Past Present

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Past Present Page 6

by Secret Narrative


  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 apparition 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.”

  “Oh, Matty, what am I going to do with you? You’re insatiable.”

  “I know, Puss, isn’t it wonderful?” he said, moving into the room and closing the oak door behind him. “Totally soundproof, splendid.”

  “You’ve only been away a day and a night.”

  “As I said…” Matthew cut of his own speech, bending to her, crushing his mouth against hers in a fierce embrace. “Did you like my little notes?” He pulled away, studying her face, red marks already livid on the pale skin of her chin.

  “They were…interesting and stimulating.”

  “Did you follow my orders, exactly? Every one?”

  “Yes,” Eleanor whispered, her eyes fixed on his, the emerald of his irises seemed to spark and dance as he considered her answer.

  “Did you make a recording?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s watch.”

  “What about the men? They’re still finishing off, and they’re all over the house.”

  “Eleanor, the men are of no concern to me, and they should not be of any consideration to you. They will get on with their work, which should not take them to this part of the house since it is complete. However, the foreman knows where we are, and if he wishes to come looking, so be it.”

  “Very well, Matthew, as you wish.”

  Eleanor set the recording in motion while Matthew settled himself into an armchair.

  “Sit here on my lap, Puss, I want to play while we watch. I hope you’re naked underneath that dress. As requested in the note you should have found this morning.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Well then, let’s see how you got along shall we?”

  Matthew pressed the button to summon sound and vision while the image of the girl on his lap, filled the screen.

  Eleanor had fashioned a dildo from a root of ginger, leaving a suitable piece to grab at one end. A trickle of alarm warned that she must be able to retract the root at any time. She had seen far too many accidents when working at the hospital and there was no way she intended to be the victim of sex-play gone wrong and the subject of dinner party stories for the staff. No, she would be careful to carry out Matthew’s wishes without risk of losing the root somewhere up her rectum.

  Choosing a slim, black, dildo from the array that she and Matthew stored, she took her booty along to the Diary Room. Making sure the equipment was set to record from all angles she placed the carved root, dildo and a small tube of lube in full view on the table.

  “I’m sure that piece of wood has had many things set on its surface through the years,” she said aloud. The ancient piece was part of their collection of carefully selected furniture for the period property.

  Stepping out of her trousers, she pulled her sweater off over her head, shaking her ponytail free. Completely naked, she turned to face the main lens. She felt as if she were a dancer at a peep show, in the centre of a round stage surrounded by booths. In the Diary Room, cameras served as the eyes of voyeurs and Eleanor was fully aware that she would be making films, which may not necessarily be for Matthew’s pleasure alone. Nevertheless, this first recording was experimental, and she doubted it would be used for anything other than personal entertainment and for analysis. The Diary Room was destined to serve their clients, as well as themselves.

  “I shall insert the little ginger root first.” She smiled into the camera, before turning around in the chair, positioned for full frontal lens. Pointing her round bottom forward, she reached back and inched the root into her anus, a little at a time.

  “It feels cool at the moment,” she commentated. “It’s fully in, ah, it’s warming,” she continued, reaching for the black dildo. “I won’t need the lube, I’m wet, I’m wet for you my darling, only for you, I shall plug my molten pussy, drenched with need, with the toy. Wishing, wishing, wishing that it was your hot, hard cock, plunging deep, deep inside me.”

  Slipping the dildo into her pussy, Eleanor switched it on, kneeling to give the forward lens full access to her round bottom, plugged with root, and the round, black base of the dildo which had all but disappeared.

  Watching the monitors, the room filled with her image, over and over again as she moved her ginger sodden fingers to her nub, knowing that she herself would be the instigator of her torture. The burning intensifying inside her would be met and matched by the fire at her clitoris.

  “The root burns, burning deep within me.” Breathless, Eleanor moved to recline, allowing the ginger to get to work, the dry heat so fierce that she felt as if she were floating, far, far away from the room. Her body, suspended above as she looked from the ceiling down onto the luxurious furnishings and her own shell, going through the motions for the cameras. Suddenly, her dreaming self, spies another couple, a pair from long ago, wearing clothing that she had seen during her research, and she realises she is fantasising as she brings herself to orgasm for her love, her only love….

