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."

-----

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.

-----

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.

She must have noticed the change in the light immediately, not to mention the steel walls suddenly encasing the area, but she'd been gaping in shock right up to the point when those two point men were practically on top of her. She at least had enough presence to turn and run, but made it only a few steps before they caught up, seizing her arm and throwing her back down to the ground. They had the momentum, after all.

The other men paid little attention, instead purposefully scattering in all directions, mainly towards the various entrances to the dorm buildings.

Asher wheeled the hand truck down a paved path through the grass, bringing him and his son closer to the live assault. Calvin could see that the girl's petite body was swiftly being revealed, the men ripping out the buttons and pulling down her top, and flipping up her long floral skirt against her frenzied struggles and vocal protests. Now her outfit looked less dowdy, and more like layers of wrapping paper hiding the present inside.

Smiling at the familiar scene, Asher began narrating to Calvin. "Here we have Maggie. Due to her location, I'm afraid she's usually the first to receive a bit of unexpected attention. And she's a virgin, which gets some folks going."

"She's always there?" Asher asked blankly, staring at the woman's pert breasts, their nipples hardening as they were exposed to the air and casually groped by her assailants.

Asher frowned. "Of course, Cal. We come back to the same time every trip; that's the whole point. This is where she was at 4:32, so this is where she always is."

Calvin, feeling foolish in front of his father, tried to rally by asking a more relevant question. The close-hand shrieks from Maggie (as a man whipped out his hardening cock and lined it up with her innocent young pussy) gave him his prompt. "But don't the others, uh, hear her?"

"Of course," Asher agreed. "But they mostly just hole up in their rooms, and we made copies of the room keys a long time ago. They try to make phone calls that don't work because the phone lines don't lead anywhere right now, that sort of thing. There are a few exceptions, but, well, I'll point them out to you when we get there."

By now, this echo of a woman from the past was already getting fucked in earnest. Her rapist having finished splashing on a spot of lube that he'd pulled from his bag, and was hoisting her lower body upward with one of her legs, to get access to her tight young cunt. Asher was moving on past them, but Calvin couldn't resist one last backward glance at the scene. Lying sideways on the fresh grass, half-naked her most precious spot already being brutally deflowered, Maggie seemed to have already given up her struggles. As the second man crouched over her and positioned his own thick dick to point down in front of her cute face, Calvin thought he the moment her eyes settled into despair.

-----

Asher led Calvin straight to the entrances of one of the two dorm buildings; it seemed that he had a specific tour route in mind. Depositing the hand truck and crate at the entrance with no comment, he led his son inside the dorm.

Other than the attire of the woman outside, nothing Calvin had seen so far had looked specifically 1960's-ish to him. This changed when he saw the interior entry hall and its eye-searing orange and yellow floral patterned wallpaper. The faint, pervasive smell of cigarette smoke was alien as well: in Calvin's time, smoking was an embarrassing and unfashionable activity, to be done away from all respectable, health-conscious company. Clearly these women had no fear of second-hand exposure.

There were several exits from the room: hallway entrances to the left and right, a staircase to the second story. Echoing from most of them were a cacophony of noise: screams, thumps, and the occasional muffled 'zap' that Calvin knew from the orientation was the sound of stun batons being discharged.

Asher led Calvin straight through an open door immediately to the right of the entrance. A lovingly-polished brass plaque on the wall next to it read "Dorm Mother." Calvin wasn't completely familiar with that term, but it conjured the image of a stern, matronly spinster. The opening led into a chic living room, cozily-furnished with chairs and coffee tables perfect for entertaining young wards for tea.

No sooner had they entered than two bright orange-clad fellow time-travelers... Dreigh, and a heavyset former-linebacker type... pulled a sobbing woman out of what looked like an adjoining bedroom. She was dressed just as conservatively as the first woman outside, in a plain button-down white blouse and dark, shin-length skirt. Her dark hair was done up in a rounded bouffant hairdo that couldn't quite be called a beehive, but was pointed in that direction.

No amount of old fashion or demure dress could hide the appeal of her hourglass figure, however. She would have had to wear a parka to hide the way her bust thrust forward, and her skirt had to travel a long way over her voluptuous rear before it could start its journey towards the ground.

Calvin expected to see her pushed to the ground and assaulted immediately, like Maggie outside. Lord knew that at some primal, instinctual level, his own body was screaming at him to impregnate her ASAP. But surprisingly, while Dreigh's partner held a firm grip on the woman's arm and kept her from slumping to the ground in fear, Dreigh himself leaned in and started speaking to her in a calm, soothing voice.

"There now, Ms. Porter. Can you hear what I'm saying? I know you're a level-headed woman; that's why the university has entrusted you with the care of all these bright young women."

"Wait, this is the dorm mother?" Calvin asked. He'd assumed she was some senior who'd hidden here to seek help from authority.

"Oh, you wouldn't want to see the dorm mother in the other hall," complained Dreigh's partner, nose wrinkling. Disgusting old bitch."

