Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody

by William Codpiece Thwackery

  At that moment, her Inner Slapper burst out of her metaphorical closet wearing a peephole basque and crotchless knickers. ‘Ta-da!’ she trilled. ‘Now, which way do I go for the seeing-to?’

  Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes. It was impossible to think of anything else but Mr Darcy’s kinky proposal, and she resolved, soon after breakfast, to read the contract in more detail. Taking the parchment out of a drawer, in which she had concealed it the evening before, she unrolled it fully and laid it upon her bureau.

  She read with an eagerness which hardly left her power of comprehension. Indeed, many of the terms in the document were beyond her understanding:

  The Dominant may use the Submissive in any sexual way he sees fit, at any time, except when the vicar comes for tea.

  The Dominant may flog, spank, whip or corporally punish the Submissive for his own personal gratification.

  The Submissive shall accept the Dominant as her master, and obey all the rules set out in this agreement.

  The Submissive shall not touch the Dominant at any time.

  The Dominant and the Submissive will make use of safe words which will be used to bring events to a close.

  In addition, the Submissive will ensure she achieves eight hours’ sleep at night, eats from a list of foods provided by the Dominant, and keeps herself waxed and exfoliated at all times.

  Waxed? Exfoliated? Elizabeth had never heard those terms before, but they sounded distinctly uncomfortable. But then this whole scheme was madness! That she should submit to the whims of a debauched rakehell such as Mr Darcy, allow him to use her ill and then, no doubt, cast her aside … And yet, there was something in his offer that tempted her.

  Taking up her quill, and a sheet of hotpressed paper from her bureau, she hastily wrote:

  Dear Mr Darcy,

  Regarding our discussion of yesterday, I find myself both shocked and offended by your offer of sexual slavery. However, contrary to all good sense, I am curious to know more about the lifestyle you are proposing. Having perused the document more closely at my leisure, I have a number of questions. Chiefly, what is exfoliation?

  Yours, Elizabeth Bennet

  ‘I shall send this at once,’ she decided. ‘Where is Lapptop?’ A ring of the bell duly summoned the aged manservant, and Elizabeth instructed him to hasten to Rosings Park and deliver the note personally to Mr Darcy.

  She had to wait less than an hour for his reply:

  My dear Miss Bennet,

  Exfoliation is the topical application of an unguent, of an abrasive nature, in order to smooth and beautify the skin. This you may do using a cosmetic formulation. However, I would rather you allow me to exfoliate you all over using my chin stubble.

  Yours, Fitzwilliam Darcy

  All over? Elizabeth felt a pull deep in her belly. She took another sheet of writing paper from her bureau, and penned:

  Mr Darcy,

  What, pray, are safe words?

  Yours, Elizabeth Bennet

  PS No fisting of any kind.

  After luncheon, Darcy’s reply was brought back by a weary Lapptop.

  Miss Bennet,

  If, at any time during our kinky sex-play, you utter the words ‘fluffy kittens’ or ‘I wuv you!’, I shall immediately lose tumescence and, as such, our encounter will be over. I trust this sets your mind at rest.

  Yours, etc.

  Dear Mr Darcy,

  Why may I not touch you? Is your member, perchance, the size of a button mushroom?’

  Elizabeth Bennet

  Dear Miss Bennet,

  You ask too many questions. Impertinent young ladies are liable to receive chastisement. The next time I see you in the grounds of Rosings, I shall have to remove your undergarments and thrash you with my riding crop.’

  Yours, Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Dear Mr Darcy,

  You may have difficulty in removing my undergarments, as next time I have occasion to meet you, I do not intend to wear any.

  Elizabeth

  Dear Miss Bennet,

  Is it your intention to inflame me? Then you must be prepared for the consequences.

  F.

  By now Lapptop was wheezing and on the verge of collapse, and Elizabeth, concerned for the elderly servant’s wellbeing, decided it was in his best interests not to reply. She spent the remainder of the evening playing whist with Charlotte, and had just excused herself and gone up to her bedchamber when there was a tap upon the door. It was Charlotte, with a note for Elizabeth.

  ‘Forgive me for disturbing you, Lizzy, but this just arrived from Rosings. Mrs Blackberry brought it over.’

