Caution: This Sci-Fi Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Science Fiction, Time Travel, Historical, Western, Violent, Prostitution, Mind Control sex story, Adult Science Fiction story, Western Sci-fi Sex Story.
Desc: Sci-Fi Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 1 - California of 1850 provides a bountiful source of adventure and some sex as John Wilson winds up cleaning up a part of San Francisco. Mostly, he goes after kidnappers, and that proves very lucrative as he assumes the persona of a detective and troubleshooter. Not only that, but he establishes his own version of the Baker Street Irregulars.
God ... Damn ... It! Where am I this time? Ever since I put on that damned ring, I keep getting bounced from adventure to adventure. After eight years in the military, most of it as a SEAL, and a promising career as an accountant when I got out, I have bounced through time from one era to another, not knowing what will happen to me next.
It all started out when I got that funny looking envelope in the mail one day addressed to Johnathon Wilson. What was peculiar was that everyone knows me as John. Inside was nothing but a short note and a very simple ring, a white gold band that looked a lot like a man's wedding ring. The note said, "Slip this ring on the little finger of your left hand and enjoy an adventure like you have never before experienced." That was all.
Hell, I don't know why I didn't just pitch the whole thing in the trash and go on about my life. Well, yes, I do know why—I was bored to death. I had been at the accounting business for several years and had gotten my CPA. I was making a fair living in a small town, but life had settled into a deep rut. I was not married and had no immediate prospects. I didn't even have a steady girlfriend. Here I was in my mid-thirties and had hit a dead end.
I had no idea what I was getting into when I slipped the ring on my finger. It was way too big for my finger when it went on, but, unaccountably, it immediately shrank to be a proper fit. The problem, now, was that there was no way for me to get it off.
A few moments after the ring settled into place on my finger, the whole world seemed to disappear in a cloud of smoke and a flash of bright light. The next thing I knew, I was stark naked and standing in a line of people, also naked, up on a platform. Other people in a crowd below me were bidding for my services as a slave. I was bought by a man to be trained as a gladiator. I went through that for a while, and, from there, I went through several other adventures of an equally exciting and dangerous sort until this last transfer.
At least, this time, I arrived fully dressed. I was wearing brown canvas pants sort of like jeans and a red and black checkered shirt. I had high lace-up boots with a flat heel and a straw hat with a moderately wide brim. My pants were held up by a wide belt to which were attached holsters holding double-barreled pistols of the cap and ball design. Lying on the ground beside me was a Mississippi Rifle in excellent condition. It was also cap and ball, so I knew that I must be in the West sometime between 1848 and 1860.
Standing to my left was a saddled horse, so I was not completely bereft of a means of transportation. I bent over to pick up the rifle just as a shot rang out. Dammit, I could hear a ball passing over my head! I would have been hit in the lower chest area if I had not reached down for the rifle. I dove the rest of the way to the ground and grabbed the rifle. I checked and saw that it was loaded and needed only to have the cap put in place to be ready to fire. That I did; I had caps in a small pouch at my belt.
I looked around and spotted a plume of gun smoke about 100 feet to my left. I could see a man standing near that puff and madly reloading his weapon. I could not tell if it was a rifle or a musket, but I was not going to wait around to find out! I rolled into a prone shooting position and aimed at the chest of the man who had just shot at me. The iron sights on this rifle were well adjusted and I hit where I aimed. This rifle was .54 caliber and was designed for a spherical bullet. This was well within the killing range of the rifle, and all I needed was that single shot.
I had no idea if this man was the only one trying to kill me, or if I had other enemies also after my life. I was not about to stand up until I knew the answer to that. The only practical way to load a muzzle-loading rifle was to stand up while doing it, and that was a good way for me to get shot if there was anyone else around with designs on my life. Therefore, I laid the rifle on the grass and crawled to a stand of brush nearby.
I took the time to inspect the two pistols at my belt. Both were the same type, and both were loaded, except for the cap. I moved the hammers of both guns to the half-cock position and loaded in the caps. Now, all I had to do to fire was to pull the hammer to full-cock, aim, and pull the trigger. A quick glance told me that these pistols used the same .54 caliber ball as did the Mississippi Rifle. That was damned convenient, but something to be considered later.
I am ambidextrous, but I tended to use my right hand whenever there was the chance to do so. That kept other people from noticing the slight edge that being able to shoot with either hand gave me. Thus, I took the pistol in my right hand to use against an enemy, and carefully looked around for a potential opponent.
