by Nia Farrell
PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT
An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen’s Beloved Classic
by
NIA FARRELL
and
JANE AUSTEN
PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT new material © 2016 Nia Farrell, with public domain material from PRIDE AND PREJUDICE by Jane Austen
Edited by Anita Quick and Anne Bright
Cover Design by Crystal Visions
Cover Photograph © 2016 Anita Quick
Length 91,133 words/344 6x9 pages
All rights reserved on original material, which may not be reproduced or used without the written consent of the author, except for brief quotes in reviews. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. Such action is in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law.
Unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
First Edition June 1, 2016
ISBN-10: 0-9853145-8-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-9853145-8-3
Long Branch Books
Shattuc, Illinois
Look for these titles by Nia Farrell:
THE THREE GRACES SERIES e-books:
SOMETHING ELSE (The Three Graces Book One)
SOMETHING DIFFERENT (The Three Graces Book Two)
SOMETHING MORE (The Three Graces Book Three), nominated for Best BDSM Book of the Year, Ménage Category, 2016 Golden Flogger Awards
THE THREE GRACES TRILOGY paperback
Contains SOMETHING ELSE, SOMETHING DIFFERENT, and SOMETHING MORE
SOMETHING MORE (the sequel to SOMETHING ELSE) e-book and paperback
DARK MOONS RISING e-book and paperback
PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT
by Nia Farrell and Jane Austen
PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT is an erotic retelling of a Jane Austen classic. Characters that you thought you knew…well, they’re ready to reveal their secret selves. Mr. Darcy is a Dominant. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is submissive. Jane Bennet might be the only “handsome” woman in Meryton, but puppy-like Charles Bingley needs a Mistress. Mr. Darcy doesn’t think Jane has what it takes and separates the couple.
His growing lust leads Mr. Darcy to confess his desire to dominate Miss Elizabeth—a proposition that she mistakes for a proposal. Already accused of less-than-gentlemanlike behavior, Darcy must find a way to win the submissive heart of a woman who abhors him.
Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to authors everywhere, who are readers first, and for the parents, teachers, librarians, and caregivers who foster love of the written word.
My first thanks must go to the Divine Source of All That Is, for allowing me to come back for another round and for making things so very interesting, in a good way, this time. My next thanks is to my parents, who read to me from infancy on, until I was able to do it myself. Then it was regular trips to the village library and books brought home from school.
Thank you…to my husband, who told me that I could write a book and set the wheels in motion. To our children, who share my love of reading, genre differences aside. To John Tucker for his interview question, asking what classic I would like to see written as erotica. My original answer was, in essence, a blurb for this book. To Johnna N. Seibert PA, Carmen Alicea PA, Pam Ackerson, Christina Mandara, Felicity Brandon, Pandora Spocks, Suzette Salinas, Kathleen Banks, Audra Hart, and the Tall, Dom & Dirty Facebook group for their support and promotional efforts on my behalf, and Anne Bright, alpha reader extraordinaire.
To my author friends from my MoRWA days with whom I’ve stayed in touch: Kathleen Sage, Anna Schueler, Virginia Elizabeth Hayes, Rhonda Grasle, Elle Nyman, Allison Harris, and Karen Hudgins.
A huge thanks to the readers who enjoyed my books and took the time to rate and review them. If you want to support an author, please read, rate, review, and recommend!
Last but not least, my heartfelt thanks and gratitude to Miss Jane Austen. If I were a character in Fahrenheit 451, I would very likely be Pride and Prejudice.
~ Nia
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Author’s Biography and Links
Current titles
Future releases
PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT
Introduction
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen is a book beloved by millions. With zombies added to the mix and shades of gray so prevalent in the media, it was only a matter of time before someone revisited the pages and viewed them with entirely different eyes. Mr. Darcy as a Dominant. Lizzie as a submissive. Characters that you thought you knew…well, they’re ready to reveal their secret selves.
Out of the closet and into the dungeon we go.
I love Pride and Prejudice. I love satire and revisionist treatments. I especially love books and movies, parodies and alternate reality stories based on Miss Austen’s work. As for my erotic take on the story, I figure that you’ll either hate it or love it. Either way, the story that was downloaded into my writer’s brain had to be given a voice. And so, without further adieu, here is my personal and somewhat kinky twist on Pride and Prejudice.
Chapter One
Mr. Darcy
There are two sides to every coin, two versions of every story, and at least two masks that every civilized human on the planet wears. There is the face that we show in public. Another that is seen by distant relatives. We reveal ourselves by degrees to casual friends, immediate family members, bosom comrades, and the most intimate of acquaintances—at least, those who can accept us as we truly are.