  So Mr Darcy now had Lady Catherine’s staff delivering messages! ‘Thank you, Charlotte,’ said she. ‘I will attend to it in the morning.’

  Charlotte hesitated. ‘Mrs Blackberry is still downstairs, awaiting your reply.’

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, I am far too tired to write any more this evening. Please be so good as to tell her to go back.’

  Charlotte retreated, and Elizabeth, unable to contain her curiosity, opened the letter with eager fingers.

  Miss Bennet,

  You have not replied. I do not like to be kept waiting. I shall be forced to call in at Hunsford Parsonage drag you out to my carriage and xxxxx your xxxx with my xxxxx. And when you’re begging for mercy, I shall xxxx xxxxx your xxxx until you xxxxxxx.

  Yours, etc.

  How frustrating! Raindrops had smudged some of Mr Darcy’s words. She could only guess at his intentions. She would, she determined, sleep on the matter, and consider it afresh the next day. She had not realized how much the tumult of her emotions had exhausted her, and it took only moments for her to fall into an uneasy slumber.

  She was dreaming of fluffy kittens wearing nipple clamps when something started her out of sleep. The fire was dwindling in the grate, its embers sending out an eerie glow. In the half-light, Elizabeth discerned a shape, looming menacingly in the corner of the room by the window. Oh my! There was someone in her bedchamber!

  Fitzwilliam Darcy stepped out of the shadows.

  ‘Why did you not reply to my note, Miss Bennet?’ he asked huskily.

  ‘My goodness! Mr Darcy! How are you here, at Hunsford?’ Elizabeth clutched the counterpane tightly; her heart was pounding and her breath came in shallow gasps. What the holy hell was he doing in her room?

  ‘Oh, I came in the carriage,’ he said in a low murmur, his eyes burning with intensity. ‘And then I got out, cleaned myself up and walked over here.’

  He ran his hands repeatedly through his copper locks, an anguished look upon his face. ‘Scabies,’ he explained.

  Suddenly, he flung himself towards the bed and gripped Elizabeth by the shoulders. ‘When I did not hear from you, I knew I had to see you. I cannot stop thinking about you, Miss Bennet. You. Are. So. Sweet.’ His grey eyes were like pile drivers, hammering shards of intensity into her soul. Briefly, a look of uncertainty flashed across his face. ‘Am I being passionate, or is this a bit creepy?’ he asked in a low voice.

  Elizabeth pondered the question. ‘Many young ladies would undoubtedly call the night watchmen,’ she conceded. ‘But having no previous experience of courtship, I find myself flattered by your attentions.’

  Mr Darcy seemed to relax. Cupping her chin in one hand, and her breast in the other, he said softly, ‘Promise me, Elizabeth, that you will consider the terms of the contract. It would mean everything to me to have you as my kinky-sex slave.’

  Elizabeth could feel her resistance melting away. ‘Fitzwilliam …’ she breathed, lifting her face to his, longing to feel his lips upon hers.

  ‘Urrrgh, yucky!’ Mr Darcy cried, starting back in horror. ‘No kissing!’

  Elizabeth’s blue eyes pricked with tears. ‘You never kiss?’

  ‘Bleurgh! No way. It’s soppy.’

  Elizabeth was crestfallen. It was as she had first thought. Fitzwilliam Darcy had no tender feelings. He was nothin
g but a machine. A sex machine. Get up, get on up. Get up, get on up, stay on the scene, like a …

  ‘Elizabeth, are you unwell?’ Mr Darcy was staring at her intensely, his brow furrowed with concern.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You were singing,’ he explained.

  Elizabeth shook herself. ‘Oh, forgive me, I got carried away.’ She gazed up into his grey eyes: they seemed cold, fathomless – perhaps, after all, he was beyond her reach?

  Perhaps he could not be saved?

  ‘I am leaving Hunsford in a matter of days,’ she said firmly. ‘I think it best if we do not see each other again until then. I shall consider your offer while I am at Longbourn and send word to you.’

  Mr Darcy looked pained.

  ‘I have hurt your feelings,’ Elizabeth said gently.

