Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Time Travel, Historical, .
Desc: Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A young woman is touring and old manor house when she suddenly finds herself transported back to regency England when the house was full of life. She finds romance with one of the lords of the manor, but will she be able to stay in his time?
"And this is the room where the Marquess of Margrave spent the last twenty years of his life," the tour guide was saying. Cynara followed the small group of tourists, listening to the explanation of Margrave Manor with passing interest.
Cynara had come to England to visit her grandmother, but was surprised when instead of spending time with her daughter's daughter, the elderly woman had abandoned her to England's many tourist attractions. Cynara loved exploring the old, beautiful country, but she didn't necessarily like doing it alone.
The ironic thing was, Cynara had been ecstatic to take her first vacation alone, to spend the summer between high school and college abroad. The only thing was, she thought her grandmother would be spending it with her once she arrived. She had pictured her grandma as one of those fun, eccentric old ladies, the kind that didn't let their age get in the way of living. However when she had arrived, she had been disappointed to find out her grandma didn't even like to leave the house.
Cynara was even more upset to find that she was expected to make the visit to Paris next week alone. She was eighteen, but she didn't feel like an adult, not yet anyway. Oh well, she had thought, she would survive, and it would be a learning experience. She wouldn't let her summer be wasted.
"The Marquess was of course the original owner, he built the house in 1752 and lived here until his death in 1819. Now if you follow me, I will take you to the most notorious room in the house." The tour guide continued down the hall, and the group shuffled along after her.
"The four sons of the marquess were notorious bad boys of the English peerage, with their father being and invalid, and their mother having died in childbirth to their younger sister, no one was to stop them from gambling, visiting brothels, and slighting any other noblemen that dared cross their paths," she said as she walked, occasionally glancing over her shoulder. "The second oldest son, Lord Charles Stanmore, perhaps had the worst reputation of the lot, but with a title and money, almost anything was excused."
Cynara found the history behind the people that lived here more interesting than the house itself, and was completely enthralled with what the tour guide was saying now.
"And this was his room. It is considered the most notorious room in the house because this is where Charles died, and his ghost is said to still haunt the place.
Some of our workers can even sense his presence, lights are mysteriously turned on and off, a phantom gust of wind is felt that seems to come from nowhere, and on some nights, people even claim to hear him crying and moaning.
Even his older brother felt his ghost. He had written in his journal that he could no longer enter this room after the incident, for the presence of his brother was so strong, he feared he would break down just being in here."
The tour guide, with the expertise of someone who has given the speech hundreds of times, immediately changed the tone of her voice from eerie to cheerful, and continued to explain the architecture and furniture in the room. Cynara however could not get the story out of her head.
Immediately after walking into the room, she had felt a chill of a presence. Cynara had never been a believer of ghosts, but couldn't help but wonder if she sensed Charles's ghost, as goose bumps crawled up her arms.
She followed the tour guide out of the room, but the first chance she got; she slipped away from the group and back into Charles's room. As soon as she reentered, the strange feeling over took her body. She felt cold and tingly and squished, as though something was squeezing her tightly. Why am I here? she asked, trying to turn and leave the room, but she couldn't will her feet to move.
She felt her heart swell, and her eyelids flutter. She was suddenly sleepy, so very sleepy. Her eyelids drooped shut, and she stood in the room, swaying unsteadily on her feet. She tried to open her eyes, but found she just didn't have the will power to do so. Lie down, her hazy mind told her.
Okay, she thought, I'll just lie down for a minute. She took a step toward the bed, then let her body simply fall, landing on it with a thump. She knocked over the red rope, put there to stop guests from touching the furniture, but she didn't even notice. She was asleep in seconds.
Someone was stroking her cheek, kissing her neck. Cynara moaned at the pleasurable sensation of slightly calloused hands touching her, and warm lips kissing her. The lips suddenly pressed down on her mouth, and Cynara let herself respond to the kiss. The hand was straying down her neck, until it grasped one of her breasts.
Cynara moaned again at the pleasurable sensation, the fogginess of sleep blocking her from asking any questions. The hand now massaged her breast through her thin t-shirt, then traveled lower to feel her bare midriff, exposed by the scrunching of her shirt.
It felt so good, so erotic, so wonderful, so real. So real? Cynara suddenly sat up. Where was she? What was going on? She looked down at the man laying next to her, the man who had been touching her. Then she looked around the room, and she remembered. The tour. She had fallen asleep during the tour, but who was this man?
"Who are you, you pervert?" she shouted at him, jumping off the bed.
"I think I should be the one asking you that question," he said smiling lazily at her. He was handsome, she'd give him that much. He looked to be maybe a few years older than her, and he was wearing olden day clothes. He must work here, she thought.
"You should be asking me? Yes, okay, I did accidentally fall asleep. And I know I was on the furniture, I'm sorry, but at least I don't go around molesting unsuspecting women," she accused. How dare this man lay there smiling at her like that, after practically attacking her while she slept?
"I assumed you wanted me to touch you, you were in my bed after all." He must be some sort of actor portraying Charles, she surmised, one that got way too into the character. Even so, that didn't give him the right to kiss her while she was sleeping. "And besides," he continued, "You didn't seem to be protesting a few minutes ago," he said arrogantly. Now he was just mocking her, and Cynara felt her hackles rising.
"Don't flatter yourself," she said rolling her eyes, "I didn't even know you were a real person. I would have responded the same way to anyone."
"Oh, I see," he said, putting on a serious face, but not losing the teasing glint in his eyes, "You are trying to tell me you're a loose woman." Cynara threw down her hands and stormed out of the room. She had had enough with this lunatic.
