The Time Riders: Part 5

A Labyrinth Palace.

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

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

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

Trusting to the plan, Mark said nothing, but merely held out one of his sealed letters, this one bearing the emblem of Richelieu. The guard examined it for several seconds, consulting with the other guard before handing it back and then opening the gate. Mark shot them both a dirty look for holding him up in his errand and then swept inside, doing his best to look haughty and full of bravado, which is what the Musketeers were apparently renowned for.

He couldn't help but reflect that they seemed a lot less heroic than history let on and were more dickbags than anything else. Oh well. Faking being a dickbag was probably significantly easier than pretending to be a hero.

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

Alex once again presented his letter, but this time the guards squinted at him suspiciously. "Qui es tou?" demanded one of them.

His throat was dry, but he answered as readily as he could, trying to sound authoritative and even haughty. "J'mappelle Benat de Ferres, of Soule, Second Company of the King's Musketeers under Monsieur de Treville. Let me through."

"Fucking Basques and Gascons," muttered one of the guards in irritation. "Why would a musketeer be bringing a missive to his excellency, the Cardinal?" he demanded to know.

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

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

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help Gawking as he stared at the palace around him; its splendor was beyond anything he had imagined. Walls of white plaster, carved in exquisite shapes and edged in royal purple, along with gold filigree, and incredible paintings and artifacts lined the walls. Endless numbers of servants scurried by, hardly noticing him. He shut his eyes for a moment and composed himself, remembering the details Alexandra had shown him, the way through the palace. He turned and began his search for his teacher.

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

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

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

A guard up ahead. He was a sullen-looking brute, not carrying the long pikes of the gate guards, but a much more practical halberd, along with a short rapier on his belt. She knew he'd be trouble. She ducked into an alcove and pulled a small phial out of her cleavage, drinking the strong red wine from it and sloshing it around in her mouth, to make sure the aroma was on her breath. Replacing the phial, she lurched back out into the hallway and sauntered toward him lazily.

"Hello, beautiful," she said drunkenly, giving him a lopsided smile. "You must' be off-duty by now."

"No, I am not," he grunted, not looking at her. "Go away, slut."

"C'mon," Lisette persisted, leering at him as she leaned against the wall to his left. "We could be having fun. Don' you like fun?"

"Duty is not meant to be fun."

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

He didn't stop her as she sidled up to him, stood on her tip-toes and put her arms around his neck. Her breath was sweet with wine, her dark eyes glassy with the lack of inhibition it brought on. Her tits pressed to his chest, her hips flat to his crotch.

"Take me into that room and fuck me;” she breathed huskily, her lips no more than an inch from his. "I want to feel you inside me;”

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

Mark walked down the hallway, trying to not look like he was hurrying, and staying alert. He was entering a difficult part of the operation, because he was no longer in an area of the palace that led to either the king's quarters or those of Cardinal Richelieu. If anyone stopped him now, he would probably be redirected rather forcefully, and he had precious little time to waste.

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

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

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

"Stupid shit!" the one man he had smacked into spat. "Watch where you are; who are you?"

Mark went wide-eyed, not having expected them. His mouth seemed to work, but no sounds came forth. They blocked his ascent and continued to glare at him.

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

Mark regained control of his voice and tried to speak. "My name is; my name is Benat;”

Fuck, he'd forgotten his last name.

"My name is Benat DeFlepard," he managed to say. "I am from Sully and I have’

"What sort of name is DeFlepard?" snarled the one guard.

"I have sealed orders," Mark interrupted, not liking where this was going. "From the Cardinal!"

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

Mark handed him the sealed missive scroll. The man examined it and frowned.

"This is the king's seal," he growled. "What is the meaning of this?”

Before the man could finish his query, Mark punched him in the face and then pulled his crème-colored tabard over his head and threw him down the stairs. The guard cursed loudly as he rolled at least two floors.

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

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

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

Alexandra was concealed in a secret closet in a parlor not far from the queen's quarters, listening carefully. She was wearing the red uniform of the Cardinal's personal guard, her impressive bust flattened and pulled tight with linen straps. Her golden hair was held in a ponytail while a black mask concealed her facial features. Her rapier sat on her hip and three customized pistols were concealed around her person, along with several knives balanced for throwing.

She heard the discharge of a firearm, followed by shouts of alarm and fright. She hung her head and sighed. She'd been hoping it wouldn't come to this, but there seemed to be nothing for it. She would see her obligation met.

