Passages In Time
Chapter 1 - The Awakening
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Romantic, Fiction, Science Fiction, Historical, Rough, Anal Sex,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The Awakening - A client visits a prostitute in a seedy Manchester brothel. And thousands of years in the past, the fate of a group of alien travellers hinges on the outcome of this unusual encounter.
MANCHESTER, ENGLAND, MARCH 1997
At first, he seemed very ordinary. Sarah glanced at Janice, and could tell from her lack of interest that she had the same view. Like Sarah, Janice probably wouldn't mind being chosen. Like Sarah, Janice probably wouldn't mind being left to watch the TV either. The man was, on the face of things, just another client.
What would he be like? Well, Sarah decided, he would want to be entertained. He would want to be relieved. In all probability, he would want to be complimented. Then, he would want to put his clothes on and go back home, perhaps to a wife, perhaps to children, perhaps to both. It was sad, but it was business.
Occasionally there was rivalry between the girls. Some regular clients were known as good tippers, and there was the very rare guy who was interesting on his own terms. But in the main all the girls who worked at "Touches" were friends, and there was too much business for competition to be important. Sarah and Janice were particularly close, both nineteen, both blonde, both Boyzone fans.
Joy was manning the desk today, and was currently engaged in detailing to the visitor the terms and conditions of the service which "her ladies" provided. Sarah smiled. Joy, of course, didn't have any ladies. Like Sarah and Janice, she worked for George Kokkolias. And didn't earn very much.
Sarah studied the man again. He was in his early twenties, dressed in denims and a lumberjack shirt. Possibly a construction worker, because his hands looked like they were used to hard work, and he wasn't short in the muscle department. He also seemed quite intelligent, because his sharp green eyes were continually analysing his surroundings, studying the girls, checking the exits. He was slim and tall, with brown hair, a strong mouth, and a rugged, unshaven look which she might have found attractive in other circumstances.
She was already preparing herself. She expected to be chosen, not only because the man's gaze had fallen more regularly on her than on Janice, but also because when she was working with Janice, younger men tended to go for her. Janice, with her baby blue eyes and girlish pout, was a real draw for the over thirties, but Sarah was shapely and confident. She had been told that her bearing, compact figure and readiness to make eye contact were her best features, and her customers saw her as just the sort of girl they'd have been proud to have picked up in a nightclub. This, of course, usually led them to ask the usual question. Why did she do it?
The answer she always gave to such an enquiry was an honest one. She needed the money. She had no qualifications, and a bad employment record, having walked out of three jobs simply because she was bored. She'd been "picked up" by George Kokkolias, a twenty year old Greek with big plans, whilst on the town one Saturday night, and there had followed a brief relationship. Very brief, in fact. Less than a week.
But during that week he had told her about those big plans, and how they might involve her. And three weeks later, when he had opened "Touches", Sarah had been one of the first two duty girls, and had worked four days a week since then.
It wasn't so bad. Life, Sarah liked to say, was about getting fucked. It was simply that she got fucked at a time of her own choosing, and whilst it might happen twenty times a day, at least those who did it had to pay for the privelege. These days, of course, twenty times a day was an underestimate. "Touches" was about the most popular massage parlour in Manchester, and three customers an hour in a ten hour shift was about her average.
For each punter, she received half the payment, usually 15 per time, the house taking the rest. With tips, she could easily make 500 a day. And whilst the work was hard, she enjoyed it for the most part. Sure, there was the occasional sweaty old guy, and once or twice she'd needed to be pretty forceful with men who wanted more than they'd paid for, or more than she was willing to provide, such as sex without a condom, or anal. But on the whole, she found sex fun, and most of those who visited her did too. She provided things that a wife would not, particularly freedom to experiment, and whilst she didn't see herself as a social worker, neither was she ashamed of what she did.
Negotiations with Joy were concluding. Sarah saw the visitor hand over the usual three ten pound notes. Then Joy made the introductions, concluding with the usual line. "You can of course choose both girls, for a real thrill. Just twenty pounds more."
