Past Present (7 page)

“Heady yes, but not as exhilarating as you,” he said, encircling her waist with one arm, pulling her against him. Clutching her chin with his other hand, he pressed his lips against hers, prizing the trophy of her tongue.

Yielding, Eleanor tangled tongues, savouring the familiar, flavoursome taste of him, detecting whiskey, knowing that he’d shared a dram with the interior designer and aware of his hard cock.

“Turn you on again did she?” Eleanor teased. The vibration of a small giggle fuelled him, her lush ponytail danced and bobbed. She knew that Simone’s exotic colouring enthralled Matthew. His fantasy driven by imagining the designer’s lustrous dark head buried deep between Eleanor’s creamy thighs.

“Yes. Fix me.”

Needing no second invitation and pulling away; she dropped her hand to his crotch. Moisture flooded her panties, ever-ready for Matthew. Acute longing sizzled her senses, always eager, desire thrummed messages into her cells. She sank to the cellar floor, kneeling before him in worship, released his cock and took him into her mouth, always amazed at his ability to achieve a proud hard on, in spite of his advancing years.

Matthew closed his eyes. Splendid isolation settled into a fuggy haze in his mind, head tilted back in ecstasy. The distant noise of men at work faded away, and everything else, even his latent lust for Simone, vanished. All that remained, all that touched him was Eleanor’s hot, wet, silken mouth and darting, expertly twisting, swirling tongue. It was as if his cock had never been serviced by any other woman. That she alone was created solely for his service. Ever grateful that, in spite of his age, he achieved and maintained a proud erection, filling any of her eager little orifices, time and time again. His penchant for multiple partners would never entirely disappear, but the divine Nurse Grant had kicked it into touch. For now.

Ejaculation threatened after a few moments of her meticulous attention. He pulled her up, turned her around, bent her face down over the table, and in a repeat of their first night in Venice, pushed her dress up and her panties down. In a series of smoothly rehearsed moves, revealing their synchronicity, he massaged the soft skin of her satiny arse with both hands, preparing her. Sliding two fingers into her slick opening, he examined her wetness. Thankful that she only ever wore stockings, a habit that she’d adopted long before they met, and he delighted in making sure that she always had a plentiful supply. Today, heavy opaque encased her legs teamed with her favourite boots.

“Ready for me, my love?”

Squirming beneath him, Eleanor remained silent, her senses soaring on wings of anticipation and the inevitable preparation of her anus. There were few things Matthew Fletcher liked more than buggering his latest project, and Eleanor had learned to delight in the full-to-capacity sensation of having her rectum filled with his cock.

“I haven’t got any lube, I’m not going to risk your arse,” he growled. Twisting her ponytail in his fist, effortlessly holding her steady, he plunged into her pussy, pushing her hard against the rough wood of the table, reaching his fingertips around to stimulate her clitoris.

“So wet, so hot, so divine.” His breath misted her ear. He clutched her hair in one hand, driving into her.

Palms flat against the unrelenting wood of the table, Eleanor braced herself. Sensation throbbing in her pussy, radiating from the tip of her clitoris under the attention of his fingertips until the unmistakable ache in prelude to small spasms, gradually increasing intensity, her tight sheath snatching rhythmically at his cock and she climaxed within a millisecond of his orgasm as he rammed his final thrust home.

Checkmate

Eleanor had begun researching the history of Falconworth, and spent a little time perfecting wording for the hotel’s website. Currently under construction, as painstakingly slow as the building work itself, it too had been left to experts. Neither she nor Matthew had the slightest clue how to go about creating an on-line presence for their new business.

“What do you think of this darling?”

Stretched on the sofa in their temporary home, her head nestled his lap and engrossed in a notebook held at eye level she read aloud; ‘
walled gardens frame Falconworth on three sides, with an orchard, ornamental water features and lake. The woodland walk is accessed through the wooden gate situated in the high stone wall at the rear of the garden. Steep and thickly wooded, the snaking walkway leads to the beach path situated on a sharp incline leading to the beach via stone stairs. The private cove, exclusive to Falconworth Manor residents, is breathtakingly beautiful and well worth the steep descent. At present, there is no other land access to our cove, although there are other secluded beaches within a short drive.
’ It’s not off-putting to mention the steep, stone stairway, is it? Do you think we should mention the ancient woodland and the springtime carpet of bluebells?”

