Out of Time (1940s-2040s)

Reading notes.

1. This is my first foray into the Sci-fi genre. I have long been wrestling with the gist of this story. I hope it works. Please let me know what you think of it.

2. I have included some of my favourite fetishes in this tale; namely cuckoldry, incest, smoking, bdsm and lesbianism. If these don't float your boat, please move along and read something more to your taste.

3. All characters are aged 18 or older at all times within the timespan of the story. The age of consent in 1941 was 21. All sexual activity is conducted consensually.

Part One: The Best of Time (August 2041)

"... Happy birthday, dear Olwen,

Happy birthday to you!"

The strains of the traditional birthday greeting died away, and the subject of the song smiled her gratitude to the twenty or so friends who had just formed an impromptu choir to serenade her.

Richard, Olwen's husband stood up and raised the glass that he was holding.

"Friends," he began, "I can't believe that it's almost twenty years ago that Olwen agreed to marry me. That was on her birthday too."

"Bloody cradle snatcher!" someone in the audience heckled him. Everybody laughed, including Olwen. Of all the people gathered in the marquee that Richard had hired for the occasion,and which stood in the extensive garden of the cottage that he and Olwen shared, only three of them knew the truth. Those three were Olwen, her lover, Tavia, and Richard, who Olwen had made her cuckold on their wedding night over nineteen years earlier. This, in the main, is their story.

The party was over, the guests long departed. Olwen came in and slumped down in her favourite armchair in the conservatory. Tavia was already sitting on the sofa opposite her.

"Where's the cuckold?" Tavia asked, handing Olwen the dainty lady church warden pipe that she had been smoking.

"He's paying the removal team. They've started taking the marquee down," Olwen replied before slipping the long stem of her pipe between her lips and puffing on her pipe.

"I've told him to report here as soon as he's finished with them. I'm ready for some birthday fun. After all, it's not everyday a girl celebrates her one hundred and twenty fifth birthday, is it?"

Tavia chuckled.

"It's not a problem," she said, taking back the pipe and smoking thoughtfully. "I retarded your metabolism completely that night in the hotel bomb shelter during the blitz. What were you then? Twenty five? I reckon you're good for at least another couple of thousand years."

Olwen looked at her lover fondly.

"That's good," she smiled. Then she made a face. "How long will it take for me to catch you up then? Can you make me age a bit faster than you, so that I'm not going to be your toy girl for millenia?"

"Nah. It doesn't work like that," Tavia replied. "I was born in 2175. By the time I'd done my degree, Hawking was well into her work on time travel. She took me on as her research assistant mainly because she had the hots for me, I think."

"Nonsense," Olwen scoffed. "She must have taken you on because you are a bloody genius."

Tavia blushed.

"Not so much of a genius that I couldn't help poor Stephanie," she said sadly. " We were both recruited into the Security Service as a result of our work on time travel. When we both did our first time slip, I'd not checked her vitals properly. We slipped to 1975. Thanks to my not having stabilised Stephanie before we left, she not only arrived in 1975 as a man, but because her metabolism was unstable, she was unable to absorb vitamins. Stephen, as he became known, developed Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. It took over his body rapidly, and he was too weak to slip back to our own time. Stephanie was now stuck as Stephen, and also stuck out of her/his own time. I had to leave him in 1975 and return to my own time. My bosses were furious. I was charged with Time Perversion and arrested. I managed to escape from my cell by time slipping, but I only had an early version of the HIMFUCC device, which took me back to 1941. I've been on the run ever since. I'm stuck in this thirty two year old body and the T.W.A.T.s have been after me ever since."

Olwen knew that Tavia was not being flippant when she referred to the T.W.A.T.s The branch of the security service was known by that unfortunate acronym. They were, in fact the Time Wasting Adjustment Team, and their mission was to prevent anomalies and contradictions in the time space continuum.

The two lovers smoked quietly, passing their pipe back and forth, and sharing the occasional smokey kiss. When Richard the cuckold turned up half an hour or so later, they were both ready for an evening of kinky play. Richard knew that he'd eventually be sent to the spare room with a very sore arse. Olwen and Tavia loved to peg him, and, as happy as he was in his role as cuckold, the knowledge that his Hot Wife and her lover would be sucking and fucking in the main bedroom whilst he listened from the spare room, was very frustrating indeed.

