Time travel

The bell rang at about 6:15. I was surprised – Harry was early. The day before, in our office, he had told me: “I will pick you up at around half six. If I cannot make it, I’ll send someone.” I grabbed my jacket and rushed to the door. A man in a chauffeur’s outfit was waiting outside. “Good evening, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “my boss has sent me to pick you up.” Having come to London two months earlier, I had gotten used to the Brits misreading and mispronouncing my lovely Flemish family name, although Merriwell was the worst misreading I had heared thus far. I followed the lad to the posh limo waiting outside, and took a seat on the back seat.

A few minutes later, I noticed there was something wrong. I didn’t know my way around London all that much, but from what Harry had told me, his mansion was somewhere in the south of the city, and if my impression was right, we were heading north. I knocked the glass panel between the driver and me: “Are you sure you are going the right way?” The guy didn’t react. I knocked harder: “Sir, are you really sure you are driving in the right direction? Shouldn’t we go the other way? I mean, Mr. Fortescue’s house is in the south of London, and…” The bloke pressed a button in the dashboard, and moments later I noticed a strange odor. And then, I passed out.

I had a terrible headache when I woke up again, and I couldn’t move. As I opened my eyes, I saw I was butt naked, lying on a huge bed covered with furs. What was worse, I was tied spread eagle to the massive wooden bed posts. There was some moisture between my cheeks, but I thought it was probably sweat. I had no idea where I was, and initially I didn’t even remember how I got there. And then, someone said: “He is awake now, mylord.” Mylord? I sort of remembered that I was supposed to be attending a party at Harry’s mansion, and while Harry was certainly a wealthy man, I was sure he wasn’t a noble. And besides, what the hell was the point in him stripping me naked and tying me to a bed?

I had a look around. What I noticed immediately was the absence of electric light in the whole room. The only source of light were quite a number of candles, some torches on the wall, and a fireside to the left of the room. Apart of the bed, there was a crude, wooden table and some chairs, and the room’s walls were decorated with carpets, furs and animal heads. On top of the table, I could see a carafe and some tin cans. And then, I saw this man.

Standing to the right of me, he looked like someone you might expect in a painting of one of the old Flemish and Dutch masters, but not in 21st century London. He was of somewhat bulky build, probably in his mid fourties, with a red beard that had partly turned gray already. His clothes were definitely not fashionable in any way – he wore a frock down to his knees, and below that some sort of tights. Above the frock, he sported a sort of jacket, and a pompous leather belt, decorated with silver and precious stones. On top of his head, he wore a strange looking hood, and his feet were in odd, beaked shoes.

The man grinned and came closer: “Now, now, now – my dear Merriwell. I suppose you didn’t expect to see me again so soon, did you?” Merriwell – I had heared that name before. “Where am I? And who are you,” I asked. The man shook is head: “Oh, my dear Merriwell, don’t say you don’t remember me anymore. If you don’t, I am sure you remember my sweet little daughter Marjorie. After all, it was you who dishonored her.” – Marjorie? Dishonored? What the fuck was this madman talking about. I tried to calm down: “Look, mate, I have no fucking idea what you are talking about. So please, let’s end this farce, just untie me and let me go home.” The man replied: “Merriwell, Merriwell, I thought you would be man enough to accept the consequences of your wrongdoing.” – “And listen,” I said, “my name is not Merriwell – it is Merelbeeke, which is a Flemish name in case an ignorant Brit like you knows there is a world across the channel.”

Somewhere, a door opened and a woman in similarly weird outfit appeared. “My dearest Eleanor,” the man said, “see, the culprit is ready to get what he deserves. And you know, he claims he doesn’t know what this all is about and even insists to be someone else. But that won’t help him, right?” He turned towards me again: “You know, my dear Merriwell, at first I thought of taking this matter to court. But you were smart enough to dishonor my poor little Marjorie in the way of the silent sinners, so there was little proof of your crime. And besides, your family is too influential at the palace. So I had to think of something else – you will soon learn what it is.”

My fear turned into panic, and I started to scream for help. The man smiled malignly: “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Merriwell, nobody can hear you except for my domestics.” He walked to the table, and poured a drink, presumably red wine, which he handed to the woman. He filled another can for himself and said: “And now, my dearest Eleanor, let’s have a toast for our dear friend Merriwell, who will soon reap the reward for storking our poor little Marjorie.” Both drank and smiled at me, then left me lying there wondering what the hell was going on.

