Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody (13 page)
Read Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody Online
Authors: William Codpiece Thwackery
One morning after breakfast, when Elizabeth was returning to Longbourn from a stroll about the grounds, she encountered a bedraggled-looking young woman waiting on the steps at
the front of the house. On seeing Elizabeth, the woman bobbed into a curtsey, and announced, ‘I’ve bought a note, if it please you, Miss. From Mr Darcy of Pemberley.’
The young woman was pale and seemed exhausted; her boots and the hem of her gown were splattered with mud.
‘Heavens, have you come all the way from Derbyshire?’ Elizabeth asked in surprise.
‘Mr Darcy told me it was urgent, Miss, and not to rest until I had put the note into your very own hands. I’ve been walking for four days solid.’ With that, she took from her
pocket a piece of paper, folded and sealed with the distinctive Darcy coat of arms: two cocks rampant.
Elizabeth murmured her thanks, and tore open the seal. She read:
Dear Miss Bennet,
I could not wait any longer for correspondence from you, so I have taken the liberty of sending a female, in order that the conversation we began at Hunsford might be
brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
‘I still do not understand why Mr Darcy thought it fit to send you,’ Elizabeth remarked, addressing the servant. ‘It is mystifying. You must have been vulnerable to all
manner of dangers upon the road.’
‘Mr Darcy said he wouldn’t have trusted a young man to deliver the note, Miss. Females are more reliable, he said.’
There
had
to be a more efficient and speedy means of communication than this, Elizabeth thought. Maybe one day, far in the future, someone would devise another method. Until then, she
supposed, females would have to suffice.
She read on:
Now that you have had time to ruminate, I hope that you find yourself more amenable to considering the terms of my sex contract. Believe me, Elizabeth, I want nothing more
than for you to become my Submissive. I believe you would attain pleasure from it, too. Please agree to an imminent meeting, to discuss the hard and soft limits, and any queries or concerns
you may have. Send your reply by means of another female. I will be waiting.
Yours, Fitzwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth felt light-headed; her mouth was suddenly uncomfortably dry. She had, in truth, hoped that Mr Darcy would somehow forget the matter of the contract. But it was evident that if she
wished for any sort of relationship with this complicated, brooding billionaire, it would have to be on formal terms.
Memories of Mr Darcy slapping her reticule came, unbidden, into her head. The humiliation of that moment! And yet, although she had been shaken, she had to admit she had also been stirred. He
was so masterful, so in control, that it was easy to imagine herself surrendering to his whims – allowing herself to be strapped up, stripped naked, and left vulnerable, for Mr Darcy to do
with as he pleased … The thought was arousing, and she let out a low moan.
‘Are you all right, Miss?’
The servant’s gratingly common accent brought Elizabeth back to reality with a jolt.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, fanning herself with the letter. ‘Go round the back way into the kitchens and take some refreshment. No doubt you are tired.’
‘But the reply, Miss?’
‘Do not trouble yourself. I shall send a female of my own in due course.’
In fact, Elizabeth retired to her room as soon as she had taken off her coat and bonnet, in order to pen a letter to Mr Darcy. With trembling fingers, she dipped her quill in ink and wrote:
Mr Darcy,
Your missive reached me at a time of great inner turmoil. I have been betwixt and between, I have blown hot and cold, I have hemmed and hawed – I particularly
enjoyed the hawing – but still I am no closer to making a decision.
Once again, you have the advantage of me, Sir. As you well know, I am largely ignorant of the ways of the flesh. My sisters are as ill-informed as I, and I dare not ask Mama for fear of
having her tell me yet again, and in great detail, about the time she gave the Prince Regent a blow job. I have considered consulting Old Granny Google in the village, who in her youth was
mistress to several gentlemen of quality and knows much of these matters. Although I am not sure how much she can tell me of sado-masochism. From the stories she tells the dairymaids, I
don’t think it was particularly her scene.
But my questions about sexual matters can wait. The matter that perplexes me most is why you demeaned yourself at Rosings, by wearing those tiny leather hotpants? What hold does Lady
Catherine have over you? And if I were to allow you to become my Dominant, would I be required to don similar attire?