"Ready, cucky?" Olwen smiled, getting to her feet and holding out her hand to Tavia. "How do you fancy a nice threesome? It's Tavia's turn to wear the strap-on tonight. So you can prepare my cunt with your tongue whilst Tavia pegs you."

Richard grinned and placed himself between the two women. He offered each of them an arm, and together the three of them went upstairs. With a bit of luck, Richard thought, Olwen would take his cock lock off whilst he was being pegged.She loved seeing his cum ooze out of his little boi clit whilst his prostate was being stimulated, and Richard loved being made to lap up his mess after he'd cum. Olwen's cunt tasted very different to Tavia's, and whilst Richard was addicted to both, he also liked the taste of his own cum, and lapped it up enthusiastically whenever he'd been milked.

Part of their ritual was that Richard helped whoever it was that would be wearing the cock to strap on. The very action of first giving his Hot Wife or her lover a cock was thrilling for him. That the same cock would soon be reaming in and out of his arsehole whilst he orally pleasured one or other of his ladies was equally exciting.

Richard finished buckling the harness onto Tavia. She now was the proud owner of a thick, ribbed black cock which she gripped and waggled provocatively.

"Stop lusting after that cock, and get your face between my legs," Olwen said sternly. "I might have the looks of a twenty-something woman, but I'm actually one hundred and twenty five. My cunt needs a good long licking before Tavia fucks me. Get to it, and don't forget to pay particular attention to my clit!"

Richard did as he was told. He had been well trained in the art of cunt worship, so he didn't miss a beat a few moments after he'd started, when Tavia slid her rubber cock up his arse and began to peg him.

As the tip of her cock made contact with his prostate, Richard's little boi clit started to swell. Even though he had a particularly tiny cock, it was painful and restrictive. Olwen had made him purchase an ultra small device, so any time he was stimulated, a full hard on was impossible. It was so frustrating, yet so enjoyable.

Olwen felt her first orgasm building. She clamped her legs tight around Richard's head, pulling him in closer. She began to grind her cunt against Richard's nose.

"Here it comes!" she thought to herself. Tavia, recognising the signs that her lover was on the edge, increased her speed.

Richard's arsehole was on fire. He was having trouble breathing, and his mouth was full of Olwen's cunt juice. Desperately, he swallowed and gasped for air. Olwen grunted and started to cum. Her frantic bucking meant that the pressure on Richard's head slackened somewhat, and then he was drenched as his Hot Wife squirted her release all over his face and down his throat.

Tavia continued to peg him whilst Olwen rode out her orgasm. When she finally stopped writhing, Olwen gasped,

"Not bad for an old gal, eh? Fuck, I enjoyed that. You can go, now, cucky. I'm wet enough for Tavia to fuck me. See you in the morning."

Richard experienced the familiar sting as Tavia pulled out of him. He took the glistening dildo out of her harness. This too was one of his duties. He was required to wash and disinfect any dildo that had been used to peg him.

Tavia meanwhile was fitting a double headed dildo into her harness. She would be fucking herself whilst fucking Olwen. Neither woman paid any further attention to the cuckold, and he crept out quietly, leaving the two lovers to their night of sapphic love.

Part Two: The Worst of Time (May 1941)

Olwen Morgan was hard at it, transcribing yet another German U boat weather report. This would be used as a crib to decipher German submarine messages as she very well knew. It was vital war work, and Olwen was proud to be 'doing her bit.'

Olwen was a clever young woman, and her ability to unscramble anagrams as well as solving the most difficult crossword puzzle clues had brought her to the attention of the authorities at Bletchley Park. She now held a position of considerable authority in the hut where she spent almost all of her waking hours. Only Mrs. Anderson had more clout than Olwen.

Olwen looked up as her superior approached. She smiled at the older woman.

"I think I've cracked this one," she said proudly, and Mrs Anderson acknowledged this statement with a reciprocal smile.

"Leave that now, Olwen," she said softly. "Get your coat. We've been summoned to brief the War Cabinet. We're off to London!"

Olwen frowned.

"London?" she repeated. "But the blitz is still going on. It's dangerous. What am I going to tell my grandparents?"

Mrs. Anderson shook her head in sympathy. She knew why Olwen was so worried. Her father had already been killed during the debacle of the Dunkerque evacuation that had been spun to be seen as an heroic rescue mission by the propaganda merchants.

