The Most Delectable Game

[ShibbolethParty]

Teaser: This time-travel rape safari will be done strictly by the books.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: The Most Delectable Game
Author: ShibbolethParty

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This story was originally published on Archive Of My Own. In fact, it was one of the reasons that I started posting there, because Literotica turned it away for being a bit too nonconsensual. Hopefully it will be better received here.

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The Most Delectable Game

The first glimpse that Calvin Heins caught of the Meioh Temporal Research Facility was striking. It was only a little bit wider than a football stadium, perhaps 400 feet; but football stadiums weren't almost as tall as they were wide. This was a gleaming metal sphere, rising out of the ground to brush the sun.

It reminded Calvin of the domes of the cathedrals and mosques that he and Jenifer had admired on their trip across Italy, Greece, and Turkey. But that only brought up painful memories. He turned away from the tinted window with a sigh.

Calvin's father Asher was seated across from his adult son on the L-shaped couch that dominated their small limo's interior. He glanced up from the financial news that he was perusing on his sleek tablet.

"Looking forward to the trip?" he asked. He'd never been one to directly acknowledge his offspring's emotional turmoil.

Calvin shrugged. "I guess." Some of his similarly-rich peers had gone on time safaris before: popping into contained, certified-safe pockets of prehistoric nature, interviewing long-dead historical folks, or whatever. He found it hard to muster much enthusiasm. The thought of visiting a tiny piece of 1962 with his father didn't hold a candle to the memory of visiting Europe with his passionate lover. Former lover.

When it was clear that he would receive no further comment, Asher declared "It'll be just what you need to get your mind off of things. You'll see." His parental energies exhausted, he then returned to his reading. Calvin kept staring out the window.

As they drew nearer the facility, it became clear that the structure consisted of more than the dome. Oddly-shaped wings jutted from its base at regular intervals, sometimes reaching several stories high and extending walkways to connect with higher sections of the dome, like scaffolding for a rocket. But the dome wasn't going anywhere. Not the outside of it, anyway.

The driver dropped them off outside one of the entrances, where they strode through automatic doors into a screening station manned by two unsmiling security personnel. Calvin, who had known his father to pay for an entire private jet just to avoid the indignity of waiting in line at an airport check-in counter, was surprised by how calm and patient the older man remained while the guards inspected the contents of their pockets, ran metal detectors over every inch of their bodies, and peered back and forth between themselves and their picture IDs a frankly disconcerting number of times.

Picking up on Calvin's unspoken question, Asher explained, "This is a sensitive place, and they've gotta keep security tight. It's important for everyone to follow the rules."

A female employee wearing a crisp blue ESD coat swooped in, explaining that she'd escort them to the waiting room. In contrast to the suspicious guards, the knowledge that Asher was one of the richest, most powerful men in the world showed plainly on her face. She kept bobbing her earnest, pixie-cut head deferentially, almost bowing, like they were in Japan or something. Covered as it was, Calvin couldn't help eyeing the visible bulge of her chest as she leaned forward. He hadn't been with a woman since Jenifer; he was too depressed to deal with the social displays and negotiations involved in getting into a woman's pants, and too proud to pay for it.

The woman led them down an unassuming white hallway, the two men trailing behind.

"Cute, isn't she?" Asher prompted his son quietly.

"Well, sure," Calvin replied, embarrassed that they might be overheard.

"Kinda seemed spooked, too. Nothing like a good-looking woman looking at you with a little awe, don't you think?"

Calvin's cheeks reddened, but he didn't respond. His father chuckled.

Looking for something to change the subject, Calvin let his eyes drift. They turned left into a new, slightly-curving corridor, the inner wall of which was dominated by long, tall, and thick plate-glass windows. Oddly, they didn't look out onto anything: immediately behind them was nothing but dull, smooth iron.

"Are those some kind of shutters?" Calvin asked. "Like, they open up?"

"Sort of," Asher shrugged. "What you're seeing there is the inner dome, the one that's gonna get sent back through time. Those windows are one-way glass, thick as they come. So the technicians can monitor stuff on the other side if necessary, that kind of thing."

Calvin knew as well as any other layman that time travel worked by sending a small area of space back in time, swapping it with the exact same location at a different historical moment. For a safari like this, they wouldn't be traveling in time themselves, exactly; they'd just be entering the pocket of past that would be temporarily housed here. Apparently what was being sent back in return was an iron dome.