"Yes, indeed. But Ms. Porter here is only thirty years old. Very unusual, that. Only possible because of her impeccable reputation, and of course the personal favor of the dean, who has been passionately hoping to get into her pretty white panties since he first met her as a nubile young sophomore at this very institution."

The dorm mother's eyes focused for the first time on Dreigh's face, eyes swirling with fear, confusion, and alarm.

"Get on with it, man," his partner growled. "I'm not paying the big bucks to chat with these cunts."

"You cut to the heart of it, my good man. Ms. Porter, I'm going to be straight with you. Myself and my colleagues are here to ravish young women. We intend to defile them six ways from Sunday, quite brutally in many cases. Now, I know you've heard the screams. You are probably feeling ashamed of your quite natural instinct to hide away, rather than attempt to protect your young charges. But you still have a chance to help them, Ms. Porter. You see, we can only be here for a limited time, which makes us in something of a hurry."

"If we don't get this going in two minutes, I'm going to go drag Lisa Moreli out of her room and fuck her up her tight little ass," his partner declared flatly.

"No!" the dorm mother gasped out, the first word Calvin had heard from her.

"No, indeed. You wouldn't want that to happen to bright, cheery young Lisa. But Ms. Porter, there are more young women in these dorms than there are of us. There's no way we can get around to every one of you. And right now, the longer and better you entertain us, the less time and energy we'll have for others. I know you take my meaning."

There was a weighted pause. Ms. Porter's eyes darted around the room, landing on the men's faces and then immediately away again, like she couldn't bear it. She even met Calvin's eyes for a moment, as he stood in the back of the room next to his father, and for an instant he could see the fear and hatred flicking behind hers. He had the brief, wild instinct to tell her that he wasn't with these guys. But even if that had been true, it would surely be of little comfort to her.

Dreigh's partner glared impatiently at a clock ticking away on the wall. "It's almost 6:25, man," he said. "If this isn't happening..."

"What do you want me to do?" the woman piped up bravely, taking a shuddering breath to calm herself that made her prominent chest heave.

Dreigh smiled at her, the warmth not reaching his eyes. "I knew you were a logical woman, Ms. Porter. Why don't you start by undressing yourself for us? And make sure to smile. I do believe you teach the girls that a good woman should have a cheery, helpful demeanor."

It was a surreal experience, watching this woman take off her clothes. Obviously she had no idea how to do a good striptease, how to make it alluring and teasing... which perhaps was just as well, time being a factor. But she was so obviously unwilling, driven forward only by a steely sense of responsibility that she had found somewhere deep inside her, that she was fascinating to watch. Her face fluctuated back and forth between several states: tearful, defeated sobs; a friendly June Cleaver smile that she'd obviously trained to become second nature; and something in between, a fixed thin smile with tears leaking out the sides of her face. Calvin had never seen anything like it.

Also her body was frankly out of this world. When she shakily removed her brassiere, Calvin thought that he'd never seen tits quite that big that lay down on the chest in a natural way. No body enhancement surgery here, just good old-fashioned American dairy. Her nipples were also round and soft-looking, as if trying to match the melons they capped. The men's eyes roamed appreciatively over the woman, while she stood quivering, flushed, and still fake-smiling. Dreigh had casually taken out some kind of ancient film-based disposable camera and was snapping a few pictures for posterity. The dorm mother's eyes lingered over it nervously. Calvin wondered if she even recognized it for what it was - it was surely so much smaller than any camera she'd ever seen.

Meanwhile, Dreigh's impatient partner unbuckled his pants and dropped them, revealing a thick, rapidly-hardening circumcised dick emerging from a bed of thick, wiry pubic hair. "Now come over here and suck me off, you dumb cunt," he commanded. After the briefest of pauses, Ms. Porter drifted over to him slowly. Even her controlled, dignified footsteps were enough to make her oversized tits swing gently but hypnotically.

When she came close enough, she was met with a slap to the face that immediately wiped away her hard-won smile. "I expect a 'yes sir,' you cow," the man spat out. "What kind of fucking manners do you teach the sluts here?"

"Yes, sir," the woman managed to choke out, tears streaming again. But when a few seconds passed without her initiating another action, the man pushed her down to her knees, slapped one of her boobs harshly, causing her to cry out in pain, and then stifled her noises by gagging her with his now rock-hard dick. Gripping the back of her coiffed updo, he began going to work in her mouth in earnest.

Calvin was at a complete loss for words, but his father wasn't. "Why all that build-up if you're just going to face-fuck her anyway, Dreigh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dreigh chuckled, keeping his camera trained on the teary, sloppy cocksocket. "Oh, you have to have the build-up, Asher. Charlie here likes it too, he's just playing bad cop. After this, she'll be motivated to put in a little bit more of the work herself." Dreigh's eyes drifted a bit in wistful reverence. "There's no end of skilled, experienced cocksuckers in the world, but getting a clumsy blowjob from a beautiful, crying, well-raised virgin whose mama would disown her just for kissing a black man? That's a special treat. And that's just the warm-up..."

Asher interrupted the man's reverie. "Dreigh, we'll need to be moving along soon - still lots to show Cal. Mind if I borrow the Book? It might come in handy later."

