Teena Thyme (Teena Thyme - Erotic Time Traveller)

by Jennifer Jane Pope

  'That's fabulous!' she exclaimed, stepping back and turning me around bodily so that she could look me over from all angles. 'Oh wow! What a shape! And just look at the way your titties sit up so prettily!' I peered down at my poor crushed breasts, very prominently displayed, the top hem of the corset barely covering my nipples.

  The stockings were long and I wondered whether they'd hold up with the garters. No wonder the suspender strap had eventually proved so popular and then, eventually, though many years after nineteen seventy-five, the stay-up stocking. However, Anne-Marie tied each frilled strip tightly in turn and the stocking tops, reaching almost to the tops of my thighs as they did, sat over the fleshier part of my upper leg, affording some sort of traction between skin and stocking, at least for the moment.

  'I should think the fact that they're twentieth century should keep you safe,' Anne-Marie chuckled, standing up and patting my bare behind affectionately.

  'Eh?' I looked at her blankly, not understanding. She pointed down to my legs.

  'The stockings,' she said, by way of explanation. 'The rest of this stuff is from the last century, same as the outfit you put on before, but the stockings are brand new - they should help make sure you don't get whisked back to eighteen thirty whatever it was again.'

  'Oh,' I nodded. There was a sort of logic in what she said, but it seemed silly even talking about such things now. There was also another possibility, but that was just as nonsensical, though I did think it was worth mentioning it.

  'What about this?' I asked, fingering the ever-present locket. 'What if it's this and the clothes have nothing to do with it whatsoever?'

  Anne-Marie paused, considering this, and then shook her head. 'Take it off if you want,' she said. 'I can put it somewhere safe till you go home, but I reckon it was all something to do with the clothes. Some sort of autosuggestion, maybe - I'm no expert - but in any case I was only really joking about the stockings. You were on your own that last time, remember, and now you've got Andrea and me with you.'

  'True,' I said, lifting one leg to the silken drawers she was now holding up to me. 'Plus this is a newer house by a long way.'

  'Hasn't got the atmosphere your little cottage has,' she agreed. I held her shoulder to steady myself and finished stepping into the drawers, which she drew up around my thighs, adjusting them at the waist and then tightening the drawstring ribbon so that they sat snugly. 'So pretty, and so practical in their own way,' she sighed, her fingers exploring the ribbon tied opening at my crotch. Even though she made no contact with my flesh there, I barely suppressed a shudder of anticipation.

  What the hell was wrong with me? Why? Why stay? Why do this?

  'The bootees are so elegant, too,' I said, trying to keep calm. 'And properly handmade.' She nodded, kneeling down at my feet to introduce the first one.

  'Must have been very expensive in their day,' she said. 'And it's amazing how well they've kept up in that loft. They look and feel brand new, and there's almost no wear on the soles and heels.'

  'Probably never worn except for around the house,' I suggested. 'Not the sort of thing a lady would wear to go splodging around down muddy lanes. Besides, they also wore overshoes - galoshes - whenever they went out in the wet.'

  'Well, you're not going out into any muddy lanes, my sweet,' Anne-Marie said firmly. She finished tying off the laces of the first boot and picked up the second and it wasn't long before I was standing there before her, perched high on near tiptoe, as she started drawing the first glove up my arm.

  'Can I ask why you're doing this?' I said suddenly, and she looked up straight into my eyes.

  'Because I enjoy it,' she replied simply, 'and because I think you do, too. You do, don't you?'

  I hesitated, but only for a second or so and then nodded. 'But I'm also a bit worried,' I said. 'I mean, everything that's happened between us, it was all so sudden and different and now there's Andrea as well and, well, I don't know how to put it into words.' She squeezed my gloved hand between her own.

  'You'd rather I didn't let Andrea fuck you, is that it?'

  She was close to the mark and far off it all at the same time. 'I'm just not sure,' I replied quietly. She nodded and began on the second glove, wriggling it carefully over my fingers and hand, smoothing the slippery fabric up and over my wrist. 'Maybe I'm just afraid that I'm cracking up, what with all that Victorian stuff, then us and now - hey! Hey, what is this?' I held up my hands in alarm and surprise, noticing for the first time.

