The following story was written for the express purpose of being naughty. Its rating corresponds to the American film rating NC-17. It should not be read by anyone who has not reached the age of majority, nor should it be read by adults who are uncomfortable with sexual content. If you are underage or uncomfortable, stop right here.
A Wanton Woman
The Darcy's marriage had been in effect for exactly three weeks.
It had proven to be a tumultuous time for Elizabeth, who found herself on one day the daughter of an ordinary country gentleman, and the very next, the Mistress of Pemberley, and therefore the focus of all eyes.
Her quiet, handsome husband did his best to make the transition as easy as possible for her. He spent the better part of his days in her presence, acquainting her with the traditions and manners of the estate. He spent the better part of his nights in acquainting himself further with his bride.
They seemed well enough matched in that regard, yet the constraint Elizabeth felt in guarding her conduct throughout the day spilled over into her bedchamber. Her husband's conduct in his intimate affairs was as gentlemanly as could be, and she was very ladylike in return. It was an altogether exhausting beginning to their life together.
Darcy, aware of the strain on his new bride, decided to bring her to London, where she might relax in greater company. The town offered many more ladies and gentlemen of the gentry for the masses to observe, an anonymity that Pemberley could ill afford her.
Elizabeth was greatly excited about this trip, as it was her first visit to town in some time. Darcy, observing the glow on his bride's face as she peered through the carriage window, winked at her. She smiled broadly at him in return, and then squeezed his hand with her gloved one. Darcy congratulated himself on his plan to bring her there, and began to relax a little.
Their peaceful interlude was interrupted by an awful pounding on the carriage door. Elizabeth started, and leaned close to the glass to see who was making such a racket. Their fine carriage, caught at a crossroads behind a peddler's cart, had paused in one of the vilest districts of London. A strange creature, a woman no older than Elizabeth, struck at the door of their carriage again, and unmistakably leered at Darcy. She was very voluptuous, and her garments barely contained her ample curves.
"You look weary with your journey and in need of a bit of comfort," she boldly addressed Darcy. "Care for a tumble, my fine young sire?"
Darcy coloured and swore, and rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage. The driver struck at the woman with his whip, but she laughingly ran clear. In all but a moment, they were moving again. "Damned bobtail," cursed the coachman.
"I am very sorry you had to witness that, dearest," said Darcy, his colour still high.
"Pray tell me, exactly what did I witness?" asked Elizabeth amusedly.
Despite her recent efforts, Darcy was still a reserved man, and his attempt to put words to the incident merely set his face working in a manner that soon had Elizabeth in tears of helpless laughter. She wiped her eyes and squeezed his hand again.
"Never mind, dear. I am amply assured that I have a handsome husband. I have taken no offence."
"It is not that," stammered Darcy. "It is that you had to meet such a person."
Elizabeth leveled her eyes at him. "And what type of person would she be?"
"A whore," stated Darcy calmly. "A woman very unlike you."
"Pray tell me, Mr. Darcy, what is it that makes her unlike me?" enquired Elizabeth.
Darcy began to shift uncomfortably at this turn in the conversation, yet felt obliged to give his wife an answer. "She will do anything one asks for money."
Elizabeth gazed coolly at her husband. "The things that I might do for you?"
Darcy, more uncomfortable by the moment, nodded, and turned his head away.
"Fitzwilliam," said Elizabeth sharply, "are there other things that a whore might do that a lady might not?"
He did his best to avoid her question, yet his wife was of a persistent nature, and she soon had the affirmation she suspected.
"Oh, would that I were your whore," she sighed, sinking back against the cushions.
Darcy, thinking that his ears had quite failed him, sat up and said, "What?"
Elizabeth smiled playfully at him. "How can I not wish it were so?" said she. "To think that I could do whatever I may with you, and that you would do so with me. And that I might earn a farthing for the pleasure!"
Darcy's blood rose, constricting his throat. The pounding in his ears was nothing to the surge of blood that roared below his waist. Elizabeth, watching his darkening gaze, dropped her eyes to his lap, and then raised her brows in astonishment. The year of their acquaintance and courtship and the weeks of her marriage had not prepared her for a reaction such as this. In a heartbeat, she spoke fateful words.
"Oh! Fitzwilliam, do let us play the part!"
They were not to make it to the town house that evening.
* * *
Darcy led her carefully through an ill-lit, filthy alley to a questionable establishment with private rooms. "I shudder to think how you know of such things," laughed Elizabeth.
"I do beg your pardon, madam, but pursuing a Wickham leads one to all manner of vile havens," responded Darcy. Elizabeth was amused at the alteration in Darcy's habitual demeanor. She had never known him to walk so quickly, or with such purpose.
The proprietress, dubiously eyeing Elizabeth's fine array, led them to a room that was reasonably clean for such an establishment. As the door shut firmly behind them, Elizabeth turned to face her husband. "Very well then, Fitzwilliam, educate me. What might a lady do in a place such as this?"
Darcy stood in the shadows, his broad shoulders firmly planted against the door. As the light of the fire was soft, she could not read his countenance, yet she felt his eyes glitter as he gazed at her darkly. "There are no ladies in places such as these," he growled. And in one sweeping movement, he crossed the room, and rent her dress nearly in two.
