Pride and Punishment: An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen's Beloved Classic

by Nia Farrell

  When we finally do go, we arrive early and take command of the situation before giving their mother the chance. Knowing Mrs. Bennet is not in the habit of walking, Charles proposes a stroll about the grounds. Miss Mary is busy, but the remaining three daughters readily agree. We set off, free of the eyes, ears, and mouths of the others.

  Bingley, clever man, sets a slower pace for himself and Miss Jane that soon allows us to outstrip him. They lag behind. I forge ahead, Miss Elizabeth on one arm, Miss Kitty on the other. Neither one is willing to engage in idle conversation. I sense that Miss Kitty is apprehensive, intimidated by me, perhaps. When our route takes us near Lucas Lodge, she excuses herself to call upon their daughter, leaving Miss Elizabeth and me to continue on, alone.

  Brave girl.

  I relish the weight of her hand upon my arm, and imagine her wrists bound with ropes, ribbons, pearls. I remember the feel of her. The taste of her. I scan the path for anywhere that might screen us from passersby.

  “Mr. Darcy,” she blurts, “I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.”

  Hmm. Miss Elizabeth can keep secrets. Evidently her aunt cannot.

  The knowledge is like a two-edged sword. I never meant for the Bennets to know what part I played in their daughter’s redemption, but having Miss Elizabeth feel grateful, perhaps in my debt, pleases me more than I dare say.

  “I am sorry,” I tell her. “Exceedingly sorry that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.”

  Her brow creases. Her brilliant sapphire eyes implore me. “You must not blame my aunt,” she says, that honeyed voice of hers resonating deep within me. “Lydia’s thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars.”

  Mrs. Wickham—not Mrs. Gardiner—is the culprit. I suppress a sigh, having hoped (but knowing better) that she would not betray my part in their union.

  We come to a copse of trees. Miss Elizabeth stops and turns to face me, lowering her gaze to the center of my chest while her cheeks pink. What are you thinking, darling girl?

  She wets her lips. I want to bite them.

  “Let me thank you,” she says meaningfully, but rather innocently. She has no idea how demanding I can be.

  She does not have to offer twice.

  I grasp her hand and pull her into the copse after me, making certain that we enter unobserved. Not that it would stop what is about to happen. Sexual acts in public places have their own appeal; the threat of being caught serves to heighten arousal and increase the mating frenzy that grips me and builds with each step that we take.

  A few twists and turns, and we are alone with only the birds as witnesses.

  “Undress,” I tell her, “then kneel. I’m going to fuck your mouth,” I warn her. “Please me, and I will see that you leave here satisfied.”

  Her nostrils flare. Her breath quickens as she remembers the parsonage at Hunsford, how she crested in my arms.

  Minutes later, she is naked, on her knees, watching me unfasten my fall and pull out my erection. Rampant, it rises nine inches, straight as a rod, with a girth that gives a jaded woman pause. I let her look, using the opportunity to admire the delicious curve of her small breasts, their hardened pink tips, the thatch of chestnut hair that guards her secrets. She is a stunning creature, made even more beautiful by her submission.

  “No teeth,” I tell her. “Curl your lips around them and keep them covered. Your lips, your mouth, your tongue are all that I want to feel.”

  I fist myself, increasing the amount of pre-cum that beads on the tip. “Hands behind your back. Now lick me.”

  She does, brave girl. She takes her first taste of me, and her second, and third. “Tease me with your tongue,” I rumble. “Swirl it around my crown. That’s it. Yes. Yeeessss.”

  How many nights have I imagined this? Yet my fantasies are no match for the reality of the sight, the sound, the feel of Miss Elizabeth Bennett, using her mouth to pleasure me.

  I forge in deeper, push the head of my cock against her palate and into the back of her mouth deep enough to trigger her gag reflex. “Ssh, ssh,” I croon, bending my hips and drawing back a little. She is drooling now. A drop escapes her mouth to dangle, threadlike, between us.

  “Suck me,” I growl. Fisting her hair, I hold her head in place and push in again, almost as deep but not quite. She hollows her cheeks, giving me what I ask for, lips circling my shaft and tongue pressing, teasing, as she discovers what I like.

  Jesus God.

  I want to fuck her face. Really fuck it. Drive my cock down the back of her throat and spill myself on her tongue. But this is her first time, and I must be patient with her, bringing her along until my testicles draw up tight, ready to expel their load.

  “I am going to climax in your mouth,” I warn her. “Swallow what you can.” No sooner that the words leave my lips, I achieve release, ejaculating in the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. She moans around my cock, sucking and swallowing as much as she is able. When the last pulse has subsided, I pull free, pinching her nipple as I do.

