generation of Swedish Gamers” by Bitmap Books - https://amzn.to/3YUUlQ5 (affiliate link) Karl Hornell's Applet Center - http://www.javaonthebrain.com/  Retro Gamer Magazine #130 with Karl interview - https://archive.org/details/retro-gamer-raspberry-pi-buenos-aires/Retro%20Gamer%20130/page/92/mode/2up  “Singularity Minus Twelve” book - https://amzn.to/3S8Yr3r (affiliate link) Savage Dragonbert - https://wiki.savagedragon.com/comics/savage_dragonbert_full_frontal_nerdity_01/   

durée : 00:59:11 - Le Cours de l'histoire - par : Xavier Mauduit, Maïwenn Guiziou - De l'église Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais du XVe siècle à la Bibliothèque Richelieu construite à partir du XVIe siècle, en passant par La Samaritaine, Jean-François et Xavier Lagneau, architectes de père en fils, traversent chaque jour l'histoire, avec pour métier le souci de la préserver. - réalisation : Alexandre Manzanares - invités : Jean-François Lagneau Architecte en chef des Monuments historiques, ancien inspecteur général des Monuments historiques; Xavier Lagneau Architecte du patrimoine

La rivière Richelieu est à son plus bas niveau depuis des années en raison du manque de pluie et plusieurs propriétaires de bateaux commencent à craindre le pire… Entrevue avec Guy Lanoue, aviseur technique à la marina de Saint-Mathias-sur-Richelieu. Regardez aussi cette discussion en vidéo via https://www.qub.ca/videos ou en vous abonnant à QUB télé : https://www.tvaplus.ca/qub ou sur la chaîne YouTube QUB https://www.youtube.com/@qub_radioPour de l'information concernant l'utilisation de vos données personnelles - https://omnystudio.com/policies/listener/fr

Jimmy Kimmel se fait retirer son micro | Trump en visite royale | Niveau très bas de la rivière Richelieu : les habitants s’inquiètent | Le meurtre de Catherine Daviau résolu 17 ans plus tard : une amie lui rend hommage | Concentration de cas de SLA dans Charlevoix | Élections municipales : qui connait vraiment tous les partis? | Ricardo, encore et toujours le roi de la cuisine Dans cet épisode intégral du 18 septembre, en entrevue : Guy Lanoue, aviseur technique à la marina de Saint-Mathias-sur-Richelieu. Véronique Danis, amie de Catherine Daviau. George Karam, entrepreneur à l'émission Dans l'œil du dragon et auteur du livre Déjouer le destin - Parcours d’un entrepreneur résilient. La commandante Mélanie Dupont, cheffe de la section des crimes majeurs au Service de Police de la Ville de Montréal (SPVM). Ricardo Larrivée, chef, auteur et entrepreneur. Une production QUB Septembre 2025Pour de l'information concernant l'utilisation de vos données personnelles - https://omnystudio.com/policies/listener/fr

“Impressions nabies” Bonnard, Vuillard, Denis,Vallottonà la BnF I Richelieu, Parisdu 9 septembre 2025 au 11 janvier 2026Entretien avec Céline Chicha-Castes,conservatrice chargée des estampes du XXe siècle au département des Estampes et de la photographie de la BnFet Valérie Sueur-Hermel,conservatrice chargée des estampes du XIXe siècle au département des Estampes et de la photographie de la BnFet commissaires de l'exposition,par Anne-Frédérique Fer, à Paris, 8 septembre 2025, durée 12'56,© FranceFineArt.https://francefineart.com/2025/09/27/3636_impressions-nabies_bnf-richelieu/Communiqué de presseCommissariat :Céline Chicha-Castex, conservatrice chargée des estampes du XXe siècle au département des Estampes et de la photographie de la BnFValérie Sueur-Hermel, conservatrice chargée des estampes du XIXe siècle au département des Estampes et de la photographie de la BnFSi les artistes nabis, parmi lesquels Pierre Bonnard, Édouard Vuillard, Maurice Denis et Félix Vallotton sont largement connus pour leurs peintures et décors, ils excellèrent aussi dans l'art de l'estampe. Ce courant éphémère, qui se déploya pendant une dizaine d'années (1890-1900), donna lieu à une production abondante et diverse d'images imprimées. Grâce aux ressources de la lithographie en couleurs et au renouveau de la gravure sur bois, les Nabis ont créé des oeuvres variées, inscrites dans le quotidien : estampes artistiques, affiches, illustrations, programmes de spectacle, objets décoratifs. La Bibliothèque nationale de France met en lumière cet aspect de leur oeuvre dans une exposition présentée sur le site Richelieu. Près de deux cents pièces provenant principalement des collections de la BnF, complétées par des prêts d'institutions françaises et étrangères (musée d'Orsay, musée Maurice Denis, bibliothèque de l'Institut national d'histoire de l'art, musée des Beaux-Arts de Quimper et musée Van Gogh d'Amsterdam) montrent la diversité et la genèse de leurs créations graphiques.Les Nabis, promoteurs de l'art dans la vie, grâce à l'image impriméeLe mouvement nabi dépasse le champ traditionnel des beaux-arts par une ouverture à tous les domaines de la création et en particulier aux arts décoratifs. Sa contribution diversifiée aux arts graphiques s'inscrit dans un désir d'intégrer l'art à la vie quotidienne et de le rendre accessible au plus grand nombre, comme l'affirme Bonnard : « Notre génération a toujours cherché les rapports de l'art avec la vie. À cette époque, j'avais personnellement l'idée d'une production populaire et d'application usuelle : gravure, éventails, meubles, paravents. » Sous l'impulsion d'éditeurs et de marchands novateurs, tel Ambroise Vollard, ces artistes ont oeuvré à une période phare de l'histoire de l'estampe qui a consacré le peintre-graveur dans son statut d'artiste original. [...] Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Imaginez la Normandie du XVIIᵉ siècle. Des campagnes verdoyantes, des petits bourgs, et soudain… la colère qui gronde. En 1639, les paysans normands se soulèvent. On appellera cet épisode la révolte des Nu-pieds. Pourquoi ce nom ? Parce que ces insurgés, souvent modestes, se battaient pieds nus, symbole de leur misère mais aussi de leur détermination.Un impôt qui met le feu aux poudresLe contexte est tendu. La France est engagée dans la terrible guerre de Trente Ans. Pour financer l'effort militaire, la monarchie a besoin d'argent, toujours plus d'argent. Et quand il faut remplir les caisses, la solution est simple : augmenter les impôts. En Normandie, la cible est la gabelle, l'impôt sur le sel.Or, jusqu'ici, la région bénéficiait d'un régime fiscal plus léger. Quand la Couronne décide d'alourdir la taxe, c'est la goutte de trop. Pour les paysans, les artisans, même certains notables, le sel n'est pas un luxe : c'est une nécessité quotidienne. Le nouveau prélèvement est vécu comme une injustice criante.Le roi des Nu-piedsLa révolte éclate à Avranches et se répand comme une traînée de poudre. À la tête des insurgés, un avocat local, Jean Quetil, bientôt surnommé le roi des Nu-pieds. Des milliers d'hommes, mais aussi de femmes et d'enfants, prennent part au soulèvement. Ils s'attaquent aux bureaux de la gabelle, malmènent les collecteurs, brûlent les registres. Le message est clair : assez d'impôts, assez de contraintes venues de Paris.Richelieu contre la NormandieMais à Paris, on ne plaisante pas avec la contestation. Le cardinal de Richelieu, tout-puissant ministre de Louis XIII, envoie les grands moyens. Le chancelier Pierre Séguier et des troupes commandées par le maréchal de Gassion débarquent en Normandie. Très vite, l'armée royale reprend la main.La répression est terrible. Des exécutions publiques sont organisées pour l'exemple, des villages incendiés. La violence est telle que la révolte est étouffée en quelques mois à peine.Plus qu'une simple jacquerieAlors, que retenir ? Bien sûr, les Nu-pieds ont perdu. Mais leur combat révèle un malaise profond : celui d'un peuple qui accepte mal l'impôt, surtout quand il paraît arbitraire et inégal. Comme l'explique l'historien Jean Nicolas, ce n'était pas une jacquerie isolée, mais un épisode d'un cycle plus vaste de révoltes antifiscales qui ponctuent tout le XVIIᵉ siècle.Un héritage de résistanceAujourd'hui encore, la révolte des Nu-pieds reste dans la mémoire comme l'un de ces moments où des communautés locales ont osé défier le pouvoir central. Elle raconte la difficulté d'un État qui, en cherchant à se renforcer, s'est souvent heurté à la résistance de ses sujets.En somme, les Nu-pieds n'étaient pas seulement des paysans en colère : ils étaient les porte-voix d'une société qui refusait de se laisser écraser par l'impôt et par la monarchie absolue naissante. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Dans "Je voulais vivre", la journaliste et romancière Adélaïde de Clermont Tonnerre rouvre le dossier Milady, l'espionne diabolique de Richelieu et qualifie sans détour cette mise à mort de Premier féminicide de l'histoire de la littérature. Un point de vue original, audacieux pour un grand roman de cape et d'épée dans la lignée de Dumas mais avec une touche bienvenue de féminisme. Adélaïde de Clermont Tonnerre est ce soir notre invitée.Tous les soirs, du lundi au vendredi à 20h sur France 5, Anne-Elisabeth Lemoine et toute son équipe accueillent les personnalités et artistes qui font l'actualité.