"Certainly, Ash, I know you'll guard it with your life." After it was duly transferred from Dreigh's knapsack to Asher's, the black man turned to Calvin with a friendly smile. "But I forget my own manners, son. You want a turn with the lady yourself? Looks like Charlie's just about finished with his first round." Indeed, the burly man was thrusting ever-more violently in and out of the distressed woman, finishing with a loud grunt by pulling her face close in to his crotch. Unsurprisingly, the innocent woman choked on the flood of warm jizz in her mouth, and as she pulled back, coughing, it spilled down the sides of her mouth, splattering down on both her ripe udders and her fine, chrysanthemum-patterned rug.

Dreigh strode over to her, kneeled down, and spoke quietly in her ear for a moment, capping it off with a very firm slap on her snowy ass to get her moving. Barely managing to compose herself, the woman gingerly got on all fours, raised her head towards Calvin, and asked between steadying breaths, "May I... serve you... sir?"

Calvin flushed red at the attention. In addition to the now-servile Ms. Porter, her eyes glistening with tears of resignation, all three of the other men in the room were also staring at him. But... no way. He couldn't. This wasn't the casual, drunken fooling with slutty coeds that he, as a good fraternity brother, had gotten involved in now and again. This was unbelievable, dream-like in a way, but also stone-cold sober and deliberate. As fuckable a specimen as this poor woman was, and as uncomfortably tight as his pants were getting, he wasn't going to whip out his dick and force her to suck him off right in front of a bunch of rich old pervert rapists. One of whom was his father!

"No thanks," he muttered.

"Suit yourself," Dreigh clapped Calvin paternally on the shoulder, then began to remove his own bright orange, regulation pants. "She'll just have a little more time to get to know the big black dick that will shortly introduce her to the joys of miscegenation. It's legal in this state now, you know... though I'm sorry to say that abortion isn't." Seeing the horror cresting on the woman's face, he added, "unless, of course, you don't want to be friendly, and think another girl might enjoy our company more...?"

She shook her head with a whimper, and crawled towards Dreigh. When Calvin shot a last glance behind as he and his father headed back through the door, she was just raising her head and opening her mouth gingerly to wrap around Dreigh's large, dark cockhead. The contrast between it and the pale skin of her face was striking; Calvin's mind jumped wildly to one of his college art classes, where the teacher talked about positive and negative space. He had the sudden image of this piece of the past as merely a background, a blank white canvas being marked and marred at will by their invaders' tools. And if they made a mistake, they'd just throw it out and grab another one...

-----

Out of the dorm mother's room, it was only a couple of turns and a bit down the hall to reach the student lounge. Compared to the tastefully-decorated areas he'd seen so far, it was a bit plain and utilitarian. A rectangular-shaped room scattered with plain-colored round tables and plushy chairs, perfect for study groups, all on top of somewhat worn-looking pastel green carpeting.

It was just as well that the decor was simple, because the rest of the scene was a complete sensory assault. Calvin heard the sounds before anything else: grunts, slaps, shrieks, moans, pleading, verbal abuse, and an undercurrent of... poppy, lo-fi dance music? And the cigarette smell strengthened more and more the closer they got, as well.

But of course it was the sight of the mass gang-rape that made his eyes really pop. There were about eight young female scholars, who must have been gathered here when the temporal invasion began. Earlier in the day they'd been dutifully listening to lectures, and perhaps they had planned to migrate to a dining hall for dinner shortly, but now they were without exception bent over chairs, pulled down onto laps, pressed to the floor, or tied by the wrists to convenient wall fixtures. Pleated skirts and checked tops were scattered around the formerly-tidy floor, as were pieces of the time traveler's uniforms. Stockings and bustiers hung off the womens' disheveled frames, providing access to their formerly-sequestered breasts, asses, and pussies.

It seemed that the time travelers, with paramilitary efficiency born of repeated practice, had simply burst into the room from both doors, and spread out to seize their pre-chosen targets. Everything was chaos, but it was controlled chaos; everyone seemed to know exactly where to be and what they were doing. All the men, that is. All the poor university students knew was that they were completely, and literally, fucked.

"As you see, this is the dorm lounge. Always a popular destination. We've been coming back for enough years that we know what the trip has to offer, and there are a few choice targets in here." Asher ambled confidently down the length of the room, pointing out scenes of interest to his son, who half-listened, quite overwhelmed.

"Oh, remember how I mentioned that most of the girls don't fight back? Elisabeth here is one of the exceptions." Asher pointed out a tall, athletic-looking strawberry blonde who was bent over and being fucked vigorously in the ass from behind by an overweight but strong-looking bald man kneeling behind her. He was holding her hips firmly, while she scrabbled her arms weakly against the floor and made incoherent sounds. Her long, freckled face and coltish body produced a certain equine effect; the phrase "breaking in a filly" sprang to Calvin's mind.

"On our second ever visit, Elisabeth got Mr. Li here over the head with a flower vase. Blood everywhere, left scars. Could've gotten us in deep water with the facility, too. Ever since, he goes straight at her first thing and zaps her: just enough that she can't fight back, of course. He wants her to have some spirit left to fuck out of her."