Sarah hoped that he would, because she and Janice enjoyed the threesomes. There was more than a trace of lesbian in Janice. But the guy wasn't biting. "Sarah, I think", he said, and looked her straight in the eye, smiled. It was an unusual gesture, because most punters would look sheepishly away at the moment of choice.
The flash of desire in his eyes almost floored her. It was both frightening and attractive. Struggling for composure, she just managed to perform her own hunt for additional funds, something she was instructed to do. "We could go to the VIP lounge", she suggested. "It's ten pounds more, but it's worth it. Room to move, and a VCR with some great films."
"I don't think I need films", he replied. It was the first time he had spoken and his voice, Sarah thought, was deep, sonorous. Downright sexy, if truth be told. Suddenly, she was glad she had been chosen. This man wasn't quite as ordinary as she'd believed.
"Next time, maybe", she proposed, then, indicating that he should follow her, added, "The rooms are all upstairs."
He followed her up the short staircase, which was unimaginatively decorated with a maroon carpet and red flock wallpaper. She wondered whether he was weighing her up, fantasising about what was to come. She guessed that most men did. For most men, sex was an obsession rather than a pastime.
She led him into the second bedroom, the first being the one laughably termed the VIP suite, which he had rejected.
He looked around, and didn't seem impressed. She wasn't surprised. The only furniture in the room was a cheap chest of drawers, painted white, a matching wooden chair, a one bar electric fire and a single bed, carrying two pillows and covered with a light green duvet. The decor matched the stairs.
She expected him to stand, uncertainly, waiting for advice. That was what she was used to. But he didn't. He perched confidently on the edge of the bed.
"So, what's your name?", she asked him. It was a standard question, one to which the answer would undoubtedly be a lie, but it was not redundant. There would be times during the session when she would have to call him something.
"Gary", he replied. "And that is my real name. Gary. It isn't my visiting name."
The reply made her uncomfortable. It was almost as though he'd read her mind. "I'm Sarah", she advised him. "Which isn't necessarily my real name."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why say that", he wondered, "when it most certainly is?"
More than uncomfortable now, actively suspicious, she hardened her approach. "If you say so", she replied. "So where are you from? Local?"
"Quite local", he answered. "Unmarried. No children."
"I didn't ask that", she said coolly.
"But you probably thought I was married", he responded. "And I wanted to correct you."
"It doesn't really matter in here", she pointed out.
"I know that", he said.
She paused, searching for a route back to control of the conversation. And then she found it, in the obvious place. Or so she thought. "We should be getting down to business", she said briskly.
"Sure", he answered. "After all, that's what we're here for."
Again, the most unusual of answers, but she wasn't prepared to analyse it. "Well", she said. "We can't do anything with your clothes on."
"I'll take them off then", he agreed easily.
She nodded. "If you're cold, there's an electric fire."
He smiled. She thought that it was a lovely smile. Gentle, but confident. "I don't need the fire", he said.
His sudden pleasantness again made her hesitate, again disrupted her routine. "Is this your first time here?", she asked, honestly interested. "Have you seen any of the other girls?"
"No-one but you", he replied, as though it were an assurance. And oddly, she was in fact relieved that she was the first of the girls to come across this man, but she couldn't explain to herself why that was. All she knew was that he was challenging her professionalism in a way that she hadn't previously experienced. Oh, sure, the occasional guy had visited her had been skilled enough that sex with him had lowered her defences, had brought her to climax...
No. If sheThere had been more than the occasional guy.
There had been many guys.
In truth, it was rare for her not to climax. And that embarrassed her, made her feel cheap. Even though she hid it well, and the client almost certainly never knew.
But Gary was different nonetheless. Because Gary was interesting her emotionally.
She made a conscious effort to regain detachment. "You know how this works, I hope", she said. "We're not exactly a health studio. Even though it says that on the sign."