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

All she could hope was that Mark had remembered what his name was.

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

A guard rushed around the corner, his halberd in hand, but Mark smashed the ornate swept hilt of his rapier into his mouth, which dissolved in a welter of blood, lips and gum before he burbled and fell over. Mark kept running.

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

There was the room!

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

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

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

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

The flurry of fists halted and then there was a pause thick with confusion. He felt his cheeks being gripped tightly, immobilizing his face and then his neck pulled up so that whoever was sitting on him could look at him.

"Mark?" Becky exclaimed in disbelief. "Mark! Oh my God!"

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

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

Becky blinked and then jumped off him hastily, helping him to his feet. She still seemed stunned to see him, not that he blamed her.

"How?" she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief and wet with emotion. "You; you were."

"Dead? Yeah, kinda."

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

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

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she exhaled, crushing herself to him and hugging tight, her body shaking with raw emotion. "You're back, Mark. You came back for me;”

He smiled and hugged her back, his hand on the back of her head. "Well sure I did. You're my time-travelling partner, aren't you? Can't leave you here with these smelly savages."

She laugh-choked back a sob and look up at him, her eyes leaking tears onto her scarlet cheeks.

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

Her expression of delight warped into a scowl at his query and she pushed herself away from him. "Well what do you expect? I only spent the past month trying to kill myself with alcohol while you were taking your unscheduled nap, you jerk!"

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

"Hang on;” she huffed, stomping over to a table and grabbing her bottle of wine, tilting her head back and taking a stiff pull from it gulping loudly. Mark made a wan face and fidgeted, acutely aware of the time they were losing.

"Becks, no offense, but I'm pretty sure every guard in Paris is looking for me right now, and I’

"Sounds like more of a you problem than a me problem," she grunted, attempting to drain the bottle with several loud glucks. "Nobody was trying to kill me while I was here."

"No, you seem to have that covered;” he said dryly. She shot him a nasty look, but didn't stop drinking.

"Look, we need to go," he insisted. "Pretty sure Alexandra's risking her neck to make sure I can’

"Alexandra?" Becky interrupted, stopping drinking to look at him pointedly. "The gorgeous blonde I want to fuck?"

"I; sure," Mark replied, trying to keep up. "Pretty sure she and Lisette are’

"Who's Lisette?" Becky asked suspiciously, lurching toward him. She was quite a bit drunker than he'd initially thought.

"It doesn't matter," he declared, determined to get moving before Richelieu arrested and shot his ass again. "We need to get’

Mark winced in fear as she surged toward him, the bottle raised over her head. She flew by him and smashed the bottle down on the head of a guard who had barged into the room. His eyes rolled up into his head and he went to sleep.

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

"Looks like you're the one who need rescuing." Becky shot back. "You were half a second away from having an exit wound the size of an airport runway in your chest just now."

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

Becky snarled angrily, lunged in, grabbed him by the neck and DDT him, almost as smoothly as ‘Jake the Snake’ did to fellow pro wrestlers. This time he stayed down.

"Jerk!" she muttered, glaring at the man. Without a second thought, she used a knife on the man's belt to tear layers of skirt away, leaving herself clad only in the bodice and skimpy underwear, with garters holding up the silk stockings she wore. She knelt on the unconscious man's back and pulled his boots off, replacing her slippers with the sturdier footwear. She then stripped his rapier and pistol from his person before turning to look at Mark.

"You ready now?" she asked pointedly, standing there in what basically amounted to negligee and musketeer boots, while holding a rapier and a wheellock pistol. He gaped at her for a moment, unable to say anything.

"You have no idea how stupidly sexy you look right now, Becks." Mark managed to say.

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

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

At least the boy from the future liked to make sure she came first, even if he was a naïve school boy.

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

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

Anne of Austria looked up from a book to see Lisette scurry in, closing the door behind herself and then pressing her ear to the door, ignoring everyone else in the room. She then saw the queen, blinked, curtseyed hastily, and went back to eavesdropping on the frenzy of activity outside.

The monarch shook her head wearily and went back to reading her book.

"You may not pass through here!" shouted the house guard, blocking Alexandra's passage forward. She had identified herself as a member of the Cardinal's guard, using her well-practiced man's voice to give credit to her guise. Thought he believed her, the man remained unmoved, barring her way.

