Time Rider Ch. 03

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 breasts. 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."

"Mmmmmm, 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 breasts 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 breasts 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 breasts. Tongues softly tangled, tasting one another while they let their rapture slowly ebb. Minutes passed and they lay silently, waiting for Mark's member 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 butt 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 breasts while they nuzzled their cheeks together.

Then there was a 'click!' sound.

Becky's eyes snapped open and she goggled up at a man dressed in rather colourful 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 laughed and even Richelieu grunted in amusement. "Both of you rise."

Mark saw Becky get to her feet and he did they 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, hm?" 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.

"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-coloured 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 timelock, 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 timestream, 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 Richeleu, 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 timestream," 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."

"Uhhhh, 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. Ummm... 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 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, y'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."