  'I wondered how long it would take you,' Anne-Marie said quietly. 'I found them at the bottom of a lot of bits and pieces in the second trunk. I didn't say anything straight off, but they seem to suggest that what you experienced with Hacklebury wasn't entirely a figment of your imagination, not unless you'd read about gloves like this somewhere before, that is.'

  'No,' I said hoarsely. 'No, never.' I was continuing to hold my hands up between us, staring at the gloves and at the fingers, which when I tried to separate them would not move apart, the fingers of the gloves having been stitched very neatly and invisibly together.

  'Would you rather I took them off and found you another pair. We brought a few with us.'

  Slowly I shook my head, listening to the distant pounding of my pulse beginning to quicken and grow steadily louder. 'No,' I said, the word almost sticking in the back of my throat. 'No, leave them on and finish buttoning them. I need to - well, perhaps I can find out if my so-called memory of them is as good as I thought.' I flexed my hand as she continued smoothing the second glove up my arm.

  'Yes,' I said quietly, as much to myself as to Anne-Marie. 'So simple and yet so effective. Look, how to keep your woman elegantly near helpless. No one would ever know and yet they leave the hands as near useless as they could be without being tied or chained.'

  Anne-Marie smiled and nodded her understanding and picked up a velvet choker, which she fastened around my throat. It was black, to match my stockings, but in complete contrast to everything else I wore, which was white, but for the red trimmings of the corset.

  'Like a virgin,' Anne-Marie said, the expression in her eyes suddenly looking very deep and distant. 'So sweet and delicate.'

  'What about a dress?' I asked, and Anne-Marie gave me a cunning sideways look.

  'Dress?' she repeated. 'Oh dear, we don't seem to have sorted one out yet, but never mind. There's plenty of time for that. And there's something else we seem to have forgotten, too.'

  The red ribbon was wide, soft, long and obviously modern; Anne-Marie was also obviously very used to employing either it or others like it, for in a trice she had drawn my arms behind my back and begun tying them with it, crossing them over each other and winding the material snugly about them and then about itself between them, forming a cinch that prevented any chance of me slipping my hands free.

  'Slave time?' I said, my voice hushed and beginning to tremble.

  'Yes,' she replied from behind me. I felt a final tug as she knotted the ribbon off and then her hands pressing gently against my buttocks. 'Yes, slave time,' she said, 'but then you knew that, didn't you?'

  I nodded. 'Yes,' I said. 'Yes, I knew it.' There was a pause and I felt my bottom beginning to grow warm beneath her soft touch. 'So what will you do with me now?'

  There was another pause and then she began turning me around to face her.

  'Anything I want, Teenie slave,' she breathed huskily, her lips already seeking mine.

  26.

  Andrea had been prepared in advance similarly to myself, except that her costume was cunningly adapted to disguise the fact that her bosom was artfully padded and not flesh and blood.

  To that end she wore a black, gauzy, see-through top, closefitting and opaque enough to cover any evidence of artificiality, with a later styled corset fitted over this and laced to reduce her waist to a surprisingly narrow girth. Her stockings, too, were held up differently and only when I looked closely could I determine that she was wearing a much more modern suspender belt beneath th
e corset, so that the suspender straps, stretching down, appeared at first to be as one with the original and much older garment.

  'The boots aren't original, either,' Anne-Marie whispered as she guided me into the room. 'Unfortunately, while you have quite small feet for your height, poor old Andrea doesn't and there was nothing in those trunks that would fit her.' Not that the boots looked that out of place or era, and I wondered just how extensive a wardrobe Anne-Marie and Andrea had at their disposal.

  Again, like myself, Andrea's hands and arms were sheathed in long gloves but, unlike me, her wrists were not bound and I could also see that her fingers were still capable of independent movement, the fabric not sewn together. About her throat she wore a very similar choker, with a small cameo of gilt upon dark green, but her hair now was completely different from when I'd last seen it.