"I told you, I need to reach the Cardinal!" she insisted, knowing full well he would not let her through.

"That is no concern of mine," he said coldly, glaring at her, his hand on his sword, ready to draw it. "Find another way to reach your Cardinal, because if you come another step closer, I will run you through."

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was more chaos to sow.

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

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

"Bastard!" she raged. "Teach you to kill my students!"

She knelt and yanked his head up, making sure his eyes were open as she pointed at Mark, her voice dripping with vitriol.

"See that? He's alive! You can't even kill something right! Your life means nothing! Nothing!"

She smacked his head off the tile floor and gathered up her weapons before looking at Mark, composing herself now.

"Sorry," she said with a flush of embarrassment. "You probably wanted him, didn't you? I thought you were dead, so if I ever saw him again, I'd have to avenge you."

Mark shrugged. "No harm done. Except to him, and I don't really’

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

"That can't be good;” he thought.

Becky didn't even blink. Without turning around, she pointed her pistol backwards over her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The bark of the shot echoed around the palace and the giant staggered backward, eyes wide in shock, before he fell over like a redwood. The other two gaped at her in astonishment as she turned around to glower at them. They hastily took hold of their downed friend and hauled him out of sight, their duty to the king forgotten.

"That's right, ladies, run!" Becky called out, her chest heaving. "How's it feel to get beat up by a girl?"

"You are so sexy right now, Becks." Mark chuckled, approaching her. She turned back to face him; covered with gunpowder smudges, scratches and the occasional bruise, she'd never looked more attractive to him.

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

"I'm so glad you're not dead, Mark," she breathed. "I can't wait to prove it to you when we get the fuck out of here."

Mark took her hand and pulled her down the hallway, breaking into a run. They weren't out of danger yet.

"What're you laughing about?" she asked, scowling while she allowed him to lead her through the palace.

"I think that was Porthos you shot," he said almost cheerfully. "Becks, you ganked Porthos."

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

"Ha, you said bookmark!" he laughed as he pulled her around a corner and down another hallway, trying to reach the point Alexandra had designated.

"Uh!" Becky groused. "Why was I so damn happy that you lived? I swear, Mark, I; Ack!"

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

"Fucking shit!" Mark yelped, yanking her around another corner as more soldiers appeared and filled the hall with musket balls. "This sucks!"

"Ya' think?" she hissed as they kept running, their options becoming increasingly limited. "I'm in this too, Mister Spotlight!"

"Yeah, well at least you don't have the Goblin City Battle music from the Labyrinth soundtrack stuck in your head while they chase us around and try to kill us!"

"I do now, you fucker! Thanks a lot!" Becky raged. A lone house guard skidded to a stop near them and prepared to fire. Mark flung his pistol at the man, striking him in the head before knocking him aside as they continued down the corridor.

"What did you throw your gun away for, dumbass?" she exclaimed, wondering if blood loss after getting shot had permanently damaged Mark's brain. She hoped he could still get it up, if they made it out of here.

"It had no ammo in it." Mark grunted, trying to get his bearings, thinking back to the plans of the palace Alexandra had shown him.

"Why were you carrying around an empty pistol?" Becky asked in disbelief. "Intimidation purposes? Were you gonna hold it sideways when you pointed it at people, hope you looked all gangster?"

"I plugged a guy on my way to find you, okay?" he sighed as they kept running. "The first shot fired that started this whole mess, it was me shooting some jackoff in the foot as I tried to find you."

Becky skidded to a stop, halting Mark's flight as well. She looked into his eyes and then hugged him in relief.

"Thank you, Mark," she said quietly. "You came for me, after you nearly died, and we both could today. You're very brave."

When she ended the hug, Mark found she had put her own pistol in his hands. He frowned in confusion.

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

"Because let's face it, I'm a lot more likely to snag another one than you are," she sighed. "Let's go, I'm done with the Sun King's France."

Out of breath, they settled for trotting down a hallway, surrounded by the echoing sounds of chaos. Things had gotten so confused that the guards were all fighting one another now, thinking the enemy in their midst.

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

"I can't believe that worked!" Mark laughed as they ran down another venue.

"Yes, it was very impressive, Gene Kelly," Becky sighed, shaking her head. "Next, you'll be swinging from the damn chandeliers or using your knife to ride down tapestries."

