Jane Eyre

by Charlotte Bronte

  “You have a curious, designing mind, Mr Rochester. I am afraid your principles on some points are eccentric.”

  “My principles were never trained, Jane, they may have grown a little awry for want of attention. Shall you give me that attention, fair wife-to-be?”

  “Once again, seriously; may I enjoy the great good that has been vouchsafed to me, without fearing that anyone else is suffering the bitter pain I myself felt a while ago?”

  “That you may, my good little girl, there is not another being in the world has the same pure love for me as yourself—for I lay that pleasant unction to my soul, Jane, a belief in your affection.”

  I turned my lips to the hand that lay on my shoulder. I loved him very much—more than I could trust myself to say—more than words had power to express.

  “Ask something more,” he said presently, “it is my delight to be entreated, and to yield.”

  I knew of what he spoke. When he entreated me, I found it a singular thrill to yield to his demand. I was again ready with my request. “Communicate your intentions to Mrs Fairfax, sir, she saw me with you last night in the hall, and she was shocked. Give her some explanation before I see her again. It pains me to be misjudged by so good a woman.”

  “What will you give me if I grant you this request?”

  “Sir?”

  He secured the door.

  When he returned to me, I saw what he was about, there was no doubting his diabolical purpose. My insides responded immediately to his tone and to the changed expression on his face.

  With unaccustomed boldness, I looked at the front of his trousers. Indeed my future husband was as stirred as I. “I should like to place my hand on you, there, sir.”

  “Where, miss?”

  “Your cock, sir.”

  “I am quite scandalised by your language, Miss Eyre.”

  But there was teasing in his tone which eased my sudden embarrassment.

  “It will always be thus, miss. I will permit no coquettishness. I wish for you to bold and brazen, nay, I demand it! Do it, Jane. Do it now.”

  I moved a little closer and reached for him.

  “Press your palm against me—harder.”

  As I did, his flesh thickened and grew.

  “Such is your power.”

  It was true, then, that the master could be mastered.

  “Remove your trousers, sir. I shall show you what I will do for you for granting my wish.” I wondered if he could hear the frantic beat of my heart. It was so loud it seemed to clog my hearing. “No hesitating, sir!”

  He raised his brows. I might have given the order, but I knew he was in charge.

  In moments, he had unbuttoned his trousers. I studied his anatomy with more confidence than on our previous occasions, my coquettishness was vanishing. I found the daylight was much more agreeable than night time or the flicker of candles to study him Even though he had used a phallus on me, I still found his cock large; the head was a bit bulbous.

  I knelt in the position he preferred.

  Very good, “said he approvingly. “I appreciate a quick learner.”

  “Will you allow me to take you in my mouth, sir?”

  He crossed to me. Tenderly he cradled my head with one of his palms.

  I opened to receive him. Mr Rochester held his cock and allowed me to accept his length at my pace.

  “Now lick, suck. Allow my reactions to guide your actions. That is what I do with you, miss. I am always in tune with your every movement, your gasps, your dampness.”

  I replaced his hand with both of mine—such was the size difference between us!—and I did as he suggested, keenly listening to his manly sounds. I learnt he liked my tongue to be pressed on the back side of his cockhead. I learnt he liked a firm grip. I learnt he liked me to take him as deep in my throat as I could, although I confess I was not terribly good at that.

  “I fear I need more practice, sir,” said I after I pulled back. I was choking and gasping for air.

  “I delight in your trying, pleasing miss. You’ve earned your reprieve. I shall speak to Mrs Fairfax at once.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I confess, I rather enjoyed causing his root to stir, becoming even thicker. I would have done it without promise of a returned favour.

  “How does your cunny feel this morning?”

  I felt the beginning of a blush. I was glad my eyes were cast on the floor.

  “A bit tender, in all honesty.”

  “And your bottom? Was your beating too severe?”

  The reminder of his punishment brought a fresh wave of moisture between my legs. “It was not, sir.”

  “Next time I shall not be so gentle.”

