Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody

by William Codpiece Thwackery

  But my questions about sexual matters can wait. The matter that perplexes me most is why you demeaned yourself at Rosings, by wearing those tiny leather hotpants? What hold does Lady Catherine have over you? And if I were to allow you to become my Dominant, would I be required to don similar attire?

  Yours, Elizabeth Bennet

  She waited until the afternoon, and then sent one of the footmen into Meryton with instructions to find a suitably robust young woman capable of delivering the message to Derbyshire. Within days, another female arrived at Longbourn, sent by Mr Darcy.

  My dear Miss Bennet,

  Lady Catherine has no hold over me – I serve her willingly. She was my Dominant for many years after I left Beaton, and she taught me everything I know about sexual congress. As for the hotpants, if you wish not to wear them, I shall not force the issue. However, I would very much enjoy the sight of leather cutting into your ripe young buttocks.

  As for your questions about the sexual act, pray address them to me. I will endeavour to answer them honestly.

  Yours, etc., Fitzwilliam

  Another willing female was dispatched from Longbourn, with Elizabeth’s note:

  Mr Darcy,

  Lady Catherine was your Dominant? But she is so hideously old – at least thirty-five! And you yourself must have been young and vulnerable. How could she do it?

  Elizabeth Bennet

  PS Can you get with child just by kissing?

  Miss Bennet,

  Lady Catherine saved me from myself. If it wasn’t for her I would be a fucked-up, humourless, control-freak loser. As opposed to a fucked-up, humourless, control-freak successful billionaire.

  In answer to your question, no. You get with child by having a ‘special cuddle’. And rest assured, we shan’t be having many of those.

  Yours, etc.

  Mr Darcy,

  Is it true that if a man’s member has risen, it is bad for his health if he is subsequently unable to achieve release?

  Yours, Elizabeth

  Miss Bennet,

  Yes. He might die. We must make sure this never happens.

  Fitzwilliam

  Females were sent to and fro between them for the next fortnight, until Mr Darcy wrote to inform her that he would shortly be calling in at Netherfield at the request of Mr Bingley, in order to take care of some estate business on his behalf. The news threw Elizabeth into turmoil. Although her Inner Slapper yearned to see Mr Darcy again – to smell his musky body wash, and to be probed by his piercing grey eyes – her Subconscious told her to beware. With every moment spent with Mr Darcy, she edged nearer to the precipice, the precipice that loomed over a great chasm of disrepute and perversion. Would she plunge over? Hmm, I can’t imagine.

  At seven the next evening, Taylor arrived at Longbourn in a small phaeton drawn by a grey mare.

  ‘I’m to collect you, Miss, and take you to the Roger Inn.’ His plebeian face wore an apologetic expression. ‘Mr Darcy’s orders, Miss.’

  Mr Darcy’s orders indeed! Elizabeth’s hackles rose. He was so arrogant! And yet so irresistibly horny!

  ‘Thank you, Taylor. I will be just a moment.’

  Seizing a cape, and grabbing her reticule in a most unladylike fashion, Elizabeth quit the house. She was aware of Mrs Bennet looking out at her through her bedroom window. What is Mama trying to tell me? she wondered, watching her mother alternately pointing down at her, and then frantically pushing her bosom up and down with both hands so that it quivered like a giant blancmange.

  Taylor helped Elizabeth into the phaeton. The air was chilly, and she pulled her cape tightly round herself as they set off on the short journey to Meryton.

  ‘Is Mr Darcy well?’ she called up to Taylor.

  ‘As well as can be expected, Miss,’ came the gruff reply.

  ‘Oh, has he been ill?’

  Taylor continued to stare straight ahead. ‘He has been… distracted, Miss. Not his usual self.’

  For one moment, Elizabeth allowed herself to think that she might be the reason for Mr Darcy’s preoccupation. ‘I confess, I am not altogether familiar with Mr Darcy’s usual self,’ she remarked. ‘How would you rate his general character, Taylor? Does he treat his servants well?’

  Taylor turned and smiled, and his stubbly lower-class face looked almost human. ‘In that regard he’s the best that ever was, Miss. We all get a shilling a year, and one-and-a-half days’ holiday.’

  ‘A generous arrangement indeed!’

  ‘Oh, but Mr Darcy is a wonderful man,’ Taylor continued. ‘All the good works he does with the poor! And there’s no denying he cherishes his little sister. There is nothing he would not do for her.’

  This must have been the Georgiana that Elizabeth had heard so much about from Carrotslime and Looseata – the young lady they felt would make a more suitable match for Bingley than her own dear sister Jane.

  ‘So, we have established that he is a loving brother, and a beneficent employer. He must have some faults, surely?’ she said teasingly.

  ‘Well, Miss, now you come to mention it, he is an incurable sex maniac.’

  They trotted on in silence, and on rounding the curve of the road leading up to the inn, Elizabeth could feel her stomach fluttering in anticipation. Holy crap, she was nervous.