  My own coiffure had been reinstated to its Cleopatra style and my eye and face make-up redone in that same over-the-top style, but whereas Andrea's make-up was relatively ordinary before, now her face was almost a caricature of a woman of an earlier age; face powdered white with cheeks rouged in deliberate circles, lips painted to an unbelievable carmine pout and eyes shadowed and shaded, complete with heavy artificial lashes that looked like two nesting spiders.

  Above this, the wig she now wore was at once elegant and astounding, a carefully piled and pinned confection of dark blonde curls, with small wisps of hair escaping to dangle before heavily ringed ears, glittering pendants that flashed under the lights at her slightest movement.

  'So, what do you think of my little Victorian whore?' Anne-Marie asked, standing to one side to allow me an uninterrupted view of her creation. I gaped, open-mouthed, my eyes automatically going down to where the small black triangle of silk covered her sex. I could detect a slight bulge there, but nothing really more than I might have expected to see of myself in the mirror if I was wearing a bikini bottom or tight pair of knickers.

  'Where's her... you know?' I asked croakily. Anne-Marie chuckled and the smile on Andrea's face was one of triumph. The 'whore' stepped forward and patted herself between the tops of her thighs.

  'Clever, isn't it?' she said huskily. 'And not altogether comfortable, I ought to add.'

  'But where—'

  'Tucked up out of the way,' Anne-Marie interrupted, 'until we have need of it, that is. However, firstly there are some other things to attend to. For a start, Teenie slave, you ask too many questions, so I think I ought to let Andrea punish you. I'd do it myself but I can see how eager she is, and besides,' she grinned wickedly, 'I want to take some pictures of the pair of you.'

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she raised a hand to silence me.

  'Only for ourselves, sweetie,' she said calmly. 'I wouldn't dream of letting anyone else see them. Besides,' she added meaningfully, 'not even your own parents would recognise you the way you look at the moment. So, no arguments, or I shall have to gag you. Come to think of it, I may well gag you anyway. Now let's see what's in the box over here.'

  She walked across the room to where a small wooden case stood on a stool in the corner, its lid propped open, and began to sift through the contents to an accompaniment of metallic clinking and jangling.

  'Ah, this will do,' she announced, drawing out an assortment of straps, amongst which I saw what appeared to be a black rubber phallus. 'We'll just get this on you and then Andrea can start warming you up while I go and change into something more suitable.'

  For a fleeting moment I considered protesting, bringing these latest proceedings to a halt and beating a retreat back to the sanctuary of my little cottage. What had started as an attraction between the two of us and a morbid fascination on my part to experience, at least in part, something of the sensations that had overwhelmed me back in time - real or imaginary - was fast getting out of hand.

  Yes, I was intrigued by Andrea and still couldn't quite bring myself to believe she wasn't a girl, but we were moving beyond the realms of private bedroom games between two consenting adults and on to... on to what? I stood for a moment, asking myself this question over again.

  Was 'two consenting adults' acceptable and three not? Or were three okay and four not? Or five? Where did one draw the boundary line on such things? On what did one draw the line?

  And then my chance to draw back was gone. Andrea dropped the harness over my head and I saw, briefly before it entered my mouth, that the phallus I'd first seen was in fact intended to be worn on the outside and that only a small extension of it was intended to form the gag. My head jerked and swayed as Anne-Marie tugged the straps tight and buckled them in turn and I stared forward and down at the lewd sight of a slightly curved black cock rearing up from beneath my nose.

  'I call this little baby "Fuck Face",' Anne-Marie giggled. I looked up and saw Andrea watching me intently, a strangely detached expression contradicting the depth in her eyes. 'You can get used to it while I'm changing. Andrea will look after you till I get back.' And then she was gone, leaving me alone and at the mercy of her hermaphroditic or androgynous partner, or whatever the word was to describe her, my hands helpless behind my back, my mouth filled with one end of what was, quite frankly, a most ludicrous looking gag.

  'Don't worry, Teenie,' Andrea said, coming towards me as soon as the door closed. 'I won't really hurt you, you must know that. That wouldn't be fair, not now you can't say your safe word.' Her hands moved to my corseted waist and she nodded in obvious appreciation.