My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, and I am a man of particular tastes. With an income of ten thousand a year, I can afford to indulge those tastes at various clubs in London catering to men such as myself. The stipulations attached to my inheritance require me to eventually produce an heir but that means taking a wife. As yet, I have found no creature who can tempt me to dance a second set, let alone entice me to wed.
Granted, my standards are high. She must be intelligent yet biddable. Strong yet willing to submit to my authority in all things but especially in our private chambers, where I will train her to satisfy my every desire. She will be the perfect sub
missive.
My perfect wife.
One would think that the marriage mart of London would boast any number of young women who might suit, but no. No. Sadly, the nubile virgins of my acquaintance are mostly shallow shells, all looks and no substance. In the twittering, preening flocks of them, I have not met one who possesses a personality that sets her apart. None of them has offered the challenge of the chase. The thrill of victory, the conquest and possession of a maiden fair—those are things that I have yet to experience, preferring liaisons with mature, discreet women to a trophy that I have no intention of keeping. Do not doubt, when I find the one whose siren call I cannot resist, I will not rest until I have made her mine.
The likelihood of meeting her is substantially diminished, now that my friend Charles Bingley has rented a house in the country, the possession of which took him away from the city before Michaelmas. I leave on the morrow, to be thrust with him into a primitive, bucolic society where dance cards dangle from wrists of farmers’ daughters and officers’ wives. If we cannot find brides in London, how reduced are our chances in Hertfordshire?
This was one of those rare instances where Charles listened to his sister Caroline over me, but then it is his nature to yield to a stronger woman. He is my friend, and as such, looks to me for advice and guidance, but Charles needs a woman who will take him in hand and keep him happily there. The odds of meeting her in the country are slim to none, although he seems determined to try.
His sister, of course, has her own agenda. Free from the scrutiny of London society, she hopes to connect with a willing counterpart and indulge in her own discreet affair. But again, if she cannot find a paramour in London, I fail to see how she can hope to find one now that they are removed to Netherfield Hall.
Caroline Bingley’s love life is of little concern to me, as long as she respects my friendship with her brother and limits herself to idle conversations with my sister Georgiana. It is not Georgiana’s nature to be attracted to women, yet she has good reason to be wary of men. Indeed, she has little contact with them, outside of her piano master, Charles Bingley, myself, and our step-cousin Hugh—Colonel Fitzwilliam. Hugh and I share joint custody of my sister, and he will have the safekeeping of her when I have departed, headed for Hertfordshire, pledged to keep my friend Charles from folly.
Hugh may not be related by blood, but he is as close to me as a brother, and of a like nature as myself. With Charles gone ahead, we are left, the two of us, to seek diversion in our favourite haunt, a private club that commands a premium price for membership, requires masks for secrecy, and guarantees one or more play partners for the night. One is fine. We enjoy sharing, but the addition of a second female adds variety, at least. And if she is an anal virgin, Hugh will be happier yet when he takes her in his preferred way (a holdover, I am fairly certain, from his military service when he was away with his unit for months on end). Then again, he may find a biddable young man to serve him for the night, leaving the plump-breasted pigeons to me.
In the club, we are nameless. Dominating men seeking submissive partners with enough experience to handle us. There are plenty eager to try, but given our sizes? We must choose wisely, especially if we are to share.
Luck is with us. A woman with scintillating curves enters the room, nude except for her cat’s mask and personal adornments—an unusual necklace, clever earrings, and another smaller pair adorning her generous breasts. Her bejeweled nipples are hard as diamonds, her eyes cast respectfully down. She comes to a halt nearby and waits to see who among us will choose her for the night.
I look at my cousin. He nods approvingly. Together we approach her, stopping a respectful distance so as not to appear overtly threatening. Hugh and I may not be related by blood, but we are nearly the same height, both of us large in more ways than one.
“Kitten,” I say, “you have captured our attention. Is it possible that you return our interest? You may speak.”
“Aye, milords.”
Her voice is sweet as honey, low and sultry. Her skin is nearly flawless, with only a few pox marks on her fair cheeks. Her rosy lips are ripe, luscious, slightly parted as her mint-sweetened breath scents the air between us. She has bathed recently and wears a light fragrance that evokes a garden in spring. She, its fairest flower, is aroused. I can smell it, and so can Hugh.
She will do.
“Come, pet.”
Hugh maintains a private room here for his liaisons. With his commission, discretion is mandatory where women are concerned and crucial when it comes to other men. Not that he often indulges himself in male flesh, but if he ever chooses to marry, his wife is going to need an ironclad arse to keep him happy at home.
Good luck finding one.
Perhaps Hugh should visit Hertfordshire.
