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“Yes, somewhere, midst all of this…” he indicated the wreckage, “there is a booklet, a manual as it were, on the construction and maintenance of the machine…”



Then, after a long pause, Sylvester, Sylvester asked the young woman, “So, what year is this?”





Chapter Five





“You weren’t kidding ,” Tabbi asked, “where you?”



“Kidding?”



“You know, telling a joke?” She clarified, “you do understand, don’t you?”



“I erm…” he muttered, looking confused.



Tabbi looked at Sylvester and said, “Somehow I think you need a cup of tea…”

Then she added, “Or perhaps something stronger?”



“A wash and a whiskey perhaps?” The dishevelled gentleman responded, running his left hand upward and through his hair, as he looked at Tabbi, looking as tired as if he had walked several marathon.



She reached for his right hand in both of hers, gently and then smiled.



“I think we can do something about that…” she assured him, idly glancing behind him, at the red leather covered seating that had covered him, when she noticed a grey booklet, tucked beneath a leather slip.



Releasing his hand and looking into his eyes, a trace of amusement playing on her face, Tabbi walked across to the twisted pile of metal and retrieved the manual.



“Somehow… I think I’ve found some interesting reading material,” She told her companion, with a grin.



She took his right hand again, with her left, “C’mon Sylvester, lets’ get back to my squat…”



“Huh?” He expressed, in confusion: “Back to your… way of sitting?”



“No Sylvester, here in the twentieth century, it means an empty house, that’s been occupied…” She had told him, as they walked along the towpath, toward the steps leading up to the roadway.



“Oh it does seem that I have much to learn about this time,” he sighed, allowing himself to be led upward, then down the road, toward where she lived, passers-by looking at the disparate pair, with curious eyes.



Cars bemused Sylvester, as did traffic lights and electricity, she learnt less than twenty minutes later, as she turned on the water heater and told him, “Your bath water will be ready for you soon…”



“This reminds me of a different time,” he told Tabbi, looking around himself.

“What do you mean?” She queried in response.

“I used to have someone to heat my water for me,” he informed her, frowning at the mere idea of electricity, a power-source constantly ‘on tap’, as it were.



As she had listened to him speak, Tabbi set out two mugs and slipped a switch on the wall, then another on the kettle itself. Soon the whistling kettle announced that it was boiling and, Sylvester watched, as she poured the water into two mugs, each with a small bag inside; then she added milk, asking him; “Do you take sugar?”



“Yes… yes I do, to spoonfuls,” he answered, still fascinated by how her actions in making a cup of tea were so dissimilar from those he had witnessed when Mrs Brubaker had made his cups of tea.



“Now, Sylvester let’s go through to the front room and we can chat awhile, alright?” Tabbi had told him, leading the way through to the front room.



.



He sat, as requested, on her battered yet comfortable sofa, as Tabbi had sat in the sofa to the right, the television before them.



Accepting the blue and white striped mug of tea, Sylvester watched Tabbi with fascination, as she had pressed small buttons on a hand-held device, of a strange black material he’d not seen before.



Briefly he had looked round the room filled with ‘stuff’, realising that much of it was made of the same substance, although in many varied colours.



“What is that?” He had asked.



“A teevee remote…” she answered.



“Hmmmm… what’s a teevee remote? And, what’s that material it’s made of?” He queried, as snow formed within black on the television screen.



At this had Tabbi slapped her forehead exclaiming, “Oh-boy, it’s going to be a long night!”

COMMENTS

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ElectroDolly
04:47 Jul 29 2011

xD A long night indeed. Poor Tabbi xD

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Chapter Four





Dressed in her current uniform of short pleated tartan skirt, tee-shirt with a print of Queen Elizabeth the second, her eyes blanked out with a black rectangle and the legend below, ‘God Save The Queen;’ ripped fishnet tights and heavy boots, Tabbi had taken a walk down by the canals towpath, as she avoided the police. They were using; and ‘abusing’, in her opinion, “the suss law”, as many called it: and, she’d been stopped twice already that very morning.