I spotted another man in among the trees, and he was holding a rifle at the ready. He seemed to know where I was, but I was not presenting a good target because I was almost completely prone. Hell, I didn't have much choice: I lined up a shot at the man's chest and fired. I didn't hit the man in exactly the center of his chest, but I was close enough. He dropped the rifle and fell as if he were dead.
To be on the safe side, I scooted to my left to get away from my smoke. By this time, I was at the trees, and I stood up. A careful look around did not reveal any more potential shooters, so I took the time to reload my pistol. Dammit, my rifle was still out in the field, so I could not do anything about it!
It took me about 40 seconds to reload my pistol (I would be faster next time), and I did not draw any shots during that time. I looked again and did not see any more shooters, so I holstered my pistol and ran to pick up my rifle. I hardly slowed as I picked it up and ran back into the trees. There, I reloaded the rifle, including the cap, and moved the hammer to full-cock.
Now, I had five shots if I needed them, and I had a Bowie knife with a 10" blade as a backup weapon. Somehow, I knew that I was highly competent with the knife if I needed it, so I felt as if I was as fully protected as was possible in that era.
Okay, there was the question of why I was being shot at. I might never know, but I had to try to find out. Besides, I wanted a better look at those men who had been shooting at me. I was closer to the first man whom I had shot, so I went after him first. I looked him over, and I could not find anything that indicated why he had shot at me. This may have been a robbery attempt that went wrong from his point of view, and I could not find anything to indicate otherwise. Oh, well, I stripped him of his valuables, including several silver coins of Mexican origin.
I laid everything else to one side while I looked at the second man. The results were the same as with the first one, except that I did find a gold coin marked as being worth $5, but it was obviously not from a US federal mint. These things made me suspect that I was in California around 1850-1855, but I would need more evidence to substantiate that.
When I combined the two bits of money, I figured that I had about $8. If I were where I had guessed, that was enough money to carry me for a month. Very good, at least I would not starve!
I hunted around and found two horses hitched to a tree, so I could sell them and their tack and make even more money off this attempted robbery. I led the horses back to the men and picked up what I had found on them. Interestingly, both men had been carrying Colt Pocket Revolvers. These were .31 caliber five-shot revolvers with short barrels. They were the usual cap and ball design. I wasn't sure what to think about them, but I did drop them in my pockets. The bullet was so small, about the size of a single #00 buckshot, that I was not sure that they were very useful, but a gun is a gun, so I went along with them. They were very popular around 1850, so I figured that they must be good for something.
Anyway, I gathered up what I could use or sell and mounted my horse. Dammit, I just realized that I had no idea of which way to go! Oh, well, maybe my horse did know. I gently poked him in the side with my heels, and the horse headed down the hill. He knew what he was doing because we soon came to a well-used trail. He swung north on the trail, and I didn't argue. The horses that I was leading didn't object, either, so we rode along the trail for about five miles.
At that point, we came to a small town with only one street. All I had to do was to ride along the street until I came to a livery stable. I stopped there, and after a little haggling, sold the horses and tack. I was directed to a general store where I might be able to sell the other items I had. That worked out fine, and I came out ahead by about $40. I returned to the livery stable and left my horse. I was also able to leave my guns and other stuff there with the promise of it still being there when I returned. To my surprise, the livery stable had an armed guard!
I headed for the nearest saloon, as there was no restaurant in town, and ordered a bowl of chilli and a Mexican beer to go with it. The chilli was pretty good and the beer was excellent. I also found out that I was about 13 miles north of Santa Barbara, California, on the trail to Oakland. I would have to turn left to travel to San Francisco, but I was feeling an urge to head toward Sacramento. That was probably coming from my mentors, whoever they were.
It was late enough in the day for me to decide to wait until tomorrow before continuing my journey. Neither of the saloons in town offered much enticement for me to spend the night there, so I paid the manager of the livery stable 2¢ to spend the night on his hay stack.
The next morning, I ate a breakfast of beef and beans with coffee in the other saloon before leaving town. I had been traveling for about an hour when I was overtaken by a stagecoach of a type I had never seen before. This one had no hard top, but it had a canvas sun cover which I guess would have worked against the rain, too. There were six passengers, a driver, and a shotgun guard who rode at the rear of the vehicle. The affair was drawn by six horses, and that was when I was reminded of how scarce mules were in California at this time.
I could see that the passengers were bounced from hell to breakfast as the coach tooled along at about 15 MPH (Miles per Hour). Personally, I was glad to be riding a horse, even if I was not making very good time compared to the coach. I had no urge to hurry, so I was happy to make life easier for my back and kidneys. I moved to one side and waved as they passed me by. I received a cheerful wave in return, and that was the last time I saw that particular stagecoach.