As time passed by, I was trying to figure out what had happened. Taking all the elements into consideration – the absence of electricity, the decoration of the room, the strange clothes of this odd couple, and what this madman had told me – one thought crossed my mind, and I tried hard to ignore it. “There is no such thing as time travel,” I kept telling myself. “There just is no such thing as time travel.” And the more often I said it, the stronger this idea was on my mind.

After a while, I heard the door open again, and someone said: “Your guests have arrived, mylord.” I heard the man’s voice: “Marvellous, ask them in, William.” Guests? What guests? The question was quickly answered, as the odd man appeared in my view again, welcoming a group of five women in medieval outfits. They were headed by an exceptionally attractive, tall blonde, wearing a green brocade dress. The host of the gathering kissed her hand: “Mistress Catherine, so nice to see you again. Welcome to my modest home.” The blonde nodded and replied: “Thank you very much for your invitation, mylord. It is always a pleasure to visit Holmsford Castle. Now, may I introduce the friends I brought along?”

She pointed to a similarly good looking lady, a redhead with green eyes and marble skin: “Mistress Lucrezia here hails from Florence.” Then, she introduced a tanned, brown haired, somewhat latin looking woman: “And this is Mistress Amelie, whom I met at the palace of Avignon.” The man looked at that woman in surprise: “Avignon, you say? Then tell me, my dear, just out of curiosity – have you ever storked the pope?” The woman shook her head: “No, mylord, his holiness is not into such things, unfortunately. But I had the pleasure of being with his son quite frequently.” “His son,” the man raised his eye brow, “I am sure you mean his beloved nephew, Mistress Amelie.” The woman grinned: “Why, of course his nephew, mylord.” Mistress Catherine then introduced the other two members of her party: “Mistress Leila and Mistress Sarah,” she pointed to a tall, beautiful black woman and a likewise attractive brunette, “both of whom I have met on a visit to Cordoba, where they served at the Emir’s court.” – “Excellent, my dear,” said the man and guided the women towards me: “Now, let me introduce my dear old friend Merriwell.”

Mistress Catherine looked at me – from up close, she was even more attractive, although she was definitely way taller than average, and her voice quite low pitched. “I see, your servants have him laid out like requested,” she said, pointing to the big pillow underneath my hips. “And what are we going to do with him,” the redheaded Mistress Lucrezia asked with a latin accent. The man replied: “I am sure Mistress Catherine has already told you that this young man recently dishonored my little daughter. And what is more, he was keen enough to do it in the way of the silent sinners, leaving no proof of his wrongdoings. So tonight, you ladies will pay him back with interest. Stork him hard and good, make sure that he feels and sees the consequences of his actions.” Mistress Catherine smiled: “I am sure we will act to your fullest satisfaction, mylord.” Looking at me, all tied up and helpless, she continued with a smile: “And to our fullest satisfaction as well.”

With that, the odd man walked towards the table and took a seat to watch. Mistress Catherine smiled at me again and said: “And now, my sweet bad boy, look and see what you will get.” She walk towards to fireside, and turned her back towards me. She took of her shoes, and slowly let her dress slip down her body. In the light of the fire, I could see her marvellous, slender frame. Her golden hair fell on her delicious shoulders, and below she had a very feminin round butt, and a pair of beautifully shaped long legs. But when she turned around, I almost fainted.

It wasn’t Mistress Catherine’s small, but sweet tits that shocked me – it was the big, curvy dick dangling between her legs. “Oh, no”, I muttered, “please, no, don’t you...” She came closer and smiled: “What’s the problem, bad boy? Don’t you know your gospels? Give and you will be given. You gave it to little Marjorie, now we will give it to you.” With that, she climbed between my spread legs. Mistress Sarah handed her a small bottle, which she uncorked. She poured some oily looking liquid into the palm of her right hand, then reached between my legs and rubbed the stuff around my asshole.