  She squeaks, gasping when I do it harder. Pulling and twisting the tip elicits a moan that strokes my libido and makes my cock twitch. Christ in heaven, I would love to bury myself inside her.

  “Put your hands on my chest,” I order. “Touch me where you want to be touched, and I shall.”

  What follows is the most erotic experience I have ever had. She explores my body and allows me to reciprocate, fondling her breasts, playing with her nipples, stroking her stomach, exploring her secrets. Her touch is tentative, untutored, yet her eagerness to please more than makes up for her lack of experience. In no time, I am hard again, but I have promised to see her satisfied.

  “Please,” she whispers. “Please.”

  She begs so prettily.

  I slide my hand between her legs and stroke her with one finger, following the center seam, parting her folds, wetting myself on her juices, then pushing my way inside. Jesus God. So fucking tight. She mewls when I forge in deep, then deeper yet, until I am buried to the knuckle. Curling my finger, I find the place that almost makes her swallow her tongue. At the same time, I find her clitoris and toy with it, rubbing, pressing, stroking.

  She thrusts her pelvis, pushing against me, her breath ragged, her movements desperate as she chases her climax. I give it to her, catching her clitoris between two fingers and pinching it, pushing her over the edge and holding her when she would otherwise have fallen.

  She clings to my arms as she rides out the waves.

  I press my lips to her forehead and inhale the fragrance of her hair. Sliding her fingers up, then over, she surveys the landscape of my chest with her palms, exploring its contours, delighting in our differences. My manhood responds to her touch.

  “Again,” she whispers, ready for round two.

  I take off my coat, turn it inside out, and have her lie upon it. Thank God the day is warm enough that I can keep her nude for my pleasure and she will not take a chill. Save for my coat, I keep otherwise dressed, just in case someone decides to visit the copse where we lay.

  She is a virgin. Denying my body’s urge to change her status, I take my time with her, stroking her hair, touching her everywhere, learning just how sensitive she is and how much she can take. Seeing her respond to my pinches and twists, I know that her nipples are made for clamps. When I pin her wrists above her head, she writhes and shudders to another climax.

  I cannot wait to bind her, tie her, suspend her. Take her every orifice.

  Feeling the prod of my ere
ction against her stomach, she parts her knees in silent offering, ready and willing, trust shining in the depths of her fine, dark eyes.

  Jesus God.

  “We cannot,” I tell her.

  She hooks me with her leg and begs to differ.

  “Fuck,” I groan, wondering just how far I can go without crossing the line. Do I dare to test myself?

  I do.

  I dare.

  Settling myself between her thighs, I brace myself above her on one forearm and drag the head of my cock along her slit, wetting it on her juices. Parting her folds, I nudge her opening. My breath hitches when she pushes back, intuitively notching my erection in her entrance.

  An inch, I tell myself. Just a taste of what it will be like, when I finally do possess her.

  I start to squeeze inside and bite back a groan. Christ almighty, the feel of her silken sheath. Tight. Wet. Invitingly warm. So good. Too good.

  I cannot do this.

  Pulling back, I feel her fingers scrabbling for purchase. She whimpers at the loss, wanting more, needing more.

  I take a moment to gather myself. I can do this. I can stop, leave her virgin still. Surging upward, I give her the crown. Just the crown. She’ll have to wait for anything more. Still, I can pleasure us both. I flex my hips, a short, controlled motion that eases me out, then back into her.

  “And again,” she begs, palming my chest and rubbing my waistcoat, teasing my nipples though the layers of fabric. Her other hand finds the hard curve of my buttocks and clutches one cheek, desperate fingers digging into my flesh.

  “Christ,” I grate, grinding against her, giving her my crown from its tip to the sensitive rim. “Lie still. Do not move, pet. You are too tempting.”

  She mewls, as frustrated as I am that we can go no further. Not if she is to remain a virgin.

  And so I tease us both. In. Out. In. Out. Just the tip. Just a taste. Jesus God, I feel as if I am earning stars in my crown, denying myself what she is offering. Unless…

  “Roll over,” I order, moving so that she can do so. “On your stomach.”

  She obeys without hesitation. Without question.

  “Good girl,” I croon. Settling high between her legs, I take my cock and slide it along her seam from front to back, wetting its length as I press it against her, a delicious thrust that has her wriggling and arching back to meet me. “So wet for me, aren’t you, pet? So greedy for my cock. I will not take your cunny,” I tell her. “Virgin you are and virgin you shall remain.”

  By this time, my length is shiny with her juices, and her dark star is beckoning, tempting me to explore. “I want to sink my length into you,” I grate in her ear, pressing the tip of my cock against her most private place. She goes still beneath me, trying to fathom what I mean. “Here,” I say. “I can take you here. If you trust me, I swear, I will bring us both pleasure. I shall be gentle. You need not fear that I will take more than you give. Say the word, and I will stop, but you will miss what would have been. Do you wish me to stop?”