"I know how it works", he confirmed. "Even to the point where I know exactly what's supposed to happen now. You've asked me to get undressed. While I do that, you're going to disappear for two or three minutes. To get yourself ready. You're planning to use a cream, I should think. KY jelly, maybe."
She felt heat in her face. "There aren't any other ways", she said, with an edge of hostility.
"I know the routine", he confirmed. "But I don't want to follow it."
She swallowed drily. "I'm sorry", she told him. "But that's the way I have to do things. No, wrong. That's the way I like to do things. This is a job for me. Nothing more."
"And would we have to do things the way you like them", he wondered, "if I gave you another fifty pounds? Fifty pounds that they don't need to know about downstairs."
She was suddenly on more familiar ground. Disappointingly, there was nothing unusual about Gary after all. He merely want something unusual. Domination, perhaps. Maybe the other hole.
She felt her confidence flood back as she explained, "It depends what you want for it. Some things, I just don't do. Others I only do with men I like. And I'm not certain I like you yet."
"Yes you are", he disagreed.
For the third or fourth time, he disorientated her with the truth. Again, he had seized the initiative. The only response she could think of was to be practical. "Let's talk about it. What do you want me to do for you?"
He smiled that wonderful smile again. "Nothing at all", he replied. "Unless, later, you want to."
"I'm not with you", she admitted. "This is far too confusing for me."
"I want to do something for you instead", he said. He spoke so quietly that she could barely hear him.
"Look", she told him. "The way I'm reading this, I'm starting to think you're after something romantic. A girlfriend, maybe. But this is the wrong place. The wrong kind of start. In other circumstances, maybe..."
"No", he assured. "I can understand why you might think that. But you're wrong."
"Then what?" She was at a loss.
"I like to please women", he answered after a time. "Can we maybe leave it at that?"
"You're not the one being paid", she reminded him.
"That doesn't matter", he said.
"It matters to me", she insisted. "It's the only thing that matters to me."
He shrugged. "Fifty pounds", he reminded her.
"Keep it", she said. "And get undressed. Or leave. Whatever suits you. But either way, you've lost the money you've already paid. I'll be back in a few minutes. You can let me know what you've decided then." And with that, she turned and pushed open the door.
"I wish you wouldn't", he called after her.
"You said that", she replied, pausing briefly in the doorway. "But I'm going to."
"Will you hurry?", he asked. "Will you at least do that for me?"
She didn't answer. Because she thought that, yes, she might hurry. Whether to get things finished or to get them started, she was surprised to realise that she wasn't entirely sure. For a moment, he had her in another gentle trap.
Then he sprung it, with the remark, "You won't need the lubrication, you know. You're lubricated already."
Her resentment at the personal nature of the comment, which she believed just might be true, propelled her out of the room and along the landing to the bathroom. She was so angry that she was able for a time to put out of her mind the very odd nature of her visitor.
In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face. Then she slipped out of her panties and unscrewed the lid on the KY jelly. As she did that, she knew that he'd been right. It was unnecessary. She could sense the warm wetness between her legs, even whilst struggling not to acknowledge it.
She sat down on the edge of the bath, tried to calm herself down. She had to face this guy, would have to fuck him. Any other course would cause just too much trouble. There might be other men waiting downstairs. Throwing him out wouldn't look good at all.
She realised that while she had been thinking, she had reached between her legs and pushed her panties aside, had inserted a finger into her vagina to confirm the extent of her readiness. Wet wasn't the word. She was sodden.
How had it happened? When had it happened? Was she so attracted to this man that his mere words had caused such a reaction? It seemed amazing, and if it was true, then she'd experienced no conscious awareness of it.
She remembered that he had asked her to be quick. There was no good reason, except resentment, which she needed to be able to overcome if she was to continue in the job she had chosen, why she shouldn't oblige him. So she stood, intending to collect a condom from the bathroom cabinet.
And caught sight of herself in the full length mirror which took up most of the wall opposite the door.
She was looking good. Tarty, definitely, but good. It was uniform day, and she was the nurse while Janice was the schoolgirl. The short, light green dress cut off halfway up her ass, exposing her stockings and suspenders and her long, slim legs. It was also tight enough to emphasise her essentially medium figure to great effect.