With a grin, she sticked her middle finger into me. Gosh, this was awful – and it was just a fucking finger. I raised my head, and saw that her dick was now rock hard and even bigger than before. How the hell was I supposed to take that monster? “Is he tight,” black Mistress Leila asked. “Oh yes, he is,” Catherine said, starting to use a second finger on my posterior. “A little too tight, I think,” she concluded, looking straight into my eyes, “ease up, fuck boy, if you’re so tight it will be very painful for you.” Fearing that my fate was settled, I was almost crying, begging: “Please, just let me go. Whatever I did, I regret everything, but please don’t do that to me.” The redheaded Lucrezia grinned and said: “Look, ragazzo, just as we use to say in my home country – if you cannot avoid getting raped, just relax and try to enjoy it.”

Mistress Catherine apparently felt that she had widened my ass enough. She rubbed some more of this oily substance over her huge cock and climbed on top of me. Reaching below, she used one hand to position her dick at the entrance of my ass and began to push it in. I screamed. It burnt like hell. “I told you to relax, fuck boy,” she said, “press a bit like you’re taking a shite, that’ll help.” Sensing that there was nothing I could do to stop her, I did as she told me. It helped a bit, but as she gradually pushed her cock deeper into me, it still hurt quite a bit. Mistress Amelie grabbed my hair and asked: “Now, how do you like getting storked, boy?” I sobbed: “Please, no, please...” – “See, Catherine,” she laughed, “the little tart is begging you – please, please.”

After some time, the pain gave way to a feeling of numbness, as Mistress Catherine’s dick was pounding my ass. And I was quite confused when, looking at her beautiful face and feeling the heat and power of her body on top of me, I even felt some arousal. Mistress Lucrezia touched Catherine’s shoulder and said: “Would you mind leaving some of this ragazzo to the rest of us, Cara?” The blonde one nodded, and pulled her dick out of me. I hadn’t even noticed that the Italian had undressed, and was quite stunned to see that her cock was as long as Catherine’s, and in fact even bigger.

She looked between my legs and said with a nod: “Very well, Catherine, you have opened him up extremely well.” Then, she mounted the bed, poured some of the liquid over her cock, and stuffed me hard. It wasn’t nearly as painful as the first time, and in fact I began to sort of enjoy the situation, much to my confusion. As Lucrezia’s thrusts got harder and deeper, I got really hot, and suddenly, I heard Mistress Leila say: “Good God, that little fuck boy is having some fun.” Looking up, I saw that indeed I was having a hardon. “Let’s see if I can make him come,” Lucrezia said and smiled at me. And then, her delicious body was all over me, and she fucked me hard and deep like there was no tomorrow. I felt her body on top of me, I felt her dick pounding my ass, I felt her hot breath in my ear as she whispered: “Ah, you love that, ragazzo, right?” – “Yes, oh my God yes, yes, yes,” I shouted, and then it happened. It was an unusual orgasm, though – not the explosive kind that I was used to, but more of a flow, long and intense. I moaned, I almost cried not of pain but of pleasure.

Lucrezia kept banging me some more, until Mistress Sarah said: “Let me take your place now, dear.” Sarah’s pitch black eyes were shining in anticipation, as she quickly slammed her dick into me. It wasn’t quite as big as the previous two, but big enough to feel it pulsating in my ass. “You like getting fucked,” she asked me. “Mhmmm, yes, “ I moaned. “Then show it,” she commanded, “move your ass and beg for me to fuck you hard.” As good as I could, I started pushing my hips in her direction, and when she pushed back, I screamed: “Yes, please, fuck me fuck me fuck me!” – “That’s how I love my fuck boy,” Sarah grinned. She put her body on mine, held my head by the hair, pressed her lips on mine and pushed her tongue into my mouth. It was so hot to feel her tongue exploring me, that I felt another orgasm come over me like a flood. “Oh my God I’m coming again,” I yelled. I had never been so hot before.

Amelie took over from Sarah, and while she didn’t make me come another time, it was still a great feeling and I got into a sort of trance. As she pulled her big cock out of me, I had a hardon again, and was eagerly ready for Mistress Leila, whose huge, cut black dick was the biggest of them all. Oh, I had to feel this. “Here we go, baby,” she smiled as she began to push those 9 inches of pulsating dick into me, inch by inch. I was moaning, screaming, begging – it was the best I had ever felt in my life.