And, all she’d been doing was go to the shops.



But, as she lived where she did, the seventeen year-old knew that she couldn’t afford hassle from the law, hence taking this shortcut, via the towpath



Kicking at a can, Tabbi smiled, picturing it to be a policeman’s helmet.



And, with that image very much in mind, she had kicked at a nearby length of copper tubing, yet there’d been no movement from the metal; no give at all.



‘The metal’s part of a bigger something,’ she mused as a thrum from the vibrating copper tub hummed in the air a moment.



Then she’d heard a groan, coming from behind some greenery to her right, where the other end of the copper tubing had disappeared.



And, following the metal into the bushes, Tabbi had found herself amidst twisted wreckage beneath which a pair of legs protruded, in dirty black trousers, with the feet in expensive black leather ankle boots.



Bending forward, Tabbi had cautiously lifted a large bed of metal up, noticing a red leather bench seat, which lay over the prone figure of a man, with shoulder length hair of black and white; and, wearing a red frock coat.



The man had groaned again and Tabbi knelt at his right asking, “You’re okay Mister, I’ll get you out of this then…”



“I’m alive?” The fellow queried, in a raspy voice.



“Yes,” Tabbi had reassured him, as she lifted some twisted tubing from his back; “not only that, but if you’re not injured, you’re free to stand.”



“not only that, but you’re free to stand. That is, if you’re not injured.”



“Am I injured? Good question Miss?” The fellow had muttered as he turned over, then sat, with his back with his back to a twisted disc of metal.



“I’m alive!” He exulted, looking up at Tabbi, with wide eyes.



He had swept his right hand through his windswept hair, which hardly tidied it at all, then sighed. And just moments later, the fellow went into a coughing fit.



It turned into a coughing fit which finally ceased and, looking through what appeared to be somewhat abashed, he had wiped a trickle of drool away from his mouth with the back of his right hand.



“’Scuse me Miss, it seems time-travel isn’t easy on the craft, or its occupant, it seems…”



“You what!” Tabbi exclaimed, “Time travel?”



Her mouth had opened and closed and, then finally she said, “You what! Time travel? You have to be kidding me…?



The man had sat up, brushed at the dust on his lapels, then proffered his right hand: “The names Sylvester, Sylvester Lee Merridew…”



Tabbi had offered her hand to the gentleman, who accepted it and, her help, with obvious discomfort.



“I’m Tabbi,” she had said to him, simply.



“Well Tabbi,” he began, “let me assure you, I didn’t think I was kidding when I paid a thousand pounds for one… ‘the first production model’, the booklet had said.”



“Booklet?” She quizzed.



“Yes, somewhere, midst all of this…” he indicated the wreckage, “there is a booklet, a manual as it were, on the construction and maintenance of the machine…”



Then, after a long pause, Sylvester, Sylvester asked the young woman, “So, what year is this?”

COMMENTS

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ElectroDolly
20:45 Jul 28 2011

I like Tabbi xD

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Chapter Three



Sylvester Merridew had arrived in Nineteen eighty seven via a break in the temporal vortex his machine had been travelling.



Needless to say, he had not realized what had happened, or how to fix it: after all, he’s acquired the machine had disappeared with its prototype, years earlier.



And then, when there’d been a garage sale and, he’d seen and been fascinated by the contraption he’d seen.



The construction of brass, copper gears and levers captivated him and, his keen imagination. It had a whirling disc at the back of a comfortable red leather couch, atop a metal bed, on a sled affair, with a control panel and steering column in front of the seating. Bug-eyed, Sylvester had paid the moustachioed seller.

‘It was a delight!’ He’d thought, beaming with pride at his acquisition, as he watched the fellows men carrying it towards a flat bed cart led by two large grey shire horses.



Down cobbled streets the tarpaulin-covered machine had been taken, until it reached the back of the Mews where Merridew lived, where he had a small workshop of his own. And there the machine had sat, for several days.



