Past Present

By Secret Narrative

Matthew Fletcher and Eleanor Grant meet at a Royal Air Force base dance, where Matthew recognises Eleanor’s potential as a willing submissive and as someone who has the passion to match his love of harsh erotic discipline. They explore each other through a series of erotic games that help stimulate her desire for submission, spanking and other pleasures, which she shares through her diaries. As their relationship develops, Matthew revisits his past and reveals his early sexual learning with an older woman, which triggers an awakening that shapes his future with Eleanor.

~~~~~

‘Do you mean it?’ he said. ‘Imaginative games can be challenging and fun, but they can also bring the unexpected. Are you prepared to trust me, Eleanor?’

Alert to the changed atmosphere now charged with expectation, Eleanor was silent for a moment as she formulated her reply; knowing that she needed to answer carefully.

‘The truth is that I’m not terribly sure,’ she said. ‘I know it seems silly, but I’ve been curious about whether the two men who appeared in the grounds of the base on the first night were there by chance, or if you actually set me up? As I said earlier, I’ve never done anything like that before, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.’

‘You’re stunning, Eleanor. You’re classy, and you have guts and style. I like that in a woman,’ he replied, avoiding the question.

She remained silent.

‘Would you like me to show you some of the things that I like women to do? Would you like to try a little game with me now?’

Taking a massive gulp of her spiked coffee, Eleanor nodded; her eyes sparkled from the effects of the alcohol, her cheeks flushed with anticipatory colour.

Putting his drink down, Matthew took hers from her, placed them both out of the way on the table, and pulled her across his lap all in one fluid movement. Without further warning, he lifted her dress up to her waist. She had already started to writhe, excited but bewildered. She wasn’t used to this sort of treatment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jan 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310369889

Secret Narrative

Provocative erotica designed to turn you on. Happy reading x Warning: All stories are unsuitable for readers under the age of 18.

Book preview

Past Present

By Secret Narrative

Past Present

Copyright, Secret Narrative, 2014

All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination, and any similarity to any persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The opinions expressed are the author’s own and are not representative of the opinions of the publisher or distributors.

www.secretnarrative.com

Cover image: ©Carolannefreeling|Dreamstime.com

Design: http://www.fiverr.com/ilgeorgiev

Warning

This book contains strong language and sexually explicit content that some readers may find offensive and which is unsuitable for persons under the age of 18.

35910: 16.08.2014

Past Present: A Contemporary Erotic Romance.

An older man, younger woman, contemporary erotic romance, packed with pleasurable themes. Eleanor and Matthew explore each other through a series of wicked erotic games and sexy tasks that stimulate her desire for submission, spanking and other pleasures, which she shares through her diaries. As their relationship develops, Matthew revisits his past and reveals his early learning at the hands of an older woman, triggering an awakening that shapes his future with Eleanor.

Pleasure Past

I’m not flawless; my blush of blood is easily overlooked among a cool cache of diamonds. Piercing blue picks me out, nestled, unpolished, uncut among the glittering gems. His fingers approach, select me, lift me to eye level and the metamorphosis created by his touch transforms me, my secondary core colour, purple, reinforcing red, making it richer, darker, erotic, wanton.

Pleasure Present

I’m carried by dreams to the soft down of the cliffs overlooking the rolling, blue sea, and the fisherman’s boat swelling and bobbing the waves, rolling in blue. My eyes flicker open, focus on the ceiling. Music reaches me from somewhere and a cluster of pebbles patter the panes as if someone is trying to alert me. I rise, pull on my robe and walk downstairs to where the lilies grow. Their heady, seductive pollen overwhelms me. You’re standing just shy of the threshold, arms open. I yield. I yield, walk the path to the shore and roll in blue.

Speak of the Future

Sweetheart, what a beautiful bracelet. It was such a cute idea to place it in the box with the doll. These presents speak of the future. One day, I’ll say to you, all in a rush. Do you remember when I wrote to you about Christmas, the year we were apart?

Warning: Due to the erotic content of this novella it is not recommended for readers under the age of 18.

Please Note: This book has been published previously, please check the sample before purchase or contact the publisher for further details.

Contents

Eleanor

Falconworth: Restoration

Checkmate

Eleanor’s Journal: Ghosts

Eleanor’s Task: Figging

The Diary Room

Eleanor’s Journal: A Meeting

Eleanor’s Task Collared Puss

Eleanor’s Journal: Rolling in Blue

Eleanor’s Task: A Rest

Eleanor’s Journal: Oil and Water

Eleanor’s Journal: Cybersex

Eleanor’s Task: Shopping

Wraparound Silk

White Lady

Eleanor’s Journal: Eddie

Matthew’s Maid

Death in the Afternoon

Wicked Games

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Eleanor

Eleanor took a pair of stockings from the dressing table drawer with a sigh. She regretted agreeing to go to the Jive Like It’s ’45 Tea Dance Julie had organised; there was no going back now she thought while rifling through her wardrobe for a suitable outfit, she’d just have to grin and bear it. Everybody was expected to wear period clothing and Eleanor’s bedroom looked as if a bomb had gone off, her bed was buried under an avalanche of discarded items with more strewn around the floor. Seamed stockings wouldn’t be a problem; Eleanor always wore stockings and had a vast collection. She would be authentic, and wear natural with a black seam running up the back. Admittedly, British girls in the early forties would have been unlikely to get hold of such luxuries, but that wasn’t an issue now, and Eleanor hoped that the same applied to the tea, because if a ration book were required it would surely be the last straw.