But then, the door was opened again and I heard a sharp, female voice: “Stop this session!” The odd man, whose presence I had totally forgotten about, said: “Are you nuts, darling? What are you doing? You’re disturbing this...” – “Stop this session immediately,” she interrupted him, “something’s terribly wrong here.” I saw her rushing towards the bed, dressed not in medieval outfit, but in pair of jeans and a sweater, with the puzzled guy in pursuit. “Allright, stop it,” she said. Mistress Leila shook her head in amazement, but pulled her cock out of me nonetheless. “Look, Nora, you must be bonkers,” the man said, holding her arm, “what do you think you’re doing, Mr. Merriwell here...” She interrupted him again: “I just talked to Mr. Merriwell.” The man was baffled: “What do you mean?” He nodded towards me: “Mr. Merriwell here...” She grabbed his shoulder: “Henry, I just talked to Mr. Merriwell – on the fucking phone!”

The man couldn’t believe it: “You’re not taking the piss, are you?” She shook her head: “He called a couple of minutes ago, still sitting in his flat and totally ticked off that nobody picked him off. He wants his money back – said this is not what he paid three thousand quid for.” – “Shit,” said the man, “shit shit shit!” He rushed to the door, opened it and shouted: “Andrew! Get over here, lad!” The woman walked towards him, showed him some papers, and they started whispering. Leila, her dick still half erect, looked at Catherine and asked: “What the fuck is this all about?” Catherine shrugged: “Dunno. Seems someone fucked up big time.”

Just as the woman left the room, the guy in the driver’s uniform came in and asked: “Whazzup, boss?” The man in the medieval outfit tried to stay calm: “O.K., Andy, tell me where did you pick up that gent?” Andrew replied: “The one on the bed? Just where you had told me?” The other man grew impatient: “What street, idiot?” It took a while until Andrew said: “Well, ‘t was Belgrade Street, wasn’t it?” His boss erupted: “Oh my God, you went to the wrong place, you berk! I told you it was Belgravia, not Belgrade!” Andy shook his head: “No, boss, I am sure it was Belgrade.” – “Bollocks,” the other man shouted, “you picked up the wrong man.” Andy seemed puzzled: “So the bloke over there is not the client?” His boss laughed hard: “How smart you are, Andrew Greaves! Of course he’s not! The client is still at his flat, pissed off big time, and refuses to pay. This bloke over there is some fucking Belgian.” Andy scratched his head: “Well, boss, if this bloke had all the fun the client was supposed to have, why not let him pay?” The medieval guy looked like he was about to kill the driver: “Bugger off, Andy, we are lucky if this bloke doesn’t sue our asses! Now get outta here, berk!”

He took off his hood, came towards the bed, looking very worried. “Look, Sir, I...” – he was searching for words – “I really don’t know what to say, I don’t... You see, we run this very high class club here – we’re specialised in fulfilling the most exotic desires of our clients. This all,” he pointed around the room, “this all has been set up for a specific fantasy of one of our clients. But then, as you well may guess, something went terribly wrong, and you ended up in his place. All I can offer is my sincerest apology, and of course we can talk about some financial compensation if you so request.” I shook my head, still dazzled from the pounding my ass had got over the time gone by. “I guess I have to be glad that you don’t kill me,” I said. “Goodness me,” he replied in shock, “what do you think I am, Sir? I’m a businessman, not a criminal.” Catherine looked at me and said: “And as far as we are concerned, you can be absolutely sure that all five of us are safe and healthy, you know what I mean.”

As I lay there on the furry bed, still aroused from all the wonderful sex I had experienced, I thought about my situation. Was I angry? No, not really – except for the fact that this lady had interrupted the fucking I was getting. So I smiled and said: “O.K., look Henry, I understand this is all a big fuck up and all that. Fine. The only thing I ask for, is for these five lovely ladies to continue the – how you called it – the session like it was planned." Looking at those marvellously beautiful girls, I said: “And as far as you gals are concerned, maybe we can meet in private, every now and then.” They grinned and nodded, and the relieved club owner left the room to talk to his lady.

The girls went on taking turns on me for quite a while. In the end, each of them shot a big load of cum all over my face. And as the warm love juice kept dripping off my chin, I knew that this might have been my first facial cum bath, but most definitely not my last.