Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody (23 page)

He strode into the room, his white linen shirt flapping in the breeze, his breeches hugging his buttocks like limpets stuck to particularly pert rocks.

‘There is a perfectly good workhouse in Hertford,’ he declared. ‘When the baby is born it can be taken there, and I shall find work for Princess Leilani at Hooters.’

How like Mr Darcy to take command of the situation! It was the perfect solution.

‘So it is settled,’ beamed Mrs Bennet. ‘All has worked out felicitously. Or at least for the white people involved.’

Some time later in the afternoon, Jane and Elizabeth were in the parlour when Mr Darcy burst into the room.

‘Oh, forgive me,’ he mumbled, blushing to the roots of his copper hair. ‘I did not mean to interrupt you at Loo.’

‘Please, do not worry, Mr Darcy,’ Jane said kindly, placing her cards on the table. ‘My! What ails you? You seem most agitated.’

‘I confess I am, Miss Bennet,’ he replied, his grey eyes blazing. ‘I must speak to your sister, if I may, alone. It is a matter of utmost urgency.’

Surprise, then pleasure, registered on Jane’s lovely face. Perhaps her dearest wish was about to be fulfilled, and Mr Darcy was going to ask Elizabeth to be his wife?

She stood up at once, and, with a knowing smile, said, ‘I will go downstairs, Lizzy, and I will endeavour to keep Mama away.’

‘Thank you, Jane,’ Elizabeth said quietly, a shy smile spreading across her face. She was certain, this time, that Mr Darcy was on the verge of proposing.

‘Elizabeth …’ he began. ‘I have to ask for your hand.’ Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears of happiness. ‘Well, it doesn’t have to be your hand,
strictly speaking,’ Mr Darcy continued. ‘It could be your mouth, I suppose.’

‘Pray, whatever are you talking about, Mr Darcy?’ Elizabeth asked, her mind whirling in confusion.

‘I have this blessed erection, Lizzy, and I must do something about it.’ His eyes locked on to hers. ‘I have to have you,’ he growled. ‘Now!’

Despite herself, Elizabeth felt a familiar tug in her belly. The effect he had on her was so powerful. Truly he was the master puppeteer, and she was the puppet. He pulled the strings, and she
danced. Or rather, gave blow jobs.

‘Come …’ he said masterfully, extending his hand. ‘To your bedchamber. I have some surprises waiting for you there.’

Elizabeth rose and followed him out of the parlour, and up the staircase, as if mesmerized. Mama might come … Jane might enter without knocking … All her inhibitions were cast
aside like so many layers of flimsy underwear. All she could think about was Fitzwilliam Darcy’s perfect body and losing herself in his embrace.

As they reached her bedroom, Mr Darcy scooped her up in his arms as if she were but a feather. With one blow of his boot, he kicked her bedroom door shut behind him, and threw Elizabeth onto the
bed.

‘Do you trust me, Elizabeth?’ he said in a low voice. His penetrating grey eyes were like two sexy moles, burrowing inexorably towards her heart.

Slowly, sensuously, he unwound his grey silk cravat from about his neck and shook it out with a flick of his sexy wrist.

‘I do trust you,’ she whispered.

‘Then close your eyes.’

Elizabeth felt something soft against her face. Mr Darcy was blindfolding her with the cravat, tying it into a knot behind her head.
Oh my!
It smelt of him – of leather, cologne and
Doritos.

She heard his footsteps walking to and fro across the room. More sounds – a clink of glasses, the pop of a cork – then she felt the weight of Mr Darcy’s body as he sat astride
her.
Holy crap, he weighed a bloody ton.

‘Are you thirsty, Elizabeth?’ he asked teasingly.

Elizabeth nodded. Desire had rendered her mouth quite parched, and she yearned for refreshment.

She felt Mr Darcy lean in towards her, and then –
oh my!
– his exquisite lips were upon hers, kissing her, probing her with his mouth. Instinctively, Elizabeth opened her own
mouth, and suddenly felt wine trickling over her lips. It was warm and full-bodied, with hints of elderflower and liquorice and a playful, cheeky finish. She swallowed, then licked her lips
dry.

‘More?’ Mr Darcy gargled sensuously.

‘Oh yes … please!’