Upon entering the hall she noticed that there was no one else there. All the red ropes and brochure stands were gone, too. In fact, it looked like a real nineteenth century Manor. Was there some special event she had accidentally intruded on? A movie taping?
Just then another young man dressed in old style clothing turned the corner into the hallway. He stopped dead in his tracks. She could feel her antagonizer come out of the room behind her.
"What is going on, Charles?" the new man said rushing toward the two of them. Cynara was wondering the same thing. This must be a really elaborate practical joke, she thought. It was kind of funny, she would have admitted, if she weren't so upset about the whole thing.
"Who is this woman? And what is she wearing?" he asked, taking in her t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers all in one swoop of his gaze. His eyes seemed to linger particularly long on her bare legs. Were they all perverts working here? she wondered.
"I have no idea," "Charles" said, shrugging his shoulders, "I had thought maybe you or Finley or Sanford had left me a present." Cynara kicked him in the shin.
"Ow," he said looking at her incredulously, like he couldn't believe she had just done that.
"You deserved it," she said, dismissing his hobbles of pain. "Okay, this was a very funny joke. Ha ha, we all had a good laugh, but if you boys don't mind, I think I'll be leaving now," she said as dignified as she could, and made her way down the stairs.
The two brothers stared after her, stunned for a moment, but then curiously followed her. They watched as she walked out the front door, stopped mid-step, and turned back inside.
"What did you do with the parking lot?" she demanded outrageously. Even as she said it, she knew that it was absurd. They couldn't have moved a parking lot. She looked around the front hall, it was the same building, but everything looked newer, different. An idea popped into her head, but she dismissed it immediately.
"All right, I'm going to ask you nicely, who are you?" she said, not nicely at all.
"I'm Lord Ashton Stanmore, son of the Marquess of Margrave. And this is my brother," he said gesturing to her attacker, "Lord Charles Stanmore. And who might you be?"
"It's not funny any more, you two are just being annoying now," she accused them. They looked completely startled, exchanging glances between each other. Just then, Cynara had an idea. Maybe there was a giant, painted billboard, set up to hide the parking lot. No sooner than the idea struck her, Cynara was taking off in a run out the front door.
She ran all the way down the long driveway, her feet clapping along the stone surface. By the time she reached where the parking lot should be, she was out of breath, and knew there was no screen there. She rested her hands on her ankles, catching her breath. How could this be? she wondered. There wasn't a car in sight. Only trees, grass, stone paths, the house.
She knew it was hopeless, but Cynara couldn't help but walk a little further. She walked in circles, waiting for something to happen, and when nothing did, she slowly started to trudge back to the house.
She could see "Charles" and "Ashton" standing in the doorway waiting for her. She walked up the steps, and pushed by them into the house.
"My god," Ashton said, "She's completely insane."
"No, she's just upset, can't you tell? She has obviously just lost her parking lot, and is here looking for it," Charles defended her. Cynara couldn't help but giggle at the ridiculousness of his words, and soon her giggles turned into full-blown laughter.
All the tension and stress of the situation had compiled inside her till she was a bundle of nerves, and laugh was the only thing she could do. She looked over at the men's horrified faces, and not wanting to add to the reason's they would think her insane, she buried her face in her hands, and tried to make her laughter sound like sobs.
"Oh look, now she's crying," Charles said with compassion in his voice, " Don't worry, we'll help you find your parking lot." Charles put his arm around her shoulder, while Ashton stood there awkwardly. Cynara calmed down and pretended to wipe tears from her eyes.
"That's okay. Thanks anyway," she said, pulling out from Charles's arm.
"Okay?" Ashton asked her confused.
"Um, I mean that's all right," she explained. They all stood there awkwardly until finally Ashton spoke up.
"I'll take you home. Would you like something to wear?" he asked.
"No!" Cynara panicked. She finally had let herself believe the impossible. She had somehow traveled back in time. She knew it was crazy, but it was the only logical explanation, and somehow it had happened. "I mean," she stammered, "I-I don't have anywhere to go." She gave them a hesitant smile.
"Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you in our house?" Ashton finally gave into his curiosity and bombarded her with questions.
"Um, um," she said looking around. She couldn't tell them she was a time traveler. They would really thing she was nuts. "Um, I can't remember anything," she thought of an excuse. "It's so strange, it's like my memories have been wiped out. I must have amnesia," she tried to act like a person with amnesia would act.
Charles was instantly on board, "Yeah, I've heard of that," he said nodding, "You probably suffered from a blow to the head."
"You don't remember anything?" Ashton asked, "Do you remember your name?"
"Cynara," she said automatically, not stopping to think that amnesia patients probably couldn't remember their names. They didn't question her on it, though.
"Cynara," Charles murmured, "That's very pretty."
"It means artichoke," she said. Charles laughed. Again, Cynara scolded herself, an amnesia victim probably wouldn't remember what their names meant either. She had to start thinking before she spoke.
"It's okay, you can stay here," Charles offered her kindly.
"What do you mean?" Ashton whispered to him furiously, grabbing his brother and dragging him a step away. "She can't stay here. What will Finley say?" He spoke softly, but Cynara could still hear him.
"Don't worry," Charles assured, "Finley won't mind."
"It just doesn't seem like a good idea," Ashton said.
"Don't worry, I won't be any trouble, and I promise not to cut your throats while you sleep," Cynara said sweetly. Charles smiled, but Ashton looked down right terrified.
"Come little Artichoke," Charles gestured to her, "I'll take you to a guest room and get you some proper attire." Cynara followed him willingly. Ashton might be skeptical about her, but Charles was eating out of the palm of her hand. All she had to do was charm Charles enough to let her stay, at least long enough for her to figure out how to get back to her own time.