He wondered how people in the past would respond to that dome's sudden appearance and eventual disappearance, but he supposed it was unknowable. The act of time travel split off a new timeline in the past. And once the pieces of present and past were swapped again, the connection between this present and that new timeline was broken forever. You couldn't return to it even if you wanted to, because it was no longer a part of this timeline's past. Or something.

"Don't worry, though," Asher added as they progressed beyond the shutters. "For a certified-safe, well-understood trip like this, they don't bother with much monitoring. We'll have our privacy." Calvin, who hadn't been worried about it in the slightest, accepted this without comment.

Their guide deposited them in a long, curved waiting room, then half-bowed again and politely scurried off. There were plenty of other people already there: standing, reclining in cushy chairs, and chatting.

Asher led his son into a cluster of hearty-looking men (and it was all men in this room) sipping drinks. They were unmistakably persons of influence: they had voices and postures that demanded respect, and the fit, heavy-set look of men who ate well and had the leisure time to tromp around outdoors hitting balls with clubs or shooting unfortunate wildlife. Asher, with his lean Ashkenazi frame, was dwarfed by many of them, although he showed no signs of being cowed.

Some of the men were new to Calvin, and he exchanged polite introductions and bone-crushing handshakes (Calvin, with hand muscles toned from years of gripping a lacrosse stick in college, was able to get through without serious injury). Many of those gathered, however, were familiar faces - incredibly-wealthy industrial leaders who had been frequent dinner guests in his youth. He graciously accepted comments about how much he'd grown, and congratulations about his recent graduation, before the inevitable subject came up.

"Aren't you engaged to that Sherman girl?" asked Tom Parker, a broad-shouldered ex-frat boy type who was a friend of the family. "Jenifer Sherman? She's a real stunner. Set a date for the wedding yet?"

Calvin's polite smile hardened, and he found himself unable to form a response. Asher cut in. "Wedding's off, Tom. I'm bringing him along to try to snap him out of his pity party, sort of thing."

"Ah. Well, good timing!" Another man slapped Calvin on the back, seemingly of the opinion that forced gaiety could overcome any social awkwardness. "This is the best safari of the year. Wish I could do it every month."

"Why don't you?" Calvin questioned, just to change the topic.

"Well, it's gotta be today, you know!" Which was obvious. To move things through time using a manageable amount of energy, it was essential that Earth's position in space was as close as possible in both the present and the destination time... basically meaning that a given leap would only be possible once a year.

"Sure, but you could go back to a different day."

"Harder than it sounds, with all the regulations," Asher explained. "You've got to jump through a lot of hoops to prove that a specific destination time and place is safe for civilian tourists. It goes through DHS, Defense, HHS, not to mention Energy. And the cost! Studies, applications, test runs, government kickbacks. You have no idea how what it takes for a facility to stay accredited." He took a swig of water from his glass. "It's hard enough to keep even one date going and keep it quiet."

Calvin had been living inside his own head for weeks, and thus far had allowed himself to be dragged along on what he assumed to be a boring historical expedition without asking even the most basic of questions. But even he couldn't miss the predatory smiles and glinting eyes that the men around him exchanged. "Wait," he asked, suddenly suspicious. "Keep what quiet? What's this trip all about? We're just visiting the 1960s, right?"

He patiently endured the laughs and guffaws that ensued. "Damn, Ash, you secretive sonuvabitch! You haven't told him?" Tom demanded. Calvin's father just smiled thinly. "Well, where's the Book? A picture's worth a thousand words, y'know." They swiftly flagged down another man, a tall, thin black gentleman who Calvin remembered seeing on TV on some financial advice show. He'd been looking over some kind of old-school photo album with a few other men, but at this group's waves and exhortations, closed it up and walked over to join them.

"This is Dreigh Thomas. Keeper of the Book," Tom Parker announced, mock-reverently.

"A pleasure. Ash's boy, I assume?" Dreigh spoke, crisply. Calvin nodded. "Now, son, understand that this book does not exist. We keep it physical just so it can't be hacked or leaked. In fact, you don't discuss anything about this event to anyone outside of this room."

"Sure," Calvin nodded, and, filled with curiosity, reached for the thick album.

Dreigh held on to it tightly, meeting Calvin's eyes. "Or else we destroy you. Doesn't matter who your papa is."

Calvin glanced at Asher, who shrugged placidly as if to say 'that's the way it is.' Calvin hesitated, but this was the first thing he could remember being really interested in since... well, Jenifer. "Understood, sir," he said respectfully, and opened the cover to the first page.