Yours, Elizabeth Bennet
She waited until the afternoon, and then sent one of the footmen into Meryton with instructions to find a suitably robust young woman capable of delivering the message to Derbyshire. Within
days, another female arrived at Longbourn, sent by Mr Darcy.
My dear Miss Bennet,
Lady Catherine has no hold over me – I serve her willingly. She was my Dominant for many years after I left Beaton, and she taught me everything I know about sexual
congress. As for the hotpants, if you wish not to wear them, I shall not force the issue. However, I would very much enjoy the sight of leather cutting into your ripe young buttocks.
As for your questions about the sexual act, pray address them to me. I will endeavour to answer them honestly.
Yours, etc., Fitzwilliam
Another willing female was dispatched from Longbourn, with Elizabeth’s note:
Mr Darcy,
Lady Catherine was your Dominant? But she is so hideously old – at least thirty-five! And you yourself must have been young and vulnerable. How could she do it?
Elizabeth Bennet
PS Can you get with child just by kissing?
Miss Bennet,
Lady Catherine saved me from myself. If it wasn’t for her I would be a fucked-up, humourless, control-freak loser. As opposed to a fucked-up, humourless,
control-freak successful billionaire.
In answer to your question, no. You get with child by having a ‘special cuddle’. And rest assured, we shan’t be having many of those.
Yours, etc.
Mr Darcy,
Is it true that if a man’s member has risen, it is bad for his health if he is subsequently unable to achieve release?
Yours, Elizabeth
Miss Bennet,
Yes. He might die. We must make sure this
never happens
.
Fitzwilliam
Females were sent to and fro between them for the next fortnight, until Mr Darcy wrote to inform her that he would shortly be calling in at Netherfield at the request of Mr Bingley, in order to
take care of some estate business on his behalf. The news threw Elizabeth into turmoil. Although her Inner Slapper yearned to see Mr Darcy again – to smell his musky body wash, and to be
probed by his piercing grey eyes – her Subconscious told her to beware. With every moment spent with Mr Darcy, she edged nearer to the precipice, the precipice that loomed over a great chasm
of disrepute and perversion. Would she plunge over? Hmm, I can’t imagine.
At seven the next evening, Taylor arrived at Longbourn in a small phaeton drawn by a grey mare.
‘I’m to collect you, Miss, and take you to the Roger Inn.’ His plebeian face wore an apologetic expression. ‘Mr Darcy’s orders, Miss.’
Mr Darcy’s orders indeed! Elizabeth’s hackles rose. He was so arrogant! And yet so irresistibly horny!
‘Thank you, Taylor. I will be just a moment.’
Seizing a cape, and grabbing her reticule in a most unladylike fashion, Elizabeth quit the house. She was aware of Mrs Bennet looking out at her through her bedroom window.
What
is
Mama trying to tell me?
she wondered, watching her mother alternately pointing down at her, and then frantically pushing her bosom up and down with both hands so that it quivered like a
giant blancmange.
Taylor helped Elizabeth into the phaeton. The air was chilly, and she pulled her cape tightly round herself as they set off on the short journey to Meryton.
‘Is Mr Darcy well?’ she called up to Taylor.
‘As well as can be expected, Miss,’ came the gruff reply.
‘Oh, has he been ill?’
Taylor continued to stare straight ahead. ‘He has been… distracted, Miss. Not his usual self.’
For one moment, Elizabeth allowed herself to think that
she
might be the reason for Mr Darcy’s preoccupation. ‘I confess, I am not altogether familiar with Mr Darcy’s
usual self,’ she remarked. ‘How would you rate his general character, Taylor? Does he treat his servants well?’
Taylor turned and smiled, and his stubbly lower-class face looked almost human. ‘In that regard he’s the best that ever was, Miss. We all get a shilling a year, and one-and-a-half
days’ holiday.’
‘A generous arrangement indeed!’
‘Oh, but Mr Darcy is a wonderful man,’ Taylor continued. ‘All the good works he does with the poor! And there’s no denying he cherishes his little sister. There is
nothing he would not do for her.’
This must have been the Georgiana that Elizabeth had heard so much about from Carrotslime and Looseata – the young lady they felt would make a more suitable match for Bingley than her own
dear sister Jane.
