Past Present (12 page)

“I think it’s a good idea. Let’s not worry about it now. I want to get quietly smashed with you and do unspeakable things to you when you are too inebriated to do anything about it. My cock’s getting hard just thinking about playing with you. It’s high time I practised my rope skills. It’s been a while, Eleanor. By the way, this is for you, open it.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtful. You think of everything don’t you?”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, and it’s such a surprise. The shape of the long box reminds me of a doll’s box. But I didn’t think it would contain one. When I saw the doll, I felt in a flash as I did, when a little girl: but with a difference. The loving, tender thought behind it makes me want to weep for the fact that those childhood days are gone forever: but I feel so happy too. The need to hug and kiss you washes it all away. She’s a Tudor queen, how lovely. Oh, thank you so much, darling.”

“It’s part of a collection. I thought they’d be perfect for and for Falconworth. You can make a feature of them. She is just the start.”

“She’s beautiful,” said Eleanor, placing the doll carefully on the chair alongside hers.

A high table behind the sofa provided the perfect place for Matthew’s cocktails. He mixed the drinks while Eleanor banked up the fire and pulled cushions onto the fireside rug.

“To us.” He toasted, handing her a glass and touching the rim of his own against it.

“To us and Falconworth,” said Eleanor, “my goodness, it tastes sensational.”

“I shall teach you how to mix cocktails using absinthe. We’ll feature them in the bar on specific evenings. It will be fun. We’ll install a traditional fountain and get all the accessories. Obviously we’ll make sure the bar staff are experienced, but I think it will be fun if you learn too.”

“Hmm,” said Eleanor, snuggling against him.

“Okay, darling,” Matthew laughed again and squeezed her to him. “I booked something else too. Now that I have you where I want you, I have something to tell you. I’ve hired a waitress.”

Eleanor straightened, “Oh, Matty, you promised we’d interview the staff together. As a team.”

“I know, Eleanor and I’m sorry, but hear me out. The girl is Irish. I poached her from the hotel, where she was working as a maid. She’s delightful, the guests will love her. I couldn’t resist.”

“Did you sleep with her?” Eleanor’s voice soft and steady didn’t betray her.

“No, I did not.”

“Yet?”

“Eleanor, I am the same man as the man you met that night on the base. I never agreed to be faithful, and you know how I feel about sex, you and sex. We came here to Falconworth with specific plans already agreed, don’t let me down now.”

“Will she live in the staff quarters?”

“Yes, obviously. Her home is in Eire, she can’t commute.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Matthew.”

“Oh, it’s ‘Matthew’ now is it? I must be in the doghouse.”

“What’s her name?”

“Andrea.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Stunning.”

“You seem to have the knack of attracting stunning women, Matthew, what with Simone and now this Andrea.”

“Yes, aren’t I lucky? That reminds me, I must check with Simone, make sure that everything is on schedule. I’ll call her tomorrow while you’re dealing with Danny and the website. Drink up, I’ll pour us another, don’t pout so. Nobody is perfection, like you, my darling, not another living soul. I have a couple of rope tricks I’d like to try out. Come closer.” Matthew took her empty glass from her and kissed her fiercely before fetching the pitcher for a refill.

Wicked Games

The remnants of his dream recede into the long distance and as he wakes, Matthew Fletcher’s cock stirs. Lazily semi-hard, his breath quickens, along with his heartbeat. In the peaceful pre-dawn of Christmas Eve, he slips carefully out of bed, moves quietly to the desk and re-reads Eleanor’s note. Her words dance and tease. Fully aroused, he closes his fist around his erection and begins again…

My beloved, Matthew, I tied a wide piece of ribbon around my neck, tight enough so that it constricts my throat slightly, the pressure against my skin feels divine, and my heart is thundering, moving the fabric of my silky wraparound dress rhythmically as it beats nestled expectantly behind my ribcage. I intend to give it a run for its money today. I’ll put myself under so much pressure as I climax for you. I want my cream to soak my panties. Did I tell you about my panties? They are deep burgundy in colour, overlaid with black lace and trimmed with black velvet ribbon, not unlike my choker. I’m wearing a matching suspender belt, covered only by a sheer dress just in case anyone I’m not expecting comes to the door. As a further precaution, I have wrapped a sedate scarf around my neck to hide the choker, but I know it’s there, I can feel it, and you know it’s there because I’ve told you.