"And over here is Sharon Keene; she's a lesbian, you know." A dark-haired, chestnut-skinned beauty was on her back on one a small round table, her head and arms hanging over one edge while her spread-eagled legs dangled off the other. All four of her limbs were tied firmly to the table legs in a way that could not have been comfortable, but was surely only the start of her worries given that she was taking a cock in both her ring-gagged mouth and her tight, straining cunt, while the men's hands roamed capriciously over her clit and youthful, perky tits.

"Sometimes we'll make her screw one of her friends with a strap-on while one of us reams her ass, or what-have-you. But first you've got to convince her to cooperate, not everyone has as much patience as Dreigh for coercion. Sometimes you just want to get balls deep in a dyke as soon as possible, right?" Not waiting for a response from his son, he continued on to the far end of the room.

Calvin now saw that this side was a public entertainment center, with a series of couches arranged in a U-shape centered around a television. Even amidst all the debauched sexual assault occurring throughout the room, the TV was enough to make Calvin do a double-take, twice. First, because it was hilariously bulky, a whole girthy box, and yet the screen was not only extremely small, but also black and white. That was the past for you, he supposed.

The second double-take (triple-take?) was because he actually recognized what was on the screen, courtesy of his History of American Popular Culture gut course. Blaring out of the speakers was the dance music he'd noticed earlier, and on the screen were preppy young dancers: American Bandstand. And here I thought that class would never be useful in real life, he thought, vaguely.

The Asian coed lying on her back on one of the couches looked just as overwhelmed as Calvin; her eyes were blank and disassociated, and although both her slight wrists were being held above her head by Tom Parker's meaty paw, she was making no apparent efforts to resist anyway. She had been stripped completely to reveal a shapely body, with breasts that seemed slightly large on her frame and jiggled hypnotically as she was rhythmically pounded. For all the times Calvin had met Mr. Parker socially when growing up, he had not known that his dick was notably large and wide, more than a little outsized itself compared to the vessel taking it.

"Janet Matsumoto," Asher introduced. "One of Tom's favorites."

"Well, sure!" boomed Tom. "Watch for a moment and you'll see why." Gripping her pelvis with his free hand to brace her, he began fucking her even more vigorously, occasionally letting go to slap her blank face or her jiggling tits, causing her to jerk and gasp. Soon, she shuddered, making a sound that could have been "no..." (Though it was hard to tell, with the background noise; hers was hardly the only feminine protest to be heard.) In any case, she was the most mentally present she'd seemed so far. Tom grunted too; Calvin assumed that he'd ejaculated, but when he pulled out no flood of warm cum spilled onto the cushions, so he must have caught himself in time.

"She always comes," Tom explained, catching his breath. "Every time you fuck her. Don't even have to touch her filthy little clit. She'll probably come again when I get a little rougher. But first... clean me up, cunt." He pushed her down to the foot of the couch, and unabashedly plopped his wide bare ass down on the cushions. She followed numbly, even opening her mouth obediently when he grabbed her by the back of her stylishly-bobbed black hair and pulled her cute little face onto his huge, slimy, throbbing dick. Her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes were elsewhere again, but she closed her lips around the member that had just violated her and began steadily fellating it... or, at least, its head. Throating the whole thing would have been a heroic feat indeed.

"Goddamn," Tom groaned affectionately, smiling down at Janet's work and reaching down to pinch one of her nipples. "It's getting harder and harder to find little chink whores in our day who accept their role as a white man's cocksleeve, but Janet here is a fucking natural. Did you know she was a little kid in the internment camps? A real American tragedy, those camps. Kids, old folks, and men, sure, but they should've sent the women out to service our troops. Being able to pass around a few nineteen year-old Jap sluts would've helped keep up their morale, don't you think?"

"And the government was so efficient with other resources, too," Asher jested.

Abruptly, Tom pushed the girl off of him and grabbed her arms, roughly pulling her up onto the couch and lining her glistening pussy up with his vertical. She moved where he indicated, and lowered herself slowly onto his thick cock, inch by inch, bracing herself with the back of the couch and soon settling into a sort of keeling posture, her legs stretched open wide to rest on either side of Tom's. She looked so small riding him - Calvin thought he could almost see the bulge through the skin of her smooth belly.

"Aww, yeah, that's the stuff, you little cumdump," Cal groaned. "I'll bet none of your little Jap boyfriends could make you a woman like this." He grabbed the back of her head and kissed Janet deeply. She didn't return it, but parted her lips obediently.

Asher slapped the girl's admittedly underdeveloped ass, then gave a short wave. "You enjoy, Tom. I'm going to show Cal the dorm rooms."

Calvin's gaze lingered over the submissive, sexy Nikkei for a moment longer as she ground and bounced on the middle-aged white man's dick. Her body gave another shudder, which sent her supple tits jiggling again. Her eyes were closed tightly now, and her mouth hung loosely open. It was clear that she had broken thoroughly and immediately, in a way that the other young women had not, but he could only speculate why that was. Plain old fear? Self-hatred? Genuine masochism? He wondered if, in the future she would have had, she would ever have been assaulted like this, and whether she would have yielded to her abuser in the same way.