It was just plain white paper, printed with a table of contents. The entries were names, alphabetical by last name, each matched with a corresponding page number. Squinting at them, he saw that they were all women - "Allen, Eileen," "Avery, Lisa," and so forth. Seized by a sudden suspicion, he grabbed one of the thicker album pages in the middle at random and flipped to it.

At the top of the page, a name - Druck, Carol. Underneath, photos (some even polaroid, of all the antiquated things), pressed carefully under the plastic sheet of the photo album page. There were handwritten notes as well - dates, numbers, comments, but the photos were what drew Calvin's eyes. Here, a yearbook picture of a trim brunette with a soft, dreamy smile. There, a photo of the same girl getting double-teamed on all fours, tears in her eyes and small weighted clamps attached to her nipples, pulling her breasts down into pale, delicate cones. Three other polaroids: closeups of those same breasts and their perky nipples, of the darkly-fuzzed flower of a pussy, and of the woman's face, flushed and covered with cum, with a wide forced smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Calvin managed to take in a few of the notes. "34-B - self-conscious about tits." "3 lovers - Jack Hosford/HS, Saul/Fresh, Kenneth McMillan, current." "21." "Anal virgin, but v. responsive to stimulation."

He flipped forward in the Book. Different woman, a busty, curvy blonde, in a variety of pictures: Lowering herself cowgirl style on a thick, erect dick. Flinching as her fat tits were fucked, a throbbing cockhead thrusting out between her mounds and toward her face. Smiling unsuspectingly for the yearbook, optimism written all over her face.

Calvin turned pages faster and faster. More of the same. The last page was a dense chart, listing every woman in the Book and lovingly cataloging their height, weight, cup size, virginity, sexual orientation...

"Who... are they?" he managed to get out.

Dreigh grinned at him. "Why, every sweet young coed present in the Burnwickel Dorms of Anthony Women's College at 4:32 PM on June 7th, 1962." Calvin flipped back to a previous page and continued to gape, so Dreigh continued. "The college shut down in 2012. Eventually they built this facility here. With the help of some very generous donors, you understand."

"And what do you... do...?" Calvin began, aware even as he was saying it that this was an extremely dumb question.

The men all laughed again. Asher put a paternal hand on his son's shoulder. "Whatever we want."

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A clear-voiced male attendant interrupted them, asking them all to proceed to the briefing room through a side door. Dreigh swiftly reclaimed the album and tucked it safely under his arm. They all strolled into a room not unlike a lecture hall, with rows of seats with side-desks looking down on a presenter in front of a very large screen. Each desk had an official briefing packet about the destination time and location, which they were instructed to follow along with as a stone-faced federal agent named Mr. Reddy began an interminable safety lecture.

Calvin sat in a daze, his mind turning over what little he'd seen of the other, much less official, information packet. But he did retain a few points. They'd be changing into standard-issue uniforms, and each given their requested supplies, providing the requests had been submitted properly and approved by the facility in accordance with the national guidelines.

No weaponry was allowed - Calvin snapped to attention at this point in the briefing, because Mr. Reddy was very vehement about it. It seemed that the Alternate Human Rights Act of 2060 specified that lethal violence was absolutely prohibited against individuals in the past. Indeed, the facility would submit the temporally-borrowed area to a bioscan before they sent it back to its home time, and if they registered a difference in the number of large bodies present from the original baseline reading, they would face a serious investigation. The facility's operating license could even get revoked. Of course, tourists meeting with harm was also unacceptable, so they would each be given state-of-the-art electrical batons, keyed to their individual handprints, for self-defense purposes.

Mr. Reddy didn't exude much warmth to begin with, but when he reached a certain slide, the disdain in his voice was impossible to miss. "The stated purpose of this expedition is: 'On-site research into mid-20th century educational practices.'" He glared at the assembled ultra-rich men and, seemingly against his better judgment, added venomously, "A topic which you all must find extremely fascinating, given your repeat visits."

After a brief pause, Asher spoke up. "I believe all our visas have been approved," he said mildly. "Is there any issue, Mr. Reddy?"

There was a tense moment. Then Mr. Reddy swallowed and turned back to the screen. "No, everything is in order. Now, for safety reasons, you must always stay with your designated partner..." He made no more unexpected comments for the rest of the briefing.