Then, to make matters worse, Olwen's mother had been the victim of one of the seemingly endless nightly bombing raids, which had been termed 'the blitz.' Olwen now lived with her maternal grandparents, Mrs. Anderson knew. They had both been thoroughly vetted before Olwen was allowed to move in, although neither of them knew that their history had been gone through with a fine tooth comb.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about your grandparents," Mrs Anderson smiled, taking Olwen's hand and giving it a friendly squeeze.

"I've sent a dispatch rider to inform them that you are on vital war work, that you're perfectly safe, and that you won't be home tonight."

Olwen smiled at her boss gratefully.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I can't help being worried about them."

It had been decided that the information that Mrs. Anderson's star code breaker possessed was sufficiently important to warrant a governmental car being at their disposal. As neither Olwen nor Mrs. Anderson could drive, they were also provided with a WAAF driver.

She saluted smartly as the two women approached the car, and opened the door respectfully for them. It was a tight squeeze in the small back seat of the vehicle, but neither Olwen nor Mrs. Anderson seemed uncomfortable with the close proximity of the other, and the journey to London passed quite quickly, if not very comfortably. Their driver was efficient,and very quiet. Her passengers didn't speak a lot either. Everybody was very aware that careless talk costs lives.

The two women were swept into the meeting as soon as they arrived in Whitehall. They were the only two females present. Mrs. Anderson seemed unperturbed and her confidence affected Olwen too. Asked several very technical questions, Olwen answered in a clear, respectful tone, and the men present were impressed by the young woman's clear understanding of her field of expertise.

Mrs. Anderson was asked to stay on to discuss some operational matters that Olwen was not cleared to hear, so she sat in the corridor outside whilst her boss was further cross examined. Time ticked slowly by, and Olwen began to worry about Granny and Gramps all over again. Since moving in with them, she'd not slept anywhere else, and she knew that they'd miss her as much as she was missing them.

Olwen was woken from her day dream by Mrs. Anderson's voice.

"Olwen? What's the matter, dear? You were miles away then."

Olwen blushed.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Anderson," she replied, "I was just thinking about Granny and Gramps. I hope they won't be too worried about me."

"Of course they'll be worried," said Mrs. Anderson impatiently. "But they'll have had my message that you're with me, and that you'll be as safe as anyone can be during these dark days. Now, come along. We're booked into an hotel for the night. Let's hurry along. We've food vouchers for a slap-up meal. Let's take advantage of the generosity of the government for one night at least!"

Olwen linked arms with the older woman, and they strolled out together into the inky blackness of the night.

"I'm sorry, my dear," said Mrs. Anderson. "I must stink of pipe and cigar smoke. I indulge in cigars myself, but only at home. I realise that smoking is really bad for one's health, but I do find a cigar helps me to relax after a long, strenuous day in the hut."

Olwen looked at her companion in amazement. She hadn't known that Mrs. Anderson herself smoked. She wondered if her own clothes smelled of the pipe tobacco that she herself smoked when she was home with Granny and Gramps.

"I think you smell lovely," she said, squeezing Mrs. Anderson's arm gently. "I love the fact that you smoke cigars. It's as if you're telling the men that you're as good as they are."

Mrs Anderson looked at Olwen and smiled.

"Thank you, my dear," she replied. "And don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked Olwen, stopping suddenly and pulling her arm free from Mrs. Anderson's. "What secret?"

"Oh a little bird told me that young, prim and proper Miss Olwen Morgan has a secret vice," smiled Mr Anderson. "She has been taught to smoke a pipe by her grandfather. Don't worry. I won't let on to anyone."

Olwen felt a huge sense of relief.

"Oh that," she said casually. "Yes, my mother always smoked a pipe and both Granny and Gramps do too. They asked if I wanted to try, and I said yes. Pipe smoking calms me down after..."

She stopped and blushed.

"After a long day's work," she concluded.

Mrs. Anderson smiled that enigmatic smile of hers, linked arms with Olwen once more, and the two women made their careful way to their hotel. Walking in the blackout was a hazardous business, and they clung to one another as they went.

The hotel receptionist was rather off-hand when Olwen told her that she and her companion were booked in for the night. She was a middle-aged woman whose face bore an almost perpetual look of disapproval.