Nous sommes le 30 janvier 1638, à Paris. Ouvrons la Gazette, ce périodique créé sept ans plus tôt par Théophraste Renaudot, avec l'appui du cardinal de Richelieu. On peut y lire que, dans peu de temps, dieu aidant, l'on pourra « conjouir » avec « Leurs Majestés » , le roi Louis XIII et la reine Anne, sur l'espérance d'une heureuse nouvelle… Neuf mois plus tard, en effet, dans la nuit du cinq au six septembre, arrive un dauphin, le futur Roi-soleil. Anne d'Autriche, sa mère, peut enfin respirer et prendre sa véritable place à la cour de France et de Navarre. Il faut dire que l'événement était attendu depuis plus de vingt ans. Karin Hann, auteure de « raison souveraine », éd. du Rocher Sujets traités : Anne D'Autriche, reine, Cardinal de Richelieu,Louis XIII, Majesté, Roi-soleil, Navarre Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : L'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwL'heure H : https://audmns.com/YagLLiKEt sa version à écouter en famille : La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiKAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement. Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Ce jeudi 31/07/2025, Stéphane Bern revient sur le célèbre cardinal de Richelieu. Il reçoit Alberto Toscano, journaliste et politologue italien, auteur de Mussolini, "un homme à nous" : la France et la marche sur Rome (Armand Colin).Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Ce jeudi 31/07/2025, Stéphane Bern revient sur le célèbre cardinal de Richelieu. Il reçoit Alberto Toscano, journaliste et politologue italien, auteur de Mussolini, "un homme à nous" : la France et la marche sur Rome (Armand Colin).Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Cet été, retrouvez le meilleur d'Au cœur de l'Histoire, avec Virginie Girod ! Marie de Médicis, fille du grand duc de Toscane, naît en 1575, à Florence. Héritière la plus riche d'Europe, la jeune femme est très convoitée et épouse le roi de France, Henri IV, en 1600, à l'âge de 25 ans. Neuf mois après les noces, elle donne naissance à l'héritier du trône, le futur Louis XIII. Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Nous sommes en 1590, en Castille, au palais-monastère de Saint-Laurent de l'Escurial, résidence du roi Philippe II, à quelques kilomètres de Madrid. C'est cette année-là que commence la réalisation d'une fresque représentant la première batailles de Gravelines. Celle qui eut lieu en 1558, dans l'imposante ville du nord de la France, et qui vit la victoire de l'armée espagnole, commandée par le comte d'Egmont, sur l'armée française du maréchal de Thermes. Une fois la fresque achevée, un an plus tard, on voit nettement se détacher, au premier plan, à l'écart du champ de bataille principal, un homme dont le costume tranche avec les armures des chevaliers. Il marche seul, une épée au côté gauche et un chapeau à plume blanche vissé sur la tête. Il tient, dans la main droite, une dépêche. Ce personnage est, en réalité, un courrier, fonction essentielle à la circulation de l'information militaire et politique. Il est l'un des maillon essentiel de l'administration sous l'ancien régime. Cette administration qui est aussi l'expression et le lieu de transmission du pouvoir royal. Transmission qui passe par la figure du ministre. Alors en quoi, ce ministre est-il ce que l'on peut appeler le « troisième corps du roi « ? Quels sont les deux autres corps ? Quelles est la puissance de l'écrit et de l'image dans la communication politique et diplomatique aux XVIe et XVIIe siècles ? Jérémie Ferrer-Bartomeu, chargé de recherche du FRS-FRNS à l'Université de Liège et à l'Université catholique de Louvain. Article « La figure du ministre ou le troisième corps du roi » in « La part de l'œil », numéro 39, 2025. + « L'Etat à la lettre – Ecrit politique et société administrative en France au temps des guerres de religion » ; éd. Champ Vallon. Sujets traités : Philippe II, Gravelines, Richelieu, Ministre, Roi, politique, transmission Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : L'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwL'heure H : https://audmns.com/YagLLiKEt sa version à écouter en famille : La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiKAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement. Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Loudun, 1632. Un prêtre qui suscite la jalousie, des nonnes en proie au démon, et le cardinal de Richelieu lui-même qui s'en mêle... L'affaire des possédées de Loudun défraye toutes les chroniques du XVIIe siècle. Préparez-vous à entrer dans un huis clos infernal, entre mystifications et procès retentissant qui conduira, en 1634, un prêtre au bûcher. Crédits : Lorànt Deutsch, Emma Locatelli. Du lundi au vendredi de 15h à 15h30, Lorànt Deutsch vous révèle les secrets des personnages historiques les plus captivants ! Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Esta semana analizamos el infame caso de los demonios de Loudun en la Francia del siglo XVII, explorando cómo lo que pudo comenzar como histeria colectiva en un convento de monjas se transformó en un arma política utilizada por el cardenal Richelieu. Hablaremos de la figura controvertida de Urbain Grandier y el presunto pacto diabólico que firmó, así como de las supuestas posesiones demoníacas y los exorcismos públicos. En la sección “Caminando entre Monstruos”, Javier Resines nos presenta el libro "Elficología, la diversidad feérica" de Óscar Robles, quien es un experto y divulgador del mundo feérico. Javier resalta el enfoque del texto en diversas teorías sobre el origen de las hadas y la posible conexión entre la elficología y la criptozoología. Y, además, volvemos a sortear libro. Atentos al programa para conocer las bases. Sed bienvenidos y bienvenidas. Podcast Academia de los Nocturnos Dirige: Félix Friaza Presentan: Félix Friaza y Lola Velasco Colaboran: Álvaro Anula y Javier Resines Locución: Laura Cárdenas y Ana Cárdenas Edición y diseño: Paco Cárdenas Si te gusta nuestro programa, suscríbete en Ivoox, comenta y dale a Me gusta a nuestros programas, tu respaldo nos motiva a seguir adelante y a mejorar. Y si los compartes, nos ayudarás a que los conozcan más personas. - Suscríbete a nuestro podcast aquí: https://go.ivoox.com/sq/1523888 - Añádenos a Whatsapp: (+34) 644 848 546 - Nuestro correo: academianocturnos@gmail.com - Síguenos en Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AcademiaDeLosNocturnos - Las declaraciones y opiniones manifestadas por los invitados, colaboradores o miembros de la dirección son responsabilidad individual y no comprometen ni reflejan la opinión institucional del programa. Créditos de las músicas: - Sintonía: Scarborough Fair – Nox Arcana - Cuña 1: BSO Poltergeist – Jerry Goldsmith – “The calling” - Cuña 2: BSO Nosferatu (2024) – “Once upon a time” - Cuña 3: BSO Encuentros en la tercera fase – John Williams – “Wild signals” - Cuña 4 contacto: “Salem's Lot Soundtrack | Town Theme - Nathan Barr & Lisbeth Scott | WaterTower Music” - Música presentación invitados: BSO The Haunting of Hill House – “Take her down” - Cierre de programa - Music from Uppbeat (free for Creators!): http://uppbeat.io/t/spinnin-tape/no-joyce - License code: JUYLRAH7OVALM3LC Músicas del capítulo: - Soundtrack The silence of the lambs - Return To The Asylum - Soundtrack The silence of the lambs - The Moth - The Bone Collector - A playing killer - by Craig Armstrong

