In the Library

Seeing the child Grace shook me to my core.

In my heart I could not begrudge Alexandra her desire to mother the child, as more than twenty years before she had been unable to mother me. But I found it far more difficult to reconcile what the woman had done to secure her bloodline. Her convoluted and complicated past with all its wrongness and corruption had ensnared me and entranced me, but what did that make me?

My mind was also becoming lost, my memories shifting and changing within me. Edisson's time device had shattered memories each time I used it. I had been able to re-learn who Odette was, as that woman was still alive, and her splendid flesh and strong personality were there in front of me. But people spoke of a Miss Catherine, but she was a void, not even a ghost, in my mind, and a blank was there.

But Edisson's machine promised an unsettling but possible escape from my terrible dilemma. I reasoned that, if I could use the machine to travel several decades into the future, then I would remove myself from Alexandra's influence, and I would not be tormented by the child's growing up, and the woman and her daughter would only know me as a distant memory. The child, possibly, would not even know me at all, and perhaps that would be best for her, since she was but young. It was also likely that my memory would again be purged, and if I did not know something, then I could not be tormented by it.

So I resolved to apply as much electrical and etheric power to the machine as I safely could, and throw myself as far forward in time as I was able. My mind would be what my mind would be, but if I could not remember, then it would be as if my past never existed, and it would not be a loss. If I could not remember anything at all, then I would not know what had gone.

So, to the device, then. I set the controls to maximise the alternating and direct currents and the harmonic fluctuations that would be set up when the etheric power from Alexandra's crystals was applied. I calculated that I would need to enter my erotic peak some ten minutes after the power cycle commenced. That was the trick, to time my orgasm, which had to be from my own hand aided only by an etheric presence which would arc across from the glass piping, to time it such that my seed would erupt from my organ exactly as the power cycles harmonised.

I locked the door to the chamber in which the device was housed. I checked also that some clothes were securely sealed in waterproof and vermin proof bags nearby. For I would transit the ether in something less than ten seconds, but real time would pass for those objects left in the room, including those clothes, and they would be older by the number of years the device would accelerate past. I could not seal food in the same way, but made sure that a bottle of water was sealed and stowed with the clothing.

I was prepared. I shed the clothes that I was wearing, and secured myself to the chrono-etheric chair. I resolved to dream and imagine the best of the women I had ever known, for the lustful conjuring of an image in my mind would aid my four fingers and the circle of my thumb on my own shaft. Shutting my eyes, I began to picture my three wenches from England, for they were innocent and young and playful, and best to raise my prick. Ah, there is Lucy of the high breasts, slim hips and long legs, proud and willful. And Molly of the long waist and teasing mouth. And look, little Jenny with her curves and spilling breasts.

My hand was gently curled about my balls hanging heavy between my legs, and with the palm of my hand I lightly caressed both of those eggs in their soft haired sacs. With the light touch of my hand I could feel my testicles rise and tighten, and I lingered one finger down to the heated bud of my ass hole, and pressed myself there. With that pressure a first beat passed to my cock, and I felt that flesh tighten and start to fill. Conjuring an image of full red lips and wicked white teeth, I pictured a long tongue on the base of my cock, and I ran my finger up the raised seam of my cock as if it was that tongue licking there. And my flesh beat again and filled again and thickened.

I set the timer to the electrical circuits, knowing that the etheric and electrical energies would begin to hum and glow about me, and I would be a golden traveller when my time was upon me, and I would hurtle into some future time. For the moment of transmission would begin in the depths of my spine, and my mind and body would spiral into the time vortex just as my sexual charge would rise and burst its pleasure like white light from the gland between my eyes, my third eye. And my pulsing bursts would be charged with that strange ancestral power. And time would shift.

So my hand settled to a firm and gentle motion on my shaft, squeezing the hardness to it. The head of my prick slowly filled with heat and soft skinned hardness, and the length of it filled and pushed the covering folds of skin back from the flesh. My cock is an uncut cock, so the soft skin of my fore flesh pulled back as the head thickened, and my flesh beat again and hardened and thickened.

And to my mind came an image of an unknown woman, as I had often dreamed of, but she was no woman that I knew, and was just a conjuring, a combination perhaps of women I have known and sex that I have had, but no singular person that I knew. But no matter, because she was tall and exotic and curiously clad, in no clothes that I had ever seen. Her legs were long, black stocking long, and her shoes were red, high heels red, and her stride was firm and confident. This was a wench all in my head, but herself for all that, and my prick was rising strong.

My hand lay idle away from my prick, for my visioning of her was enough to swell my shaft and to solidify it there, as if this woman also was solid and real, and parading in front of my eyes. Her legs were sheathed in lace patterned stockings, and her skirt was short and above her knees, indeed far up her thighs, and tight around her firm limbs. And as she walked towards me, the pale flesh of her skin above her stocking top occasionally flashed, her skirt was so short. And look there, there is a ridge of suspenders, a stretched thin line clearly seen under the tight cloth of her short black skirt. And then the image of her was walking away from me so that this vision would reveal her firm ass to my eyes, but my eyes were tightly closed. And her ass cheeks were firm and luscious, shaped tight under the cloth of her skirt.