In a flash, Calvin pictured Janet as a bright young thing just out of college, a refined graduate with all the world ahead of her, going to work as a secretary or some other low-status job at some prestigious firm. He could imagine the kinds of harassments and advances she would have faced as such a woman in the 1960s. In this timeline, would she still graduate, he wondered, and still enter the workforce? If she did, then when her patronizing white boss made a few suggestive comments about how she could improve her job performance, would she revert back to this state, drag herself over, and be his little yellow work whore? Because the most important thing she'd learned in college was that powerful men got to take what they wanted?

-----

Calvin decided to probe his father. "What happens to them afterwards?" he asked, as they exited from the lounge into a long residence hall, flanked with modestly-decorated doors into dorm rooms.

"What do you mean?" Asher asked, absently.

"I mean, like," Calvin struggled. "We're going to leave this area, and it's going to get swapped back into the past, right? What do these women do then?"

"Who knows?" Asher laughed. "Deal with trauma! Run to the authorities and cause public panic, or maybe public disbelief. It's gotta be a total media circus. And some of them get knocked up, no doubt. But once we leave, we have no way of finding that timeline again to check, any more than they have a way of finding ours, not even in a hundred years when they develop time-travel technology. They're not our past any more. It would be like finding a fucking grain of sand in a desert, and the desert is on another planet.

"You've got to understand," he continued, sliding into a rhetorical mode and starting to gesticulate passionately, "that nothing we do here matters, at least to anyone who matters to us. As long as we abide by a few rules, as long as the facility can show some numbers to show that we're not doing any harm here..."

Calvin produced a disbelieving noise.

"Harm in a very specific legal sense, okay, wiseguy?... then the government doesn't give a shit. We're not bringing back anything valuable or dangerous. We keep our noses clean. And there might be those in the facility who don't like it, but we're the ones who fund their research. We had this place BUILT. Nobody has anything to gain by rocking the boat, except salving their conscience by protecting a bunch of fuckable college students who effectively won't exist anymore once we send 'em back." Asher took a swig from the water bottle in his side bag. "Now c'mon, I've got more I want to show you." He strode on ahead, leaving Calvin to hurry behind.

Calvin couldn't help but notice that Asher's answer had drifted pretty far from his original question. It was plain that his father had been holding in a lecture like that for some time. It was obviously a load of bullshit: completely self-serving justification for the ragingly immoral abuses that they were inflicting on helpless women for the sheer perverse pleasure of it.

But damn, if it wasn't some tempting bullshit to go along with.

-----

They passed further down the hall, hearing loud but muffled male voices up ahead. Asher perked up, laughing, "Ah, here's a fun one." His stride picked up speed, and Calvin hurried behind him as Asher explained, "Ever hear of Linda Carlyle? No? Semi-big in the Second-Wave Feminism scene in the 70s. Even back in college here, she was real rah-rah about gender equality and all that shit. So some of us get a kick out of telling her about the future, if you understand."

He led Calvin into a room at the end of the hall, knocking perfunctorily before entering. Although only a little larger than Calvin's own undergrad dorm rooms, it was clearly a double. There was a bunk bed, for one thing; and slumped carelessly over a combination dresser/desk in the far corner of a room was a pudgy woman with a wide, unattractive face, who hadn't warranted more of her visitors' time than it took to shock her into swift unconsciousness.

Her presumed roommate, in contrast, was very much awake. Ms. Carlyle had short, curly red hair, and a short, curvy pink body that would eventually turn to pudge, but for now was simply soft and ripe. She was bent over a chair, her hands cuffed together and tightly attached to the ladder of the bunk bed, while one man fucked her vigorously from behind and the other helped hold her in place, sometimes providing a stinging slap to her cheek or hanging breasts. A firm strip of duct-tape across her mouth reduced the noises she was making to muffled moans, but her eyes were wide open and alive with rage.

"Evening, Ash," greeted the assaulter. "If you want a turn with this bitch, you'll have to wait. Jerry's got a date with her asshole after I'm done here."

Ash looked her over with a critical eye, then shrugged. "No, you can keep her," he said, dismissively. "She's not much to look at. Back home she'd be a public fuckhole at best. I've seen her type tied to the urinals at football games plenty of times."

"Sure, but slaves back in our time know their place," the first man lobbed back. Calvin had the sense that they'd followed a similar script before. "You just can't find cunts with this much fight in them since they were all re-enslaved around the Millenium."

The man up front gripped one of her pale, pillowy tits viciously and leaned in close. "You're what, 21, cunt? Something to look forward to. You should still be in great health to see your daughters and granddaughters become cock slaves. Maybe you'll get lucky, and one of their families will keep you around to help take care of them and clean them up sometimes. I know that after I have some friends over, my dumb daughters can barely crawl upstairs to shower themselves off. Gives their mother something useful to do when she's not cooking."

To the surprise of both the older men (and himself), Calvin suddenly cut in. "Speaking of families," he began, "Isn't this Linda Carlyle, the famous feminist?" The gaze of all present, including the unfortunate woman herself, flicked toward him. Even the man behind her paused momentarily in pounding Linda's tight, lubricated cunt.