  “My God, you look divine.” Matthew breathes in her ear, his fingers dally on her, stroking her silken inner thigh, seeking the treasure he craves.

  His cock hard underneath her bottom, they watch her recorded self masturbate a number of times, plugged with the dildo and ginger, listening to her recital.

  “You enjoyed it my love, I adore recording everything, that way every little detail is available to share, and we learn so much about what turns you on, and ultimately what excites you, makes you hot. I need to know everything about you, Eleanor, everything.”

  Gently pushing her off his lap, he opens his zipper. “Kneel and finish me, while I watch the rest of your glorious film.” He offers his erection to her lips and she opens as if she were a bird in the nest for feeding. Taking him deep into her throat, she sucks and works him. One hand a gentle fist on his shaft, helping him in and out, the fingers of her other, firmly on the nub at the core of her as she brings herself to climax just as his ejaculation completes her mission and she swallows with love.

  “Magnificent,” says Matthew. “Both of you.” He nods towards the screen and back at Eleanor, sitting on her haunches at his feet. “Dreamlike, you look as if you are possessed.”

  “Yes, I had the strangest experience in here that day. I shall do more research.”

  “Ghosts?” he laughs out loud.

  “Ghosts,” she agrees, certain that there are stories to unearth; she intends to unbury the dead.

  “Shall we go and have breakfast, and afterwards, will you come into town with me? I’d like to do a little shopping.”

  Eleanor, pussy a little slippery in the afterglow, her mind teeming, her body tingling, follows Matthew along the long gallery, walking as always alongside the window lined walls. Approaching the couple on the panelled side of the passage is the Site Manager, a sheaf of paper in his hand, brandished like a sword.

  “Ah, Mr Fletcher, can you spare a moment?” he calls as soon as they are in earshot.

  “Certainly, Eddie. Go on ahead, Eleanor, I’ll meet you in the morning room.”

  Eleanor suppresses a shiver of distaste, which involuntarily fizzes her senses, whenever Eddie is nearby, and hurries away.

  Eleanor’s Journal: A Meeting

  Settled in the morning room, Eleanor took up her pen and recalling every detail of her dream, committed it to paper. If Matthew approved, she would add it to the Falconworth website.

  oOo

  “It’s too dangerous, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why? You want me do you not?”

  “Yea, oh my darling girl, yea, you know I do. How could I deny you? Deny us? I think we have been connected from birth. God help me.”

  The priest crossed himself, the rough cloth of his brown robe scratching against his body, and the finger dragged in the sign of the cross. He had not donned the luxurious silk garments he usually wore beneath, both as penance and, God
help him, for freedom.”

  “You love me?”

  The girl pressed urgently against him, his cock iron hard, tenting the cassock.

  “I do. God help me. You know I do.”

  “Take me then. Take me, here, take me now. I am yours. I am yours until doom.”

  The girl slid to her knees, at his feet, bare toes, dusty in his expensive, leather sandals.

  “Even your toes are beautiful.”

  He knew it was true. He had heard talk. “Rarely has a finer man walked at Falconworth than Father Mathieu,” opined many. In common with others called to serve God, Father Mathieu enjoyed the trappings of a cosseted life. His servitude to the Lord via the Priesthood had been arranged from birth, being the second son, born into a titled family. However, in following is duty, he had not denied himself the trappings of the wealth he had become accustomed to as he grew from boy to man. Nevertheless, nothing had prepared him for the onslaught of Leonora’s lust, manifested from the moment their eyes met. Shaken to the core, his precarious faith had crumbled away as if it had never existed. Now, when he prayed, all he could see was Leonora, her face, her lovely face and her lips, full, and as perfect a colour as the bloom of the reddest rose. Father Mathieu was lost, forever lost, his lust hardened cock a mockery to his softened resistance. Dragging himself back to the present, looking down at the golden halo of hair presented as she worshiped at his feet.

  “We must find a way to leave this place. I and others see that you have enchanted the young master. If he takes a fancy to pluck you, he will have you. If he wants you, he will have you, and there is naught I can do to protect you. Except turn away from my God and hurry you from here.”

 

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