My footwear. Long, suede boots that extend over the knee and buckle with two long fierce straps, which I shall ask you to remove later using the straps as a whip to beat me with. Buckle side down. The heels are high, but not too high, I can’t wait to part my legs for you, wide, as wide as I can, my moist channel an open vessel for you, your fingers, cock or tongue, or anything else you see fit to fill me with, I am yours for the taking.

I shall turn around and bend over the bed, face down into the bedding. I want you to pull the choker tight, and jerk my head back with a force so intense I think you will snap my neck. Reach down to my pussy, feel how wet it is, and dip, dip your fingers, one, then two, try three, before deciding to bugger me hard without further ceremony. Force me down. Force me, and plunge into my rectum with all your strength you can muster and spill your seed into me. Flood me with it. Flood my depths with your essence and brand me with the marks of our passion. Still semi-hard, you turn me, face up on the bed and straddle me, your hands, in place of the choker, you apply pressure, firmly, solidly, and squeeze, just right, just enough to obliterate me for a brief moment, as I look up into you and meet a little death
.

I read you as a gypsy might. Lucky heather, woven with a lock of my hair and tucked into your pocket as you take your leave. Snugly stored alongside the panties you always carry with you, my scent intact and recharged from time to time. Our time together as yet brief, when measured in hours and minutes, is everlasting in the cells of my mind and the sensory perception of my soul. In my mind’s eye, I dance barefoot. I am a gypsy stirring dust mites tangling and tumbling in the shafts slanting from the casement windows of our home, and I wish you to me as in a dream. As vivid as the colours that I paint when I picture you and me, my daydreams much as they were when I was a little girl. I am a princess, woken from a long sleep and the winding vine that has imprisoned me slowly unfurls, its emerald stems and leaves finally setting me free.

I kneel at your feet; you are clad in butter soft black. My halo of hair is at your erection. I part my lips, glossy Chanel red dresses him in a ring of love, a sticky band, the brand of my lips on the skin of your shaft, hard pulsing, living a life of his own.

Your cock moves me, I love him so. His taste, his scent, his power over me. I take him deep into my throat, I relish the restriction as you fill me with your length and I drink you deep and pray for impalement, long and smooth. My mouth’s secret folds envelop you. Suck you home and dry. I wonder if I’m like the miller’s girl from Rumpelstiltskin. Your tasks are the turret room filled with straw, and I spin them into the treasure of reality. And yet, I do not have an imp to appear and make a bargain, I only desire to fulfil your tasks one after the other. It’s Christmas, and our future beckons, full of promise. I love you. I know that my final task is set for our party on New Year’s Eve. I have no idea what challenge awaits. The seal of your note will remain unbroken until we are ready. Your Puss.

Mathew tucks Eleanor’s note carefully behind their framed photograph on the mantelpiece, crouches and touches a flame to the kindling in the grate and keeps watch until the fire takes hold. The tasks that he devised for the time that he and Eleanor were apart had been a revelation, and he thrills that Eleanor has embraced his way of life so completely.

Glancing at her sleeping form, he takes a seat at the desk. One of the many places at the manor where Eleanor loves to sit and write, he adores her notes, reading her journal and following the progress of her tasks. He studies each lovingly placed item. Tidy and neat, as is he, both military trained, neither can quite unlearn the,
everything in its place,
rule. He allows his mind to move backward. Reaching across the years, he considers writing everything Eleanor had pleaded with him to share…How will it look? Will she like his past? Will she love him more? Like him less? In their bed, her burrowed form remains still. Making a decision, he picks up the silver pen he had gifted her, squares a sheaf of paper and begins. His distinctive handwriting takes shape as if an arachnid moves across the page. As he warms to his task, his hand moves a little faster, but it cannot keep up with his brain, he has to hold back, keep himself in check; he hates blotting the ink, making mistakes. One wrong word and he’ll have to start over. He wants to say it all, in one long, unspoiled message and have it done before she wakes.