Again Mr Darcy bent down, and again Elizabeth drank deep from his lips. Drops of wine escaped from the side of her mouth, and trickled down onto her neck.

‘Now,’ Mr Darcy murmured, ‘you must eat something, Elizabeth. And I have just the thing.’

Elizabeth felt Mr Darcy shifting his body, moving upwards on the bed, so his knees straddled her shoulders. She could feel the heat of him, smell his distinctive body wash. She tensed. What was
coming? Nervously, she opened her mouth and waited.

‘Mmmmmmff!’ moaned Elizabeth, as her mouth was suddenly filled with meat.

‘Do you like that, Elizabeth?’ Mr Darcy murmured. His breathing was coming more quickly now, in jagged bursts. ‘It’s a faggot. Cragg just made a batch. Tasty, isn’t
it?’

Elizabeth chewed the savoury, juicy meatball – it truly tasted heavenly – and swallowed. More … She wanted more …

‘You’re so greedy, Elizabeth. Another mouthful, perhaps?’

More meat, more chewing. Flavours oozed out and overwhelmed her: black pepper, thyme, onions … Her senses were overwhelmed; her head reeled with the carnality of it all.

‘Oooh, yeah, baby, that’s right,’ said Mr Darcy sexily. Or cheesily, depending on your point of view. ‘Do you want gravy with that?’

‘I do, I do!’ Elizabeth moaned. Delicious, savoury sauce dripped into her mouth. She swallowed hungrily, licking her lips clean of every last drop. Mr Darcy gave a moan.

‘I love to watch you eat, Elizabeth!’

There was a pause, and Elizabeth felt Mr Darcy climb off her body and off the bed. She lay trembling, panting in anticipation. What was happening? Where was Mr Darcy? Then, out of nowhere, she
felt hot liquid splashing all over her belly and thighs.

‘I have covered you in gravy, Elizabeth,’ Mr Darcy said, breathing heavily now. ‘If you move at all, you will get it all over the bedcovers. If that happens,
you
will
have to pay the laundry bill.’

Oh my! The salty sauce was hot on Elizabeth’s skin. She tensed her muscles, willing herself to stay still.

‘Oh Lizzy, what shall I do with you now?’ She felt one of Mr Darcy’s hands cup her right breast.

‘My sweet, sweet girl,’ he murmured, cupping her left breast in his other hand. ‘You. Are. Mine.’ She felt yet another hand between her legs. She gave a gasp. How did he
do
that? Her body, almost as if possessed, began to buck up against him.

‘Please …’ she begged, squirming.

‘What do you want me to do, Elizabeth?’ he murmured. Elizabeth began to quiver.

‘I need you, inside me,’ she groaned. She felt Mr Darcy sit up, and heard the rip of a foil packet.

‘What is that?’ she asked curiously.

‘Oh, I often rip up a few crisp packets before I have sex,’ Mr Darcy said airily. ‘It helps get me in the mood.’

Rip! Rip! Rip! Elizabeth quivered in anticipation, lifting her hips off the bed in frustration. Then –
oh no!
– she felt a rivulet of salty liquid begin to crawl, slowly, down
over her hip towards the bed.

‘You bad girl, Elizabeth! You got gravy on the bedclothes.’ The tone of Mr Darcy’s voice had immediately changed, and he sounded as if he was struggling to contain some violent
emotion. ‘You disobeyed me.’ Mr Darcy snatched the cravat from her face, and she found herself staring straight into angry eyes the colour of a stormy sea.

‘What happens when you are disobedient?’

Elizabeth gulped. ‘You … chastise me.’

‘That is correct.’ His voice was cold, distant, almost as if it were coming from another place. ‘You have been a bad, bad girl. You will get ten strokes of my rod.’

He was going to allow her to touch him at last? Elizabeth couldn’t believe her luck.

‘Not that kind of stroke, dumb-ass,’ her Subconscious broke in. ‘He’s talking about the painful kind.’

Elizabeth was crestfallen. She had been close – so close – to actually getting a seeing-to. Would it ever bloody happen?

‘Turn over, Elizabeth,’ Mr Darcy commanded. Elizabeth felt something stir deep in her belly. Something that felt like resentment.