A pouch behind the seating provided a manual, but Sylvester only glanced at it, preferring to polish the sleds ski’s, until they shone, like the machine’s inventor had not intended.



Finally he had sat on the bench seat with a mug of tea in one hand, a dirty rag in the other, sighing with satisfaction, ‘at a job well done.’



Having swallowed the last drop Sylvester had leant forward to place the empty mug on the dash, ahead of himself. As he sat back the chain on his fob watch had caught on the red ball, atop a long lever, drawing into the base of its slot.



Then, the disc at the back of the machine had begun to turn, slowly at first and, then as the disc behind him had begun to whir round, Sylvester had held his hair tidy, staring ahead goggle-eyed, as the air seemed to shimmer before and around him.



And, the disc had spun faster and faster, until his ears caught the whirring sound it produced and, still it it’s speed increased further still, until slowly, the room outside the shimmering sphere around the machine and occupant life continued at an incredible speed, with the world turning and ageing at a rate he did not.



Stupefied, Sylvester let go of his hair, which wisped around his head wildly, as he had clutched at the column and grip before him, his knuckles turning quite white with the exerted pressure.



And, that had been when his mind had cried out from sensory overload and Slvester blacked out…

‘He’s out of time and place,’ she mused, watching Sylvester run farther ahead and into the whirling yellow smog: ‘or, maybe it’ me?’



Chapter Two





Suddenly awake Sylvester sat up, the duvet falling to his waist as he did so, then he lay back, wiping his forehead with the back of his right arm.



As per usual, he had gone from sound asleep to wide-awake within seconds, such was his desire to escape from the dream-world he’d found himself in the midst of, yet again.



Sylvester swung round, placing his bare-feet on the floor then stood, the coverlet falling away from his rangy frame, covered in white cotton one-piece long-johns and his hands on his hips he stretched backwards, giving a satisfied smile when he heard his back crack,



Once more, he looked round the small room, as he had since the first morning here, filled with ‘stuff’, little of it meaning anything to him; much of it he had little comprehension of.



He was grateful for his life and that he had somewhere to live, but hated the couch.



Padding through to the small kitchenette, he ran his rght hand fingers back through his thick, two-tone hair and looked about. The kettle still puzzled him. Yet, he was not a stupid man and had watched his young rescuer many times. So he made his way to the wall-cket, cautiously flipped the inset switch and stood back. When nothing happened, he thought carefully, “What have I missed?”



Then he recalled the next step and, flipping the switch on the kettle he saw a small light show red. Within moments he heard bubbling, noticing steam emanating from its spout. He felt pleased with himself and grinned.



Minutes later, Sylvester returned to the small living-room, the gap of the top of the thick drapes suffusing the room with a warm glow.



Placing his coffee on a newspaper-strewn coffee table he reached beneath the couch, reaching for the small rectangular plastic device, still intrigued by the feel of the smooth material in his hand. He pressed the small buttons, in the sequence he had seen done, so many times.



In the corner of the room, the glass-fronted box on four legs spring to life and white snow on black formed into colour and the image of a man in a blue shirt with a maroon tie, with diagonal gold-stripes, sitting behind a panelled desk.



“And now for the mornings news…” the fellow intoned, shuffling papers..

Chapter One



It was dusk and a thick cloying mist hung low to surface of the cobbled streets.



Sylvester ran his right-hand up and through the right side of his two-tone hair, the right side being black, the rest being white.



With his left hand he adjusted his monocle and then turned to Tabbi, a wide smile on his face of manic delight on his face; “Egads girl, the chase is on…”



Tabbi turned her head and, with irony she told him, “Yes boss.”



And, she was hardly surprised that he ran ahead; he was brave but very foolish: ‘Yet, that’s why I like him’, she thought with wry amusement, moments before she ran to catch up with him.



‘Yet, that’s why I like him…’ she thought, beginning to run after guardian, mentor and the butt of many of her jokes.



Sylvester Merridew ran helter skelter through the yellow fog, his left hand reaching for the warehouse wall now and then.