And then the vision of her in my mind walks towards me once more and there is the full swell of her mound rising curved under the skirt. And then in my mind the vision of her sheds her garments, that black skirt dissolves and her belly is naked and her black bush is thick and darkly curled at the base of her belly and God, her breasts are full and deeply cleeved, erect nubbed nipples dark and tight and jutting proud. And my hand is to my shaft now, and it is full and swollen with the rich exotic vision of her and my imagining. My balls are riding high and tight and my hand caresses their rising firmness and my fingers curl to the rich purple head of my shaft and I pull the skin back from that smooth sensitive place and rub the flat of my thumb over the head of me and I stroke myself there.

And my other hand descends to the high tight sac of my balls and curls around the cooler weight of them and my shaft is hard and pleasing and full, and I stroke pleasure into it and it rises and bounces under the pull of my fingers and the circle of my thumb. And in the eye of my mind she bends close to me and the long fall of her hair is dark around my chest and belly and prick, and my breath quickens and I shudder.

Around me the hum of the machine is increasing its intensity and frequency, and there is an etheric glow forming in the vacuum glass tubes and lines. The glow is pale blue and darkening, and I look down and see that there is a glow like a corona forming around my prick, and that long full shaft is like some spectral thing, hard and tight, thick and long. And my hand and tightening fingers stroke firmer now and I feel a pulse from deep in my spine, and a hot heat there, and my seed is starting to thicken and rise.

And again there is an image of the tall unknown woman in front of me, her hands caressing her own breasts and pulling upon those thick nipples, a rich deep red and long, tight nipples jutting hard. And I imagine my palm upon the full weight of her breasts and she lowers a full breast to my mouth and I suck on her hot tit and pull the nipple into my mouth. But she is a vision still, and I reach both of my hands around my cock now and squeeze it tight like a cunt is holding it tight and firm and wet, and I am slow with my two palmed strokes for there is a slow building up of heat to be done, and I have taught myself to be slow and langourous with myself, as if there was a lazy woman slowly tugging upon my shaft with one hand as her other hand idly plays with a wet sex between those imagined legs.

And my fingers stroke to my nipples and pull them to tight peaks, my finger and thumb pulling hard on the points on my chest. There is a direct nerve to the throb of my cock and that shaft tightens and rises from my belly. And as I tease my own tight tip of a nipple, my finger brushes the chain of my locket and I remember Edisson's warning, not to have any metal part within the machine, for the electrical power will jump to any metal and conduct. So I pull the chain from my neck with a snap, for I know from the rising hum of the circuits and the intensifying light in the tubes, that the etheric power is reaching its harmony with the electrical agents, and so too must I bring myself to my own peak, that the forces may align. But I must keep the precious tiny mementos in the locket, for I sense that those tiny feathers have some importance.

I flip the glass open and take the tiny feathers in one hand to my chest, and then cast the chain and locket away from me. I hear a tinkle as the glass shatters on the stone floor of the laboratory, but the polarity and the power is harmonising now, and my other hand is insistent and faster, my cock hard and hot. So the machine spools up to its full force, and I feel a strange heat around my body and there is an intensity building in the air, and blue and golden threads of light began to flicker from the glass channels to my body, and especially to the head of my cock.

My hand is faster now, and the tall woman of my imagination is spreading her own legs above me and I gaze upon the red cleft and there is glistening wetness there, and a darkness of hair tightly coiled. Her legs are long and her thighs firm, and as I stretch my cock to the blue light laced through with golden threads, I imagine that heat of cunt around my standing cock and the weight of her body dropping down onto my cock and gripping me there.

And the fullness at the base of my spine is shuddering into my body now, and I am in the grips of the fantastic power that is in this device and that is in the etheric infused cream that is rising from my body now, pulsing and rushing through me then peaking up high. And for a full second my cock is on the edge of a huge pulsing pump, as if the seed and fluid there is compressing, and with a cry I feel my fluid rise up that long shaft of my cock and begin its bursting rush. And at that moment the machine cycles into one last, precise and powerful harmony, and the hum increases to a howl. And I can feel the power in the air around me.

With one final powerful convulsion I feel the semen rise up through my shaft and the first pulse of fluid erupt from my prick. And exactly at that moment there is a huge twist and lurch in the air, and a rushing blackness, and an incredible surging speeding shift in the air in the place. And as my seed explodes, time shifts and is gone, and the howling hum ceases. And there is a massive jolt of energy centering on my prick and then a vast black silence, a strange twisting of the air, a rushing sense of vertigo and speed, both at the same time. And there is a final pulse of my creaming whiteness, and then stillness and silence. And blackness.

And then a fast heartbeat which starts to steady and slow, and I realise it is mine. And then there is stillness and darkness around me, and a blackness.

But I am alive, and have no knowledge of this place, and I do not know why I am here.

Later: I have extracted myself from the machine, and I find the place is quiet and dark, a fine layer of dust on most surfaces, but not all. I have found a tightly sealed bag of clothes - clearly someone has made preparations, for I have also found a sealed bottle of water. It is warm, but I quench my thirst with a long drink, and my gut is somewhat satisfied. My mind is vague, I cannot place a name to myself, and I do not know why I am in this room.