‘I told you to turn over!’ Mr Darcy grabbed Elizabeth’s hips and spun her so she was face down upon the bed, her face pressed against the pillow, and her naked behind exposed
to his scrutiny. Elizabeth tensed her buttocks. Then, realizing this might make her cellulite more obvious, she relaxed them. Her behind wobbled like a sexy pink blancmange.

‘My God, Elizabeth,’ Mr Darcy gasped. ‘You are so ready for me! Prepare yourself for my rod!’

‘One!’ Mr Darcy cried, bringing something light – a twig, perhaps? A pencil? – down firmly on Elizabeth’s tender flesh. Elizabeth heaved a sigh of exasperation.

‘Two!’ Mr Darcy exclaimed, and again, the twig/pencil thwacked against her skin with minimal effect. She yawned.

‘You’re a naughty girl, Elizabeth,’ Mr Darcy murmured, rubbing his hand over her buttocks gently. ‘And you’re mine, all mine.’

‘Three!’ If he hadn’t counted, Elizabeth wouldn’t even have noticed the third blow. She lay back and found herself thinking, strangely, of England. What a super place it
was to live!

‘Four!’ Again, the twig/pencil made contact, and again Elizabeth was unmoved. Tears began to prick her eyes. This was not what she had signed up for. She had been expecting
earth-shattering, brain-melting, heart-stopping orgasms, not this.

‘Fluffy kittens!’ she cried, tears beginning to streak down her cheeks. ‘Fluffy kittens! Fluffy kittens!’

The effect was instantaneous. ‘Elizabeth?’ Mr Darcy said anxiously.

Sitting up and pulling the sheet towards her body, Elizabeth dragged herself off the bed and headed for the bathroom. It was only when she reached her bedroom door that she remembered that
bathrooms didn’t come into existence until the Victorian era, so she headed for the armoire instead, stepping in and shutting herself inside. Squatting on the cupboard floor, she hugged her
knees to her chest and sobbed.

‘Please, Lizzy, let me in.’ Mr Darcy was leaning against the armoire door, his body pressed against it. She imagined she could feel his breath, still ragged from his exertions, hot
upon her neck.

‘Are you ever, ever going to actually make love to me, Mr Darcy?’

‘That’s what you want?’ he sounded mystified.

‘Yes, that’s what I want,’ she cried. ‘All this “naughty girl” this, and “bad girl” that – I’m beginning to think it’s all just
an excuse to avoid actual rumpy pumpy.’ She paused. ‘Are you gay?’
Holy heck,
she couldn’t believe she’d just asked that question.

There was silence for a few moments. ‘No, Elizabeth, I’m not gay,’ Mr Darcy said firmly. ‘I’m sorry. I wish I could change. I just have this need. My urge to hit
young ladies with various household implements, it’s part of me. It’s probably all my mother’s fault.’ He sounded so downcast, so forlorn, that despite herself, Elizabeth
felt a pang of sympathy. Fitzwilliam Darcy was lost, lost to the dark side.

‘Please … Please, Elizabeth,’ he entreated, ‘don’t hate me.’

‘I don’t hate you, Fitzwilliam,’ Elizabeth replied softly, opening the door just a crack.

‘Ooooh! I can see your crack, Elizabeth!’ Mr Darcy gave a childish giggle.

Furiously, Elizabeth pulled the door to. ‘And puerile, schoolboy humour – is that part of who you are, too?’

There was silence for a moment. Then Mr Darcy spoke, seriously this time: ‘I don’t think I can change, Elizabeth. It’s almost as if I cannot help myself. Smut comes from deep
within me. It’s as much a part of me as being British, and male.’

‘Then I think it would be best if you left,’ Elizabeth called out from the sanctuary of the armoire.

‘You cannot mean that!’

Fresh tears spilled down Elizabeth’s cheeks. ‘I do. We cannot be together. I want what you cannot give me, and I cannot give you what you need.’

She heard Mr Darcy’s footsteps pacing to and fro. ‘Do not do this, Elizabeth. I will be lost without you.’

‘Then go back to Lady Catherine,’ Elizabeth said bitterly. ‘She will take you under her bingo wings. You may flog each other to death for all I care!’

More footsteps, and the door to her bedroom slammed shut. Fitzwilliam Darcy had gone. The only man Elizabeth had ever desired, the only man she had ever loved, etc, etc. Gone, for about the
fourth time. It was all becoming a bit predictable.