Behind him ran his ward Tabbi, so often his companion on these adventures.



His cufflinks His cufflinks, the right one, his initials embossed on it, glittered in the dim yellow light of the gaslight to his left, as his fingertips found the end of the wall and, the beginning of the alleyway.



He turned his head briefly and called over his right shoulder calling, Tabbi!”



And, having called her name, Sylvester gave a start, as the young woman appeared at his side.



As ever, she had dressed in entirely unsuitable clothing, for a woman, a tight, clinging woollen white dress with dark blue stripes on it, a heavy black leather jacket worn over it and, tough looking black boots on her feet.



Born of an Irish Mother and a Swedish Father, Tabbi was tall, yet slim; delicate and agile, with a sharp mind, which Sylvester had quickly learnt to appreciate.



Her reasoning skills had proven themselves many times since their paths had first crossed, all those years prior: since then, the out-of-place Edwardian Gentleman had grown to trust her judgement implicitly.



‘He’s out of time and place,’ she mused, watching Sylvester run farther ahead and into the whirling yellow smog: ‘or, maybe it’ me?’

*For Adults. Not suggested for younger readers.







~ * ~







It’d been a message on VR that had prompted the rest that followed, the phone-call, the visit, all of it.

“What are you wearing?” was all I’d asked.

“Whatever you want…” you had responded, as I had learnt when I’d logged on the next day. And, throughout that day, as I did as I do, I’d awaited the evening and a message from you.

I’d waited awhile, looking for your picture to appear on the right of the screen: and finally it had.

Then, just as I’d finished clearing out my messages down to twenty-nine, it went up to thirty again: and I’d smiled. It was a phone number.

Reaching up with my left hand, I picked up the phone and dialled the number, to ask you the question, once again.

“A nightie, that’s all...” you’d replied breathlessly.

“I’d like to see that,” I’d told you.

“I’d like that… and more Crysti.” I had added.

“More?” You had queried.

“Uh-huh, I’d like...” And it’s when you hear what I want from you, you gulp, with rising excitement.

“If you want Kevin… Sir, you could call round...” you’d said and then given me the address, which I’d noted down ready to use the next day.

So I had travelled to see you, anxious to see whether you’d be as obedient as you’d sounded.

Once you’d opened the door to me, I’d taken you in my arms.

“The neighbours!” You’d hissed in my ear, closing the front door.

“Fuck the neighbours,” I’d told you: “It’s you I’m here to fuck...”

I grin at my own humour.

“Just tell them your cousin called today.”

I’d slid my right hand beneath your skirt and caressed your nylon-clad legs, working my way upwards to fondle your buttocks.

With my left hand cradling the back of your head I’d drawn you further in to me. And, your heart had skipped a beat as I leant in and kissed you on the lips. It was a long, lingering kiss, deeply passionate and demanding, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before.

You’d been so startled by it’s insistence that you melted as I took possession of your mouth with mine, as my right hand continues its journey.

“You did as I ask. Good girl...” I whispered, pushing the nylon panties between your buttocks.

You had looked down and blushed at my praise, aware that I wanted to know more of your obedience.

“Do you want a drink?” You had asked as we parted from our embrace.

“How about a drink and a sit down? After all, you have travelled quite a way to, see me.”

I’d smiled as you’d said the last two words, as you knew why I was there; to see what you wore, for me; and, to see how obedient you really are.

And I’d followed, as you’d led me through to the lounge, where I sat on the sofa, as you poured me a whiskey, which I accepted with a grin.

“Turn round,” I’d told you, pleased that you’d do as instructed as readily as I wanted. And, there was a radio playing music somewhere within my earshot and I listened, as you stood before me, your derriere the focus of my attention: “Now, pull up your skirt!” I’d told you.

And you’d done, as I wanted, full of anticipation for the next moment: and your panty-clad bottom, framed by the suspenders is aching for my touch.

My right hand had moved over the back of your right calf and a chill ran down your spine, as my fingers reached the flesh at the top of your stocking.