 Cette affaire a bouleversé le royaume de France à l'époque de Richelieu : les « possédées de Loudun » avaient-elles commerce avec le diable ? Ou un compte à régler avec le prêtre Urbain Grandier ?  Mention légales : Vos données de connexion, dont votre adresse IP, sont traités par Radio Classique, responsable de traitement, sur la base de son intérêt légitime, par l'intermédiaire de son sous-traitant Ausha, à des fins de réalisation de statistiques agréées et de lutte contre la fraude. Ces données sont supprimées en temps réel pour la finalité statistique et sous cinq mois à compter de la collecte à des fins de lutte contre la fraude. Pour plus d'informations sur les traitements réalisés par Radio Classique et exercer vos droits, consultez notre Politique de confidentialité.Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Luis XIV de Francia fue un monarca para la guerra. Se le conoce por el boato de su reinado, el palacio de Versalles, la figura del cardenal Richelieu, o su sucesor Mazarino. Sin embargo, su vida está repleta de curiosidades y leyendas que lo convierten en un personaje curioso de la historia de Francia y también de España tras haberse casado después de la Paz de los Pirineos de 1659 con la infanta María Teresa de Austria, hija de nuestro Felipe IV

Luis XIV de Francia fue un monarca para la guerra. Se le conoce por el boato de su reinado, el palacio de Versalles, la figura del cardenal Richelieu, o su sucesor Mazarino. Sin embargo, su vida está repleta de curiosidades y leyendas que lo convierten en un personaje curioso de la historia de Francia y también de España tras haberse casado después de la Paz de los Pirineos de 1659 con la infanta María Teresa de Austria, hija de nuestro Felipe IV