The aforenamed Jerry seemed slightly thrown; apparently telling the woman about her own celebrated future was a new tack. Nevertheless, he tried to adjust. "Yeah, I guess so? What about it?"

"I think she's the ancestor of one of the President's favorite cocksuckers!"

The other three men grinned, quickly coming up with their own riffs on the younger man's story.

"Oh yeah, the one called Cumhole, right?"

"You always see her collared and sucking off the president or one of his cabinet."

"I'm surprised you remember the name of some random historical bitch," Asher noted.

Rolling with his sudden improvisational inspiration, Calvin pushed on confidently. "Well, I just remembered at the State of the Union address last year, there was that part where the President asked Cumhole to say a few words about the state of women in America. Obviously, you couldn't tell what she was saying since she had to talk around his dick, but in the discussion afterwards some of the commentators mentioned her breeding, and how lucky she was to be shown in front of the whole nation when she had such a worthless bitch of an ancestor. The other women in her family have been cheap public fucktoys for generations because of this cunt."

Frankly, even Calvin thought this all sounded pretty goofy and farfetched, but it seemed to have struck a chord with Linda. By this time her eyes were already starting to tear up. Soon she let out a loud, long, moan, that even through her tape communicated despair and pain beyond the mere physical. Either inspired by the sound or just with lucky timing, the man behind her grabbed her fiery hair in one firm fist, thrust deep inside her, and filled her cunt with cum that overflowed swiftly onto the carpeted floor of her dorm room. She lay still and defeated, as the next man took his place and lined up with her twitching asshole. Asher and Calvin, meanwhile, took their leave.

-----

Calvin simultaneously felt and heard a startling vibration and a buzzing noise. Both came from somewhere on the back collar of his uniform - and his father's, as well.

"Half-hour timer," Asher explained. "I know, we don't have a very long window here, but that's what we're cleared for. After that, people start messing with the dome back in the past. Expensive to repair, and a real problem if they get inside. But c'mon, we're almost there."

"Almost where?" Calvin questioned dutifully.

Asher stopped in front of one of the hall dorm rooms. Only the room number "203," marked in gold on the dated-even-for-the-1960s five-panel door, distinguished it from the rooms around it. Maybe decorating your dorm door was a later innovation.

"Here," said Asher, handing Calvin a rounded key on a plain ring. "Up until now you've been looking and not touching, but you should have a chance to have some fun for yourself. The girl holed up in here is a great start. A little noisy, but she'll be too scared to fight back much."

Calvin pushed the keyring back toward his father. "Look, I never said... I didn't agree to..."

His father gave him a raised eyebrow and a quirky smile. "Sure, Cal. If after all you've seen, you want to hang out in this hall with your blue balls, that's your business. If you need me, I have my own date with young Ms. Druck, two doors down on the right. She always looks so surprised when you penetrate her, it's adorable. I'll meet you back here in a bit." And he was off, turning decisively around a corner in the hallway, before Calvin could think of how to respond.

Then he strode back, handing over another item. "Sorry, Cal, forgot you didn't have a supply bag. Here's some lube. Believe me, going in dry is no fun." Calvin accepted the small bottle automatically, and his father disappeared again.

For a moment Calvin stood in the carpeted hall alone, unable to decide how to proceed. He shoved the lube in his pocket, turned the key over in his hands like a fidget toy. Up until now he'd stood back, he hadn't participated in any of this... well, he'd helped make that feminist cry, but that was just verbal, it wasn't really... he was really just here to see, it was like a tour... but nobody was around now. To watch. Or to see him?

Shouldn't he at least take a look inside? As part of the experience?

He found himself moving. Fumbling, he fit the key in the lock. He unlatched the stun baton from his belt, luckily not hurting himself in the process. He opened the door slowly, as if he was trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Or a sleeping lion.

The light from the hallway brought some soft illumination to the darkened room. Another two-person dorm room, laid out like the previous one. Neatly-arranged books and papers on the desk, no trace of mess. The same kind of bunk-bed.

But only one person; a woman, surely. She was at the back of the room by the windows, the curtains drawn but pulled aside slightly so she could peer outside. She was intent; he didn't know what she was looking at, but he could faintly hear a distant squeal. No doubt she'd seen and heard plenty this evening.

Suddenly, she whipped her head away from anxiously monitoring outside, alerted by the opening of the door. Their eyes met, and Calvin got his first good look at her - tallish for a woman but still only nose-high to Calvin, with auburn hair in a Jackie Kennedy-style flipped bob, high cheeks, an upturned nose, and full lips. She was strikingly beautiful, or so it seemed to Calvin, who was admittedly biased - she looked a little like Jenifer. His father must understand that he had a type.

He only had a split second to take this in before the noise began.

"Who are you?" she screamed. "Go away! Oh god, oh g..."

Calvin darted forward and zapped her with the stun baton. Obviously, that had more or less been the plan all along; but in the moment, it had not felt like a thoughtful, considered choice. He'd simply freaked out, provoked into fight-or-flight. He supposed that fight had won, but it felt like flight: he hadn't been able to face up to the fear and accusation in her eyes, and had needed to escape it in the most expeditious way possible.