She put on a tight black skirt that touched her legs just below the knees. Underneath she wore a black basque, matching panties, choosing a polka dot blouse tied at the neck with a bow, cinched in at the waist with a belt. She decided not to wear earrings; the average woman in the 1940s didn’t have pierced ears. She covered her hair with a black net snood, topped off with a jaunty black felt hat complete with a band of ribbon and a few smart feathers. Eleanor felt she had made a supreme effort, completing the look with brogue style shoes, a slick of red lipstick and a light mist of Chanel No.5, her favoured perfume would have been available having been formulated in the 1920s. Picking up her vintage clutch, she called a cab. She didn’t want to drive. If the mood took her, she might indulge a glass, or two of wine, and it would make the evening pass more pleasantly.

Arriving at the base, Eleanor was amazed to see that the hall set aside for functions was packed with a variety of people dressed in ’40s attire, many of them dancing to the band playing ’40s music. A function was always held in September, to commemorate the end of the Battle of Britain, but this was the first time a themed party had been arranged. Dotted around the edge of the room was an array of stalls displaying myriad period products for sale, original fur stoles and coats, leather gloves, hats of all shapes and sizes, all vintage, one woman was running a stall offering authentic hairdos and makeup to complete the look. Stockings were available in original style packaging, and there was beautiful clothing for men and women. Eleanor bustled through to the group where Julie was holding court to say hello. Julie arranged many functions, as the Wing Commander’s wife it was expected, but she also found pleasure organising everything and everyone, she was in her element at these affairs. Her husband, like many of the others, was often away on tours of duty, but this month and for the next few, the squadron was at home, many of the men were in attendance and most wore the modern RAF mess dress uniform in keeping with this sort of function.

Hi, Julie, thanks for inviting me, will I do? said Eleanor, giving her friend a peck on the cheek.

Fab-U-lous, darling, replied Julie, absentmindedly returning the kiss, and surveying the room over her friend’s shoulder, always aware of networking duties and always on the lookout for waifs and strays. Over there beside the kitchen, there’s tea, cake, sandwiches, biscuits, or if you like you can have something stronger at the bar. I hope you enjoy yourself. I’ll catch up with you later. Do you want me to find you a table, or can you sort yourself out?

I think I’ll go and look at the stalls. I quite fancy a ’40s hairdo, and it’d be nice to take this hat off. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’ll come and find you if I get lonely.

It had taken the beautician more than half an hour to put Eleanor’s hair into a ’40s updo, but the result was stunning, her thick, blonde curls were fastened into an intricate pleat, secured with hairpins. Thrilled with the result and ready for a drink, Eleanor made her way to the bar and ordered a large glass of dry white wine. It was wonderfully chilled, and she enjoyed the feeling flooding from her mouth to her stomach as she swallowed the first few sips. She settled herself onto one of the stools to watch the dancing. The band were playing The Lambeth Walk and their leader was giving instructions to dancing couples as they circled in pairs around the dance floor, it didn’t look too complicated, everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves thought Eleanor crossing her legs and draining her glass.

Buy you another? said the man now standing next to her. Matthew Fletcher, he announced.

Eleanor Grant. Pleased to meet you. Yes, please, dry white wine would be lovely, thank you.

Pleasure. Dry white wine for the lady and Scotch on the rocks for me please. Matthew took the stool next to hers, and they waited in silence while the barman poured their drinks.

Cheers. Do you come here often? The laughing question reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. A perfect smile, white and even, and those eyes were brilliant, dazzling green, fringed with luxurious lashes that would have been the envy of any woman, most would have to buy lashes like his and stick them onto their lids with lash glue. Eleanor tried to concentrate on what he was saying while also trying to work out his age, she reckoned he was perhaps pushing sixty five, more than thirty years her senior. His uniform was pristine, and a perfect fit, she assumed it wasn’t hired or borrowed, he was a Squadron Leader (retired).

I don’t come here often, she finally replied. My friend, Julie…over there, she pointed, invited me. She’s always trying to get me involved in various jaunts, most of her work is for charity, so I don’t mind, but I honestly wasn’t looking forward to today, she smiled.

I’m glad that you decided to come, he replied, raising his glass to her in another salute.

So am I, now.

The band switched to the much slower tempo of White Cliffs of Dover and the Lambeth Walkers left the floor.

Would you like to dance?

Thank you, yes.

Matthew led her onto the dance floor and took her into his arms in a traditional hold. Eleanor wasn’t very accomplished, but he held her firmly, and she followed his lead, she knew the steps but was rusty.

I’ve not danced in a long while. I hope I don’t tread on your toes.

I doubt I’d even notice, you’re so slim, you’d be light.

They twirled around for three or four dances. Eleanor could feel a charged atmosphere building between them, she melted quietly into his arms as he held her ever closer, he smelled heavenly, and she fit perfectly into his embrace, their conversation flowed. Thankfully they could hear each other over the music, which although loud wasn’t too intrusive, he was witty, gallant and interesting. Eleanor concluded that he was actually darned impressive.

Excuse me, another man interrupted, asking to partner Eleanor. It was difficult to refuse, so Matthew reluctantly gave her up and returned to the bar and his drink.

Blast and damnation, thought Eleanor as she watched him retreat