Last time we spoke about the second Okinawa Offensive. In the brutal Second Okinawa Counteroffensive, American forces confronted staunch Japanese defenses, with Captain Ryan leading a valiant charge for territory. Despite fierce resistance and heavy casualties, his troops managed to seize crucial ground, enduring intense hand-to-hand combat atop Ryan Ridge. The battle raged on, with American forces fighting through exhaustion and dwindling supplies, while the Japanese, though determined, faced declining morale as they lost ground. The relentless struggle exemplified extraordinary sacrifice on both sides, but it foreshadowed a turning point in the Pacific campaign. As American advances continued, the tide shifted, marking the beginning of the end for Japanese dominance in the region, ultimately paving the way for Allied victory. This episode is the Battle of the Malacca Strait Welcome to the Pacific War Podcast Week by Week, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about world war two? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on world war two and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel you can find a few videos all the way from the Opium Wars of the 1800's until the end of the Pacific War in 1945.  After the failure of their second offensive, the Japanese turned all their energies toward waging a prolonged battle of attrition. Their losses did not impair immediately their defensive capacities; thus the 24th Corps found no weak point in the Shuri defenses resulting from the ill-starred offensive. By throwing fresh troops into the attack of 4 May Ushijima had been able to maintain his strength all along the line. Nor was there any breakdown in his command and staff operation. Front-line units were reorganized without seeming loss of effectiveness; available reinforcements were carefully allotted to existing regiments; local counterattacks were timed for maximum effect. General Ushijima's chief task now was to keep sufficient combat troops at the front to man his Shuri defenses. It was apparent by 7 May that the strength of the remaining regular infantry was not great enough for this task. Consequently, Ushijima converted service units into infantry combat groups. By mixing service troops with the "regulars," he exacted from them their maximum combat effectiveness. "One man in ten will continue with his rear-echelon duties. The remaining nine men will devote themselves to antitank combat training," one order stated. The reorganization of the 32d Regiment, 24th Division, was typical of the resourcefulness of the Japanese. The regimental headquarters received 5 men from the 24th Transport Regiment. The 1st Battalion kept its own surviving members and was allotted all the survivors of the 2d Battalion, 20 men from the 7th Shipping Depot, 90 from the 24th Transport Regiment, and y from the 26th Sea Raiding Squadron. The 2d Battalion was totally reconstituted from the 29th Independent Infantry Battalion and other units. The 3d Battalion was reorganized in a manner similar to that used with the 1st. It was by this process of piecing units together that the 32d Army was able to stay intact long after the original combat units had been virtually destroyed, a capability which at the time American intelligence officers found "baffling." After his offensive failed, the enemy formed a line in which the relative position of the major units was to remain roughly the same until the end of the battle. On the east the 24th Division, reinforced by two independent battalions, held the line as far as Shuri, with its 89th Regiment on the east, its 22d in the center, and its 32d on the west. The remnants of the battered 62d Division were stretched from a point north of Shuri almost to the west coast, holding about one-third of the line. Along the Asa River estuary was a battalion of the 44th Independent Mixed Brigade. The Japanese husbanded their remaining heavy weapons, especially their artillery, as carefully as they meted out their manpower. On 6 May the Japanese 5th Artillery Command directed its units to "revert to the [defensive] situation which held prior to the attack situation of 3 May." Once again the protection of individual pieces was a cardinal feature of enemy operations. Artillery units were ordered to "use ammunition with the utmost economy" and to "wait and fire for effect against vital targets." Along the west coast, preliminary plans were underway for the deployment of General Shepherd's 6th Marine Division to the front lines, while General Del Valle's 1st Marine Division continued its assault on the Dakeshi-Awacha hill complex. Colonel Snedeker's 7th Marines secured the coastal flank after capturing the north bank of the Asa River. Meanwhile, Colonel Arthur Mason's 1st Marines focused their efforts on the western approaches to the Dakeshi hill defenses, but they were ultimately repulsed by the tenacious Japanese defenders around Hill 60. In the Awacha Pocket, Colonel Griebel's 5th Marines faced fierce opposition, resulting in only modest territorial gains. To the east, after successfully fending off multiple strong enemy counterattacks, General Bruce's 77th Division advanced 800 yards south toward Hill 187, establishing control over the southern slope of the Maeda Escarpment. Finally, operations in General Arnold's 7th Division area were confined to robust patrols aimed at securing the approaches to Conical Hill and eliminating the remaining fragments of the failed Japanese counteroffensive. Convinced that the Japanese had nearly exhausted their fresh reserves, General Buckner began planning a comprehensive assault on the Shuri defenses with his two corps. On May 7, General Geiger was assigned to command the 1st Marine Division within the 24th Corps front and oversee the southern movement of the 6th Marine Division, with General Buckner taking direct tactical control of the two-corps assault. Heavy rains on the morning of 7 May delayed the projected IIIAC advance until tanks were able to negotiate the muddy terrain. In the 1st Marines' zone, the new regimental commander, Colonel Arthur T. Mason, ordered 3/1 to support the attack of the 2d Battalion on Hill 60 with all available weapons (four battalions of artillery, a fire support ship, and 81-mm. and 60-mm. mortars) by firing into the enemy reverse slope defenses. All morning long the regiment's mortars concentrated on the enemy position, and at 1400 when tanks finally reached the front lines the battalion attacked with Company E in assault. Artillery fire covered the foot of the objective while mortars and assault guns blanketed the crest and reverse slopes. The company swept to the top of Hill 60 by 1422 in a vivid demonstration of "the effect of properly massed, supporting fires in front of assault troops." Once the company entered the impact zone, however, and supporting fires were shifted to other targets the enemy defenders emerged from their caves and engaged the Marines in hand grenade duels. The fighting was at such close range that it was impossible to keep enough grenades on the line, and the marines used rifle butts against Japanese who tried to storm their position. Gradually the volume of Japanese fire of all types "grew noticeably stronger and progressively more intense so that it was evident that the enemy was receiving large reinforcements." The troops lost their hold at one point, then fought their way to the top again, yet the continuing Japanese fire from the reverse slope of Nan Hill was the decisive factor. The threat of a strong counterattack measured against the dwindling strength of Company E forced Lieutenant Colonel Magee to adjudge the company's advanced position untenable and to order a withdrawal to the previous night's lines. To the west, the 5th Marines steadily advanced approximately 400 yards in the Awacha Pocket, while the 77th Division gained up to 500 yards of enemy territory despite increasingly fierce resistance. By the end of the day, Colonel Coolidge's 305th Regiment had relieved the weary 307th. On the east coast, Colonel Green's 184th Regiment resumed its southward push, quickly capturing Gaja Ridge and William Hill, but faced greater opposition as they approached the western flanks of Conical Hill. Meanwhile, Colonel Pachler's 17th Regiment continued its assault toward Zebra Hill but could only secure How Hill and make incremental gains on Kochi Ridge, depleting their strength. The following day, as General Bradley's replenished 96th Division prepared to relieve the 7th, the 184th Regiment managed to occupy the forward slope of Easy Hill near Kibara without armored support. Throughout the rest of the 10th Army front, relentless cold rain effectively canceled planned offensive operations, leading the 1st Marines to focus on dismantling enemy positions on Nan Hill. Colonel Schneider's 22nd Marines took over from the 7th Marines along the Asa River just as news of the victory in Europe reached the infantry units, prompting a somewhat indifferent reaction from the rain-soaked soldiers preoccupied with the ongoing fighting in Okinawa. Exactly at 1200 every available artillery piece and naval gun fired three volleys at vital enemy targets to apprise the Japanese of the defeat of their Axis partner. On May 9, Japanese kamikaze pilots launched a series of scattered attacks, damaging the carrier Formidable and two destroyers. In preparation for Buckner's general offensive, the 22nd Marines patrolled their front to identify suitable crossing sites over the Asa River. Meanwhile, with Nan Hill fully cleared, Mason's 2nd Battalion renewed its assault on Hill 60, while the 1st Battalion advanced into the high ground to the east, successfully capturing their objective this time. Reinforced by elements of the 7th Marines, the 5th Marines also launched another attack on the Awacha Pocket but continued to encounter fierce resistance. In response, Griebel was tasked with reducing the Awacha defenses using two battalions, while Snedeker's reinforced 7th Marines pressed the offensive southward. To the east, General Bruce focused his efforts on the 305th Regiment's sector, resulting in the 3rd Battalion securing a foothold on Hill 187. The 17th Regiment, which had fought tenaciously to capture Kochi Ridge and the high ground west of Conical Hill, was relieved by Colonel Dill's 382nd Regiment. Concurrently, Colonel May's 383rd Regiment moved into forward assembly areas behind the 184th and on May 10, took over the positions north of Conical Hill. Both fresh regiments of the 96th Division were then able to destroy enemy strongpoints that had impeded the progress of the weary 7th Division and capture key hills that protected the approaches to Conical. On the west coast, after stealthily constructing a footbridge across the Asa during the night, three companies of the 22nd Marines successfully crossed the river. However, two Japanese "human demolition charges" emerged from hiding and rushed the south end of the footbridge, destroying it. Despite the challenges, the attack south toward the town of Asa continued, successfully establishing a bridgehead that stretched 1,400 yards long and 350 yards deep by the end of the day. To the east, the 1st Marines launched an assault on the western end of Dakeshi but were pushed back by intense enfilading fire from the ridge. Similarly, although the 7th Marines initially advanced rapidly against scattered opposition, they were ultimately forced to withdraw under heavy Japanese fire. Behind them, after fending off two fierce night counterattacks, the 5th Marines failed to isolate the Awacha Pocket but made significant strides, penetrating deep into the heart of the Awacha defenses. Meanwhile, the 305th Regiment captured additional high ground leading toward the crucial road junction north of Shuri, where the reorganized and reinforced 32nd Regiment had established its primary defenses. The remnants of the 62nd Division were gradually being withdrawn toward Shuri, with General Suzuki's fresh 44th Independent Mixed Brigade taking over the western sector. On May 11, General Buckner initiated his general offensive against Shuri, planning to envelop the town from both the west and east. However, this offensive was preceded by Admiral Ugaki's sixth mass Kikisui strike, during which 150 kamikazes launched successful attacks on American shipping. That morning, the 721st Kokutai's Sub-Lieutenant Yasunori Seizo led six kamikazes out of Kanoya. By 10:02, Admiral Mitscher was informed of possible bogeys infiltrating the returning TF 58 strike to reach the US carriers. Two minutes later came an overhead Corsair's sudden frantic warning: “Alert! Alert! Two planes diving on the Bunker Hill!” Almost immediately, Yasunori's Zero dove out of low overcast toward Bunker Hill and released its payload. The 550lb bomb pierced the flight deck, exited the side of the hull, and exploded above water. Simultaneously, Yasunori's Zero caromed into the center of Bunker Hill's flight deck, its gas tank exploding among 34 manned, armed, and fully fueled US fighters, before careening blazing over the side. One minute later, Yasunori's wingman Ensign Ogawa Kiyoshi roared past Bunker Hill, climbed steeply into a roll, and then dove straight at the carrier. Ogawa released his 550lb bomb, which scored amidships and exploded in the gallery deck, slaughtering much of Mitscher's staff. Simultaneously, Ogawa deliberately slammed his Zero into Bunker Hill's island just 100ft from Mitscher. Mitscher's operations officer, Commander Jimmy Flatley, had just left the gallery deck when Ogawa's bomb struck, searing his back. Mitscher had observed the entire attack in silence, and just then emerged from the bridge to gaze at the blazing flight deck. The Flag Plot was choked with billowing smoke and Mitscher's chief-of-staff, a gasping, wheezing Commodore Arleigh Burke, ordered it evacuated. A third Zero then dove on Bunker Hill, but anti-aircraft fire sent it blazing into the sea close aboard. Aboard Bunker Hill, a cascade of gasoline explosions erupted from burning planes aft, while tracers sprayed haphazardly from detonating machine gun ammunition. Speed fell to 10kts and as the crew began intensive firefighting efforts, a slight list developed. Cruiser Wilkes-Barre and three destroyers came alongside to fight fires and rescue 300 men forced overboard, yet most of Bunker Hill's fighter pilots had been asphyxiated in their ready room. By 11:30, however, damage was largely stabilized. Nevertheless, Bunker Hill had lost 393 men killed and 264 wounded. Although horribly outnumbered, the Americans' Corsair CAP shot down 50 attackers before the Japanese got through at 0800hrs. Over the next 90 minutes the two violently maneuvering destroyers would claim a combined 42 kills before Evans was disabled by four kamikaze hits. Minutes later Hugh W. Hadley was knocked out by her third kamikaze hit. With his ship dead in the water and blazing uncontrollably, Hugh W. Hadley's Commander Mullaney ordered all available colors hoisted: “If this ship is going down, she's going down with all flags flying.” Escorting the destroyers were three LCS(L)s and one LSM(R), who themselves combined to splash 14 Japanese planes before the action mercifully ended. All six ships survived, but the destroyers were towed to Kerama Retto, having suffered a combined 60 killed and 94 wounded. East of Okinawa, a G4M Betty bomber and four Ki-43 Oscars attacked RPS-5 at 0800hrs. One plane crashed destroyer-minelayer Harry F. Bauer (DM-26)'s stern, the kamikaze miraculously “plowing through the rack of depth charges and shoving them into the sea with none of them exploding.” Escorting LCS(L)-88 splashed two Oscars, the second scoring a posthumous 220lb bomb hit on her which killed nine and wounded seven. Back on the west coast, supported by tanks and artillery, the 22nd Marines advanced toward Amike. Their 3rd Battalion established control of the high ground overlooking Naha after an 800-yard advance, while the 1st Battalion gained the coral ridge in front after a series of costly assaults. The 2nd Battalion further extended the line to connect with the 1st Marine Division. Del Valle's advance was spearheaded by Mason's 2nd Battalion, which successfully secured a foothold on the high ground west of Wana despite a heavy artillery bombardment. In constructing the Wana position the Japanese had "taken advantage of every feature of a terrain so difficult it could not have been better designed if the enemy himself had the power to do so." With this natural advantage, the enemy had so organized the area that in order to crack the main line of resistance it was necessary for the 1st Marine Division to wheel towards Shuri and attack directly into the heart of the city's powerful defenses. Any attempt to drive past Shuri and continue the attack to the south would mean unacceptable losses inflicted by artillery, mortar, automatic-weapons, and rifle fire coming from the heights that commanded the division's flank and rear areas. The southernmost branch of the Asa Kawa wandered across the gently rising floor of Wana Draw and through the northern part of Shuri. The low rolling ground bordering the insignificant stream was completely exposed to enemy fire from positions along the reverse slope of Wana Ridge and the military crest of the ridge to the south. At its mouth Wana Draw was approximately 400 yards wide, but it narrowed drastically as it approached the city and the ridge walls closed on the stream bed. Guarding the western end of the draw was Hill 55, rugged terminus of the southern ridge line. The hill bristled with enemy guns whose fields of fire included the whole of the open ground leading to the draw. Defending the Wana position was the 64th Brigade of the 62d Division with remnants of the 15th, 23d, and 273d Independent Infantry Battalions, the 14th Independent Machine Gun Battalion, and the 81st Field Antiaircraft Artillery Battalion under its command. The 7th Marines advanced approximately 800 yards, establishing a firm hold on Dakeshi Ridge, while the 5th Marines eliminated the last organized resistance in the Awacha Pocket. In the center of the front, Bruce's two regiments needed to coordinate more closely with neighboring divisions than with one another. As a result, the 305th Regiment advanced up to 500 yards against fierce resistance, while Colonel Smith's 306th Regiment struggled to make headway against the formidable defenses of Chocolate Drop Hill and Wart Hill. To the east, after repelling a series of night counterattacks, the 382nd Regiment consolidated its positions on Zebra Hill and continued probing toward the Dick Hills area and the ridges northwest of Kuhazu. The 383rd Regiment quickly secured Easy and Fox Hills, subsequently capturing the summit of Charlie Hill. However, over the next two days, efforts by the 1st Battalion to dislodge the defenders from the top would be thwarted by withering fire from King Hill, while the 2nd Battalion cleared Gaja Ridge and the twin villages of Tobaru and Amaru. On May 12, Dill's 3rd Battalion executed a successful assault, capturing Baker Hill, although the 1st Battalion's attack on Dick Baker was repelled by the defenders. To the west, the 306th Regiment only provided support for the advance of the 305th, which faced difficult terrain in the broken ground west of Route 5, managing to gain about 500 yards. Meanwhile, the 7th Marines solidified their hold on Dakeshi Ridge against sporadic opposition, but the 1st Marines found themselves pinned down while trying to improve their positions west of Wana. The vulnerability of the 6th Marine Division to direct fire from the western slopes of the Shuri massif resulted in significant losses for Schneider's 2nd Battalion as it fought to seize the high ground overlooking Naha, ultimately being repelled from Sugar Loaf Hill. Meanwhile, the 1st Battalion advanced steadily in the center, capturing the high ground north of Asato, while the 3rd Battalion secured commanding positions and conducted patrols through the suburbs of Naha. At sea, scattered kamikaze attacks damaged Admiral Spruance's flagship, the battleship New Mexico, and inflicted further damage on two additional destroyers the following day. In retaliation, Mitscher directed Task Force 58 to strike Kyushu once again. Back on Okinawa, as Schneider's 3rd Battalion reconnoitered the northern suburbs of Naha, the 2nd Battalion launched another unsuccessful attack on Sugar Loaf Hill. In light of this resistance and the heavy casualties suffered by the 22nd Marines, Shepherd ordered Colonel Whaling's 29th Marines to reinforce the effort, but they could only position themselves northwest of Makabe. To the east, while the 1st Marines faced heavy losses and were repelled at the mouth of Wana Draw, the 7th Marines finally secured Dakeshi Ridge. In the center, the 305th Regiment continued its determined advance into the extremely rugged terrain north and northeast of Shuri, whereas the 306th Regiment once again failed to capture Chocolate Drop Hill and Wart Hill. Coordinated with this, the 382nd Regiment attacked the Dick Hills, successfully securing Dick Baker and Dick Able against light opposition, but ultimately being pushed back from the latter. Further east, May's 2nd Battalion launched a frontal assault on Conical Hill, successfully reaching the northeast crest of the ridge, where it repelled several heavy Japanese counterattacks. Back at sea, Task Force 58 launched another strike on Kyushu during the early hours of May 14. In response, the Japanese dispatched 28 kamikazes alongside 40 escorts, inflicting heavy damage on Mitscher's new flagship, the carrier Enterprise, in what would become known as the last action of the Gray Ghost.  At 05:25, some 28 Zeros, armed with 1100lb bombs, sortied from Kanoya towards Mitscher's carriers cruising 130nm southeast of Kyushu. 40 fighters escorted them. Around 06:45 Enterprise detected 4 incoming bogies. 3 were shot down over TF 58, but the fourth, flown by Sub-Lieutenant Tomiyasu Shunsuke, continued closing. Using clouds for cover, Tomiyasu approached Enterprise from astern. Already struck by flak, at 06:57 Tomiyasu's blazing Zero suddenly appeared 200ft above Enterprise, which erupted with anti-aircraft fire. Although seeming to have overflown his target, Tomiyasu suddenly snap-rolled his burning Zero onto its back and dove almost vertically into Enterprise's flight deck. Observing from Enterprise's exposed bridge wing, Flatley rushed back inside and shouted to take cover just as Tomiyasu's kamikaze hit. The thunderous explosion blew Enterprise's forward elevator 400ft in the air, rattled the carrier's bridge, and flung shrapnel against her island. As Flatley emerged from cover he observed an unsmiling Mitscher, arms crossed, standing amid the smoking wreckage. “Jimmy,” Mitscher growled, “tell my Task Group commanders that if the Japs keep this up they're going to grow hair on my head yet.” Enterprise remained on station, but her flight deck was out of action. TF 58 splashed 3 more planes before Japanese attacks ended at 08:00. That evening TF 58 retired from Kyushu. The following morning, May 15, Mitscher transferred to carrier Randolph, his third flagship in 5 days. Enterprise would detach for repairs in the United States on May 16, having lost 14 dead and 68 wounded. Her war too was over. Honestly for those of you who might not know, the USS Enterprise is the most decorated ship of all time, an absolutely insane history. She was so impressive, my patreons voted for me to do an exclusive episode on her and it took two full episodes to do. If you are interested in the history of the USS Enterprise, please check out my exclusive podcast. At Okinawa, as positions on Conical Hill were being consolidated, May's 1st Battalion renewed its attack on Charlie Hill, successfully securing a foothold at its northern end, which was later extended down the southern slope. Simultaneously, Company L launched an assault on King Hill, managing to capture the entire crest. To the west, Dill's 1st Battalion attacked and captured Dick Able and Dick Right, although they had to relinquish Dick Right after a vigorous Japanese counterattack. The 3rd Battalion also advanced toward Dick Right, establishing a tenuous hold on the position. Further west, the 306th Regiment committed its last remaining strength, a composite battalion, to advance beyond Wart Hill, but it was quickly cut down by overwhelming flanking fire. Similarly, the battered 305th Regiment made little progress in the rugged terrain. Meanwhile, the 7th Marines advanced to within 100 yards of the ridge crest north of Wana, where they were ultimately pinned down by heavy fire. Concurrently, the depleted 1st Marines launched an assault that captured the western tip of Wana Ridge, aided by tanks and artillery, though a fierce night counterattack forced them to withdraw before being relieved by the fresh 5th Marines. Along the coast, the 22nd Marines successfully pushed toward the north bank of the Asato River, but the main action was poised to occur at Sugar Loaf Hill. Though Schneider's 2nd Battalion successfully seized the forward slopes of the protective hills north of Sugar Loaf, including Queen Hill, they faced intense enemy fire whenever they attempted to maneuver around or over these hills to launch an attack on Sugar Loaf itself. Nevertheless, the Marines pressed on, and by nightfall, a group of about 40 men under Major Henry Courtney managed to storm the hill, throwing grenades ahead of them and subsequently digging in at the summit to withstand a night of heavy mortar fire and constant counterattacks. This attack was further supported by the 29th Marines, which, after overcoming initial hardships, secured the forward slopes of the hill northeast of Sugar Loaf. During the early hours of May 15, the embattled group atop Sugar Loaf gratefully welcomed the arrival of reinforcements, though it was not before Major Courtney heroically fell while leading a grenade assault against the defenders on the reverse slope. Despite the reinforcements, enemy pressure on Sugar Loaf intensified, ultimately forcing the battered Marines off the hill. This triggered a fierce Japanese counterattack across a 900-yard front, compelling Schneider's 2nd Battalion to relinquish the ground immediately north of Sugar Loaf. Fearing a breakthrough, elements of his 1st Battalion seized the hill northwest of Sugar Loaf to help blunt the force of the enemy counterattacks, while the 3rd Battalion relieved the exhausted 2nd across the line. Additionally, the 29th Marines not only played a significant role in repulsing the enemy counterattack but also effectively strengthened its hold on the high ground north of Half Moon Hill.  To the east, while the 7th Marines reorganized and cleared out Dakeshi, the 5th Marines launched their first tank-infantry assault against Wana Draw. At 0630 on 15 May the 5th Marines completed the relief of the 1st, and Colonel Griebel assumed command of the zone of action west of Wana. The 2d Battalion was in assault with the 3d in close support and the 1st in reserve. On the recommendation of the regimental and battalion commanders of both the 1st and 5th Marines, the division decided to subject the high ground on both sides of Wana Draw to a thorough processing by tanks and self-propelled 105mm howitzers before 2/5 attempted to advance across the open ground at the mouth of the draw. With Company F of 2/5 providing fire teams for protection against suicide attackers, nine tanks from Company B, 1st Tank Battalion spent the morning working on the positions at the mouth of the draw. The tanks drew heavy small-arms, mortar, artillery, and AT fire, and accompanying infantry was dispersed to reduce casualties. Because of the open area of operation, the fire teams were still able to cover the tanks at relatively long-ranges. Both sides of the draw were honeycombed with caves and the tanks received intense and accurate fire from every sector at their front. During the morning one 47mm AT gun scored five hits on the attacking armor before NGF silenced it. About noon the tanks withdrew to allow an air strike to be placed in the draw and then return to the attack in reinforced strength. Naval gunfire again silenced a 47mm gun that took the tanks under fire, this time before any damage was done. With the approach of darkness the tanks pulled out of the draw pursued by a fury of enemy fire. The 5th Marines, convinced "that the position would have to be thoroughly pounded before it could be taken," scheduled another day of tank-infantry processing for Wana Draw before making its assault. In the center, the battered 305th Regiment continued its relentless advance through the irregular terrain west of the main Ginowan-Shuri highway. Simultaneously, Colonel Hamilton's 307th Regiment finally relieved the exhausted 306th and launched simultaneous attacks on Flattop and Chocolate Drop Hill. The 3rd Battalion slowly maneuvered toward the northern base of the Drop and the north slopes of Flattop, while the 2nd Battalion advanced toward Ishimmi Ridge through the open highway valley. Concurrently, the 382nd Regiment supported the assault on Flattop with its own attack against Dick Hill, successfully capturing its crest but failing to cross the skyline. Meanwhile, the 383rd Regiment struggled to make progress against intense enemy fire from the hill complex southwest of Conical's peak, although some elements managed to advance up the northwest spur from King Hill amid thick mortar fire.  Now, it's time to shift our focus from Okinawa to the sea, where we will cover the last destroyer actions of the Second World War. At the beginning of February, with the Southwest Area Fleet staff isolated in the Philippines, Vice-Admiral Fukudome Shigeru formed the 10th Area Fleet to defend the shores of Indonesia and Indochina. The 10th Area Fleet was comprised of the remnants of the 2nd Striking Force. This consisted of the two converted battleship/aircraft carriers Ise and Hyuga, forming the carrier squadron, and the two heavy cruisers Ashigara and Haguro, forming the 5th Cruiser Division. Two more heavy cruisers, Takao and Myoko, were at Singapore where both had reached sanctuary after being badly damaged in the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Myoko had made one attempt to escape back to Japan in December 1944, but had been torpedoed by the US submarine Bergol on the 13th, and had then returned to Singapore. The cruiser Oyodo joined the fleet from February 5 to 20 and a fourth cruiser, Isuzu, joined on March 25 but lasted barely a fortnight before being sunk, on April 7, in a coordinated attack by the US submarines Charr, Gabilan and Besugo, with peripheral assistance from the British submarine Spark. In February Ise and Hyuga were also recalled and sailed on the 10th from Singapore, bound for Japan, carrying aviation spirit and other war materials. With such valuable cargoes the Japanese took great care to safeguard their passage and, by a combination of good luck and bad weather, both evaded numerous attacks by air and by submarine and reached Moji on the 19th. Haguro and Ashigara, and one old destroyer, Kamikaze, were now the only sizable warships left in the 10th Area Fleet to protect the troop evacuations. At this stage, the Japanese aimed to hold Java, Borneo, and Sumatra for as long as possible while planning their main defensive efforts in Malaya and Indochina. Consequently, they began withdrawing their garrisons from the outlying islands of the Moluccas, Timor, the Lesser Sunda Islands, and the scattered islands of the Panda and Arafura Seas. Anticipating a similar evacuation of Japanese garrisons in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, Admiral Arthur Power's East Indies Fleet had dispatched destroyers on a series of anti-shipping sweeps in the Andaman Sea, successfully destroying several relief convoys. On May 10, Fukudome decided to commence the evacuation of the Andaman Islands, dispatching Vice-Admiral Hashimoto Shintaro's heavy cruiser Haguro and destroyer Kamikaze to deliver supplies to the islands and return with troops back to Singapore. Additionally, a secondary convoy consisting of one auxiliary vessel and one subchaser was organized to perform the same mission for the Nicobar Islands. As Allied intelligence uncovered these plans, Vice-Admiral Harold Walker's Force 61, primarily composed of the battleships Queen Elizabeth and Richelieu and four escort carriers, sailed from Trincomalee to intercept the Japanese ships. However, the Japanese were unwilling to risk a battle, and upon receiving an air reconnaissance warning, they returned to Singapore. Nonetheless, Walker decided to remain in the area, awaiting reinforcements in case the enemy regained the confidence to launch another sortie. On May 14, Fukudome finally resolved to carry out the evacuation again, this time first sending forward his secondary convoy to the Nicobars. This force managed to reach the islands unmolested during the day and successfully embarked 450 troops before setting sail for Penang, although they were later spotted by a patrolling Liberator. In response, Walker dispatched the 21st Aircraft Carrier Squadron and the 26th Destroyer Flotilla to conduct an air and sea sweep off Diamond Point aimed at intercepting and destroying the enemy. On the morning of May 15, some Avengers encountered Haguro and Kamikaze as they returned to the Malacca Strait. As Captain Manley Power's destroyers rushed to the area, three Avengers launched by the escort carrier Shah attacked Haguro with bombs in the afternoon, causing minimal damage that only compelled Haguro to alter its course eastward. However, this diversion effectively allowed the destroyer force to intercept Hashimoto's convoy during the night. As the flotilla closed in on the enemy during the early hours of May 16, Hashimoto reacted desperately by fleeing at full speed to the north, thwarting Power's carefully laid ambush. Soon after, however, Haguro turned to port, crossing paths with the destroyer Venus, which was closing in at full speed from the west. Surprisingly, Venus failed to launch its torpedoes, prompting Hashimoto to turn south and back into Power's trap.  Haguro's violent turn away changed the situation dramatically. Saumarez now found the enemy racing down towards her port side at a relative speed of nearly 60 MPH. Kamikaze, following astern of Haguro, passed so close in front of Saumarez from starboard to port that Captain Power had to swing his ship hard to starboard and back to port again to avoid her. Kamikaze passed very close down Saumarez' port side and was taken under fire by both main and close range armament. Opening with star-shell, Saumarez shifted fire to Haguro herself at 0108, the enemy replying with main and secondary armament. The two enemy ships could now be clearly identified from Saumarez' bridge, Haguro at about 5,000 yards and Kamikaze about 2,200 yards range. ‘We had a glimpse of the cruiser by starshell, but now it was dark. She looked pretty big and her direction easy to see by her bow-wave and wash. Inclination vague but obviously broad. I thought she was going very fast. Her side was shining like a wet wall, with the reflection of her own starshell from behind us, I think.' To Lt. Reay Parkinson, also in Saumarez, Haguro ‘seemed to tower above us like a sky-scraper and her guns were depressed to their lowest angle'. Haguro's fire was accurate and splashes from near misses drenched the bridge personnel, binoculars and sound-powered telephones. But, as Captain Power philosophically remarked, ‘if you are only getting wet there is nothing to worry about'. However, Saumarez was unfortunately not merely getting wet. At about 0111, when Captain Power was just considering turning to fire, ‘one boiler got hit. There was a lot of steam and smoke amidships and a sort of queer silence. The ship was obviously slowing down and I thought she was going to stop.' Saumarez' torpedo tubes had been trained to starboard, ready for the bow attack, with torpedoes angled to run 70° left. There was no time to train the tubes to port. Captain Power swung his ship to port ‘like a shotgun' and at 0113, as Saumarez was slowing down but still swinging hard to port, a salvo of eight torpedoes was fired at Haguro's beam, at a range of 2,000 yards. Still under heavy fire, Saumarez continued her turn to port to open the range, telegraphs being put to ‘Full Ahead' to get the utmost speed from whatever engine power remained. A minute after Saumarez' attack, Verulam made an unmolested attack from 2,000 yards on Haguro's port bow, firing eight torpedoes. Saumarez and Verulam were rewarded by three hits, shared between them  ‘very distinct, three gold-coloured splashes like a Prince of Wales' feathers, more than twice as high as her bridge'. Now Haguro was under fire from the destroyers and everywhere she turned there was another destroyer waiting. At 0125 Venus fired six torpedoes and scored one hit. Two minutes later Virago, ordered by Captain (D) to ‘Finish her off', fired a salvo of eight torpedoes and obtained two hits. She reported that the cruiser's upper deck was now awash. Missed torpedoes were racing all over the battle scene; in Venus, at the height of the action, the Engineer Officer and the Chief ERA in the engine-room actually heard the whirring sound of two torpedoes passing very close along the ship's side. Saumarez had retired some five miles to the north-west to collect herself and examine damage. The engine telegraphs were still at ‘Full Ahead', and Saumarez withdrew further than Captain Power had intended. Vigilant had been rather ‘left in the cold' and squeezed out by the other destroyers and was not able to attack until 0151 when she fired eight torpedoes, with one probable hit. Haguro was lying motionless in the water, in her last throes. ‘The rest of the flotilla were snarling round the carcass like a lot of starving wolves round a dying bull. I was too far away to make out what was going on and told them all except Vigilant (who I knew had torpedoes) to come away and join me, with a view to getting formed up and the situation in hand. Of course they did nothing of the sort. I should not have done myself.' Venus was ordered to ‘Close and make a job of it' and at 0202 administered the coup de grace with her two remaining torpedoes. At 0206 Venus signalled that the cruiser had sunk. Haguro had gone, in a position about forty-five miles south-west of Penang. Fifty miles away, Cumberland and Richelieu had had tantalising glimpses of starshell and lights but were too late to take part. Saumarez transmitted Vs for Victory and Captain Power signalled: ‘Pick up survivors. Stay no more than ten minutes.' Kamikaze sustained slight damage from the gunfire but managed to escape, returning the following day to rescue approximately 320 survivors. Nevertheless, over 900 Japanese soldiers lost their lives in the battle, including Vice-Admiral Hashimoto and Rear-Admiral Sugiura Kaju. While the evacuation of the Nicobar Islands was successful, the evacuation of the Andaman Islands proved to be a resounding failure. By the end of the war, with the food situation in the islands becoming critical, the Japanese committed several atrocities against the civilian population. This included the transportation of 300 so-called “useless mouths” to the uninhabited Havelock Island, off South Andaman, where all but eleven of them perished. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. During the intense Battle of the Malacca Strait, Japanese forces attempted a desperate evacuation, facing relentless Allied attacks. Despite fierce resistance, the Allies advanced strategically, leading to significant Japanese losses. Caught in critical confrontations, the Japanese ultimately succumbed, marking a pivotal moment in the Pacific war and shifting the tide toward Allied victory.