She ran a brush through her shoulder length blonde hair, tweaked the lashes above her big emerald eyes, admired the fullness of lips which the wild pink lip gloss she had chosen accentuated. She'd applied a little colour to her cheeks, thinning them out. Janice said that, fully made up, she looked like Emma from the Spice Girls. Sarah preferred to imagine a resemblance to Melanie Griffith.
Armed by a deep breath, she made her way back to the room, opened the door nervously. Gary was standing by the bed, naked to the waist, his discarded clothes piled neatly on the chair. Even this degree of compliance surprised her. She had asked that he disrobe, but had not expected him to co-operate at all.
Professionally, she weighed him up. His chest was hairless, smooth and supple, stomach flat, arms strong and layered with muscle.
His interest in her was as frank as ever. She found it difficult to look him in the eye, and thus did not do so. "Do you want talc or oil?", she asked the floor.
"Ah, yes, the massage", he replied. "We'll pass on that, I think."
Sarah shrugged. "Up to you", she stated. "It's part of the price. So what's it going to be then?"
He moved closer to her. Just a little, but enough to make her nervous. "Oral then sex is the usual, is it?", he said in a teasing voice. "All a bit unimaginative."
She choked down her irritation. "You need to lie down", she told him. "Maybe I'm more imaginative than you think."
"It wasn't an insult, Sarah", he assured. "I know how imaginative you are. But you're not in the sort of job that brings imagination to the fore, are you?"
"You don't know anything about me", she said, but the lack of the venom she had intended confused her.
He raised an eyebrow. "I knew you wouldn't need the cream", he teased her, his voice a drawl, sending a real thrill fluttering into her genitals.
She coloured. "Well, you were wrong", she lied.
Oh, that smile. She loved it, and she hated it.
For a few seconds, there was silence. Then she tried to push things along again, advising, "We need to get started."
"Yes, we do", he acknowledged. "So. Can I touch you? Is that allowed?"
She thought about it, and realised she couldn't refuse him. If she did, she'd be denying him a privelege she extended to most of her other clients.
And there was a part of her, a part that she was still trying to hide, which wanted him to touch her more than anything in the world.
"Where?", she asked tightly, a pointless delaying tactic.
"Well, everywhere", he answered easily.
She looked up at him for the first time since she'd come back into the room. He had spoken with real emotion, his intensity palpable. "Yes", she said. "Of couse you can. But we're not starting a love affair here."
"We're not starting one", he stated. "I agree." He came to stand before her, and she cast her eyes down again, waited.
But he didn't fulfil his promise. He didn't touch her. And eventually, she was forced to look at him a second time.
As soon as she did so, he placed his right hand gently against her left breast.
Sensation knifed through her, a single powerful surge which turned her legs and groin to jelly. She couldn't have disguised her moan of response even if she'd had time to think about it.
Instantly, she was on fire. Instantly, she was transported away from thoughts of service to him into a raw, basic need.
"Shall I stop now?", he rumbled, and there was a chuckle hidden behind the words.
The most important thing was not to let him understand the control he had won. She knew that. And ignored it. "Don't", she said. "Please."
She expected that he would caress the breast, but he didn't. Instead, he let his hand drift, upwards first, through her hair, then downwards, along her spine.
As the fingers travelled, they applied a little pressure. Her breathing suddenly seemed ragged, and she felt a little dizzy. When he gently squeezed her left buttock, the electric thrill surged through her again, just as strongly as before.
It took her a moment to come down from that. By the time she did, his hand had moved to the front and his fingers were trying to work under her panties. Embarrassed, she realised that the crotch of those panties, where his efforts were centred, was soaking.
The pad of his forefinger found her clitoris, slid gently along it, then back, forward then back. Again, she moaned.