  I press harder, into the tight ring of muscle. “Relax and push back,” I tell her. “Trust me. It will stretch. Slowly. Surely. That’s it. Breathe, pet. Give this to me. Let me in. Fuck you. Fill you. Jesus.”

  I am in.

  Braced on my forearms, I keep most of my weight off her, allowing my chest to brush against her back, relishing the feel of being inside her dark passage. I hold myself still, suspended above her, giving her time to adjust, allowing her body to learn mine. After long, torturous moments, she moves experimentally, impaling herself further on my cock.

  Jesus God.

  I cannot take her as I would like to, not for this first time, and not without extra lubrication. As much as it tests my resolve, I let her do most of the work, using me as she would a dildo, until she has taken nearly all of me and her body begs me to move.

  “Fuck,” I grate, flexing my hips, relishing the moan that escapes her sweet lips. I fist her hair and turn her head, kissing her for the first time while we are so intimately connected. I plunder her mouth as I plunge inside. She bucks and grinds beneath me. Tongues tangle, tasting, exploring as I claim her mouth and her body.

  Mine.

  I burst inside her. The extra lubrication allows me to move. I am still hard enough, I fuck her arse, plunging deep, relishing the feel of her, cherishing her trust. “Tell me if it’s too much,” I say, driving deeper still.

  She gasps and moans and says nothing to stop me.

  When I am done, I sacrifice my handkerchief, folding it into a pad and tucking it into her crevice, to catch any emission that leaks out. I help her up. Help her dress. Tuck my cock back in my drawers and put my clothes in order.

  Plucking up my coat, I turn it right side out and put it on. On the surface, it looks the same but it smells of us, the sweat of our joining, and I wonder who will notice.

  I kiss her forehead and whisper, “You are welcome.”

  She draws back her head, thinking far too much for one so young. “Let me thank you…again…and again…,” I remind her.

  Miss Elizabeth blushes hotly. When she meets my gaze, hers is soft and earnest and brave. She makes herself naked, baring her soul in a gesture more intimate than anything we just shared. “In the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them.”

  “If you will thank me, let it be for yourself alone,” I tell her, forbidding thoughts of her parents to intrude upon the two of us. “That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”

  I cannot help myself. I look at her, from head to toe and back again, remembering the feel of her moving beneath me, those full, plump lips wrapped around my cock. Technically, she remains a virgin. I am acutely aware that she has made no commitment to me.

  “You are too generous to trifle with me,” I say. “If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

  “Master,” she whispers. A single, heartfelt word that thrills my very soul. “My sentiments have undergone so material a change since then, as to make me receive your present assurances with gratitude—and pleasure,” she adds meaningfully, her blush deepening at the gleam in my eyes when I imagine her naked and kneeling.

  God help me, I want her again.

  No, Darcy!

  I capture her hand and lift it to kiss the back. “No more today,” I say gently, “or you shall be too sore to walk.” She may be there now. I had not planned to take her anal virginity and had not come prepared. “As it is, we shall take our time going back. I depend upon you, Miss, to set our pace at whatever is most comfortable for you. However long it takes—it does not matter. And you are to tell me at once if we need to stop. Keep silent when you need to speak, and I will blister that bottom of yours. Do you understand?”

  She shifts uncomfortably at the thought of my discipline. I cannot wait to show her Room 366.

  “Yes, milord,” she nods.

  Close enough.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  We take our time, conversing as we walk, focused on each other, what was and what will be. Eventually I broach the subject of Aunt Catherine, who came to Longbourn whilst I was in London. I do not mention that she was at Netherfield first, assessing Charles and Miss Jane and agreeing to train them together.

  “She left a letter,” I tell her. “It contains the substance of your conversation, dwelling emphatically on your every expression which, in her apprehension, peculiarly denotes my aunt’s perverseness and assurance. She hoped to dissuade you, but you refused to yield what she demanded—the promise to never enter into an engagement with me. It taught me to hope,” I admit, “as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew eno
ugh of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.”

  Miss Elizabeth colours and laughs, her honeyed voice lush with shared humour. “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”

  “What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behavior to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.” I am a gentleman. A dominant. And I acted the part of neither in the poor way that I handled things.

  She stops and tightens her fingers on my forearm, commanding my full attention. “We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening. The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility.”

  “I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: ‘had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.’ Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;—though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.”

  She catches her lower lip between her teeth and worries it for a moment. “I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression.” Sighing softly, she starts us walking again, a snail’s pace compared to earlier. “I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.”

  I allow a small smile. “I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.” And that was when she believed I offered marriage—a misconception that will forever stand uncorrected. Her fantasy has become my reality. I am pledged to see that it remains so.