Elizabeth gasped as he bore her to the hearth. There was nothing gentlemanly about the man who savaged each piece of clothing that still clung to her body, leaving her utterly revealed in the firelight. He dropped to his knees before her, raking her with his eyes, as he tasted her with his mouth. His kisses, once tender, were rough and consuming, and his mouth strayed from her face to her throat, and ever lower. She was shocked to feel his breath against her thighs, his lips against the very heart of her. As she moaned, he swept her downward, onto the floor, hitching her legs with his arms. He pleasured her with his tongue until she cried out - and he did so again, and again, with a vengeance. The lovely woman whose inarticulate song filled his ears was a woman apart from the bride who had lain so docilely beneath him. It inflamed him, and he plunged his fingers in her, fore and aft, as he fiercely flickered against her. She was so caught that she could not escape him as she writhed, and she reared her shoulders from the floor in a wild dance. He took and took and took from her, until she could give no more.
It was some moments before she could look at him. He knelt before her, between her parted knees, leisurely removing his own raiment. Their experiences at Pemberley had always been properly conducted with nightshirts and nightgowns, under the cover of darkness. The beautiful animal that was her husband was a sight to behold, the golden red light of the fire delineating every line and muscle beneath the surface of his tawny skin. Elizabeth gazed, through a haze of pleasure, at the man before her. His hair was damp and tousled, chest heaving with every breath, his dark eyes feral. She could not credit that this was any man she knew. His skin was slick with sweat, as was hers. She reached downwards, and for a reason she did not understand, grabbed him by the hair, and pulled his face to hers. He kissed her brutally, and she met that kiss with a savagery of her own. She licked the sweat from his face, his brow; she licked the taste of herself from his lips. His beard was rough, as it was evening, and she tore the softness of her own skin against it, wishing that it bled. He tried to pull away, yet she had the tresses of his hair locked tight in her fingers, and would not let them go.
"I love the smell of you," she breathed into his ear. Darcy sat up, rearing onto his knees, hefting her onto his lap as she clung to him ever closer. "I love the scent of your sweat, your hair. I love it when you come back from riding with your breeches stained between the thighs. I love the scent of you and your horse, the smell of your boots and your saddle. I love how the scent of you and leather go together." He pulled her legs to either side of him, she still astride as she whispered into his ear, his hair caught as firmly as he'd ever grasped his reins.
"I would love to ride with you on your horse," she breathed. "I would love to sit with you in the saddle. I would love for you to take me as you ride a horse." He impaled her in one swift thrust, grabbing the fullness of her ass and driving himself into her more deeply than he'd ever imagined. "Ah," she gasped, and she began to ride his cock as he thrust himself as hard as he could. She let go of his locks, and arched backwards, grasping her ankles for balance. He began to buck and gallop, driving so fiercely into her that she lost all sense of time and place. It was the wildest of rides. Sweat flicked from his hair onto the beautiful curves of her torso, melding with her own. The rumblings that began in his chest became a roar, as he spilled his very soul into her. She was not sure if the sounds she heard were even his, or her own.
* * *
"Let me look at you," she begged. They had somehow gathered themselves into the bed, after they had regained their senses. Elizabeth placed a taper at the bedside, and slowly perused the whole of Darcy's body. "Oh, you are a handsome devil," she sighed. Darcy bestowed upon her the most dazzling of smiles, and tugged his forelock. "I do aim to please you, milady," laughed he.
She began to stroke and touch him, fascinated at the difference between his strength and her softness. She kissed him, deeply and lingeringly, and let her lips slide across the line of his strong jaw to the soft skin beneath his ear. She breathed deeply of that unique scent that was his, and then reached to the washstand for a cloth and some water.
He was as lathered as one of his fine horses, and she washed him gently, to cool him down. Darcy tolerated these luxurious attentions, but was distracted by the beauty of her form before him. He reached out to caress her incomparable breasts, the slenderness of her waist, the full swell of her hips. "Belay that, sir!" she commanded. "You are quite distracting me."
"From what might that be, madam?" he replied, with a smile.
"I want to enjoy you, without interruption," she replied. She slipped off the bed, and somehow managed to find, in the half lit room, both her stockings, and his own. She clambered back onto the sheets, and began fastening his limbs, one by one, to the bedposts, using the longer silks that were hers for his wrists, and his own for his ankles. Much to her surprise, he did not protest, but looked on in amused silence.
"It is lucky for me that you have long legs," she noted, as she finished tying his ankles to the posts.
"It is lucky for you that I am not of a mind to escape," he wryly observed, nodding at the restraints at his wrists, each of which Elizabeth had tied in a bow. "Remind me to acquaint you with the art of tying knots."
"Very well, then," said she. "After I become acquainted with the art of seduction."