She opened her legs wider, because she had no choice. The gentle rubbing was making her weak at the knees. Immediately, he took advantage, trailing the finger gently along her slit, from front to back. She was so wet that he accomplished the movement almost without friction, but she felt it nevertheless. Her buttocks and stomach muscles clenched, and she knew that she was going to come.
How had he got her to this point so easily, so quickly? How was it possible?
Her hips were grinding now, her cunt slurping against his busy digit. He leaned forward then, and whispered in her ear. She expected a gentle word, or perhaps a taunt. Instead, he asked her the oddest question. It was, "Do you remember the accident? Do you remember it yet?"
The words were nonsensical. But they were also irrelevant. Only her wonderful, wonderful pleasure was relevant. She ignored all else, continued to push.
"A time before you were Sarah", he pressed. "A time long before. Do you remember?"
Still she remained silent, apart from the occasional cry of delight as his finger skated in a particularly delightful way over her rock solid nub. His strangeness was a matter for him. It was his skills that she was interested in.
"Who are you, Sarah?", he whispered. "Who are you really? Do you know?"
"I don't know what you mean", she panted. She felt exposed, at his mercy. Particularly because, horrifyingly, a whiff of a memory was drifting to her, something she couldn't grasp, but something which nonetheless implied that his insanity was not, perhaps, something that she could take for granted.
His middle finger penetrated her then, very slightly, and her cunt clutched at it, desperate to grip anything solid. Her inner thighs were slick with the juices he was summoning forth.
And she was dizzy with passion. At that point, she would have done anything for him, anything at all, if he'd promised not to stop.
"You can remember, Sarah", he encouraged gently. "If you try. And it's important that you try. I know who you are. But that isn't enough." He pushed the finger deeper, to the second knuckle, and crooked it, so that he was lightly caressing her stomach wall.
She felt her knees start to give way. Her thighs were clamped around his wrist, and only that connection now supported her. Sensation flushed into her legs, buttocks and groin. A massive orgasm was impending. She started to grind against his arm, and she could hear the gurgling from within her body as his finger worked more urgently. "Oh, please", she begged him. "Please."
"Try, Sarah", he urged. "Please try."
She didn't try. But a fact came to her anyway. A fact, not an idea.
His name was many names. And Gary was not one of them, although he had not lied to her. Gary was there, but he was not a part of the person who was talking to her.
"Aumerle", she breathed in recognition. "One of you is Aumerle."
His eyes lit up. "Yes", he roared triumphantly. "Yes. Aumerle is here, Loranna. He's here." And he redoubled his efforts, his hand now moving between her legs with speed and grace, his fingers delving urgently.
Aumerle. Moving above her. Bodies combining in the soft light of galactic centre...
Could it ever, ever, be again... ?
Lightning flashed into her brain, a spear of orgasm which almost made her black out. The power of the assault disabled her, and she was vaguely aware that Gary was supporting her, one arm around her waist as his other arm continued to work its incredible magic. It seemed as though her body was dissolving into steam, and as the potency rose, she was aware only of her sucking vagina, the busy fingers and the whirling sensation in her calves and thighs and back and shoulders and buttocks.
The ascent went on. Perhaps it would never end. Her throat was so tight that the scream of pleasure she wanted to utter was prevented.
But finally, joyously, she toppled into resolution, hips working urgently, shouting with relief. The release tore through her, shredding her inhibition and the last of her dispassion, bringing her arms around the neck of a man who she now saw, despite the inappropriate circumstances, as a lover.
The ebbing away was luscious, a factored reduction of sensation that slowed her breathing, brought traces of tears to her eyes. Her mind started to return from the clouds, and she realised that Aumerle's face had been up there with her, smiling with genuine love, his orange eyes twinkling with the humour that had made her fall for him in the first place.
But now he was leaving her, and that unbearable truth increased the flow of her tears.
Aumerle was leaving her...
... Leaving her with the man.
The man held her upright, hands on her hips. All tension had drained from her. Despite her misery, she had never felt so relaxed.
And now she wanted to go to the man. To reward him for Aumerle. To fuck him. Not as a whore, but as a woman.