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

Someone slammed into him from behind and he tumbled forward, scrambling to gain his feet. More bodies joined the fracas and he realized that they were not only trying to kill him but fighting one another as well.

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

Then a sword point burst through the man's chest from behind. His eyes widened, and he dropped his sword and crumpled to the ground. The man who had killed him was already moving on to another target.

Exhausted and dull with pain, Mark dragged himself to a wall and slumped against it, looking around for Becky, but she was nowhere to be seen.

No. Not again.

He ignored the maelstrom of violence and pushed himself to his feet, limping down a hallway, sword held loosely in his hand as he went to find his teacher.

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

Sparring with D’Artagnan.

She stopped as a lone figure came into view, blocking her way down the corridor. He wore the blue of the king's mousquetaires, his young face etched with determination. His hand rested on the hilt of his rapier while he observed her.

"So," he began, tilting his head. "You must be the cause of all this mayhem, oui?"

"I am not who you seek." Alexandra said plainly.

"I do not truck with liars and I do not appreciate being lied to!" the young man snapped. "I would have your name before I run you through in the king's. Are you an agent of Buckingham?"

"No."

"Charles of Spain?"

"I have no time for this," Alexandra said testily, putting her hand on the hilt of her blade. "Move aside and let me complete my task, musketeer!"

"Then it is death you crave!" he hissed, his rapier flashing in his hand now. "I shall happily give it to you in the queen's honor!"

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

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

Alexandra somersaulted backward gracefully, coming to her feet with her rapier guarding against a follow-up attack. A lot of bemusement crossed his face.

"Very pretty, good sir," he said. "But it will not save you."

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

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

"D'Artagnan!" shouted Athos as he and Aramis dragged the unconscious Porthos across the hallway behind the combatants, disappearing from sight. This distracted the Musketeer, who turned to look behind himself in confusion and then disbelief. He glanced back at his foe and then sighed, sheathing his blade.

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

The door to the room swung open and Mark staggered inside, panting in pain. His entire leg felt like it was on fire, and it was maddeningly sticky. He had lost his sword while searching for Becky, but it mattered little if he couldn't find her.

He tumbled into a sitting position, propping himself up on his hands and trying to breathe. Everything hurt now, and it was getting to the place where he couldn't move. His head throbbed and he was getting dizzy.

With extreme effort, he managed to tear one of his sleeves off, and tied it around his leg, hoping it would act as a tourniquet and perhaps staunch the bleeding. It stung like fucking Hell and to his distress did nothing ease his pain.

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

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

He stepped closer, still scrutinizing Mark, who tried to move backwards, his body screaming in protest.

"But you died," the elderly man stated. "My captain shot you. You died in that field. What witchcraft is this?"

Annoyance flashed in the Cardinal's eyes now. "So, you are the cause of all this tumult. The girl I was to give to the queen, she is missing and now I know why."

He pulled a pistol from within the voluminous folds of his red robes and cocked it before pointing the muzzle down at Mark's face.

"I think it is time I dealt with this problem myself, once and for all."

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

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

While Richelieu slumped forward and then fell on his side, trembling and holding the family jewels, Mark goggled up at Becky, who stood indignantly in the doorway with her hands on her hips, glaring down at His Eminence.

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

"Oh, Mark," she said in a gentle voice. "Look at you, you got stabbed, baby. I'm so sorry;”

"I'll be alright," he managed to say as she hugged him to her. "At least you still look amazing, no matter how badly your ass has been kicked."

Becky's laugh choked back her sob and she smiled at him, tears in her eyes.

"Smart-ass," she murmured. "C'mon, let me bind your boo-boo properly and then we'll get out of here, before everyone in Paris is dead."

She fixed his makeshift tourniquet and then helped him stand. Once he was upright, he took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I think I can walk, I was just in need of a breather, ya’ know?"

She giggled. "How the Hell are we gonna explain a rapier wound through your thigh when you get home?"

"With any luck, Chester will have a little something' to fix me right up." Mark replied. "Let's go. If we are where I think we are, then our ride isn't that far away."

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

"Bet the Cardinal's guards are gonna be upset," Mark chuckled. "He's nowhere near his quarters, and they let him get kicked in the freaking balls."

Becky giggled as she walked alongside him, her arm through his. "You have no idea how good that felt, Mark. A girl could get used to that. Maybe we should visit Berlin, see if I can kick Hitler in the nuts."