Yet, the quest had ended, not till my fingertips were beneath the nylon of your panties, drawn taut across your arse cheeks.

Finally after learning what I wanted, I finished my drink in a gulp.

“Kneel at my feet,” I’d instructed simply.

Turning back toward me, you had knelt down on the floor before me and, you did as I wanted, the motion caused your skirt to rise up, revealing pink panties already moist at the crotch.

"I have something for you," I had said, grinning at you.

Then, with my left hand I held the back of your head tightly, keeping you from moving away, my right went to the zipper on my trousers.

You stared with obvious interest, at the rigid pole of flesh that was pulled out through the open zipper, and the thought of what I expected you to with it made you feel suddenly giddy with pleasure.

Your hands were trembling as you had reached up and took the base of my pulsing flesh between your fingers and began to stroke up and down, slowly at first, then faster, keeping up a smooth, steady rhythm. I had enjoyed your attentions Crysti and your willingness to please.

My eight inches of circumcised flesh had awaited you lips, already open; and I pulled your face toward it.

"Kiss it, Crysti," I had instructed; "Put your soft, sweet lips on it."

You had bent forward and planted a big, juicy kiss on the head of my erect self, feeling it throb against you lips in response.

"Suck it, girl," I had sighed with pleasure. "Suck me off."

You had opened your mouth, drawing my flesh slide between your lips.

You gave me pleasure at first by letting your tongue caress my warm erect penis slowly, as you drew it in and out of your mouth.

But when I began to respond, tensing and trembling with my rising climax, you tried harder, licking and sucking and jerking your head up and down, cramming me into your mouth; as I grasped the sides of you head, so as to aid my fucking, of your mouth; your face.

Suddenly I had shuddered and gasped, and you’d felt my organ quiver. Then my erection throbbed violently, once, twice, again, and you had felt a warm, sticky fluid with a salty taste erupt inside your mouth. You had swallowed as quickly as you could and sucked every last drop, before finally letting the limp but satisfied penis fall from your lips.

“Good girl,” I had murmured, settling back into the couch, my hands cupping your arse cheeks, as I drew you to me.

And I’d raised you skirt again, to ensure that the butt plug was still in place: the one that I’d told you to wear, for me.

Then, removing my hands from your panty-clad buttocks, they glide over your naked upper-thighs, downward and your nylon-clad legs. I’d been ever-so aroused, very aroused, by the sight and smell of you. And, you could feel my arousal against your body. You’d been moist.

“Fuck me Kevin,” you’d want to say.

But, you did not.

You’d wanted the evening to be hot: and agreed to being my sex-slave, under instruction - allowed to speak only when spoken to, or required to.

And, I’d smoothed your skirt back into place, taking your face in my hands.

We’d kissed: my inflamed passion acting to increase yours, causing a tremor to sweep through you, from your head to your heated, moist cunt.

Then as the kiss had finally ended, I’d told you to stand.

And you pleased me with your obedience, as you stood as instructed.

“Put some music on,” I’d told you: “then strip for me, nice and slow.”

You had walked across to your sound system and put on ‘Lies.’

As ‘You’re Crazy’ began to play and, you started by just shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and then back again, swaying gently from side to side. Then you dipped your back, buttocks swaying gently back and forth, to music you’d chosen to dance to.

You turned your back to me and thrust your derriere toward me; and as it rose and fell to the music, I’d gazed, with delight.

And, turning once again, you’d really felt the music’s rhythm as you begun to undress: and I just sat there, my hands at my sides, staring at your lovely curves, as more flesh was unveiled as you danced, for me.

You had eased out of the tight skirt that you dropped to my left, as you stripped to the music’s beat. Then, as ‘On In A Million’ began, you undid your shirt buttons one by one - parading the floor before me, flaunting your legs, body and smile; each button undone with measured ease, every movement guaranteed, to emphasise the tease.