She couldn't understand why he used his hands, why he still seemed to wish to keep a distance between them.
She was about to ask him, when he spoke. "Loranna", he said. That name again.
It sounded like an appeal. It was a lovely name. A name that made her smile, that thrilled her with its inexplicable familiarity.
"It means something, doesn't it?", he pressed. "A moment ago, you were almost there. You almost remembered it all. Aumerle. All of it. Didn't you?"
"There was... something", she admitted. "Something. Yes..." But by now, it was only something. The memory of Aumerle had faded. Even the memory of her incredible climax was dissipating.
She was reaching towards becoming only Sarah again, towards a need to restore control over the situation, towards putting this man back in his proper place. As a client. Nothing more than a client.
Reaching. But not quite there.
And Gary was wise enough to block her progress.
"It's still not enough", he announced. Nowhere near enough." And he walked her to the bed, lowered her to a seated position on the edge of it. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her, and considerately but firmly, he pushed her thighs open again.
He started to peel off the black silk panties which were now so drenched with her juices that they clung to her skin. She thought of stopping him, but it was just so much easier to let him proceed.
So much easier...
She watched almost dispassionately as the garment eased past her buttocks...
... Down her thighs and calves...
... Over her feet...
She guessed that his intention was to fuck her, and was preparing to insist on the use of a condom.
But that, it soon transpired, was not his intention. Rocking forward, he ran the meat of his tongue up the length of her vagina, from bottom to top.
And amazingly, pleasure exploded between her legs again. Again, she felt dizziness, and she wanted to lie down, but his hands grasped her buttocks, keeping her upright.
He used his tongue with power, forcing her inner lips apart each time he swept along them, teasing her clitoris briefly before recommencing his routine. Instantly, she was teetering on the brink of a second shattering climax. She wound her fingers into his thick hair, hauling his head more firmly against her groin, and she found herself grinding against him, lathering his face with her juices. Never before had she come twice during the same encounter. Never before.
But this time...
Oh, this time...
... It would simply happen. It was not preventable.
He started to concentrate on her clitoris as before, this time flicking the bud urgently and rhythmically with the tip of his tongue, up and down, from side to side. The contact was exquisite, and already she was over the edge. Luscious pressure bloomed in her tummy and back. She knew that she was shaking, but couldn't stop herself. She knew that she was moaning loudly, and didn't want to stop herself.
"Aumerle", she cried. "Aumerle. Oh, I love you, Aumerle."
And then she remembered the accident for him.
The terrible, terrible accident.
The fire, and the waste.
She panicked, as she had panicked then. Her hands turned into claws, redundantly warding.
"Separation five", she screamed. "It's the only way."
But then the busy tongue propelled her into a different dream world, a far more pleasant one, a world where waves of lush power heaved rhythmically through her body, seemingly urged out of her by the engine of her cunt.
She came down again, slowly, gorgeously. When she opened her eyes, he was still kneeling, grinning up at her like a naughty child.
"What are you doing to me?", she demanded. There was no point in denying that she was becoming scared. Very scared indeed.
"Where were you?" He was eager. "Where did I take you?"
"I was someone else." Her heart was beating violently, partly from the shock, partly as a result of two draining climaxes.
"And somewhen else?", he pushed. "You were somewhen else, weren't you? The accident."
"I don't know what you mean", she tried, resisting the confusion which assailed her.
"You have to admit it", he pleaded. "You have to accept it."
"No", she insisted. "I don't."
His shoulders sagged. His head dropped. She watched him, pinned to the show of emotion like a butterfly to a card.
"It's done, then", he said after a time. "It's over."
Seized by empathy and need, she slid from the bed, dropped to kneel before him.
"It's my turn", she whispered. "It isn't over."
She started to fiddle with his belt buckle, trying to dislodge the belt. For a moment, he placed one big hand over both of hers.
She looked up into his eyes. There was a depth of raw desire there. He was alive again, interested. He wanted her to do this.
So why was he stopping her?
