Darcy Dominates

by Tilda Templeton

  Mrs. Darcy, for her part, had a new appreciation for what it was her sister saw in Mr. Wickham.

  “Now my knees!” Darcy yelled. He hadn’t meant to yell, but there was so much emotion flushing his blood and he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. His angry, flashing python slithered to attention. Darcy clapped his hand over it, as though to shield it from the ladies, but the intense pleasure that came from fondling his own manhood made him throw his head back. Thrumming pleasure moved into his chest and across his ribs. He loved being in command, having this man-creature at his bodily disposal. He stroked his hard rod, slowly and rhythmically. The clock ticked his pace up and down, up and down. His entire groin area felt called to attention, his anus muscles relaxing. He pressed his fingertip gently to his glans, massaging the hungry nerve endings there. A drop of pearlescent cum appeared on the tip, coating his finger in moisture.

  Wickham’s whole body vibrated. He licked Darcy’s knees, suckling the man’s flesh and pressing his mouth against the back of them. It struck him how like a kiss that was, but of course it couldn’t have been that. It was only submissiveness. Servitude. Darcy didn’t even have to ask Wickham to move higher. Wickham’s tongue rose of its own accord, lining the insides of Darcy’s white thighs, smelling the earthiness of his firm cock. Wickham didn’t hesitate as he rose higher and plunged his tongue into the crevice between Darcy’s chestnuts.

  Darcy gasped. His whole body bucked. It was too much, and yet, not enough. He was losing control in the intense pleasure and satisfaction of being suckled by this man he despised. Power and desire grew like a tidal wave, pulsating and shivering over his muscles. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath. And then, louder, “On your knees!”

  Wickham immediately fell back to the ground. He turned and presented his ass, like a wild animal announcing inferiority. Darcy hadn’t even asked Wickham to do that, but they were in sync with each other, now. Understanding how the script was to continue. That knowledge drove them both to the brink of lust. They wanted to fuck, both of them, and to be fucked. Hard and with magnificent, manly potency. Just thinking about what was to come made Wickham’s cock leak. A stream of cum dribbled down his leg and it was all he could do not to explode over the Oriental carpet.

  Darcy stood tall and erect, reveling now in the way his massive staff saluted the room. At the hungry, desperate look in each lady’s eyes as they watched, nearly drooling onto their gowns. Darcy was the fucking master and they were all his subjects.

  Darcy drew back his arm and slapped Wickham across the ass. His hand left a satisfying pink mark. Wickham called out. A pleasured “Oh!” Darcy spanked again. His arm was a powerful substitute for his hungry, wet cock.

  “Yes, fuck!” Wickham cried, again. “Show me who’s master. Punish me!”

  “You earned this, you cunt,” Darcy said. He spanked. Every connection of hand to ass made Wickham’s ass wiggle, but even Wickham was getting into the action by swaying his hips teasingly. For some reason, this angered Darcy. He reached under Wickham’s body and clamped his hand over Wickham’s shaft, squeezing so that Wickham squealed and arched his ass higher into the air. Cum squished between Darcy’s fingers. Darcy felt a surge of satisfaction. He continued spanking Wickham, the liquid pearls filling his hand like a volcano eruption. Wickham’s body shook and he brayed like a hound on the hunt.

  Darcy’s hand wasn’t enough. He took up the poker beside the fireplace. At first, Darcy was planning on rapping that across Wickham’s backside, but upon further inspection of the tip of the poker, Darcy changed his mind. He pointed the poker into the crevice between Wickham’s cheeks. He rubbed the tip up and down, skirting the hole Wickham presented to him. Darcy watched Wickham’s hole open and clench, open and clench, as though it was talking to him. As though it was asking please.

  Darcy lined the poker along the side of his purple cock, gripping the two together like the tool was an extension of his own manhood. The cold of the metal shocked him, like tongue tips flicking over his hips and ass. He shuddered with delight. Then he slowly entered Wickham’s ass with the poker, moving the tip around in a tight, slow circle.

  Wickham panted uncontrollably. He reached for his own dick and clutched it like a starving man clutched a sausage. His body rocked, demanding more from Darcy, moving forward into his own palm, and backwards into the brilliant fucking sensation of the tool up his asshole.

  “More,” Wickham gurgled.

  But Darcy remembered that he was the one in charge. That he commanded, not Wickham. That pleasure was to be his, first and foremost. So he tossed the poker aside, where it landed with a clatter. He kicked Wickham’s hand away from its own cock.

  “Turn around. Lick my rod,” Darcy commanded. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring at himself in the long mirror on the wall across from him. He watched Wickham spin around, rise on his knees, and grab a palmful of asscheek in each hand. He watched Wickham flick his tongue over the thick, pudding-covered tip of his cock.

  He felt it, even more. Teasing, throbs of pleasure pulsated in his head. Up his huge shaft. Into his quivering balls. Round and round his hips. Wickham flicked and licked and lapped up Darcy’s leaking cum like it was a dessert course. Darcy tried to control himself, tried to remain the master, but Wickham was driving him wild. He sucked like a man with practice and Darcy felt his legs turning to jelly.

  Darcy roughly grabbed a handful of Wickham’s hair and forced the man’s mouth further over his cock. Wickham’s lips hungrily closed over Darcy’s snake and his tongue moved wildly over the shaft.

  “You are my servant. You are owned by me,” Darcy said. He slapped both his palms on the back of Wickham’s head and thrust and pounded his raging dick into the man’s mouth. His balls slapped Wickham’s chin as Darcy plunged, and the sound like spanking pleased Darcy. “I will fuck your mouth. I will fuck anything I want to.”

