The Cock Clock Chapter Five

WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and
contains descriptions of explicit sex.  If you are not an adult, or
reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a
sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only.  It contains adult oriented
material. This is a work of fiction.  The acts and characters contained
within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact.  I do
not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here.  The
characters in the story are entirely fictional.  You need to believe
that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the
written permission of the author.  This story may be freely distributed
with this notice attached.

* * * * * * * * * * 

I'd screwed things up really good.  Oh yeah, I had
Maggie back, hornier than ever and much more active in the sack.  But as
a result of interdependent changes I'd made by going back in time and
having first sex with the younger versions of women I knew, I'd lost my
daughter Felice.  What used to be her room was now an office.

"I got your good suit cleaned for the wake," said Maggie as I stared
into Felice's old bedroom, now a home office.

Damn!  And Mrs. Hendricks was still dead, too early in life because of
changes I'd made.  There was no direct causality, but she was alive
before I started time-influenced cherry busting, and now she wasn't. 
"Thanks."

Maggie wanted another frolic in bed but my heart wasn't in it.  No Mrs.
Hendricks and no Felice?  My pleasure had a huge price to pay, something
I didn't want Maggie reminding me.

I lazed around the house watching random channels, reading magazines,
and avoiding the office.  When time got close, I took a shower, and had
to physically push Maggie away when she decided that she wanted a
vertical coupling under a warm spray.  I picked a pressed white shirt
and conservative tie from the rack.  Maggie wore a simple black dress
that made her look phenomenal.  Too bad it was time to go, because at
that moment, I was ready for the sex she'd pestered me for all day.

I didn't know Mrs. Hendricks very well, maybe at all.  I recognized her
poster-sized photo at the entrance to the room at the local mortuary. 
Maggie signed both of our names into the remembrance book.  Most of the
people there knew her from public service, like serving on the Board of
the library, and her work with the Parent-Teacher Organization.  Her
grown-up children, parents in their own right, showed off their kids,
yet another generation.  I avoided looking in the casket.  Too creepy.

A few steps away from the main attraction, a woman who I immediately
recognized as the antique shop owner was pushing a wheelchair.  I
presumed the pushee was her mother.  The shop owner looked at me as if
she recognized me.  From her first sex or the day I bought the silver
clock?  In both cases, I was the same current age.  I considered that if
I was really my age back when she was eighteen, I'd be even older than
her mother in the wheelchair.

I nodded my head.

"You owe me something," said the shopkeeper.

Maggie chose that moment to join me and take my arm.  "Dear, what's the
matter?"

"Your husband has something of mine."  She scowled.  "I want it back." 
Her voice got louder.

Her mother in the wheelchair looked up for the first time.  Her eyes
went wide.  "I know you.  Oh yes, I know you."

The shopkeeper turned her attention to her mother.  "No, Mama, you're
mistaken.  You've never met-"

Her mother almost bolted out of her chair.  She reached for me, and I
backed up.  "Yes I do, dammit.  I know him!"

Another man walked over.  "Dutchie, calm yourself or you'll have another
stroke."

The only thing that made any sense was that Dutchie was the older woman
in the picture on the younger shopkeeper's side table the day I shared
her first intercourse.  But that day I'd only met her father, who'd
socked me back to the present with a stroke of his baseball bat.

To avoid further embarrassment, the shopkeeper rolled her mother away. 
"I'm not done with you."  She almost spat the words.

"What was that all about?" asked Maggie.  "Did you steal something from
her?"

I'd taken her virginity and her clock, but paid for the latter.  And
hadn't stopped paying, with Mrs. Hendricks dead and Felice only in my
memory.  "No, there's a misunderstanding.  I bought an antique from her,
with a legitimate receipt.  She set the price, and now is upset because
she made it too low."  I lied.  How could I explain any of this to
Maggie?

"Maybe you should renegotiate the price.  It's only money."