"Gary, please", she said.
"I'm not certain any more", he told her.
"I am", she assured.
"But it'll make things worse", he warned. "Yes, I wanted you to go the rest of the way. I won't lie about that. But you're not just Loranna. You're Sarah too. And Sarah deserves a choice. I shouldn't have tried to take that from her."
She understood the warning. More visions. More inexplicable connections. But she wanted him so badly now that she didn't care.
"Sarah's made this choice", she told him. "Not Loranna. Sarah."
He thought a moment. "I believe you", he replied finally, and removed his hand.
She started work on his jeans again, noting as she struggled to unhook them that his cock was already a rigid vertical stem against the fabric. She was careful, therefore, with the zipper. When that was down, she hoisted both the pants and his jockey shorts down to his hips, over thm off, along with his shoes and socks.
He was fully erect, and huge, both in length and girth. Seven inches, and the width of her wrist. She was in awe, and tried to disguise that with a flippant remark. "He seems just about ready."
And ready he was. His cock strained tall and proud against his flat belly. It was circumcised, and the enormous bulb was purple and bloated, twisted very slightly to the left as though it had tried to unscrew itself, precum shining in the eye. Below that bulb, the stalk too was swollen, flushed pink with blood. Blue veins and capillaries tracked its length, bulging out so angrily that she thought they might burst. His balls, even though drawn up, were massive, outlined like plums against the taut, smooth skin of his sac.
By the nature of her occupation, she had seen many men, not a few of whom were startlingly well endowed. But Gary was more than well endowed. He was, not to put too fine a point on it, spectacular.
"Stand up", she hissed, and he did as she asked.
Kneeling before him, as he had knelt before her, she reached out almost nervously to touch the thing he had to offer her, tried to close her thumb and forefinger around its base. Of course, she failed. Dismally. But she was rewarded by Gary's sharp intake of breath, and a renewed oozing of clear, sticky liquid from the tip of the enormous weapon.
She leaned forward, licked the dribble clean. It tasted salty, and very, very potent, reminding her for the first time in quite a while that he was merely a customer. The thought was momentary, fragmentary. Because she knew in her heart that the thought, logical as it seemed, was a lie. She didn't know where this incredible thing was going. But she was confident that very soon she would find out.
Set against imminent discovery, the fact that a brief time ago she had never met him was in one sense inconsequential, and in another sense both pleasing and appropriate.
She licked him like a lollipop, tracing the fat of her tongue up the length of his stem, from balls to glans. He groaned with pleasure, so she did it again. Then she took one huge testicle gently into her mouth, caressed and grazed it with her teeth. The stiffening in his calves and buttocks rewarded her satisfyingly.
Now it was his turn to plead, and he did. She chose not to make him wait, because he had been kind to her, and swallowed as much of his length as she could. It was hard work, but she knew her trade, and was able to accept enough that his glans lodged and bucked against the back of her throat. She didn't gag, her experience helping her in that regard also.
She started to fellate him, slowly, generously, moving her mouth up and down his shaft, always leaving his glans in the warmth for her tongue to tease. As she worked, she gently caressed his balls with one hand, holding his buttocks firmly with the other. He tasted musky and manly, and the taste heightened her involvement, tightened her concentation so that she was focussed only on him.
Soon, he was shaking, and his cock seemed to swell against the roof of her mouth. Occasionally she tasted precum as his control momentarily deserted him.
Her jaw was aching, but she didn't pause to relieve it. She could tell that he was close, and she wanted to taste his seed, to sample his essence.
But to her surprise, he prevented her from doing so. She felt his hands on her shoulder, encouraging her to release him, rock back onto her ankles. She looked up at him, confused, the sense of him fresh and throbbing against her palate. He smiled, reached his hand down to her. She took it, and he brought her gently to her feet, so that he stood toe to toe with her.
For a moment, she thought that he was going to kiss her. And, against all of the rules, she thought that she might have let him. It was another rule entirely, though, that he had set his sights on breaking.