  Wickham couldn’t say anything. He only lavished in the deep fullness of Darcy’s rod ramming his mouth. He took Darcy as far in as he could and pressed his lips hard to give Darcy the tightest fuck possible. Every time that firm tip hit the back of his throat, he swallowed, reveling in the taste and the way Darcy’s body shook as the depth of his mouth kneaded his adversary’s shaft.

  Darcy held Wickham’s head hard to keep from completely losing control. He uttered unintelligible sounds at the ceiling, pushing and pulling and pounding into Wickham’s warm, wet mouth.

  “Squirt on his face!” Miss Ortberg suddenly exclaimed. “Do it, Darcy. Show him who’s in charge.”

  “Yes. Fuck, yes.” Darcy’s cock thrummed with the coming explosion of raw power and pleasure. His ass clenched as the buildup of pressure moved to the base of his cock. His eyes rolled up, his whole body tremored. He was the fucking Darcy and the little cunt at his feet would taste the salty spurge of the very depths of his body. The pressure moved up his shaft until, finally, Darcy ripped his cock from Wickham’s mouth and exploded, gripping his rod and squirting the juice that pulsated from his rifle all over Wickham’s face. Wickham’s mouth stayed open, catching the delicious goo bullets Darcy blasted at him. Wickham licked his lips and swallowed.

  Darcy stood, unmoving, for a moment, letting his explosion settle over his body. He looked down at Wickham, the little beast, and noticed his dick was still hard as a rock. His tone became condescending.

  “Take care of that,” he demanded. “Filthy animal.”

  “As you command,” Wickham said, again. He lay on his back and, with the whole room watching, wrapped his fingers, one by one, around his cock. He pumped his shaft up and down, slowly, then faster and faster and faster. “Mercy, fuck!” he screamed as he blew his load. It streamed down his cock and into the depths of his hair. He rubbed the cum gathered on his hand all over his chest as he heaved with the final release of pleasure.

  Even though Darcy had just orgasmed, watching Wickham get off tickled his dick again. Hardness peered through his foreskin like a mouse nose peeking out of a hole
. Soon, the purple rage of sexual desire showed itself fully. He wanted more. He needed more.

  “Get up,” he said. “All fours. Bend over.”

  “Yes, please,” Wickham said.

  Darcy spread Wickham’s firm, white asscheeks. He gathered and rubbed his and Wickham’s sticky cum in the crevice. His prick sought the quivering, inviting hole. He pushed in, slowly, letting Wickham receive him. When he discovered that Wickham’s anus stretched easily and willingly, he realized he wasn’t the first to dominate the man. He didn’t mind. Wickham’s ass swallowed him like a tawdry whore. He grunted.

  “Mother of all gods.” He placed his hands on each of Wickham’s shoulders and the men moved and moaned together, back and forth, putting all their noble virility into their efforts. The floor creaked and the carpet bubbled beneath them. They’d lost all concept of the women watching them as they raced like sweating, shining thoroughbreds to the finish line.

  “Yes, my bitch,” Darcy groaned. His erection was as solid as before, but this time he lasted and lasted, the delicious pressure building slowly and steadily. Wickham squeezed and released in time to Darcy’s thrusts, milking the cum from deep inside Darcy’s cock. The both felt the goodness of the tight space, both going wild from all the sensations dashing through their bloodstreams. They shivered with need. Wickham was desperate for his cock and balls to be worked, for tongues to dance over his pulsating taint. Darcy’s cock was slightly jealous of Wickham’s ass; his own anus squeezed with need.

  Darcy’s second orgasm snuck up on him, tickling his rod until, suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Darcy buried his snake balls deep into Wickham and sprayed his load into Wickham’s ass. Wickham cried out with pleasure as the warm, wet cum coated the walls of his anus. Then he whimpered as Darcy pulled away, spent and gasping for air.

  “Let me…” Wickham trailed off as he frantically gripped his own hard-again rod and pumped. “I need release.”

  Darcy watched as Wickham writhed against the carpet. They would have to replace those rugs and burn the old ones. But he wouldn’t touch Wickham. He turned and caught Miss Ortberg’s eyes. She nodded her approval at him. Yes, Darcy felt like he’d settled a long overdue score with Wickham.

  Then, Darcy looked at his wife. Her face was pale, except for the two spots of bright pink on her cheeks. He could see her tight nipples beneath her gown. And, below, a circle of wetness where she’d pressed her skirt against her aching cunt.

  Darcy turned away with satisfaction. He slapped Wickham one last time on the ass, and the man’s cum shot from his cock in ropes of thick liquid. Wickham fell over and lay on his side, dominated, but happy.

  Miss Ortberg stood. “Well done, gentleman. I sense a new chapter from here on out, with all your stories of the past closed, for good. I must be off. I’m sorry I can’t stay for dinner, but I’m expecting my own guests. Mrs. Darcy, I’ll be in touch, soon.”

  “Please do,” Elizabeth said.

  Miss Ortberg smiled to herself as she removed herself from the room, closing the door behind her. Her own body felt lovely: relaxed and luscious. Her orgasm, achieved from nothing more than watching the men, had been sweet. Fulfilling. She wondered if the guests she was having that evening would get the same reaction from her. She hoped, at least, that her theory would do them as much good as it had Darcy and Wickham. It was becoming her trade, to make sure men got along. And if she got a little something delightful out of it, too, well that was just the cherry on top of the men’s cream.

  The End