A Time Travellers Experiences

Introduction: To understand the adventures through time Tella endures, you will first need to understand her life and location and drives, and how she discovered her father’s time-travel machine.

My name is Tella, registered occupant (enclave 3) gal six, number allocation 323. I am nineteen years old, slim tall brazenly red headed and live in the year 3007 AD (old calendar). I live with my father who is a research scientist for our union’s government and I reside in a protected elites enclave. The day that changed my life forever arrived as all days arrive, with the sounding of the call to work siren shattering our enclave’s peace; followed by the marching of compliant feet to various work places.

Our enclave as I have said is one of six ruling elites, by that I mean that we live to rule, and provide for the existence of all intelligence on the planet; our every need is provided by those that are not elites, and live beyond the enclaves; we in turn provide for them.

I do not work yet as I have not obtained the correct age for procreation. I have two more years of being treated as a minor in our society. Then once I obtain the age of twenty-one I can be enrolled as a female compliant, and begin to fulfil my duties to the state that has nurtured me through my early life. If I am very lucky I will form twenty human shells for transference over the coming years, and thus ensure the survival of twenty of the greatest minds of our time. I will be a part of guaranteeing our cultures existence, indefinitely; which is the reason for my pampered life.

Father has brought me up, had me educated within the colleges, and is proud of my fertility; mostly because it reflects on him. I was selected at birth to become a surrogate provider; my destiny was preordained and soon in just two short years I will obtain that goal, and start the process of developing my human shells contribution. Until that day finally arrives I am non-productive, a minor living in my fathers care. I have completed my education thankfully, I no longer have a strict governess to rule my every hour, and sadly I miss the sternness of such rule.

For years I have been held tightly under strict discipline. Trained daily to have one goal in my life, and taught everything I might need to know; and now there is nothing. The nannies, then governess have been removed. I am alone in a house with no guidance, and no discipline. I am facing a bleak future for the next two years; until I can join our societies most honoured, and begin my life’s work. Until then I have to entertain myself and try to endure my freedom from control, something I am already finding near on impossible to do; and its only been two weeks since I parted from my last governess, and entered into this strange phase of my life.

My discovery of time-travel and time relocation happened mostly because I was frustrated and bored, and being basically nosey. I delved in my fathers research lab beneath our home. He had been summoned to work in an enclave lab, leaving behind his personal research; it was this that I discovered and in particular the machine. It is a box, a large grey looking box, with a solid door . I opened it on that Tuesday morning and looked inside in puzzlement.

There before me was a viewing screen, with two handles that turn located beneath it. When I reached out and turned the left handle pictures appeared on the screen moving backwards, to my left a counter started rolling backwards slowly. Interesting as seeing people moving backwards was I soon got bored. Next I turned my attention to the lab in general and fathers computer. I noticed that he had left it active which meant I could look through some of what he was doing. I voiced it to life and before me appeared text pages of data, historical data, father was researching ancient history which as he is a physicist is odd. I scanned through what appeared to be court records of the late eighteenth century until one caught my attention.

Mary Billingham, aged twenty-two, a thief. May 1893. I activated the file and read of how poor Mary had been caught steeling a bolt of material from her employer. She was brought before a court and sentenced, and according to the record, later deported to Australia into penal servitude. There was a code written at the end of her story which seemed to match with one of the dials set inside of the box. I returned to the box, entered and yes to my right was a dial. Well two really, one for letters the other for numbers. I set the dial to Mary’s allocated code and closed the door.

My First Adventure Through Time Commences.

Subject: Mary Billingham: May 1893.

I woke up in a dank dark cell, lying on a bed of filthy straw, dressed in a dull grey drab looking one piece dress; feeling disgustingly filthy, just as the cell door clanked open. Two men stood in the doorway both looked less than pleasant.

“Out!”

Shouted the uglier of the two, I stood on hesitant feet and crossed toward them, desperate to know what was happening. I tried to speak but received a thick leather gloved hand to my cheek, which shut me up immediately. They grabbed an arm each and marched me between them along a corridor and through a solid studded wooden door.

People sat on benches to my right looking toward me as I was forced into the room. A wooden upright frame stood centrally located against the far wall, it was to this frame that my guards dragged my reluctant self. My wrists were pulled up and swiftly, almost mechanically, locked into cuffs. My ankles followed as my legs were pulled wide apart and secured. Mr ugly ripped my flimsy cheap dress from my back, tearing the material to shreds, revealing my naked body beneath. A thick leather strap was buckled around my waist, and then they stepped away from me, allowing the seated watchers a fine view of my naked bound self.

“Continue with the punishment.” Called a posh sounding voice from behind me.

Another male approached, he prodded and poked me, touching and pinching my skin, feeling my private parts, even going as far as to insert a finger into my slit and then to my horror up my dirty hole. He fingered me deeply, twisting and turning inside of me but not sadly in a pleasurable way.

“She is passed as fit for her punishment.” Said the man having withdrawn his finger and turned away.

My ugly’s assistant stepped forward and before I realised what he intended, he had forced a leather roll into my mouth and pulled it tight, as he secured it behind my head. I am gagged effectively and secured tightly. He checked my waist strap was tight, and then he stepped aside once more.

“Continue.” Called the posh sounding voice again.

Footsteps approached me, slapping stone with every step, invisible but clearly there to me.

“Mary Billingham, you have been found guilty of the crime of theft and sentenced to three dozen strokes of the birch. You have been declared fit to receive your sentence. Let the punishment continue.”

The voice fell silent as a swishing sound filled the room. Fire exploded across my naked back, swiftly followed by another and another, stroke followed stroke lacerating my flesh, whipping me into submission defeating my resistance.

“One dozen.”

One dozen the words filled my head, only one dozen! I felt as though I had been dipped into hot oil, burnt to a crisp and hung out to dry, and that after only the first of three dozen. The birch lashed my legs, swishing into my thighs, stroke following stroke alternating between targets. I screamed not for the first time, but louder, using every mite of effort I could find. My agony clear to the silent watching seated crowd gathered to witness my discipline.

“Two dozen .” Called the voice as I hung exhausted in my bonds.

The last dozen concentrated on my naked bottom, each lash of twigs cutting a swath across my naked mounds, ripping and tearing into my girlish skin; branding the mark of discipline clearly into my flesh. By six I was distraught, by seven, thrashing in my bonds again, by ten, I was hanging limp again. The last two strokes were possibly the worst, and at the same time the best; they thrashed my thighs one to the left and the last to the right. I screamed one last time and the world of agony I was in faded away.

I returned to standing exactly as I had been, in the box looking at the dials waiting. I wobbled, the memory of the whipping I had suffered residing in my unmarked body. I stepped back, the boxes door behind me opened; I was back in my father’s lab, facing the machine he had invented and wondering what other experiences I could endure.

For you see the whipping of Mary Bellingham that I had taken, had set me on a pathway. I wanted to experience more, to feel worse, and to endure real discipline; real pain, and by god real excitement. I wanted to feel the fire between my legs that I had experienced and endured, along with the humiliation of being helpless and subjected.

I will be returning to this box time after time, and seeking out new thrills, but for now I am exhausted and need to sleep…

The End.

23.09.10