He managed to catch her as she slumped, and heaved her over onto the lower bunk of the bed. Catching his breath, his eyes now lingered along the girl's body - youthful and trim. He didn't have to go any further here. He could still walk away, wait out the end of this bugfuck-crazy time travel trip, go home with his dignity intact. Never speak about it again, most likely. Try to ignore the fact that his father was not only an ordinary rich bastard, but also a recreational time rapist.

But what would that get him, a medal? And he couldn't deny, now that he had a moment to himself to think about it, that he was pent-up and horny as fuck.

The hell with it. Hastily, as if wanting to do it before he changed his mind, Calvin started pulling at her unfamiliar clothing. His hands fumbled with her button-down blouse, and eventually he just ripped it open at the front, buttons popping off and revealing her plain white bullet bra. Calvin shook his head at its unnecessary pointiness, but soon discovered that underneath, her breasts arced down to deliciously perky points as well. As for the skirt, he yanked both it and her white panty girdle down over her limp legs.

Pulling himself over her, he kissed her lips, unresponsive but warm, and real. No blow-up doll, this. He let his hands roam her body, first tentatively, then feverishly - kneading and pulling her breasts, gripping her hip, working under her to feel her well-toned butt. And then the soft, inviting cleft between her legs... soft, but dry. He pulled down his pants, slathered the lube around, lined himself up. His now-slippery hand felt good kneading her breasts, but not as good as it felt to slide his dick into her tight, warm pussy.

After a few failed positions, Calvin found himself doing plain old missionary, bracing himself with one forearm beside her head to give the other hand some chances to roam. Thrusting with his hips was heavenly, her lubed-up passage seeming fit to his throbbing member. It was just as well that she wasn't moving, because Calvin was able to get into a groove without being pushed over the edge. A familiar, timeless moment; the flow state of basic hetero sex. There was all that bullshit in relationships, with give-and-take, and love languages, and communication, but this was the core of it - this was what it was all about.

At some point, the woman moaned, and started to squirm under him, though without much force. Calvin just kept going. In the dark, it was possible to imagine that this was a lover he was with, that she was blissed out and relaxed, that he was delivering shared pleasure to both of them. That it was Jennifer, and they were back in college, not wealthy scions in the public eye, but simply two humans with bodies, discovering each other in the dark. He felt loving warmth radiating throughout his whole body, out from that sacred spot where their genitals met, up to where he squeezed her pliant, oh-so-familiar breast, where he buried his fingers in her coppery hair.

Then, the girl's struggles picked up. Her hands pushed at his body, trying to get him off of her, to pull his hand off her chest. Her legs scrabbled to find purchase, shifting herself and making it hard to keep up the steady fuck rhythm that was bringing him up to heaven. And she started moaning, probably the loudest she could manage at the moment - a constant "aaaaaaaa" or "noooooo" in between each intake of breath. Dazed as he was with love and lust, Calvin felt enraged at these disturbances. This was good, it felt so right?! How dare she try to stop it! Still bracing himself with one elbow, he brought that hand firmly over her mouth, shifted his legs to pin hers open, pulled at her tits violently in defiance of her efforts to stop him.

"Shut up!" he growled. He barely felt like himself, but in another sense he felt more himself than ever, like he was in touch with a fiery, burning core that he hadn't known he'd had. "Just take it, bitch! Fucking take it, Jen!"

The words came from deep inside him, and so did his pent-up jizz, flooding the woman's womb. He didn't know if she could feel it there, but she must have understood what had happened, because she stopped fighting, her head falling back onto the bed in tears and defeat.

-----

Then there was a loud 'zap', and the girl jerked, her eyes rolling back in her head and her limbs falling limp. Calvin hadn't even noticed his father entering the room, but he had, and furthermore had jabbed the ravished woman with his own stun baton, set to the highest, unconsciousness-inducing, setting.

"Sorry, son," he said unapologetically, putting the baton away. "Time to get going."

Groaning involuntarily, Calvin pulled out of Jenifer... but no, of course it wasn't actually her, it was some poor unlucky bitch from a now-alternate past... and pulled up his pants and underwear over his sticky genitals. His pulse was still racing, and he fought to get hold of himself. Despite all the debauchery he'd seen with his father today, he still felt as mortified as when he'd been walked in on at thirteen. And that had been masturbating, not raping a woman. Admittedly, with his own father's blessing and encouragement...

Asher broke Calvin's chain of thoughts by gesturing at the woman. "Bring her along."

"What?" asked Calvin, red-faced and thoroughly flustered. "Why?"

Asher rolled his eyes. "Because your father's not as young as he used to be, and his poor back can't take it. C'mon, Cal, get moving!"

Calvin dithered for a moment before pulling the woman to the edge of the mattress. He somehow managed to leverage her onto his back without banging either of their heads on the upper bunk, leaning forward and reaching back to support her piggy-back style. Not having much experience carrying unconscious people, he was surprised by how heavy and unwieldy she was; but it was nothing his studiously gym-toned muscles couldn't ultimately handle.