I sleep, and then with the dawn and a beam of light shafting through the suspended motes of dust, I rouse, and set to a discovery of this room. And I find a book, placed in an obvious place for any finder to find. In it, I read the trail of a story, left by the inventor of this machine, a Mr Thom Edisson. I read that he has experimented with several jumps of time, and his pilot in these experiments is a certain Mr Alex Cain. There is also a regular tell of a woman, Alexandra, who it would appear has paid for Edisson's work, and I can see from the words that Edisson is clearly enthralled, even enamoured, by this woman. But at the same time there is a thread of fear of her, for he recounts that she is a force not to deny. And he is fearful of the last experiment, of which he writes, but it seems it is not yet concluded.

At the end of the book there is a list of dates, increasingly irregular and far apart. It would appear that Edisson returns from time to time to this place, to see if there is evidence of Cain's arrival back to Edisson's own time stream. He has being doing this for just on twenty years, and records a date of 1925 as his most recent visit to this place. This year means nothing to me, but I do not think that I know it. I sit and look at this machine, and wonder at it. And I wonder at myself. Am I this Cain?

But speculation is a pointless thing. I find a pencil and write a short paragraph after the last entry, describing how I have found myself here, with no memory of who I am or how I got here. I cannot date it, for I do not know the date. But if I am Cain, and if Edisson lives still, then he will know that I have arrived here. But I do not know what he might do with that knowledge. No matter- what I cannot fathom will not worry me.

I resolve to find food. I pack a bag with whatever belongings I can find, that a travelling man would have, and I find some bank notes, in a currency I do not recall or have never seen. I need to remember that most likely I have lost twenty year of living time, and this place and this time is for me some future place, some future time, and it will be strange. But I am formless, and without sensible memory (although some vague sense of something is upon me, but I cannot place it). I set out.

Outside, there is a darkness of water and the shadow of a bridge over it. Down at the edge of the water I find a small tea room or shop, but it is closed. Ah, the sun, it is still rising, it is early still, the businesses not yet open. I will wait, for I am hungry and weak with it.

The sun shifts around an hour or two and the shadows shrink and draw in on me, and still I sit. Then there is a rattle of door bolts behind me and the shop is opening. "Sir, have you been waiting long? I do not often get custom so early in the mornings, I usually have time to get out the tables and umbrellas."

I turn to look at the owner of the voice, for it is low and appealing, calm and quiet. "No, I have not waited much time, but certainly I have hunger. But please, instruct me, and I shall help you set up your stall for the day, and then perhaps I can break my fast." She was tall, but of advancing years, and her back was something twisted as if an oldness was bearing down on her.

"Sir, you have a curious accent, are you English, perhaps? And your turn of phrase, it is curious, but somehow familiar to me, yet I cannot place it."

"Yes, I suppose you could say I am a traveller to this place." I should not speak so much until I knew more of the customs of this place, and had learned something of it.

I stood, and went to a stack of folded tables by the door. Lifting one in my hand I carried it back and placed it where she gestured. The shop was quickly set up, and I placed myself under an umbrella to shade myself from the rising heat of the sun, while the woman clattered in the kitchen. Shortly, she appeared at the door with a tray, piled high with some fresh pancakes, a pot of strong coffee, and a newspaper. And a strong, steady, blue eyed gaze, and she held my eye. "Forgive me, sir, but I feel I know you, your face is familiar to me, have you been to this place before?"

"No, Madame, I am new here, I do not know this place." Nor this time, but I could not say anything of that. She gazed at me some moments longer, and then shook her head as if to dismiss some fanciful notion. She returned to the counter, and was busied with other customers.

I turned to the newspaper, and read every page to learn of this world. And I read of things that I had never imagined and of some things that I held a vague memory of, but as if from a deep depth of forgetfulness. Every now and then I glanced around, and to my unease I saw that the woman kept glancing to me, clearly trying to fathom me. It was getting hotter now, and I resolved to leave. I worked out a payment for my breaking fast, and figured the values of the notes and left her some.

I stood to go, and as I did so, she undid the scarf that was around her head because it was hot and she needed to cool her head. And as I gestured to the notes by the cup, she once again fixed her deep blue eyes on my face, and ran her long fingers through her hair to pull it cool from her head. And her hair was a deep grey, and her fingers ran through a white blaze of hair all down one side, and I could see her mouth something silent to herself, and then suddenly she sat, as if collapsed, her eyes wide with fear.

"Sir, I do know you. It was so long ago, and you should not be so young, you should not be here, looking as you did that day you came back." There was a madness upon this woman, but she knew me, yet I did not know her.

"Your name is Alex Cain, and your mother is Alexandra, and I fear a doom is on your family, a doom is on your blood."

Odette watched the young man walk away from this place, and ran her long fingers through the white blaze in her hair. She remembered the first time that he had come back, and she ran her long fingers through the white blaze in her hair. Over and over, she ran her long fingers through the white blaze in her hair.