You moved with wild abandon and I’d sat watching, as you shook your head in a circle, writhed and turned; then with a flourish, your long, lustrous, red hair cascaded loose and you shook it, whirling in a circle, twisting your hips.

And finally my redhead moved to the music in just black bra and panties, suspender-belt and fine black hose.

“Stop,” I told you, “stay as you are.”

You were breathless, with exertion, with excitement.

Dressed only in the lingerie you’re aware I like: you’re wet with expectation of a fuck. But I wanted more than just that.

“Turn round and hold the arms of that chair, head down, arse high – and, ready to play with,” I had told you sternly, once you were stood before me, mine to enjoy looking at.

Once more you had pleased me with your acquiescence, as you did as instructed. Sitting forward a little, I had licked my lips, taking pleasure in looking, just looking.

Although you were impatient for more, this was fused with your anticipation of what might happen next.

Then, I’d stood smiling, very aware of my arousal: almost painfully so.

And walking across the room I had stood to your left: my right hand on your buttocks, my left caressing your hair and back.

I then unclasped your bra, cupping the full hanging left breast, taking pleasure in your sighs, as I grasped your left nipple twixt thumb and forefinger.

“Ohhhhhh...” you had groaned, the sound increasing my arousal, still further.

I wanted to.. fuck, yet.. First there were those nylon black panties, which I eased over the curves of your buttocks and down your nylon-clad thighs to your knees with my right hand, as I continued the pressure on your nipple; that had hardened under my touch – as you’d enjoyed both pain and pleasure.

Then I took hold of the broad end of the short rubber stubby end of the plug: and slowly withdrew it.

“Ahhhhhh…” you had sighed, as you felt a void deep inside, as the plug abandoned your receptive rectum.

Letting the plug fall to the floor, I had eased up on the pressure on your nipple; enjoying the added the thrill of watching your dilated sphincter muscles slowly closing.

“Now you’re ready,” I’d begun, removing my fingers from your nipple.

“Uhhhhhhh..!” You had groaned, your face pressed to the cushion, your red hair spread over your shoulders and neck.

I had then moved behind you, to kneel down, spreading your buttocks with eager hands.

Then as I’d parted your fleshy globes: sphincter muscles opening, almost on their own accord, made ready by your use of the butt-plug.

And smiling briefly, admiring you, I had leant forward and gently kissed your tender asshole. Then I began to use my tongue, as I licked you, taking pleasure in the slightly musky smell assailing my nostrils.

I’d slathered the hole with my tongue, backing away for a second, to watch the momentary dilation, before returning to tongue you some more.

The moment was pure heady animal lust: centred on your ass and I stood, to hold myself, the crown against your sphincter muscles, moistened with my saliva. Then with my left hand on your hip, you felt the head of my cock pressing into your ass, anus stretching to accommodate it, even after the butt-plug.

I had started to apply a gentle but firm pressure, slowly pushing deep into your rectum, not stopping until it was buried to the hilt.

You’d felt it go in, deeper and deeper, the pressure intense at first, yet you accommodated me easily.

After all, you had been prepared.

Holding your hips, I had begun a slow-rocking motion at first, then a rhythmic pumping of flesh within flesh.

Then, when I felt the tremor in my thighs and the tightness in my groin, I’d realized that soon I’d climax and shoot my load.

“Crysti, I’m coming!” I told you loudly.

Then I’d withdrawn my hard self, covered in our juices, to shoot cum all over your backside.

And, as my cream puddled on your lower back, just above the suspender belt, at the base of your back: I scooped some of it up on my fingers.

Then you had stood to embrace me, your lips against mine: lips that I parted with my cum-covered fingertips.

Finally I had stood back from the embrace, to look at you and asked you a question: “Now Crysti, I need the bathroom. And you did mention that you’d not tried water sorts. How about now?”

COMMENTS

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Icebound
13:48 Jul 01 2011

Mmmmmmm



*shivers*

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DestroyingAngel
18:30 Jul 01 2011

:O

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AshenAngel
06:23 Jul 18 2011

beautiful

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