“No and yes,” chuckles Matthew. “It’s perfect, darling, type it up tomorrow and email it to Danny. He’s already been over for the photographs. Do you play chess? There are so many things about you that I don’t yet know. We shall play in a warm room because I have a variation in mind that has us removing an item of clothing as each piece is sacrificed. You will wear your collar, of course. At checkmate, or when we’re naked, whichever is first, you will pass the whip to me. In return, I hand you the cuffs and blindfold, and wait until kneeling, you present yourself, hands cuffed in front of you. I secure your blindfold and finally, lying between your knees, sample the essence of the queen between your legs and move behind you, in a snug homecoming.
Now, let’s adjourn to the other room, I have something for you.”

Taking the pad, he drops it to the floor, and raising her upward to meet him halfway, crushes his mouth against hers as his cock, ever-hard whenever she is close, strains for escape.

Eleanor’s Journal: Ghosts

A Falconworth ghost or even ghosts? Matthew laughs and calls me fanciful, but our apartments in the east wing house one of the priest holes. We have two here at Falconworth, and I doubt I’m the first occupant who has wondered about past events.

The secret hiding place is still in existence almost exactly as it was when first constructed. Although we’ve made a few additions to the cosy space, it has remained little altered through the centuries. It’s almost as if the east wing of the house has protection from powers that nobody understands. Our private quarters are a haven for us, the priest hole is kitted out as a diary room for me complete with recording equipment, for Matthew’s amusement, and I’m happy to indulge him. I’ll make recordings for his enjoyment, and keep a journal too, a written and visual record for future use.

Sometimes, when I’m sitting in this part of the house, I imagine I hear voices from the past, and I want the website to be a perfect reflection of the house’s history melded with the present and future as Matthew and I realise our dreams via Falconworth.

I skim through my research notes. “
About the middle of the eighteenth century Falconworth passed out of the hands of the original owners and not long after developed a reputation for unaccountable noises, which disturbed the tranquillity. Violent knocks, hammerings, groaning, and sounds of footsteps, which could not be reconciled with those of the occupants and strange sights frightened the servants, some of whom left, vowing never to return. A ghostly appari
tion was reported dressed in monk’s
garb and would appear and disappear mysteriously. A female figure was seen flying, rushing through the apartments…”

Love and passion, mystery, and history are intoxicating to me. I am in awe that Matthew brought me here to this place, where I am indulged so thoroughly, happy to repay his generosity by providing entertainment for his enjoyment.

He accompanies my journey into the unknown, which began from the moment of meeting. Before that, I was living my dream of being a nurse, the only dream I remember having. Playing with dolls, creating emergencies in which I was the angel who arrived to save the day, my patients always lived, there was no realism in my childhood generated medical drama. When I qualified and took up my post at the military hospital, I learned that even an angel, surrounded by the most capable medics in the world is unable to perform miracles. My mother told me that I never even considered being a doctor, and only ever talked of nursing.

Settling into the whirlwind lifestyle that went with the territory as if I had never known anything else, I worked hard, had fun, played the field and didn’t think about settling down, but that was before Matthew, and the choices he laid at my feet like a sacrificial offering. There was no choice; I placed my dreams alongside his in a heartbeat.

I think we all crave knowledge beyond our understanding. From the minute I first looked into Matthew’s dazzling eyes, I knew that I would follow him wherever he led, thirsty for his teaching and my learning, craving lessons at his hands, his wishes are my wishes, it’s liberating and thrilling, ascending new heights.

Committing every detail to paper and carrying out his wish list is my new ambition, he seems to have awakened a spirit of romance that I didn’t know existed, and since coming to Falconworth, the feeling has intensified.