Virginie Girod raconte une affaire de possession ayant secoué la ville de Loudun au XVIIIe siècle. En 1632, plusieurs soeurs du couvent des Ursulines de Loudun sont prises de crises de folie. Rapidement, le responsable de ces diableries est arrêté. Il s'agit d'un prêtre ayant pactisé avec le démon. Mais Urbain Grandier a-t-il été victime d'une chasse aux sorcières lancée par le cardinal de Richelieu dans le contexte de la Contre-Réforme ? Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Nous sommes le 05 décembre 1793, à Paris. La scène se passe dans la chapelle de la Sorbonne. Là où repose, depuis 101 ans, dans un caveau, sous un mausolée en marbre de Carrare, la dépouille du cardinale de Richelieu. Les assaillants exhument le corps , puis le décapitent ; le reste est jeté à la Seine ou placé en fosse commune. La profanation sera à l'origine d'un trafic de reliques plus ou moins authentiques : tête, cheveux, petit doigt.. Dans son « Testament politique », le cardinal de Richelieu avait écrit : « Le règne de Dieu est le principe du gouvernement des Etats et c'est une chose si absolument nécessaire que, sans ce fondement, il n'y a point de prince qui puisse régner ni d'Etat qui puisse être heureux ». Principal ministre de Louis XIII, Richelieu est un ecclésiastique et un homme d'Etat de premier plan. Il n'est pas le seul sous l'Ancien Régime. Quelles ont été la nature et l'évolution des relations entre le Trône et l'Autel jusqu'à la Révolution française ? C'est ce que nous allons tenter de comprendre… Invitée : Marie-Joëlle Guillaume « Pour Dieu et pour le Roi » Editions Perrin. Sujets traités : Dieu, Eglise, Etat, Ancien Régime, cardinale de Richelieu., Louis XIII, Révolution française Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : L'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwL'heure H : https://audmns.com/YagLLiKEt sa version à écouter en famille : La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiKAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement. Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Marie de' Medici believes she finally triumphed over her protege turned archenemy Richelieu and has secured her place as Louis XIII's benevolent advisor. As the proverb goes, though, pride goeth before a fall...