  “I would not say it was gentle, sir.”

  “Stand. Cross to yonder desk and lean over it. I shall inspect the flesh in question and render judgement.”

  Already I was gaining grace! I could stand from a kneeling position without feeling awkward.

  “It is a pleasure to watch you comport yourself thus, miss.”

  I bent over the desk. “I confess, Miss Eyre, that I have long had a fantasy of a school teacher.”

  “That is unseemly, sir!”

  “My cock appreciates it,” responded he.

  Mr Rochester used his cravat to tie my hands together. In that position, I should be unable to rise. Of course the man knew exactly what he was about.

  “Helpless,” he continued. “At my mercy. For all the hours I endured in this schoolroom, I shall enjoy this immensely.”

  He lifted my dress and dropped my bloomers. I felt his hands on my bare buttocks. “Nary a welt, miss, not a bruise, nor a red mark. Rather unremarkable.”

  How was that possible with the way his touch seared? I was scorched from the inside; my quim hungered. “Would you like to change that, sir?”

  “Are you asking me to spank you, Miss Eyre? Here, in the schoolroom, turned over a desk?”

  “I—” I had suddenly lost my voice!

  “I continue to encourage you to speak with me, miss.”

  “Yes. I would like very much for you to spank me, sir.”

  “How many swats, miss?”

  “Six, sir, if you please. And an orgasm afterwards.”

  Protested he with mock horror, “What terror have I unleashed on my future years? The future Mrs Rochester shall be demanding in all things.”

  “You speak the truth sir. I implore you, get on with it. I fear I cannot wait another moment!”

  “Turn your feet inwards at a slight angle. Yes, yes. And when I abuse your rear, I want you thus. It gives me a better angle.”

  He rubbed my buttocks vigorously as he spoke, “There are different types of beatings, miss. There are ones designed solely as punishment. Others may be given to reinforce correct behaviour. I may redden your bottom because I like knowing you are tender as you sit. Even if you are fulfilling your household duties, it may make me happy to think of you taking your seat with a bit more judicious care than normal.” He stilled his hands, but added, “The one you are about to receive will be delivered strictly for your edification.”

  The first blow took away my breath. It was sharp. It stung. But it somehow did feel different from the previous ones. I commented on that to my master.

  “I have cupped my hand slightly,” explained he. “You will be disappointed if you don’t feel it, but this is not punishment.”

  “I see.” Truthfully I was not certain I did.

  “I brought blood flow to the area first; that will change the impact, also. As I mentioned, there are many different ways to administer justice to your well-shaped rear. Prepare yourself for the next one by relaxing your muscles. Tensing will heighten the feel.”

  I did as he recommended. I took a breath, and I schooled myself.

  He delivered the next two blows straight after each other. While I was caught in a fog, he stroked my quim.

  I all but danced beneath his touch!

  “My Miss Eyre is already stirred?”

&
nbsp; I did not answer. The moisture on his fingertip offered proof enough!

  He inserted two fingers inside me and began to thrust. I dug my toes into the floor. I tried to arch towards him but my tied hands made that all but impossible.

  “How many strikes have you received?”

  “Three, sir!”

  “How many more are you to receive?”

  “Three, sir.”

  “And how long until you beg me to bring you to completion?”

  “Now, sir.”

  “Denied.”

  He pulled back his hand. I sighed my irritation. He had me on the verge. I felt as if I stood on the edge of a cliff. Only he could shove me off. Only he could catch me at the bottom. The conundrum vexed me!

  He gave me the fourth spank, this one frustratingly gentle.

  “The rhythm can change, as you see.”

  “May we get straight to the results, sir, and skip the lesson?”

  He laughed. His mirth hadn’t been my aim. Getting on with it was!

  His next slap landed on my exposed quim. I screamed. The pain lanced me, and it spurred my orgasm.

  “How responsive you are, darling Jane! Had I known, I would have turned you over my knee that first day, when you felled my horse!”