When I hear my own footsteps echoing along the hallways and passageways of the manor, I imagine all the other footfalls, which have walked the pathways before me, and those that are to come. Our future guests, those we will entertain. I know what is expected of me, will justify Matthew’s faith in me, and my belief in myself, working towards a shared goal for whatever lies ahead.

I imagine Matthew and me in a little rowing boat on the lake in the mist; we will populate the lake with rowing boats for hire. I picture him handing me down onto the swaying, bobbing deck, our weight causing uncertain movement to and fro as I settle onto the seat opposite him. He takes up rowing position, and I recline, trailing my hand gently on the mirrored surface of the deep, dark lake. Staring into the wispy, swirling mist, soon to be burned away by the rising sun as Matthew splish-splashes us to the copse where we alight.

On the bank, in the early hours he watches as if he is many miles distant as if he has shipped oars, is drifting, watches me give in to pleasure, swept away by a heady combination of love and lust. Sees my fingers blur. Hot, wet depths eager to be filled, aching with need. We inhale, exhale as if on a single breath until my panted gasps give warning and I come for him as if he is inside, looking deep into my eyes.

Tearing myself away from the vision, adding rowboats to my wish list, I turn over the handwritten note he slipped into my pocket. His list for me, my tasks, set by him, for our mutual pleasure. I break the seal. A rich, scarlet roundel of wax, Matthew delights in writing his commands for me on perfect parchment, folded in three and sealed traditionally, using red sealing wax, with no need of an envelope. The seal remains unbroken until I am ready.

He ordered a unique seal emblem custom made, and relishes using the deeply engraved brass seal, etched with our entwined initials. I think of history lessons at school, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn’s initials entwined and carved as an everlasting symbol of their love, ultimately doomed. I suppress a fleeting shudder of apprehension and break the seal.

I learn so many things about Matthew from his task list, his distinctive hand pleases me; my heartbeat plucks at my ribs as I read…

Eleanor’s Task: Figging

My darling, Eleanor
…
For this task, you must carefully insert a small dildo into your pussy and a butt plug in your bottom. Imagine I have kissed the tips of both before you slip them in, lubed of course. Then, go about your daily business for as long as possible before the delicious torment means you have to stop and masturbate. Find me; I will want to watch when you are ready for complete relief. A variant on this task: figging. Carve a piece of ginger into the right shape and carefully put it into your bottom. When you can bear it no more, I want you to find me, wherever I am in the house, whatever I am doing, whoever I am with, you will kneel and beg me to remove it.
Yours always and forever, Matthew.

I refold the note and head to the kitchens to find a root of ginger in eager anticipation of doing my Lord’s bidding, molten at the core of me…

The Diary Room

Setting everything in place in the diary room, Eleanor sat and looked out of the casement window. Originally built for fortification, the restoration so in keeping, that there was nothing to choose between ancient and modern, the priest’s hole the perfect place for Eleanor’s journaling.

“Oh, Matty, you made me jump.” Eleanor worried her necklace with slim fingers. Each pearl a perfect match, the strands pristine, a gift from Venice, she wore them as often as possible. Loving the way the beads warmed against her skin and retained their heat when she removed them.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I called out. I keep forgetting how little sound travels here. The walls must have muffled me. God, but the meetings were tedious, and everything took such a long time, but everyone is happy. They’re going to send over the inspector, probably next week, make sure we’ve met all their requirements. Bloody nuisance, we’re doing them a favour, the place was a crumbling heap before I bought it. Have you been terribly lonely?”

“No, not really, but you know I always miss you when you’re not here.”

“Did you send the copy to Danny?”

“Yes, he’s coming tomorrow to get a few more photographs, now that everything is almost complete. He says that he thinks our new website will be up within a couple of days.”

“That’s marvellous, darling. Did he like your piece about Falconworth?”

“Yes, he loved it. I’ve been doing lots more research, Matty. I have so much to tell you.”

“I’ll bet he loved it, and you too, Puss, they all do. I’ve seen the way they look at you. The workers, panting for a share of you.”