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The soon-to-be temporal safariers were administered pills to temporarily stop them from spreading disease. Then they were sent to a locker room where, as promised, they changed into provided uniforms: deeply unfashionable, sturdy, starchy, and with orange reflective strips. All in accordance with safety protocols, no doubt. While there, the veterans lobbed questions and confirmations back and forth at each other, thick with names, terms, and in-jokes that Calvin didn't recognize. "You and Hank have Rachel today, right?" "We're using B-12." "Roger, hope you have better luck with the urinal this time, haw!" "Ash, it's your turn with the box this year, right? Lucky stiff!"

Calvin had hoped to have a chance to peruse the "Book" for longer, but it was being passed around and referenced by those with seniority, and he was too intimidated to ask. Correctly interpreting Calvin's glances in its direction, Asher reassured him. "Don't worry about it, Cal. I'll take the lead, show you around. Just enjoy the sense of discovery. We'll make sure you have a chance to read through it before next time." Next time?

He'd also received one of those stun batons and a firm, no-nonsense briefing on its use from one of the security personnel. It had a range of settings, maxing out on one that would neatly zap someone into temporary unconsciousness. (After learning that, Calvin didn't even want to touch it, for fear that he'd accidentally grab the wrong end.) He seemed to be the only one to not be given a small shoulder bag of additional, time-travel approved supplies, presumably because no supply requisition form had been submitted for him. Most of the travelers were given a small bag, but Asher was also provided with a whole hand truck. It was loaded with a heavy crate, almost as big as he was, and covered with stickers showing it had been approved for the expedition as well.

"What's that for?" Calvin asked. He was not shocked that his father simply waved off his question and told him not to worry about it.

And so, Calvin found himself standing in a small bare hangar, before an unexpectedly plain-looking set of sliding metal doors, which were flanked by more glass windows in front of plain steel. Besides the twenty men in the safari group, there were two more security guards, these ones packing weapons. It seemed that monitoring passed in and out of these doors was serious business.

The warnings, reminders, and countdowns washed over him, until finally it was time - a deep hum, the flicking of a signal light from red to green, and suddenly the windows were looking out into somewhere else, and the heavy doors slid open.

The two men in front of the pack poured eagerly through, and the rest of the group followed, pouring after them in a barely-civilized manner, like kids rushing for an ice-cream truck in summer. Asher and Calvin hung back and were the last ones through, casually strolling in behind.

Or strolling... out? Calvin had thought he was braced for it, but it was still disorienting. His senses were bombarded with new information as he passed into the inner dome of the facility - unexpectedly fresh air, warm on his skin, straight from an early summer afternoon back in 1962. And there were trees, and green lawns, decorating the well-maintained grounds between several long, two-story dorm buildings that snaked across the area, bisected by a plain, paved walking path. But the light was all wrong for an outdoor evening, distant yet glaring. Calvin looked up to see powerful lights studding the dome of the ceiling of the enormous chamber that they were actually in, illuminating this stolen bubble of the past.

Then a panicked, feminine scream drew his attention back down to the ground. A bespectacled young woman with a cute, upturned nose had been leaning against a tree nearby, reading a biology textbook. Her full-skirted, high-neckline summer dress and long straight hair made her look somewhat unreal, like she'd stepped out of an old photograph.

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[Shocker]

An interesting idea, and pretty well told. The thought of going into the past and raping women, is certainly an entertainment for rich assholes.

The thing that immediately springs to my mind, is how their actions affect the further flow of time, there is certainly no straighter way to fuck with history, than impregnating women in the past. This actually bears dome thinking and tinkering with that concept.

[ShibbolethParty]

The thing that immediately springs to my mind, is how their actions affect the further flow of time, there is certainly no straighter way to fuck with history, than impregnating women in the past. This actually bears dome thinking and tinkering with that concept.

Thanks for reading! The premise of this story is that they're just creating a new timeline every time they go back, with no impact at all on their "home" history. There's definitely room for more takes on time traveling rapists, though!

[LtBroccoli]

Great story and concept. Like how you incorporate the Copenhagen model of quantum mechanics into a porn story.

There's many ways this could go in the future, like a fan kidnapping a model before they got famous or snatching a celebrity before they died or some obsessed man going back to relive a special night.

[trio]

Love the idea of grabbing a younger version of a woman you know. My imagination is running wild. Thank you for writing this story.