If paying the old shopkeeper would bring Felice back and revive Mrs.
Hendricks, I would have done it in an instant.  But I was stubborn.  The
clock was mine, and no one was going to take it from me.  "We had a fair
deal."  Seventy-two cents wasn't a fair price and I knew it.  But the
clock had caused grief as well as pleasure.  What would a fair price be?

"That's an odd, name don't you think?" asked Maggie.  "Dutchie?  They
didn't look Dutch."

"Probably a nickname.  Maybe she liked going Dutch treat."

"I wonder why she was so insistent that she knew you?  Do you think
that's possible?"

"Never saw the woman in my life," I replied.  "Never."

"Well, she sure knew how to make a fuss."

We left the mortuary shortly thereafter.  Maggie was more subtle,
undressing in front of me down to bra and panties but getting ready for
bed in the bathroom.

When Maggie came out prepared for bed, she wore a peignoir that was so
transparent it was almost not there.  I couldn't avoid her in the
proximity of our marital bed, so I accepted her sexual advances.  In
fact, I threw myself into the action, rolling her off me, onto her back,
and fucking her like it was our first time.  In one way, it was, at
least, the first time with this version of Maggie.  I prayed that she
was ovulating and that we were making a daughter, just eighteen years
later than the last time.

Exhausted, I rolled over and curled up.  Dutchie's accusation echoed in
my head as I drifted off to sleep.

---

I stood in a room decorated with antique wooden furniture.  Looking out
the window, we were several stories up.  Built into one wall was a bed,
decorated in pastel colors.  The designer had put decorative bedposts at
both ends, a few inches from the wall that enclosed the sleeping
surface.  And hovering above one of those bedposts was a naked young
woman.  She looked very much like the antiques shopkeeper, but not the
same person.  Besides, I'd already delivered her first fucking.  No,
this was a relative.  "Dutchie?"

The young woman looked up from her pursuit of impaling herself, her
vagina, on the bedpost.  "What did you call me?"

"Sorry, I'm confused.  What's your name?"  Odd thing to ask, seeing her
naked, but a conversation was necessary, and I didn't have a name for
her except adorable.

"None of your business.  What are you doing in my bedroom?"  She wobbled
directly over the wooden penis substitute.

She deserved better, and better was in my pants.  "I'm here-" I paused. 
Should I tell her the truth?  Why not?  Because if she lowered herself,
then the game would be over.  "I'm here to make love to you."

"You are?  Who sent you?  My mother?"

"No.  I knew you were preparing to do that-" I pointed to her precarious
position.  "And I thought you deserved the real thing."

She fell back onto the bed, legs wide.  Tears flowed like a river.  I
approached, uncertain how to proceed.  As I passed her desk, I took note
of the calendar.  1939.  "Everyone has an escort to the World's Fair but
me.  Ugly, hideous me."

Dutchie - I didn't know what else to call her - wasn't ugly, more like
plain.  She wasn't wearing make-up - or anything else - so I couldn't
tell how she presented herself to the men of that decade.  Some clothes
were thrown across a chair next to the desk.  Her body was certainly
desirable enough, if any guy could get past the padded shoulders and up
the long skirts I saw.  "I'll take you."  I knew I'd probably have some
calamity and never get to the Fair, but if I could avoid doom, I would
take her.  After taking her to bed, of course.

"You will?"  She threw herself at me, hugging me close.

"Yes, I promise."  Her eyes drank in my soul, and I kissed her with
honest passion.  She was already horny after all, prepared to satisfy
herself on the bedpost.  I was offering a real man with a real cock who
could do so much better.

She pulled back and stared.  "Your clothes are very strange."

I was in cotton pajamas with a baseball theme.  Bats and balls and
gloves.  "Then I'll take them off, so I don't offend you."  And before
she could object, I was naked, my cock pointing at her.  "Would you like
to use this-" I held my penis up for inspection. "Instead of that?"  I
stroked the bedpost with my other hand.

She knelt down and took my cock in her mouth.  She sucked and licked the
entire thing, humming as she went.  I felt the urge to fuck her face but
held back.  I wasn't sure oral sex counted on these temporal sexual
encounters, and I didn't want to blow my chance.