I nibbled on a bread and cheese sandwich and had a warm bottle of beer for lunch by the side of the road. I had just finished eating when I heard gunfire in the distance. I am just naturally nosy, plus my mentors had made it clear that they expected me to face danger at every opportunity, so I quickly cleaned up after myself and rushed to investigate the shots that I heard.
The terrain along here was very rough, so I was not surprised that I had only about 1,000 yards to travel before I crossed a small hill and spotted the shooting situation. A large, but nearly empty, freight wagon drawn by four oxen was being attacked by several bandits. It looked like five attackers judging from the amount of powder smoke that I could see.
I was unusually well armed with three Mississippi Rifles and four pistols, though I did not have much confidence in the Colts. There were two men in the bed of the wagon protected by the rather high walls, but I was not sure about how long they could hold out, since they were using Pocket Pistols for defense. At least, each man had five shots, and one could shoot while the other reloaded, so they might be better off than I expected. Well, I felt that I should take a hand in the gunfight, and the best way for me to do that was to stay separated from the wagon.
If I worked it right, with the three rifles I might be able to fool the bandits into thinking that I was three men instead of one. I could do that by firing more quickly at them than could be done if I had to reload after each shot. I tethered my horse and gathered up my three rifles. There were a lot of trees on both sides of the road, so I had no problem remaining concealed as I approached the bandits.
I had no trouble telling where they were from the plumes of powder smoke that were emitted by their guns. I approached the nearest man from his rear, and I was offered a shot that I could not refuse. He was sheltering behind a tree, but his back was totally exposed to me. I had no trouble putting a bullet into his back from a range of about 30 yards. I quickly moved from there to an adjacent tree and fired at another bandit. I only wounded him, but my main purpose was accomplished because of the short time between shots. The wounded man would probably bleed to death in the next few minutes.
I moved again and shot at a third man. Him I missed, but I did make my point that three different rifles had been used. I did not have time to reload my rifles if I was going to keep up the charade, so I drew one of my double-barreled pistols and went after a fourth man. Him I killed. The sound of the discharge from my pistol was not exactly the same as from a rifle, but I hoped that the bad guys would not notice the difference.
I didn't manage to see the fifth man well enough to aim directly at him. I used the other barrel of my pistol and quickly swapped to my other pistol. Before I could do any more, though, I heard the sound of two horses galloping away, so I figured that I had driven the living bandits away.
I shouted to the men in the wagon that I was a friend and that I was coming in. They called me in and were amazed to find that only one man had been helping them. I asked what they were carrying that was worth the effort of five bandits. The men stalled for a moment and then one said, "I thought everybody knew that we were transporting gold bars to Los Angeles. I looked into the wagon and saw a strongbox that was bolted to the bed of the wagon. Son ... of ... a ... Bitch... ! There must be thousands of dollars in gold in that strongbox. No wonder the five men wanted to steal it.
The other man said, "Look here, Mister. We are empowered to hire protection for the gold shipment. Are you interested in the job? It pays $10 a day."
My urge to get to Sacramento suddenly backed off, so I said, "Sure, why not? I will take the job. How long will it take to get to Los Angeles?"
"We have right on 150 miles to go, and the oxen make about 2 MPH, so that figures to 75 hours or so. We figure to travel 10 hours a day, so that is 7— or 8 days for the rest of the trip. Are you up for that?"
"Yeah, that sounds doable. I want to see what I can get from the three men I shot before I leave, but I am ready to go when you are, other than that."
"Okay, we will start on, and you catch up to us. As far as we are concerned, you started to work for us this morning, so we already owe you $10. You can have whatever you find on the bandits you shoot, so good luck to you."
I went to see what I could find, and I found some useful stuff. One man had a musket that looked like it had seen better days, so I left it. The other man had a Mississippi Rifle, and I took that. The third man had an Army Dragoon pistol. It was in .44 caliber. That was a damned heavy pistol, over 4 pounds, and he was wearing it on a belt draped over his shoulder. The pistol was supposed to hang from the saddle horn so that the horse did all of the work of carrying it around. I took it, but I did not know what I was going to do with it.
I managed to get a little over $12 in gold and silver coins from the three men, and I picked up their horses. The freight wagon had gone less than 2 miles by the time I caught up to it. I hitched the three horses to the back of the wagon and told the two men that I was going to wander around looking for trouble. I figured that I could do a lot more good acting like I did with that first attack and staying back to surprise any bandits.
The men agreed with me, and we parted ways until supper time.