In a smooth motion, he swept her off her feet, carried her the short distance to the bed, laid her upon it. Her thighs were already a little open, and he separated them further by kneeling between them. His cock, red and slick with her saliva, was an arrow shaft against his belly.
Sense dictated that she should stop him here, insist that he consider her safety and health. She considered the risk of AIDS, and the emotional detachment she needed to maintain. But both of these things seemed such minor concerns. Destiny was calling her. A destiny of which, until today, she had never even dreamed.
And lust was calling her too.
He brought his hands beneath her buttocks, lifted her onto his knees, so that he was supporting her lower body in a position where he would be able to see with clarity the connection that he was about to make. Then he lowered his shining erection, brought it to her cunt.
There was pressure just for a moment, but then her inner lips separated, swallowing the crown of the swollen prick then, inch by inch, the rest of it, all of it. Suddenly impaled, gasping for breath, she gazed up at him, enjoying the weight of his testicles against her skin. She looked up at him, smiled contentedly, encouragingly. She had never felt so wonderfully stretched.
He smiled back, sending a shiver of joy vibrating through her bones. She wanted to see him happy. She could conceive of nothing more important than seeing him happy.
"You are loved", he breathed.
It was a queer remark, mediaeval in its construction, but it was searing in its heat. She didn't know how to respond to it at first, then found something, a clarification. "You mean that Loranna is loved."
"You", he emphasised, "are loved."
Confusion returned. She hated it, and this time she escaped it with force. "If you love me", she said, "then fuck me."
And he did just that.
He moved quite quickly even at the start, his thick meat rocking into her body, driven by the power of his hips, penetrating fully on each stroke, making her feel wanton, winded and wanted. For the third time, sensation washed into her body as the metronome copulation established itself, as she felt her vagina make welcome such a massive guest.
She heaved back against him as best she could, working her buttocks on his hands, fucking him back. There was a little discomfort, because he was so big, but she loved the discomfort, the straining. Just loved it. It added reality to the dream.
He started to increase the pace, bit by bit, stroke by stroke. She felt as though she had been caught up in a whirlwind, that her mind and body were becoming joined in an indistinct network, a network supporting a building current of ecstasy. He slammed into her now with force and abandon, and climax was again a certainty, unbelievably the third in minutes. She merely had to wait for it.
And then he slowed, again adjusting by stroke, making her feel each entry, making her realise the effect that her body had on him as she recognised the pulsing and stiffness within her.
Finally, he stopped. His cock throbbed against her blood engorged walls. And he watched her. Just watched her.
She could feel her chest rising and falling from the exertion and the passion, could see that his was doing the same. A sheen of perspiration covered both of their bodies.
Yes. It had been a desperate decision, and an appallingly difficult one to implement...
"Go back, Loranna", he said, his eyes fixed lovingly on hers, gazing at her with an ardour so elemental that she wondered if he could see her soul.
... Appallingly difficult. But the gamble had paid off. Or at least that part of it had paid off. No-one had died.
But of course everyone had been lost.
Gary pushed into her again, slowly but firmly, and this time he drove, impossibly, deeper, so that the acceptance of him was even more uncomfortable, but wonderfully fulfilling too. It seemed that he had impaled her utterly, that she would never be able to move again. His cock jerked and shuddered, transmitting messages through her vaginal walls. Overcome by the intensity of it all, she closed her eyes.
"That's it, love", he approved, immobile again. "Go back."
Not Sarah, but Loranna...
Lost she was, and distributed. Lost in a universe with a wholly unfamiliar time assembly. Almost certainly a linear time assembly.
Go back, he had said. But she didn't know what he meant. She didn't know how to go back.
He was fucking her with grace, with care, with love. The sweet pressure was gathering.
Had gathered. Oh, yes, yes. Had gathered. Was here...
And she suddenly realised that the how of going back was irrelevant. Because she could hear the calls, some close, some very faint. And powered by the engine of orgasm, she sought out the faintest.
She still didn't know how to go back. But she went back anyway.