"It's a late booking and we only have double rooms left," she said haughtily. "I hope you and your, what did you call her? Your companion? I hope you're both comfortable sleeping in the same bed."

Olwen felt herself blushing. She started to stammer out an explanation. Mrs. Anderson, who had gone straight to the telephone booth to check in with Bletchley, came across the hotel reception area. She sensed something was amiss.

"Everything alright, Miss Morgan?" she asked, glaring at the smirking receptionist. "I'd hate to have to inform the Prime Minister that his two representatives were having trouble booking into this hotel. I'm sure the manager can help if there's any problem."

The smirk disappeared from the receptionist's face, to be replaced by the ingratiating smile of someone who recognises that they shouldn't push their luck any further.

"Good evening, madam," she gushed insincerely. "Please don't bother yourself with any details. Your room is ready. I'll get the bell boy to take you up. I notice you don't have any luggage with you. Will that be coming on later?"

"Hardly," snapped Mrs. Anderson. "My colleague and I have been briefing the War Cabinet on vital matters. It is too late to return home, which is why we were booked in here at the last moment."

"I heard your filthy remark about our sleeping arrangements. How dare you impune my colleague and my reputations. We are engaged on vital war business, not standing behind a reception desk making disgusting suggestions about the very people who pay your wages!"

The older woman flinched as if she'd been slapped, but sensibly, she refrained from saying anything. Instead, she pressed the bell on her desk, and the bell boy trotted over.

Mrs Anderson smiled at the 'boy'. He must have been seventy if he was a day old. Obviously too old to serve in the armed forces, he was doing his bit in the only way he could. And he was probably grateful for the pay that this menial job gave him.

It was probably a good thing they didn't have any luggage, Mrs. Anderson thought to herself. The bell boy looked as if he'd keel over if he had to lift anything heavier than a lady's handbag.

"Don't worry about seeing us up to our room," she told the bell boy, slipping him a shilling with a smile. "The receptionist will take us up. She seems to have something to tell us about the bed."

Mrs. Anderson linked arms with Olwen and stared at the receptionist.

"Well?" she snarled. "Are you going to show us the way, or do we have to guess?"

"No, madam. Of course not. Please follow me," gushed the receptionist, her face scarlet with embarrassment.

When they got to the room, the receptionist, who had told them that her name was Ethel, opened the door and stood aside to let them enter first.

Olwen saw a well appointed room, with a large double bed, a couple of arm chairs and a writing desk. She turned to Ethel.

"This is very nice," she said politely. "I'm sure Mrs. Anderson and I will be very comfortable tonight."

"Thank you, Miss," replied Ethel in a pathetically grateful voice. She looked at Mrs. Anderson, who ignored her.

"Which side of the bed do you want to sleep, my dear?" she asked.

Olwen blushed.

"May I have the window side?" she asked. "At home I like to sleep with the window open. I get very hot in bed sometimes."

"Yes, I can imagine you do," smiled Mrs. Anderson, ignoring a tut of indignant shock from Ethel. "Well I prefer the bathroom side anyway. At my age, my bladder can't go all night without reminding me that it needs emptying."

(Another tut of disgust from the outraged receptionist.)

Mrs. Anderson finally turned to Ethel and addressed her.

"If we are not to bother the manager with a series of complaints," she began, " we will require a bottle of Scotch, and two glasses. Johnnie Walker for preference. If not, then a bottle of Haig will have to do."

Ethel turned to go and get the drinks without a word. She stopped when she heard another command from Mrs. Anderson.

"We also require a Romeo y Julieta cigar and a tin of Burley pipe tobacco," she said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. "Don't bother trying to hide behind the 'Don't you know there's a war on?' excuse. I have it on very good authority that both the cellar and the smoking room here are very well stocked."

Ethel gave a half-hearted curtsey and went to get Mrs. Anderson's requirements.

As soon as she had gone, Mrs. Anderson turned to Olwen and winked.

"We'll have a couple of tots and a nice smoke before we go down for dinner," she said, and Olwen burst out laughing.

"Well you certainly put her in her place," she giggled. "I thought I was going to die when you asked me which side of the bed I wanted to sleep on. Thank goodness she didn't realise that neither of us have brought a nightdress!"

Mrs. Anderson winked at Olwen.

"I'll tell you a secret," she said softly. "I always sleep naked. I hope that won't shock you too much?"

Olwen shook her head.