"I would not argue with your priorities," he whispered, as she began to run her hands over his body. She knelt over him; softly brushing her breasts against his face, letting him raise his head to reach them. He lightly brushed them with his lips, delicately caught their tips in his teeth, flicking his tongue against them as they hardened, then sucked at them gently. She learnt that lesson well, and slipped downward to apply it to his own. The gasp it elicited from him was music to her ears, and it emboldened her. Her lips strayed ever lower, following the lines of muscles along his abdomen, her tongue tracing their ridges. His cock began to rise as if it had a mind of its own, swaying and yearning toward her. She stroked it with her hair, her cheeks; she swept her breasts against it, taunting its hardness with her softness. Darcy's breath became more ragged with each movement, his hips lifting from the sheets toward her, his very being crying out for her touch. At last, she took it in her hands, marveling at the heft of it, stroking it from the root to the tip. She could not help but savour the earthy, salty taste of it, kissing it, sucking the tip, licking its length. He was much too much man for her to take him fully into her mouth, so she wrapped each fist around his length, pulling deeply, sucking with abandon at its head.
"Oh god, Elizabeth, stop!" cried Darcy hoarsely. She paused for a moment to gaze up at him in concern. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
"You must stop, I cannot hold myself back any longer," he whispered frantically.
"But I want you to spill your seed," she said, softly. "I want to taste you." She drew him back in again, ever more deeply than before, and left Darcy with no choice at all but to oblige her.
* * *
He sat up, half-dazed, in the unfamiliar bed. He must have slept, as his bonds were gone, yet he was relieved to find that it was not yet near day. Elizabeth sat by the fire, arms clasping her knees, gazing at the flames that danced before her. Her hair tumbled heedlessly down her back - it was her only cover. Darcy watched her appreciatively for a long moment before he spoke.
"I must remark, madam, that you have provided me with an incomparable view."
Elizabeth turned to smile at him over her shoulder. "Do come here," he begged her, and she laughingly joined him on the bed, falling upon the length of him. He cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her again and again, drinking from her lips as if she were the sweetest, clearest water. He pulled away, stroking the softness of her hair, and eyed her with an arched brow.
"You, madam, are no lady!" he stated, as if greatly shocked.
"And you sir, are no gentleman," she replied airily.
"No," he confessed. "I must admit that in my heart, I am not. Elizabeth," he said softly, touching her face, "There is no need for us to pretend otherwise, in the privacy of our chambers."
"I am glad to hear it," she replied, kissing his throat. She stroked his hair gently, and then began to entwine his tresses in her fingers.
There was something in that gesture that roused him. He sat, pulling her up with him, and fixed her with an evil gleam. She eyed him steadily in return, yet found herself beginning to shiver in mute anticipation.
"My dearest Elizabeth," he murmured dangerously, "I have been given to understand that you much admire my horsemanship. Would you care to elucidate me further on this subject?"
She flushed most becomingly with embarrassment. "I know not what I said, sir," she whispered. "Those words but fell from my lips."
"That is most strange," he said, as he kissed those fetching lips and grinned. "I seem to remember every falling word."
She laughed ruefully, and it was with no little difficulty that she confessed he presented a very commanding figure upon a steed, and that she, as a simple country lass, was perhaps unduly impressed by such things. Darcy, who could be a very obliging man when he so chose, decided to impress her further.
"Right, then, lassie, on your knees!" he commanded, with a hearty slap on her derriere.
In a trice, she was stationed as ordered, presenting him with a sight he had often dreamed of, yet never hoped to see. Her soft, womanly curves were as gracefully shaped as the finest of viols, and he could not help but admire her as hungrily with his hands as he did with his eyes.
"I do regret that I do not have my riding boots here with me," he remarked, sweeping his hands appreciatively over her flesh.
"As do I," she laughed.
"Perhaps we should return to Pemberley straightaway," he mused. "There I have all manner of necessities. Would that I had my riding crop and my dressage whip here as well!"
"Dressage whip?" gasped Lizzy. His hands had discovered every secret place, as well as that such talk had left her soaking wet, and he was using that knowledge to make her available to him in every manner. His fingers, at first gentle and seeking, began moving more deeply and demandingly, eliciting little sounds of passion from her. The pleasure of his touch was unimaginable. She sighed and sank her torso into the pillows, as her lovely rear rose to meet him.
"Dressage whip," murmured Darcy, moving his cock in the silken pathways his hands had created. "A mount has no choice as to the tools of its rider," he said, as he eased himself deep within her. A cry of pleasure escaped her as he confidently drove himself home, and she grasped the bedposts for dear life as he masterfully began his ride.
She had been most intuitive about his skills as an equestrian. He clasped her hair in his left hand and spanked her with his right as he brought her to her stride, and they fell together into an unknown place of ecstasy.
* * *
The next morning brought with it an uncommon bustle of activity. Darcy paid a serving girl handsomely to send word to the coachman to fetch Elizabeth's clothes from the carriage, as the attire in which she had arrived was irreparably tattered. He also made a most generous settlement with the landlady over the damage to the bedstead.
In time, it was noted in the various households of the Darcys that the master of the house was wont to pass by the mistress and drop a coin in her lap on a most frequent basis. Had there been any suspicion as to the true nature of the transaction, they would have been much misled, as the coin Darcy dropped was always a farthing, and anyone well versed in these matters would have known that the usual fee for such things was a shilling, at least.