[RapeU]

Fascinating. I've got my own time travel story within the #KCU, along with a multiverse spinoff idea, but have been sitting on it for years with writer's block. In my version they try to keep the timeline intact as much as possible and if whatever you did changed history it would be like you never left at all. All you'd have were the memories.

This idea though, the idea that you just push the alternate timeline into the multiverse without a care in the world what happens after, genius. Completely on the nose for rich rapists who don't give a shit about anyone but their own satisfaction. And also the perfect setup for multiverse travel too. There's a lot of ways this story could be expanded further. And, hopefully one day, I'll finish writing my time travel story using this story as one of my inspirations.

[ShibbolethParty]

I just noticed the italics were broken in the original post, so I fixed them. Sorry about that!

There's a lot of ways this story could be expanded further. And, hopefully one day, I'll finish writing my time travel story using this story as one of my inspirations.

I'm pretty happy with the internal logic of time-travel in this story, yeah, though I don't think there are any sequels or follow-ups that I'm going to move on. Steal away any ideas you want, obviously! I'll keep an eye out for your completed time travel story some day.

[chloevee]

What a creative premise! And I really enjoyed your writing style.

I particularly liked this line:

Try to ignore the fact that his father was not only an ordinary rich bastard, but also a recreational time rapist.

FYI, the <i> tag does not work here. For italics, use:

Code: Select all

[i]italic text[/i]

Moderator note: I switched your "Short" tag for "Medium". As per the Tag Guidelines, a Medium length story is 5,000-15,000 words. This story is 11,927 words.

[Lucius]

Very creative idea, the girls of 1962 as victims of the Mandarin paradox. Finely executed too.

[JTCK]

What a great story. Normally, time travel and sci-fi really aren’t my thing at all. Still, I wanted to just skim the story for a moment… and then it really hooked me.

The contrast at the beginning: the opening words (too non-con for literotica?!) which were very promising. And then the slow start — a father-son conflict? A trip together? Sounds kind of boring.
But then there are more and more hints that there’s more going on: like this powerful man submitting to a security check. The very promisingly submissive manner of the female attendant. The first hint of a secret (“Keep what quiet? What’s this trip all about? We’re just visiting the 1960s, right?”). And of course the memory book with the Polaroid photos. Another wonderful contrast: all this high-tech and then the old-fashioned photo album.

Then comes the long safety briefing. And the tension keeps rising.

With the time travel itself, the pace then changes — I think this is narratively done really well. Like flipping through a photo album, we now move relatively quickly between individual scenes. And what scenes! My absolute favorite is the dorm mother.
I would have loved to see these scenes described in more detail, but actually, it fits the story better as it is.
And of course, the big finale is still to come: how he takes Jennifer — no, Barbara — with him. In exchange for a goat. Isn’t that the ultimate humiliation, the ultimate depersonalization? Glorious!

This story has stayed in my head even days after reading it. Unfortunately, it seems to be finished. Okay it really ist coherent as it is.
But what a pity! There would be so many more possibilities. I have countless ideas. Some examples:

Teaser: This time-travel rape safari will be done strictly by the books.
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"Your girl Jenifer comes from an old, respectable family," Asher grinned. "Many generations of college-educated women. So. You want her?"

It wasn't just the promise of sex that changed his mind, or the fact that he'd be able to have it any time he wanted, any way he wanted. It wasn't just the power he'd feel in turning this educated, distinguished young woman into a fuck slave who'd have to constantly work to keep him happy, for a change.

No, what sold him was this: he imagined running into Jenifer Sherman again, socially, at any of a million events hosted by their shared social circle. He pictured the terse pleasantries they'd exchange, and seeing her with some new boyfriend, like their years together had never happened. And he thought about how composed and confident he'd act, looking her in the eye with the secret knowledge that when he got home he'd take out his anger on the body of her younger, powerless ancestor, her tits his stress balls, her mouth his urinal, her asshole his rape toy.

How will this continue? That alone would be worth its own story. Or the further stories of the other victims. How will they cope?
Or — as the other commenters have already noted — the many possibilities of time travel. My first thought too was, like @LtBroccoli about celebrities: “Visiting” them in their younger years, and being reminded of it whenever their names come up in the media.
Or colleagues, bosses, sisters-in-law… so many possibilities…

Or in general: the lives of these powerful unscrupulous men. What other dark secrets might they have at home? How do they deal with wives, servants, female employees or rivals?

Ah, if only I could write like ShibbolethParty


Thank you so much in any case for this great story — one of my all-time favorites!