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

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

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

Mark smiled wearily. "I; it's in the little pocket in my pants here, but it's probably pretty red and unreadable by now."

"It's a good thing, then, that I wrote a copy, non?" Alexandra lilted, pulling a small piece of vellum out from beneath the sash she wore and handing it to Becky.

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

She then handed two small, round jars into Becky's palm as well. "Use these to salve your wounds, until I arrive. I promise you, they will work."

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

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

"We need to stop, or we will be fucking right here in the halls of the palace," she breathed, wiping at the corner of her mouth with a finger. "We will see one another soon, and celebrate then."

She turned to Mark and smiled before leaning in and kissing him gently. "You are a brave man, my friend. Never doubt it, no matter what travails Heaven provides."

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

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

"Try not to get kidnapped again, Becks," he said lazily. "I'm not sure how much more of this my body can take."

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

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

A time to recuperate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexandra looked over at her servant, her eyebrow raised. "What is so funny, girl?"

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

Becky and Alexandra both thought about that, looked at one another for a moment, shrugged and began kissing again, their tongues tangling loudly.

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

Mark burst out laughing while Becky choked on her shock, interrupting the kiss she had been so enjoying. She looked at Lisette in disbelief. Alexandra just sighed and shook her head, used to her servant's twisted humor.

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

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

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

"I like that idea," Alexandra said, grinning. "And I have a gift for you both."

She climbed off the bed and went to retrieve something. She returned shortly with two bottles, which she presented to them.

"A new type of wine, invented in my native region of Champagne," she said, kneeling on the bed as they examined the bottles. "Twice fermented and sweet on the tongue, not unlike my darling Rebecca."

Becky blushed and Mark grinned. "You'll be glad to know that in our time, champagne is one of the most expensive and sought-after drinks in the world, used in every important celebration."

"That does please me, Mark." Alexandra said, nodding her head and deciding to not chide him this time about telling her the future.

"And now that I think of it, literally, I've got a present for you, Alexa." Mark mused, getting off the bed. The three women watched as he walked into a large closet, rummaging around loudly. When he returned, he was holding what appeared to be several unusual books, which he handed to Alexandra.

"What are these?" she asked, puzzled.

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

She looked up at him incredulously. "But; why were they in my closet here in my chalet?"

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

Becky made a wry face. "Ya’ know, I'd say you're getting the hang of this whole temporal travel thing, but I'm pretty sure you're only getting the hang of abusing it."

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

"I take back what I said just now, you're gonna get us all clock-hammered right out of existence." Becky sighed, causing her lovers to laugh.

Mark and Becky lay side-by-side in her bed and holdings hands, back in their own time and generally none the worse for wear. They'd learned some valuable lessons and had made some important contacts along the way.

"Do' you really think Alexandra's my ancestor?" Becky mused, looking at her bedroom ceiling.

Mark shrugged. "You sure look a lot alike, and you're both Hell on wheels. I'm still amused by the notion of me being your great-great-great-whatever grandfather."

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

He chuckled. "I promise. I have no idea how trans-temporal alimony or visitation rights even work."

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

"So, who're you gonna save me from next, hero?" she purred, nipping at his earlobe and making him shiver.

"Oh, God, Becks, can we start out with some really ferocious kindergartners from the Roaring Twenties taking you hostage? I can probably handle that right about now."

She giggled again and crawled on top of him, staring down into his eyes and kissing his nose while she squirmed her tits against him.

"Take me to New York in the Twenties and I'll show you how liberated a flapper girl I can be," she whispered. "Deal?"

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

Count Mark and Becky in!

I Think I'm Getting The Hang Of This!

Finally home.

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

"I'm enjoying this particular batch of thyme that I put in the braise," Dhallyla Pritchard remarked as she gently stabbed some green beans with her fork. "Mark, where did you say you got it for me? The flavor is so; special."

Mark shrugged. "Another shop I thought I'd try out," he replied. "Nowhere near our usual places."

"Well, keep it up, son," his father said, sitting at the other end of the table. "No offence to your mother's cooking, but the spices we were getting before weren't helping the cause. Now this is flavor."

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

"Yeah," his sister Roxy said, sitting across from him, and trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice. "Unexpected is right."

"Now Roxy, be nice," their mom chided. "You should be happy for your little brother, he'll be going to university with you."

