Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody (17 page)

‘Come for me, baby!’ Mr Darcy said in a strangled whisper.

Unsure of the ways of the flesh, Elizabeth plundered her memory for the only act of love she had ever witnessed: a bull tupping a cow on a neighbour’s farm. Tentatively, she let out a
long, low ‘Mooooooo!’

‘Yes!!! My God, Lizzy!’ Mr Darcy cried in ecstasy, dropping to his knees. The newspaper wand fell limply from his grasp.

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning in unfamiliar surroundings, for a moment she could not recollect where she was. Then fleeting remembrances of the evening before leapt,
unbidden, into her mind.

She was at Pemberley, in her new bedchamber. And –
oh my!
– Fitzwilliam Darcy had flogged her with a toothbrush, and a newspaper!

Elizabeth turned over in bed, burying her face in the pillow. Perhaps if she fell asleep again, she would awaken at Longbourn, and the events of the previous evening would all prove to be
nothing but a dream. While she lay dozing, she felt, rather than heard, the door open, and realized at once that there was someone else in the room.

‘I have taken the liberty of bringing you some breakfast.’

Fitzwilliam Darcy, his lithe, muscly form clad in white pantaloons and a close-fitting vest, stood beside her bed with a tray laden with buttered buns, eggs, muffins, two blancmanges, a plum
pudding, a flagon of ale and a roast rib of beef.

‘How are you feeling this morning?’

‘Quite well, thank you, Sir.’ Elizabeth’s gaze met his, but as ever, she was unable to divine what he was thinking. Those steel-grey eyes of his were impenetrable.

Mr Darcy set down the tray on the edge of the bed.

‘It is nine o’clock, Miss Bennet,’ he said sternly.

‘Have you been up long, Mr Darcy?’

‘Indeed I have. I rose early this morning, in order to perform physical jerks with Taylor.’

Elizabeth merely nodded.

‘I am, in fact, about to do my ablutions. You may, should you desire, give yourself a good scrub down with a flannel.’ He indicated a pitcher of water set upon the dresser.
‘You are a
very dirty girl
.’

Evidently, there was to be no abatement in Mr Darcy’s ardour. Yesterday’s activities had but whetted his appetite for more.

Mr Darcy perched upon the bedclothes and unfurled one of his long index fingers. Gently, he stroked Elizabeth’s hand.

‘I’d like to bite those nails,’ he murmured darkly.

Oh my!
Beneath the heavy bedclothes, Elizabeth squirmed in a most unladylike fashion.

Suddenly, Mr Darcy appeared distracted, and he stood and walked briskly towards the door.

‘You will find some new clothes at the end of the bed,’ he said, turning in the doorway. ‘I would advise you to put them all on. It will be cold where we are going.’

‘And where, pray, might that be?’ Elizabeth asked apprehensively.

Mr Darcy’s face was, once again, impassive. ‘Today, Miss Bennet, I am going to take you up the Peakshole.’

At length, Elizabeth dressed and curled her hair under a beribboned blue bonnet that someone – presumably Mrs Jones or one of the maidservants – had provided. Mr
Darcy himself was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in a billowing white shirt and tight breeches.

‘Good morning, Miss Bennet,’ he said gravely. ‘You look most becoming.’

Proffering his arm, he led her out onto the terrace in front of the house, from where she could see the Derbyshire Peaks laid out before her. She and Mr Darcy circled round to the left and
passed through a gate in a low wall to the kitchen garden, and from there proceeded to the rose arbour and the topiary garden, on to the tea rooms and back round through the gift shop –
holy heck, the grounds were vast!
– finally emerging onto a lawn which led down to a wide, fast-flowing stream. A black-painted barge was moored there, secured to a tree stump, and
within it, at the back, were seated three men of middling age carrying fiddles and a drum. Painted on the side of the barge, in gold lettering, was what Elizabeth presumed must be the barge’s
name: SUV.

‘Step aboard, Miss Bennet,’ said Mr Darcy, bowing ceremoniously and holding out his hand. Elizabeth took it and, as she did so, a jolt of electricity shot through her body. Damn her
plastic flip-flops!

‘Sit!’ Mr Darcy directed her to a chair, set facing the stern. There were buckles and ropes of every length dangling from its sides. Mr Darcy knelt before her, and carefully wrapped
one of the ropes about her waist, tying it at the back of the chair. He looked up and smiled. Another strap he buckled about her arms, pinioning her to the chair back, while two more ropes bound
her hands behind her back. Darcy fastened her ankles to the chair legs with a thick cord, and finally, inserted a ball gag into her mouth.

‘All safely strapped in, Miss Bennet? Then we are ready to sail.’

Elizabeth watched in wonder as Mr Darcy deftly handled the rudder, guiding the barge out into midstream. It was thrilling! Her heart raced in her chest as the trees and riverbanks flew by at
0.003 miles per hour. Mr Darcy’s face was a mask of concentration. Just one wrong turn of the rudder and they might veer slightly to the left or to the right, or even bump into a floating
log.
Oh my!
Her fate lay in Mr Darcy’s hands!

‘Mmmmf mf mmmmfff ummf fuf?’ she enquired.

‘Sorry?’

‘Mmmmfff…’

‘Just a sec.’ Mr Darcy leant over and removed the ball gag from Elizabeth’s mouth.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet?’

‘Where did you learn to sail, Mr Darcy?’