Dear, Eleanor, I know you’re curious about my past. I’ve heard the talk at the base, and know how fond Julie is of you, she can’t have failed to mention my reputation. Until now, I have chosen to keep my past out of our relationship, but we’ve moved on, you and I, and this letter, will be the first of many gifts for you this Christmas. With all my love.

I joined the RAF when I turned seventeen. My father, a retired Wing Commander, expected that I follow, so I did. I left my home for initial training and was billeted in a house owned by a divorced woman in her twenties. She had a child of just under a year old. I could not believe my good fortune. It’s fair to say that I fell in love the moment I saw her.

The front door to the house was actually the back door and led directly into the kitchen. I remember it all as if it were yesterday, and yet, it is almost forty-five years since then. I wonder what she’s doing now. My Annie.

The first words she addressed directly to me were an apology. She had an unruly dog, which jumped up at me and messed up my uniform. “I’m so sorry,” she said shooing the dog away.

“It’s okay,” I managed. God knows what happened to my voice, it sounded as if it came from someone else, a prepubescent idiot, as a matter of fact. My face felt hot, and I hoped it wasn’t red.

“Come through. It’s Matthew, isn’t it? We’ve been expecting you.”

So gauche was I that I hadn’t even introduced myself, and I experienced a plip-plop of disappointment at the “we” deciding there was a Mr. Annie hovering nearby.

“Yes.” I found my voice at last. “Nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.” I extended my hand and she held my clammy fingers in her slight, warm grip.

I think I was lost at that moment, her hand so tiny in mine.

“Leave your bag by the door,” she said, “I’ll show you to your room later.”

“Thank you,” I repeated, following her from room to room as she showed me around.

“Your room has a bathroom attached. The family bathroom is here, downstairs. Unusual, I know, but when this place was built, it didn’t have a bathroom at all. This part of the house is an addition.”

I didn’t say much as she showed me around. I had to battle my cock, which woke up the second she appeared in the doorway.

I managed to hide my discomfort all through that first night, settling in. She cooked steak and chips but didn’t dine with me. Preferring to talk while I ate, telling me all about the village and the airfield nearby where I was to do my basic training, along with a few others, two of whom were due to arrive the following day. I bit back the disappointment of having to share her and tried not to stare at her lips when she spoke.

Since meeting Annie, my preferred type was set forever at the altar of her iconic image, and until you, Eleanor, it was brunette. Still, I love that you are fair and other than your colouring, you’re a lot like Annie. I didn’t have to and couldn’t have taught Annie anything about sex. I was totally inexperienced when I arrived at her house but by the time I left I was well on my way to total sexual fulfilment.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to find someone who measured up to Annie in my eyes. Nobody even came close. Until you. I’ll never forget our first night, and my first with Annie was memorable too. My eighteenth birthday. What a gift. I hadn’t told her that she was my first, and I’m proud to say that she didn’t guess, or she said she didn’t. My ever-hard cock made our first time stunning. So snug was she, so warm, so vibrant. Even after all this time, my cock stirs at the thought of Annie and the things she taught me in the days and nights of those five, billeted, halcyon weeks. Whenever we were alone, and when everyone else was asleep, we explored each other, every cell. She seemed so much older than me, so much more experienced. Looking back with the benefit of age, I see that she was barely that much different to me, and I see her vulnerability, which I was too naive to detect at the time. She hid it well.

I knew she wanted me not long after our first meeting. Mutually smitten and desperate to consummate our longing. Looking back, I’ve no doubt that the others noticed too, although, at the time, we thought we were able to keep our feelings in check when we were in company. Her son was far too young to know what was going on. He’ll be grown now. I often think about him and wonder how he’s doing. If he’s happy. Whether he’s healthy. I became extremely attached to him. I doubt that he remembers me at all.

“We lost his dad in a motorcycle accident,” she told me, that first night at supper.

I stuttered over my reply. Untried and unknowing in most social niceties and intimate etiquette, my school hadn’t taught me how to deal with relationships; it wasn’t on the curriculum in those days. Mum and dad weren’t demonstrative either; their relationship was conducted with military precision. I didn’t know it then, but my own marriage turned out that way too. That came later, much later, about five years after meeting Annie. I’ll tell you all about it one day. Not now. Now is your time, and it’s time to share Annie’s time, and I’ve jumped ahead, so I’ll go back to the beginning.