‘So, we have established that he is a loving brother, and a beneficent employer. He must have
some
faults, surely?’ she said teasingly.
‘Well, Miss, now you come to mention it, he
is
an incurable sex maniac.’
They trotted on in silence, and on rounding the curve of the road leading up to the inn, Elizabeth could feel her stomach fluttering in anticipation.
Holy crap, she was nervous.
Mr Darcy was standing outside the inn, leaning casually against a low wall, drinking a glass of claret. He was dressed in his customary attire: white linen shirt, grey breeches and, this time,
just to ring the changes, a sombrero. Beneath it, his hair was sexily tousled. She had forgotten how
freakin’ hot
he was! Elizabeth stared slack-jawed for a few moments.
‘Allow me, Miss Bennet.’ Mr Darcy stepped forward to wipe the drool from Elizabeth’s chin. With one sexy hand he lifted her down from the phaeton. Cocking his head to one side,
and his leg to the other side, Mr Darcy surveyed her.
‘You look beautiful, Elizabeth,’ he murmured appreciatively. ‘Your gown becomes you.’
Elizabeth smiled shyly. See-through lace had been the right choice after all.
‘Shall we go in?’
Together they traversed the snug bar, where gnarly handed farmers and rough-looking labourers were hunched over their flagons of cheap ale, and entered a private dining room to the left.
Elizabeth gave a gasp: the table was laden with baskets of cut flowers and piles of fresh and sugared fruits. In the chandelier above, three score candles glowed seductively, their light glinting
off the silver cutlery and crystal glassware below. It was romantic beyond her wildest dreams. Mr Darcy pulled out a chair for her at one end of the long trestle table, then took his place at the
other end, directly opposite her. He smiled, and his long fingers reached out to pluck a cherry from a nearby plate.
‘You have thought about my contract, Miss Bennet?’ His voice was ardent, and his eyes burned into hers like sexy blowtorches.
Elizabeth took a sip of her wine.
‘I have, Mr Darcy,’ she declared. ‘But I cannot agree to everything you ask.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said,
I cannot agree to everything you ask
. Should we sit a little closer, do you think?’
‘It will be fine,’ Mr Darcy shouted, ‘as long as we both annunciate.’
Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a sheaf of papers. ‘I have a copy of the contract here.’
Elizabeth took another nervous gulp of wine. Mr Darcy looked down and scanned the first page.
‘Let me see…
No fisting’
. A serving maid who had just entered the room with a jug of ale gave a start, splashing froth all over the floor. ‘I think we have
established that already,’ Mr Darcy continued. ‘Do you have any other concerns, Elizabeth?’
‘I do not know where to begin,’ Elizabeth said, exasperated. ‘What you ask of me is beyond my experience.’
‘Then let us go over the contract point by point,’ Mr Darcy replied, laying out the papers in front of him on the table.
‘Item 1: Social activities,’ Mr Darcy began. ‘The Dominant is free to visit the gaming tables, any house of ill repute, or his drinking club, whenever he so chooses. When the
Submissive asks where he is going, he is entitled to say, “Just out.” The Submissive may leave the premises once every two months, in the company of Taylor, in order to purchase new
sexy underthings.’
Darcy paused. ‘There is no negotiation on those particular points, Elizabeth,’ he said firmly. ‘You are not safe walking about on your own. I need to keep you from
harm.’
‘Item 2: Personal grooming. The Submissive shall keep herself waxed, shaved, exfoliated, plucked, bleached and deodorized at all times.’
Oh my!
Elizabeth blushed furiously as Mr Darcy fixed her with his smouldering grey eyes. ‘I want you like an oven-ready chicken, Elizabeth,’ he said seductively, ‘ready
for basting. Agreed?’
Elizabeth nodded. The two sips of wine she had taken were making her head swim, and she was finding it hard to focus.
‘Item 3: Food. The Submissive shall eat when the Dominant gives the command. She may not choose her own meals, but will eat from a menu compiled by the Dominant and prepared by the
housekeeper, Mrs Jones. Foods that will not directly benefit the Submissive’s health, such as chocolate, are prohibited.’
‘Hang on,
no chocolate
?’ Elizabeth asked, finding her voice at last. ‘That is most definitely a deal breaker for me, Mr Darcy.’