  The sixth spank was unnecessary; Mr Rochester had already brought me the relief I sought. Still, he made it count. It blazed with harshness I wouldn’t soon forget.

  “Thank me for my attention, miss.”

  I did—profusely!

  He righted my clothing, untied my hands, and helped me up. As he adjusted his cravat—without the aid of a mirror or manservant—he said, “Go to your room, and put on your bonnet. I mean you to accompany me to Millcote this morning and while you prepare for the drive, I will enlighten the old lady’s understanding. Did she think, Janet, you had given the world for love, and considered it well lost?”

  “I believe she thought I had forgotten my station, and yours, sir.”

  “Station! Station! Your station is in my heart, and on the necks of those who would insult you, now or hereafter. Go. And Janet, I do know you did not require that sixth stroke, but it had been promised to you, and I keep my word.”

  He smiled—a devilishly rakish grin that almost made him handsome. “I also wanted to make sure you were a bit uncomfortable while you were in the carriage. I want you to know to whom you belong.”

  I was soon dressed and when I heard Mr Rochester quit Mrs Fairfax’s parlour, I hurried down to it. The old lady, had been reading her morning portion of Scripture—the Lesson for the day; her Bible lay open before her, and her spectacles were upon it. Her occupation, suspended by Mr Rochester’s announcement, seemed now forgotten, her eyes, fixed on the blank wall opposite, expressed the surprise of a quiet mind stirred by unwonted tidings. Seeing me, she roused herself, she made a sort of effort to smile, and framed a few words of congratulation, but the smile expired, and the sentence was abandoned unfinished. She put up her spectacles, shut the Bible, and pushed her chair back from the table.

  “I feel so astonished,” she began, “I hardly know what to say to you, Miss Eyre. I have surely not been dreaming, have I? Sometimes I half fall asleep when I am sitting alone and fancy things that have never happened. It has seemed to me more than once when I have been in a doze, that my dear husband, who died fifteen years since, has come in and sat down beside me and that I have even heard him call me by my name, Alice, as he used to do. Now, can you tell me whether it is actually true that Mr Rochester has asked you to marry him? Don’t laugh at me. But I really thought he came in here five minutes ago, and said that in a month you would be his wife.”

  “He has said the same thing to me,” I replied.

  “He has! Do you believe him? Have you accepted him?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at me bewildered. “I could never have thought it. He is a proud man, all the Rochesters were proud, and his father, at least, liked money. He, too, has always been called careful. He means to marry you?”

  “He tells me so.”

  She surveyed my whole person, in her eyes I read that they had there found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma.

  “It passes me!” she continued, “but no doubt, it is true since you say so. How it will answer, I cannot tell, I really don’t know. Equality of position and fortune is often advisable in such cases and there are twenty years of difference in your ages. He might almost be your father.”

  “No, indeed, Mrs Fairfax!” exclaimed I, nettled, “he is nothing like my father! No one, who saw us together, would suppose it for an instant. Mr Rochester looks as young, and is as young, as some men at five-and-twenty.”

  “Is it really for love he is going to marry you?” she asked.

  I was so hurt by her coldness and scepticism, that the tears rose to my eyes.

  “I am sorry to grieve you,” pursued the widow, “but you are so young, and so little acquainted with men, I wished to put you on your guard. It is an old saying that ‘all is not gold that glitters’ and in this case I do fear there will be something found to be different to what either you or I expect.”

  “Why?—am I a monster?” I said, “is it impossible that Mr Rochester should have a sincere affection for me?”

  “No, you are very well and much improved of late and Mr Rochester, I daresay, is fond of you. I have always noticed that you were a sort of pet of his. There are times when, for your sake, I have been a little uneasy at his marked preference, and have wished to put you on your guard, but I did not like to suggest even the possibility of wrong. I knew such an idea would shock, perhaps offend you and you were so discreet, and so thoroughly modest and sensible, I hoped you might be trusted to protect yourself. Last night I cannot tell you what I suffered when I sought all over the house, and could find you nowhere, nor the master either and then, at twelve o’clock, saw you come in with him.”