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

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

"Dear!" Dhallyla gasped, looking at her daughter in shock. "Nobody said you were behaving licentiously! There's no need to use language like that!"

"Sorry," the dark-haired girl sighed, putting down her fork. "Just been on edge lately. Seems to have been The Mark Show around here recently, and I'm not even quite making my grades in Soph."

"You just need to focus, darling," mom said, trying to sound reassuring. "Mark stopped goofing around and knuckled under, and he got rewarded. Nothing says you can't do the same."

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

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

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

"Well, it's certainly enjoyable," his mom agreed, watching the dark, rich liquid swirl in her glass. "Make sure you get more of it, wherever you got it."

"Yeah, maybe you can take me along with you next time," Roxy said, resting her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table, smiling at him. "Sounds like a place I'd show to a few of my friends."

"Uh, we'll see," Mark replied somewhat uncertainly. "I never know when I'll make it back there;”

More ‘Tutoring’.

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

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

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

"Still can't believe how stupid earlier Me is," he breathed, fondling her ass through her jeans. "He could've been doing this."

"Now now, that's not true," she giggled, rubbing her nose against his, her eyes dancing in amusement and delight. "You're still seventeen when I get to class every day and watch you fail miserably at Physics, you know. What makes you think I want to be caught fucking a minor?"

Mark smiled slyly, took her hand and placed it on his crotch, making her massage his cock through his jeans.

"Oh, I dunno," he mused, feeling her shiver. "Maybe this;”

"No, that's cheating and you know it," Becky murmured, continuing to rub him even after he removed his own hand. "And I suppose it's only a three-month technicality, but I still wouldn't have if I didn't know about the Holmes Field Device. I don't care how big your dick is, young man, sometimes a lady needs more."

"Ya' mean like wacky time travel adventures?" he asked, grinning.

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

"I think you said 'lousiest' when you meant 'luckiest,'" Mark quipped, squeezing her ass cheeks and kissing her nose. Becky giggled and nodded.

"I couldn't agree more; you are one of the luckiest Physics students to ever live," she opined, using her hands to gesture to herself. "Not often a guy gets access to a playground like this without a gold band, you know."

He nodded. He and Becky were very close now. Maybe they even loved one another after a fashion. But were they in love?

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

"I didn't know you were an ageist, Becks," he chuckled, teasing her. "After all, remember the innkeeper's two daughters in that little town in France? You sure they were legal?"

"We've been over this, Mark." Becky chided, stroking his cheek. "If they were alive today, they would've been nearly five hundred years old."

"God, I love how your mind works," he laughed. "You're so much better at this time travel stuff than I am."

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

She kissed him deeply, her fingers tangling in his hair again as her heart almost raced at the memory.

"But then you came back for me, after being shot and nearly killed, and charged in like some sort of insane knight on a horse, threw the entire Louvre into utter chaos, and got me out of there."

"Well, maybe," he said, almost blushing. "I didn't do it alone, ya’ know."

"That's true," Becky agreed. "You had help from Chester Edgeworth, and Lady Alexandra."

Becky leaned back slightly and sighed, closing her eyes. "Now her I'm totally in love with."

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

"Remind me all you like, I don't care," Becky sniffed. "So I'm an incestuous time-travelling, Physics-teaching slut. I'm having a great romp, thank you."

"Me too, Becks," Mark agreed, nodding. "And I'm glad I've got all the dumb luck necessary to rescue you, because you've got the smarts to save me when I do anything stupid."

They kissed some more, with her sitting contentedly in his lap, just enjoying the prelude to the night's activities.

"So," she said finally, looking at her student and lover. "Where shall we head?"

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

"Try to refrain from time travel jokes, they're painful coming from you," she sighed, smiling and shaking her head. "Any ideas?"

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

"Ooh, like Jurassic Park?" she asked, taking the brochure and examining it.

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

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

"Interested?" he asked.

She pursed her lips: "It's expensive, Mark. It's meant for people from the time period the company is from, clearly. And assuming this sign indicates the currency, there's an awful lot of zeroes following it."

Mark thought about that for a moment. "But Chester had to know that, and still gave it to us, right? That means he knows something we don't."

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

"I'm down with that; it's not like there's a time limit on the offer, literally," Mark acquiesced. "So, what shall we do?"

She made a show of thinking, tapping her finger against her cheek. "Well;”

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