He felt something wet on the back of his pants and realized it was the sperm and lubricant leaking out of her ravaged snatch. So that was happening.

Still, the other men were making their way back to the time chamber entryway as well, and from the glimpses he caught of them, high on adrenaline and sexual depravity, nobody was too worried about their appearance. They emerged from dorm rooms in pairs, pants sloppily re-belted, waving cheery goodbyes to sobbing, defeated coeds with heaving, uncovered bosoms and stretched, leaking cunts and assholes. It looked, and smelled, like some of the girls had been pissed on as a parting gift. Some men still had cameras in hand, containing new photos of their conquests to submit for the Book.

Calvin fell in line, listening to the comments of the veterans. But when they walked out the dorm room doors, he was pulled back to reality by his father's curt "Hang on."

He turned, leaning forward even more and shifting the woman on his back up higher to try to keep her balanced on him. His father had walked over to the crate on the hand truck, still where he'd left it next to the door. Tipping it over and pulling open the top of the box, he crouched on the ground and started dragging out...

"Is that... a dead goat?"

Asher glanced back at him with something between amusement and annoyance. "Of course it's not dead. Just heavily-drugged. It'll be fine."

Calvin didn't know what to say. He watched, open-mouthed, as his father managed to haul the dairy animal onto the green grass lawn, then stood, stretched his back, and motioned again to his son. "Now help me get the girl in here. Don't have too much time."

Calvin hesitated, but his father seemed deadly serious and in no mood for more delays. He slid the woman down off his back, turning to get a grip under her shoulders while his father grabbed her legs. Together they slid her feet-first into the wooden box. her limp body fitting awkwardly (and surely uncomfortably) inside, but with room to spare. Calvin got one last look down at her taut tits and youthful face, both still red from her treatment at his hands, before his father resealed up the top. For the first time, Calvin noticed the air holes dotted along the corners.

"What the fuck!?" Calvin finally managed, as Asher leaned the hand truck backwards again and set off to rejoin the return procession of safariers.

"The goat is about the same body mass as the girl," his father explained casually. "And the heart rate is in the same ballpark. The bioscan won't pick up any difference."

"No, I get that part!" Actually, he hadn't put it together until his father said it, but he was starting to get an inkling of what was happening. Trotting along at Asher's side, Calvin tried to meet his father's eye, but the old man kept his head faced forward, looking quite blase. "I mean, what the hell are you doing? Like they're not going to check what's inside on the way out?"

"The guards are going to accidentally overlook it, just like the technicians on monitoring duty haven't noticed anything worth mentioning. And they're all going to be very, very happy with their Christmas bonus this year."

"But you've been saying over and over how careful we need to be about the rules, how you don't do anything here that would land you in trouble, and now you're going to just... kidnap..."

Asher stopped, carefully stood up the hand truck, and turned to his son, locking eyes with him. "Look, son. I know we haven't always been that close. But I saw you being so down about Jenifer, and I had a hunch that this little trip was something you might appreciate. Based on what I've seen from you tonight, I don't think I was off the mark." Calvin was silent, still red in the face.

"Now, if there's any lesson I've been trying to teach you here, it's that you have to pick your battles... but that enough money wins a lot of battles. It'd be my pleasure as your father to give you this girl, as a present. Believe me, arrangements have already been made, not only about getting her out of here without trouble, but also about where and how you can keep her. And you can do whatever you want with her, not just one day a year, not reset after each playtime - your own personal sex slave.

"If you don't want that, say the word and we can still call this off."

Calvin was going to decline - really, he was. Despite taking advantage of this young woman, despite the surge of deep masculine satisfaction he'd had in taking his pleasure and venting his frustration on her wriggling body... that had been a one-time thing, a weird capstone to a bizarre, unreal day. It didn't mean he was some kind of serial rapist like all these misogynistic megalomaniacs.

"But..." his father continued, pulling the Book out from his shoulder bag and flipping through, "You might be interested to see this." He handed it over to his son, gesturing at the right-hand open page.

It was, of course, the entry for the woman who was even now boxed up in the hand truck. Barbara Reynolds. Just learning her name made Calvin's violation seem more real, made his guts clench. But he still scanned the page. Her measurements. Her age (she was a junior). Her fresh young east-west tits. Her face, plastered with semen that was, if not quite up to professional bukkake porn quantities, certainly enough to highlight the pathetic, defeated expression.

And there, in the few lines of future notes that someone had compiled: "marries Dan Sherman 1966." Calvin's head whipped up, seeking confirmation.

"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.

"Thanks, dad," Calvin said. His mind was still adrift with fantasies to fulfill. He could hardly remember his depression of that morning. It felt like the future was full of limitless possibilities.

They wheeled the hand truck out together, and somehow, the guards failed to inspect the box. When every traveler was safely accounted for and the bioscan returned the expected results, the pocket of 1962 was shunted back where it came from, to remain only a memory. But a fresh, unsullied version of the dorm and every sweet, hopeful young coed within lay nestled safely in the past. Until next year.

[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.
-------------------------------------------------------------

"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!