  “Well, never mind that now,” I interrupted impatiently, “it is enough that all was right.”

  “I hope all will be right in the end,” she said, “but believe me, you cannot be too careful. Try and keep Mr Rochester at a distance, distrust yourself as well as him. Gentlemen in his station are not accustomed to marry their governesses.”

  I was growing truly irritated, happily, Adèle ran in.

  “Let me go—let me go to Millcote too!” she cried. “Mr Rochester won’t, though there is so much room in the new carriage. Beg him to let me go mademoiselle.”

  “That I will, Adèle,” and I hastened away with her, glad to quit my gloomy monitress. The carriage was ready, they were bringing it round to the front, and my master was pacing the pavement, Pilot following him backwards and forwards.

  “Adèle may accompany us, may she not, sir?”

  “I told her no. I’ll have no brats!—I’ll have only you.”

  “Do let her go, Mr Rochester, if you please, it would be better.”

  “Not it—she will be a restraint.”

  He was quite peremptory, both in look and voice. The chill of Mrs Fairfax’s warnings, and the damp of her doubts were upon me, something of unsubstantiality and uncertainty had beset my hopes. I half lost the sense of power over him. I was about mechanically to obey him, without further remonstrance, but as he helped me into the carriage, he looked at my face.

  “What is the matter?” he asked, “all the sunshine is gone. Do you really wish the bairn to go? Will it annoy you if she is left behind?”

  “I would far rather she went, sir.”

  “Then off for your bonnet, and back like a flash of lightning!” cried he to Adèle.

  She obeyed him with what speed she might.

  “After all, a single morning’s interruption will not matter much,” said he, “when I mean shortly to claim you completely—your thoughts, conversation, company, and body—for life.”

  Adèle, when lifted in, commenced kissing me, by way of expressing her gratitude for my intercession, she was instantly stowed away into a corne
r on the other side of him. She then peeped round to where I sat, so stern a neighbour was too restrictive to him, in his present fractious mood, she dared whisper no observations, nor ask of him any information.

  “Let her come to me,” I entreated, “she will, perhaps, trouble you, sir, there is plenty of room on this side.”

  He handed her over as if she had been a lapdog. “I’ll send her to school yet,” he said, but now he was smiling.

  I so loved this side of him! His shoulders were against the cushion in gentle repose. The frown between his brows had eased. He indeed appeared a decade younger; such was his sudden carefree nature.

  Adèle heard him, and asked if she was to go to school “sans mademoiselle?”

  “Yes,” he replied, “absolutely sans mademoiselle; for I am to take mademoiselle to the moon, and there I shall seek a cave in one of the white valleys among the volcano-tops, and mademoiselle shall live with me there, and only me.”

  “She will have nothing to eat. You will starve her,” observed Adèle.

  “I shall gather manna for her morning and night, the plains and hillsides in the moon are bleached with manna, Adèle.”

  “She will want to warm herself, what will she do for a fire?”

  “Fire rises out of the lunar mountains, when she is cold, I’ll carry her up to a peak, and lay her down on the edge of a crater.”

  “Oh, qu’ elle y sera mal—peu comfortable! And her clothes, they will wear out, how can she get new ones?”

  Mr Rochester professed to be puzzled. “Hem!” said he. “What would you do, Adèle? Cudgel your brains for an expedient. How would a white or a pink cloud answer for a gown, do you think? And one could cut a pretty enough scarf out of a rainbow.”

  “She is far better as she is,” concluded Adèle, after musing some time, “besides, she would get tired of living with only you in the moon. If I were mademoiselle, I would never consent to go with you.”

  “She has consented, she has pledged her word.”

  “But you can’t get her there. There is no road to the moon, it is all air and neither you nor she can fly.”

  “Adèle, look at that field.” We were now outside Thornfield gates, and bowling lightly along the smooth road to Millcote, where the dust was well laid by the thunderstorm, and, where the low hedges and lofty timber trees on each side glistened green and rain-refreshed.