El gobierno de España otorgó esta semana a Mario Vargas Llosa, en forma póstuma, la mayor condecoración que confiere a personalidades destacadas en la cultura, la educación y la ciencia: la Gran Cruz de la Orden Civil de Alfonso X el Sabio. Ese fue el último galardón para el gran escritor peruano, que falleció el domingo pasado en Lima a los 89 años. Ya había recibido en 2010 el Premio Nobel, que marcó la culminación de una vasta sumatoria de reconocimientos, entre ellos el Premio Cervantes y el Premio Príncipe de Asturias de las Letras. Vargas Llosa nació en Arequipa, Perú, en 1936. Trabajó como periodista, estudió Humanidades, escribió relatos, pero su verdadera carrera comenzó en 1963, con la publicación de la novela La ciudad y los perros, considerada uno de los disparadores del Boom latinoamericano de literatura. Editó luego otras novelas, como La casa verde, Conversación en la Catedral, Pantaleón y las visitadoras, La guerra del fin del mundo, El sueño del celta y, más recientemente, Tiempos recios. También escribió ensayos, muchos sobre otros escritores (Onetti, Víctor Hugo, Flaubert, Borges) yy otros sociopolíticos, como La civilización del espectáculo y una recopilación de sus influencias liberales en La llamada de la tribu. El Comité del Premio Nobel recordó este lunes que distinguió a Vargas Llosa en 2010 "por su cartografía de las estructuras de poder y sus imágenes mordaces de la resistencia, la revuelta y la derrota del individuo". En el acto en que recibió el Nobel, Vargas Llosa realizó una de sus conferencias memorables: "Aprendí a leer a los cinco años en la clase del hermano Justiniano en el colegio de La Salle en Cochabamba, Bolivia. Es la cosa más importante que me ha pasado en la vida. Casi 70 años después, recuerdo con nitidez cómo esa magia, traducir las palabras de los libros en imágenes, enriqueció mi vida, rompiendo las barreras del tiempo y del espacio, y permitiéndome viajar con el capitán Nemo, 20.000 Leguas de Viaje Submarino, luchar junto a D'Artagnan, Atos, Portos y Aramis contra las intrigas que amenazan a la reina en los tiempos del sinuoso Richelieu, y arrastrarme por las entrañas de París convertido en Jean Valjean con el cuerpo inerte de Marius a cuestas". Los tertulianos, ¿qué libros destacan de Vargas Llosa? ¿Qué recomiendan a los oyentes? La Tertulia de los Viernes con Víctor Ganón, Juan Grompone, Carolina Porley y Ana Ribeiro.