"Mmm, I don't know who sent you here, but I must buy them a gift of
gratitude."  Her arms surrounded my neck, bringing my body within inches
of hers.  My cock was against her belly.  She laid back and spread her
legs.  "I want this."  She took my cock in hand.  I leaned forward and
let her put it into place.  "Oh my, that feels good."

"This will only feel better."  I pushed a bit too hard.  She cried out. 
I hoped no one else was in the apartment.  I smothered her cries with
kisses, my lips covering hers.  "It only hurts for a moment.  Lay still
so you can used to it."  I brushed away a tear.

I felt her pussy relax.  Without moving, my cock slid deeper.  A
combination of precut and her own juices lubricated the way.

"Make love to me," she whispered.  "Just like in the movies."

I didn't know what movies were current.  Certainly nothing too risquŽ. 
So I faked it, letting my fingers drift up and down her body, teasing
her nipples, stoking her thighs, cupping her buttocks, drawing her
closer.  Her body began to hump the bed.  I repositioned and bumped my
head on the ceiling of the in-wall sleeping area.  When I came back down
flat on her body, she wiggled one leg behind me, trapping me from an
easy escape.  So I did what the God of Time intended.  I fucked her good
and hard and deep.  And she loved it, all right.  "What's you name?" she
cried out.

I pulled the 1939 president and vice president's names from memory and
combined them.  "Frankie Garner."

"Are you in politics, Frankie, because you have the name for it."

"No, I'm an entrepreneur.  I work for myself.  And your name?"

"Mary Louise.  But I think I like your nickname better.  Dutchie."

I thrust over and over, giving Dutchie the first and best fuck of her
life.

"Oh Frankie, I love you so much."  I got innumerable kisses until her
body went stiff.  I plunged a few more times and shared my orgasm juices
with her.

A sputtering car engine arrived near the building, the sound wafting
through an open window.  "My parents," gasped Dutchie.  "They're home. 
They can't find you here!  I'm not allowed to have gentleman callers."

I sat up and smashed my head into the ceiling of the built-in bed. 
Everything went dark.

--

I stretched my arms.  No one was in bed with me.  Maybe Maggie got up
early to fix me breakfast before we had a morning fuck.  Into the
bedroom strode Angie the redhead.  She was slamming her fingers into the
local newspaper.  "Did you see this?  Mrs. Hendricks was reelected to
the PTO and the Library Board.  Again!"

I took a deep breath.  Mrs. Hendricks was alive!  "I know you're
disappointed, but there's always next year."  While exhaling, I realized
that Maggie was out of my life again, and that somehow Angie, in her
white bathrobe, was my wife this time around.  That didn't make sense. 
I'd already had Angie, as her first sexual partner in the motel room,
arranged by her mother.  Angie's sexual history didn't need repair.

"Just once, I'd like someone to appreciate me."

Where was Angie's real husband Jason?  Angie had told me while drunk
that he thought she was a lousy lay.  I thought she was quite
successful, especially for her first time.  With her red hair wild and
turbulent, I was anxious to test Jason's hypothesis.  "I do."

"No you don't.  You don't find me fit at all.   Not as a mother and not
as a leader."

"That's not true."  I reached out one hand.  Angie stepped away.  Is
that why we were back together?  I was dispatched for first-time fucks,
not marriage repair or counseling.  I expanded my considerations. 
Before, Angie and Jason had a daughter.  Stephanie, if memory served?  I
wondered what plans Angie had about Stephanie's first time, given how
well it went between us?  Maybe I was here to have consensual sex with
Stephanie?  "Is Stephanie home?"  If she and I had a son, I was about to
be terribly embarrassed.

"Yes, I woke her up a few minutes ago.  Sleeping in, like her lazy
father."

I threw back the covers.  I'd slept in a t-shirt and jockeys.

"Don't you go near her, dressed like that!" Angie shouted in a stage
whisper.  "And keep your hands off!"

So if I'd already had Angie and Stephanie was off limits, then who was I
supposed to fuck?

* * * * * * * * * *

###  An Original H M Tale 
###

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