‘Oh, I’ve been coming up the Peakshole since I was a boy, Miss Bennet,’ he replied gaily. ‘The river runs through the Pemberley estate, and on through the village of
Bumswell.’

‘And those gentlemen at the back? Are they villagers returning thither?’

Mr Darcy looked amused. ‘No, Miss Bennet. They are my in-boat music system.’ He turned his smoky-grey eyes upon the musicians and barked, ‘Play!’

Hastily they picked up their instruments, and began at once the first notes of a jaunty air.

Elizabeth looked puzzled. ‘I am not familiar with this tune. Pray, what is it?’

‘It is by Mozart, part of his Horn Concerto.’

Elizabeth listened to the music in silence for some time, staring out over the sun-dappled water.

‘I must ask, also, Mr Darcy,’ she said eventually, ‘is this scene in Miss Austen’s book?’

‘No, it’s in the other one,’ said Mr Darcy with a wry smile. ‘Its purpose, I believe, is to further reveal what a capable, suave, all-knowing alpha male I am, and cast
light upon your own helplessness and general ignorance about everything from sex to classical music.’

‘I see,’ replied Elizabeth gravely. ‘But what of my general clumsiness? It has not been illustrated for some chapters now. One might say it has become almost an
afterthought.’

They both pondered in silence for several moments. ‘Do you think I should fall in?’ asked Elizabeth.

Mr Darcy frowned. ‘I do not favour the idea, Elizabeth. It is very dangerous. You may get injured.’

‘I would get very, very wet,’ said Elizabeth teasingly.

‘You would.’

‘And my gown would become completely see-through.’

Mr Darcy’s eyes glistened with lust. ‘Undoubtedly.’

He reached over and began untying her restraints. ‘Whatever am I going to do with you, Miss Bennet?’ he murmured. ‘Sweet, accident-prone Lizzy.’ And picking her up in his
sexy arms, he heaved her over the side.

‘My God! Elizabeth!’ he cried in anguish, as the water closed over her head. Before she knew what was happening, his strong arms had grasped her about the waist. He had dived in
after her! She felt a tug as he dragged her upwards, and they both surfaced, she spluttering, he grim-faced and angry.

‘What in damnation do you think you’re playing at?’ he cried, water dripping sexily off his copper curls. ‘These waters are dangerous, Lizzy!’

With an almighty shove, he pushed her back into the safety of the barge, and effortlessly pulled himself up after her. His face was furious, his eyes radiating pain and concern.

‘I thought I’d lost you!’ he growled. ‘You must promise me, you must never,
never
go near water again.’

Elizabeth squeezed water from her sodden gown. ‘What if I need a bath?’ she asked meekly.

‘Two inches of water only!’ Mr Darcy snapped.
Oh boy, he was really riled now!

They sat in silence for the return journey, and Mr Darcy glowered sexily all the way. The water had, as planned, caused Elizabeth’s gown to lose its opacity, and Mr Darcy’s eyes
never left her figure. As soon as they set foot upon the bank, Mr Darcy began to drag her up the lawn towards the house.

‘It’s time, Elizabeth,’ he said firmly.

‘Time for what, Mr Darcy?’

‘Your seeing-to. Come …’

Elizabeth hesitated just a little too long. Mr Darcy’s grey eyes grew steely and dark.

‘Are you being wilful? You are not intending to disobey me again, are you, Elizabeth?’

Jeez, he was intense.
‘No,’ Elizabeth replied in a small voice.

‘No, what?’

‘What?’

‘No,
what
?’

‘What?! What don’t I know?’

‘No, I mean, you’re supposed to say, “Sir”.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Elizabeth replied, flustered. ‘Um, no,
Sir
.’

Mr Darcy appeared relieved. ‘That’s better. Now, follow me. It’s nookie time.’

Elizabeth lay on Mr Darcy’s bed, staring up at the kinky painting that adorned the ceiling. Her wrists were secured to the bedposts with lengths of satin ribbon, her
ankles tied in the same way. Naked, helpless, she was Mr Darcy’s plaything, ready for him to toy with.
Jeez, this was hot!

Mr Darcy appeared at the foot of the bed. His chest was naked, his muscles rippling in the candlelight. On his lower body he wore a pair of ripped riding breeches, and in his hands he brandished
a basket of foodstuffs he’d gathered from the kitchen.

His expression was carnal, his eyes hooded and full of longing. Slowly, mesmerizingly slowly, he walked round the side of the bed, drinking in the sight of Elizabeth’s naked loveliness.
Suddenly, his hand swung out and –
splat!
– he flung an overripe tomato at her breast. Elizabeth gave a little cry of surprise. The tomato juice dripped down over her nipple and
onto the bedclothes, and at once she was lost, lost in a sea of sensation.

Which of his comestibles would come next? Her nerve endings tingled in expectation, and she let out a low moan.

‘Silence!’ Mr Darcy commanded.
Flump! Flump!
Two handfuls of jam sponge landed on her other breast.
Whump!
She jolted as a cabbage bounced off her pubic hair.

‘You are mine, Lizzy,’ Mr Darcy said in an expressionless voice. ‘Mine, to punish and humiliate.’
Splot!
An egg exploded just below her navel.

Mr Darcy moved over to the dresser and picked up a pitcher of water. Edging back towards the bed, he hurled its contents into Elizabeth’s face. The shock of the water made her gasp.
Holy twat, it was cold!
Rivulets of water coursed through her hair and dripped onto the pillow beneath.