  ‘No. Well, yes, but I’ve got terrible indigestion today. Too many pickled eggs.’

  He stood up abruptly. ‘If that is what you wish, Miss Bennet,’ he said coolly. ‘I shall not trouble you further. Unless you have any Gaviscon?’

  Elizabeth shook her head, tears beginning to spill over her dark lashes. Mr Darcy leapt out of the window with one athletic bound, and a second later she heard a crunch and a muffled, ‘Bloody hell!’ as he landed in a rose bush below. Burying her face in her pillow, she let her tears flow. He was gone – the only man she had ever desired. The only man she had ever loved. Gone, gone with the wind.

  Elizabeth’s absence from Longbourn had long been mourned by Jane, and upon the former’s return, the two sisters greeted each other with much cordiality. Elizabeth’s impatience to acquaint Jane with all that had occurred could not be overcome, and as soon as she was able, she related to her the chief of the encounters between Mr Darcy and herself.

  ‘Are you at all tempted by his offer, Lizzy?’ Jane asked.

  Elizabeth coloured. ‘I confess I am, just a little,’ she replied in a hushed voice.

  Jane pondered for a moment. ‘I suppose I can see why. I imagine Mr Darcy would be most appealing as a lover, if his size fourteen feet are anything to go by.’

  ‘And what of Mr Bingley?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Is he as much in love with you as ever?’

  Jane sighed. ‘I have heard nothing, Lizzy. He has not written to me at all, nor has he visited.’

  Her sister’s surprising news tainted Elizabeth’s own joy at her return. Mrs Bennet, however, was determined to celebrate Elizabeth’s homecoming and to spread word about the neighbourhood of her daughter’s imminent deflowering. ‘My Lizzy! A sex slave!’ she exclaimed in delight. ‘Who would have thought it! I can hold my head up in society at last. And with Lydia now a firm favourite among the officers, she is sure to be rogered before Easter!’

  Day after day passed without bringing any word of Bingley other than the news, which prevailed in Meryton, that he intended not to spend Easter at Netherfield, but to go surfing in Maui instead. Unwilling as Elizabeth was to admit the inconstancy of Mr Bingley, and all that might imply about his close friend Mr Darcy’s own character, she could not help but believe that the attractions of South Sea island beauties clad in string micro-bikinis could only weaken his attachment to her sister.

  At last a letter arrived that brought an end to uncertainty. With trembling fingers, Jane tore open the seal and read in silence.

  My dear Jane,

  I do so hope you are well. Just to let you know, I will be out of the country for a while. I’m going to the Pacific to catch some waves. Apparently, it’s a big, big ocean on the whole other side of the world! And there was me thinking the rest of the world was made of cheese! Or is that the moon? Oh well,

  L8ers babe,

  E x

  Hope was over, entirely over, and Jane could find nothing in Bingley’s missive to give her any comfort. Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the contents of the letter, heard it all in silent indignation. The curly haired fuckstick! Her heart was divided between concern for her sister, and resentment towards Mr Bingley. That he was truly fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever done, and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she could not think without anger that he was prepared to sacrifice his own chance of marital happiness to the caprice of a pathetic adolescent desire to go backpacking.

  ‘Whatever did you do to drive him away, you silly girl?’ chided Mrs Bennet. ‘Or, more importantly, what did you not do? Lord, do not tell me you introduced a “no touching beneath the bodice” rule?’

  ‘Please desist, Mother!’ complained Jane. ‘You have no idea of the pain you give me with your continual reflections on Mr Bingley. Let us leave the matter,’ she continued sadly. ‘He will soon be forgot, and we shall be as we were before.’

  Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulity.

  ‘Dear Jane, you are too good! I wish I had half your sweetness of temper. He is a commitment-phobic twat, and if I ever see him again, I shall certainly tell him so.’

  ‘Oh Lizzy, I beg you not to!’

  ‘No, how dare he lead you to believe his attachment to you was genuine, if he was intending all the time to bugger off to Hawaii?’

  Jane smiled sadly. ‘Please, Lizzy, you have nothing to reproach him with. If there was a misunderstanding, I assure you, it was all on my part. Pray, let us not speak of him again.’

  Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish, and from that point on, Mr Bingley’s name was scarcely mentioned by either of them. Mrs Bennet, however, still mourned Mr Bingley’s leaving Netherfield, and was convinced that he would return after his Pacific-island sojourn, and if Jane would only put out this time, she might engage his interest once more.

  One morning after breakfast, when Elizabeth was returning to Longbourn from a stroll about the grounds, she encountered a bedraggled-looking young woman waiting on the steps at the front of the house. On seeing Elizabeth, the woman bobbed into a curtsey, and announced, ‘I’ve bought a note, if it please you, Miss. From Mr Darcy of Pemberley.’

  The young woman was pale and seemed exhausted; her boots and the hem of her gown were splattered with mud.

  ‘Heavens, have you come all the way from Derbyshire?’ Elizabeth asked in surprise.

  ‘Mr Darcy told me it was urgent, Miss, and not to rest until I had put the note into your very own hands. I’ve been walking for four days solid.’ With that, she took from her pocket a piece of paper, folded and sealed with the distinctive Darcy coat of arms: two cocks rampant.

  Elizabeth murmured her thanks, and tore open the seal. She read:

  Dear Miss Bennet,

  I could not wait any longer for correspondence from you, so I have taken the liberty of sending a female, in order that the conversation we began at Hunsford might be brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

  ‘I still do not understand why Mr Darcy thought it fit to send you,’ Elizabeth remarked, addressing the servant. ‘It is mystifying. You must have been vulnerable to all manner of dangers upon the road.’

  ‘Mr Darcy said he wouldn’t have trusted a young man to deliver the note, Miss. Females are more reliable, he said.’

  There had to be a more efficient and speedy means of communication than this, Elizabeth thought. Maybe one day, far in the future, someone would devise another method. Until then, she supposed, females would have to suffice.

  She read on:

  Now that you have had time to ruminate, I hope that you find yourself more amenable to considering the terms of my sex contract. Believe me, Elizabeth, I want nothing more than for you to become my Submissive. I believe you would attain pleasure from it, too. Please agree to an imminent meeting, to discuss the hard and soft limits, and any queries or concerns you may have. Send your reply by means of another female. I will be waiting.

  Yours, Fitzwilliam Darcy

  Elizabeth felt light-headed; her mouth was suddenly uncomfortably dry. She had, in truth, hoped that Mr Darcy would somehow forget the matter of the contract. But it was evident that if she wished for any sort of relationship with this compl
icated, brooding billionaire, it would have to be on formal terms.

  Memories of Mr Darcy slapping her reticule came, unbidden, into her head. The humiliation of that moment! And yet, although she had been shaken, she had to admit she had also been stirred. He was so masterful, so in control, that it was easy to imagine herself surrendering to his whims – allowing herself to be strapped up, stripped naked, and left vulnerable, for Mr Darcy to do with as he pleased … The thought was arousing, and she let out a low moan.

  ‘Are you all right, Miss?’

  The servant’s gratingly common accent brought Elizabeth back to reality with a jolt.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, fanning herself with the letter. ‘Go round the back way into the kitchens and take some refreshment. No doubt you are tired.’

  ‘But the reply, Miss?’

  ‘Do not trouble yourself. I shall send a female of my own in due course.’

  In fact, Elizabeth retired to her room as soon as she had taken off her coat and bonnet, in order to pen a letter to Mr Darcy. With trembling fingers, she dipped her quill in ink and wrote:

  Mr Darcy,

  Your missive reached me at a time of great inner turmoil. I have been betwixt and between, I have blown hot and cold, I have hemmed and hawed – I particularly enjoyed the hawing – but still I am no closer to making a decision.

  Once again, you have the advantage of me, Sir. As you well know, I am largely ignorant of the ways of the flesh. My sisters are as ill-informed as I, and I dare not ask Mama for fear of having her tell me yet again, and in great detail, about the time she gave the Prince Regent a blow job. I have considered consulting Old Granny Google in the village, who in her youth was mistress to several gentlemen of quality and knows much of these matters. Although I am not sure how much she can tell me of sado-masochism. From the stories she tells the dairymaids, I don’t think it was particularly her scene.