Our kitten follows us to Hugh’s room, folding her legs gracefully and kneeling on command. “Good girl,” I hum, wondering how much she can take. I have a lighter hand than Hugh, preferring bound wrists to reddened buttocks, but Hugh has been a bit on edge and he will find comfort in administering discipline. I suppose that I should warm her up, prepare her for what is coming.
I sit on the bed and order her across my lap. Her full breasts hang like pendulums on one side. Her lovely, round bottom begs to be spanked.
Smack!
She jerks a bit but does not fight me. Not that I want her to. Others may enjoy a struggle, but I expect acquiescence, at the very least, although enthusiasm is preferred. She gives me both, yielding to my hand striking on her flesh, eventually arching her back and rising up to meet me. She is wet with arousal. Juices run down her thighs.
Hugh is naked by this time. Standing at the foot of the bed, he fists himself—a task made easier with the oil coating his length and girth. I lay our kitten on the bed, face down in the center, and Hugh takes over. Hauling her hips up, he presses his crown against her tight ring of muscle.
She whimpers when she realises just how big he is.
“Relax,” he croons, refusing to let her shy away from him. “Just relax and let me in. Surely you have done this before.”
“Once,” she chokes out, breath huffing between clenched teeth. “And he was nothing. Smaller than your thumb.”
Hugh smiles like the very devil. She is almost virginal, where he will take her. It is unimaginable, considering how she presented herself to us. What was she thinking?
No matter. He will have her. As will I—although I have decided to start with her mouth. I want to see those rosy lips wrapped around my cock.
Our kitten mewls as Hugh sinks into her dark passage, filling it an inch at a time until she has taken him all. “Yes,” he growls, grinding his hips into her tender flesh, excited by the sight and the heat of it. Usually he would have flogged her, cropped or tawsed or caned her—which tells me how much tension he needs to release tonight. But then, the evening is young. We have time, and we take it, fucking her arse and mouth, flogging her exquisite skin, then teaming up to take her at once.
I lie on my back for this one, have her sit on me, and take my nine-inch cock in her cunny, which is deliciously tight and ridiculously wet with her cream. Once we are joined, Hugh comes between our parted legs, catches her hips in a bruising grip, and works his way inside. Her face pinches at the fullness, initially, until we get her stretched out and start really fucking her. Just a few full strokes, and she climaxes, crying out, sobbing her release. She collapses against my chest, wetting it with tears.
We were nearly too much for her.
“Poor kitten,” I croon, petting her hair, then fisting it and pulling her head away from me. Meeting my gaze, Hugh takes over, hauling her up by her hair; her body arches, then straightens as he forces her to sit upright with her back against Hugh’s furred chest. A Fitzwilliam in name only, my thirty-one-year-old step-cousin bears no family resemblance. He cannot be called handsome, but there is an intensity about him, a magnetism that nonetheless draws women—and men so inclined—like moths to a flame, burning with promises
of dark pleasure. He gives it to her, torturing her nipples with pinches, twists, and pulls, biting the back of her neck hard enough to draw blood, then feasting on it while her body convulses, tightening, milking our substantial lengths, urging us toward our own climaxes.
Not yet.
I motion for Hugh to take her. He lifts her, allowing me to ease free of her cunny and ready the restraints. He presses her down onto the mattress. Still intimately joined, he rolls with her, until he is on his back and she lies atop him on hers, his thick, eight-inch cock buried in her arse. I stroke each finely boned wrist and tie it in turn, stretching her arms out tight before blindfolding her.
Perfect.
Hugh sodomizes her, one hand grasping her breast, the other sliding through her nether curls to find her hooded jewel and rub it like Aladdin’s lamp, bent on making magic. Open to experience it again, she follows him to the precipice and lets him push her over the edge. She plunges, then flies, riding the carpet of his hirsute chest as he forces yet another climax from her. She is groggy with post-coital bliss when the first drops of wax hit her skin.
“Fuck!” she cries out. “Shite! What the devil…?”
“Shh. Lie still. It’s only wax.” White, red, and black for our kitten, who mewls and whimpers, gasps and shudders as the hot molten flow hits her clitoris. Scraping her clean means shaving her, leaving her plump little pussy entirely denuded and highly sensitive, more than ready for Hugh’s talented hands and mouth.
Her own mouth is filled to the brim with my cock. I grip her hair and hold her head just so, throat extended so that I can fuck her face while Hugh takes her arse once more. She moans, the sound vibrating around my length. I feel my testicles draw up, heavy with seed. My strokes grow more emphatic, slightly erratic and roughly abbreviated as I seek my own pleasure. I find it, exploding down her throat, spurting streams of ejaculate past her tongue, feeling her suck and work to swallow it all.