Ces deux expressions, bien connues des professionnels de la scène, désignent respectivement la gauche et la droite de la scène... mais pas du point de vue du public, comme on pourrait le croire. Elles sont définies du point de vue des comédiens, c'est-à-dire quand on est sur scène, face au public : le côté cour est alors à gauche, et le côté jardin, à droite. Mais d'où viennent ces termes étranges, et pourquoi ne pas simplement dire "gauche" et "droite" ?Pour le comprendre, il faut remonter à l'époque de Louis XIV, au XVIIe siècle, plus précisément à l'un des lieux les plus prestigieux du théâtre français : la salle des Machines du Palais des Tuileries, à Paris. Ce théâtre, intégré au palais royal, était immense pour l'époque et doté d'un impressionnant système de décors mobiles.À cette époque, les termes "gauche" et "droite" posaient problème : selon qu'on soit comédien, metteur en scène, machiniste ou spectateur, les repères n'étaient pas les mêmes. Il fallait donc trouver une référence fixe, indépendante du regard. C'est là qu'interviennent le jardin et la cour du palais.Sur la scène du théâtre des Tuileries, quand on regardait vers la salle, on avait :à gauche, le côté qui donnait sur la cour du palais,à droite, celui qui ouvrait sur le jardin des Tuileries.Les machinistes, qui avaient besoin de repères précis pour les décors et les effets scéniques, ont commencé à parler de « côté cour » et « côté jardin ». Petit à petit, ce vocabulaire s'est imposé dans les théâtres parisiens, puis dans toute la France, notamment à partir du moment où la Comédie-Française s'installe en 1799 dans le théâtre de l'Odéon, puis dans la salle Richelieu. Le langage est conservé même si l'architecture des lieux change.Ces termes ont l'avantage d'éviter toute ambiguïté. Si un metteur en scène dit « Tu entres côté jardin », tous les comédiens savent que cela signifie la droite de la scène — toujours en se plaçant dans la peau du comédien, dos au décor, face au public. Cela évite de dire "ta gauche" ou "ma droite", qui peuvent varier selon la position de chacun.Aujourd'hui encore, côté cour et côté jardin restent en usage dans les théâtres francophones, aussi bien en France qu'au Québec ou en Belgique. Ils sont parfois indiqués sur les plans des scènes ou dans les consignes techniques.C'est donc un bel exemple de langage issu de l'histoire et de l'architecture, conservé pour sa précision. Une preuve que, même dans le monde de l'art vivant, les mots hérités du passé continuent de structurer le présent. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