  'Beautiful body,' she murmured, and leaned slightly forward, opening her mouth slightly and taking the tip of my facial dildo between her lips. She paused for a few seconds and then her tongue flicked out, licking the black rubber gently. I felt cold shudders, little jolts of ice, somewhere deep in my stomach and had to clench my muscles desperately as I suddenly felt an almost overwhelming urge to wet myself.

  'Steady now,' Andrea soothed me, stroking my forehead between the thin leather bands that crisscrossed and circled it. 'You really are excitable, aren't you?' I grunted into the rubber filling my mouth and flicked my eyelids indignantly, but this feeble attempt at protestation served simply to arouse even more amusement in my tormentor.

  'I expect, Teenie,' she continued, taking me by the arm and guiding me across the room towards the high-backed armchair, 'that I'm a bit of a curiosity to you, aren't I? Well, that's partly down to Anne-Marie's little powers, which I'm sure you know all about by now. You know, I'd do just about anything for her - anything short of murder or really harming someone, that is, though I suppose I'd probably be quite capable of hurting anyone I thought was trying to harm her.'

  I looked at her sideways, my vision partially obscured by the leather strap that ran down by the side of my eye. Was this meant as some sort of threat or warning to me? Did this bizarre androgyny think I posed some sort of threat to her beloved not-exactly-sister? Or was she merely jealous? Had my sudden appearance presented a threat to her, rather than to Anne-Marie?

  'I'm going to punish you through your drawers,' Andrea said, almost with an air of disinterest. 'Over the back of the chair with you and don't try to jump up, otherwise I'll have to get a collar and chain you over it.' I grunted again and wondered what would happen if I simply refused to drape myself over the chair back: would she force me? She most certainly had the advantage over me all the time I was deprived of the use of my hands and arms, but would she actually use physical force on me if I showed reluctance?

  A moment later I felt her hand pressing between my buttocks and then sliding downwards, pushing between the tops of my thighs until the fingers reached the loosely tied opening in the silken drawers, whereupon they parted the soft material and moved inside, probing for my slit which, regardless of all my misgivings, was warm, wet and receptive.

  I moaned into my gag and ground my hips, my eyes seemingly riveted to the phallus in front of my face. Damn, was I so easily swayed? I swore again in my head, cursing myself, cursing Anne-Marie, cursing Andrea and above all cursing Hacklebury for whatever it
was he had awakened within me.

  'Good girl, over you go then.' I only heard Andrea's coaxing instruction as a vague echo, but with her two fingers embedded in me and her palm pressing me forward, I moved unsteadily to obey and lowered myself obediently over the padded leather ridge, the rubber cock bringing my face up short of the chair back and then twisting slightly away to one side as I tried to turn my head to accommodate its inconvenience.

  'Just a paddle for now, see?' A roughly rectangular black shape came into my view and I struggled to focus on it. From what I could see, it was about six inches by four and made of ridged rubber, or maybe polished leather, and was attached to a handle a couple of feet or so in length. I caught my breath and thought for a moment that my heart had stopped beating, but then the familiar pounding began again in my temples.

  Andrea took her time - a true expert with whip, paddle, or cane will never hurry, allowing plenty of time between strokes for the unfortunate recipient to get the full effect of their efforts - and the paddle actually made more noise than it created any real pain. She worked on each buttock alternately, spreading her target first up and then down, covering my backside from top down to where it met my thighs, my bent over position ensuring that my flesh was stretched to receive the full benefit.

  I started by counting the strokes in my head, but lost track somewhere around eight or nine, by which time I knew I was coming very close to orgasm, telltale trickles spreading inexorably down the insides of my thighs, at the moment hidden by the drawers, but shortly I feared, to stain them with unmistakable evidence of my submission and ultimate capitulation.

  Andrea seemed to sense how near I was and simply slowed her strokes even more, so that whilst I hovered on the brink, one foot metaphorically over the abyss, I simply continued to teeter and never quite fell. Then, abruptly, the strokes ceased and I felt hands pulling at my shoulders, standing me up again on quivering legs, feeling as if all power and control had been drained from them. Anne-Marie was smiling and nodding at me.