When it comes to relationships, connection is everything. For Deborah Richelieu, this truth has shaped both her personal and professional life. As a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (LMFT), she has dedicated her career to helping couples navigate the complexities of relationships, communication, and emotional intimacy. Recently, Deborah sat down with Gordon Brewer on the Practice of Therapy podcast to share her journey, insights on couples therapy, and the importance of community in times of grief. Resources Mentioned In This Episode Use the promo code "GORDON" to get 2 months of Therapy Notes free THE PRACTICE OF THERAPY COLLABORATIVE Start Consulting with Gordon The PsychCraft Network The Practice of Therapy Community Mental Health Wear TN YouTube Meet Deborah Richelieu Deborah Richelieu is a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in Florida, specializing in helping couples strengthen their relationships. Whether facing communication challenges or navigating conflicts, she provides guidance, particularly for those seeking a Christian perspective in therapy. She holds a Bachelor's in Psychology from Southeastern University and a Master's in Marriage and Family Therapy from Nova Southeastern University. With extensive experience in premarital counseling, couples counseling, and fostering emotional connection after emotional injury, she is dedicated to supporting couples in overcoming relational difficulties. Deborah is certified in Level 1 and Level 2 Gottman Couples Therapy, utilizing evidence-based techniques to enhance relationships. She is also a member of Focus on the Family's Christian Counselor's Network and is listed on Psychology Today and Therapy For Black Girls. The Rich Couch Instagram LinkedIn

Stéphane Bern nous raconte, 390 ans jour pour jour après que Louis XIII a signé les lettres patentes qui ont officiellement validé sa création, le destin d'un lieu d'exception devenu institution sous l'impulsion du duc de Richelieu : l'Académie Française qui vise à préserver et embellir la langue française, grâce à ses membres prestigieux, les Immortels, qui siègent sous sa célèbre coupole… Comment cette institution a-t-elle été créée ? Près de quatre siècles après sa fondation, quelle est son influence ? Comment s'y faire élire ? Pour en parler, Stéphane Bern reçoit Jean-Marie Rouart, de l'Académie Française.

Virginie Girod raconte la reine Marie de Médicis (1575-1642), héritière florentine devenue la seconde épouse du roi Henri IV. Dans le premier épisode de ce double récit inédit d'Au coeur de l'Histoire, Marie de Médicis , fille du grand duc de Toscane, naît en 1575, à Florence. Héritière la plus riche d'Europe, la jeune femme est très convoitée et épouse le roi de France, Henri IV, en 1600, à l'âge de 25 ans. Neuf mois après les noces, elle donne naissance à l'héritier du trône, le futur Louis XIII.

Virginie Girod raconte la reine Marie de Médicis (1575-1642), régente avide de pouvoir. Dans le second épisode de ce double récit inédit d'Au coeur de l'Histoire, Henri IV, roi de France et fondateur de la dynastie des Bourbons, meurt assassiné par Ravaillac. Son épouse, Marie de Médicis, devient alors régente du royaume, rôle qu'elle devra assurer jusqu'à la majorité de Louis XIII...

Stéphane Bern raconte la folle épopée des Mousquetaires du Roi qui ont inspiré Alexandre Dumas, ce corps de soldats d'élite d'un courage et d'un dévouement qui ont fait beaucoup pour leur légende… Pourquoi cette unité d'élite fascine-t-elle ? Quand et pourquoi a-t-elle été créée ? Quelle est l'histoire du véritable d'Artagnan ? Pour en parler, Stéphane Bern reçoit Julien Wilmart, historien, auteur de "Les mousquetaires du roi, une troupe d'élite au cœur du pouvoir"(Tallandier). Au Coeur de l'Histoire est réalisée par Paul Laporte. Rédaction en chef : Benjamin Delsol. Auteur du récit : Jean-Christophe Piot. Journaliste : Armelle Thiberge."