  Mr Darcy was standing outside the inn, leaning casually against a low wall, drinking a glass of claret. He was dressed in his customary attire: white linen shirt, grey breeches and, this time, just to ring the changes, a sombrero. Beneath it, his hair was sexily tousled. She had forgotten how freakin’ hot he was! Elizabeth stared slack-jawed for a few moments.

  ‘Allow me, Miss Bennet.’ Mr Darcy stepped forward to wipe the drool from Elizabeth’s chin. With one sexy hand he lifted her down from the phaeton. Cocking his head to one side, and his leg to the other side, Mr Darcy surveyed her.

  ‘You look beautiful, Elizabeth,’ he murmured appreciatively. ‘Your gown becomes you.’

  Elizabeth smiled shyly. See-through lace had been the right choice after all.

  ‘Shall we go in?’

  Together they traversed the snug bar, where gnarly handed farmers and rough-looking labourers were hunched over their flagons of cheap ale, and entered a private dining room to the left. Elizabeth gave a gasp: the table was laden with baskets of cut flowers and piles of fresh and sugared fruits. In the chandelier above, three score candles glowed seductively, their light glinting off the silver cutlery and crystal glassware below. It was romantic beyond her wildest dreams. Mr Darcy pulled out a chair for her at one end of the long trestle table, then took his place at the other end, directly opposite her. He smiled, and his long fingers reached out to pluck a cherry from a nearby plate.

  ‘You have thought about my contract, Miss Bennet?’ His voice was ardent, and his eyes burned into hers like sexy blowtorches.

  Elizabeth took a sip of her wine.

  ‘I have, Mr Darcy,’ she declared. ‘But I cannot agree to everything you ask.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I said, I cannot agree to everything you ask. Should we sit a little closer, do you think?’

  ‘It will be fine,’ Mr Darcy shouted, ‘as long as we both annunciate.’

  Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a sheaf of papers. ‘I have a copy of the contract here.’

  Elizabeth took another nervous gulp of wine. Mr Darcy looked down and scanned the first page.

  ‘Let me see… No fisting’. A serving maid who had just entered the room with a jug of ale gave a start, splashing froth all over the floor. ‘I think we have established that already,’ Mr Darcy continued. ‘Do you have any other concerns, Elizabeth?’

  ‘I do not know where to begin,’ Elizabeth said, exasperated. ‘What you ask of me is beyond my experience.’

  ‘Then let us go over the contract point by point,’ Mr Darcy replied, laying out the papers in front of him on the table.

  ‘Item 1: Social activities,’ Mr Darcy began. ‘The Dominant is free to visi
t the gaming tables, any house of ill repute, or his drinking club, whenever he so chooses. When the Submissive asks where he is going, he is entitled to say, “Just out.” The Submissive may leave the premises once every two months, in the company of Taylor, in order to purchase new sexy underthings.’

  Darcy paused. ‘There is no negotiation on those particular points, Elizabeth,’ he said firmly. ‘You are not safe walking about on your own. I need to keep you from harm.’

  ‘Item 2: Personal grooming. The Submissive shall keep herself waxed, shaved, exfoliated, plucked, bleached and deodorized at all times.’

  Oh my! Elizabeth blushed furiously as Mr Darcy fixed her with his smouldering grey eyes. ‘I want you like an oven-ready chicken, Elizabeth,’ he said seductively, ‘ready for basting. Agreed?’

  Elizabeth nodded. The two sips of wine she had taken were making her head swim, and she was finding it hard to focus.

  ‘Item 3: Food. The Submissive shall eat when the Dominant gives the command. She may not choose her own meals, but will eat from a menu compiled by the Dominant and prepared by the housekeeper, Mrs Jones. Foods that will not directly benefit the Submissive’s health, such as chocolate, are prohibited.’

  ‘Hang on, no chocolate?’ Elizabeth asked, finding her voice at last. ‘That is most definitely a deal breaker for me, Mr Darcy.’

  Mr Darcy glowered. For a few moments he was quiet, surveying her with eyes that shone like shiny things. Elizabeth sensed that the author was running out of ways to describe his eyes. ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘Chocolate will be permitted.’

  Elizabeth smiled. It was a small victory, she knew, but what was a life of sexual slavery without chocolate?

  ‘Item 4: Exercise. The Submissive shall not jog, run, play contact sports, swim, ride or undertake any other activity that might put her at risk of injury. She may, however, indulge in yoga or gentle aerobics, provided she wears only a tiny Lycra thong and the Dominant is allowed to watch.’

  ‘Are country walks permitted?’ asked Elizabeth, thinking how much she would miss her daily outings were they to be outlawed.

  ‘I have told you, Miss Bennet, I do not want you wandering about on your own. You might trip over a tussock.’

  ‘Perhaps if Taylor were to accompany me?’

  Mr Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he considered the request. ‘I cannot consent to this,’ he said finally. ‘The countryside surrounding Pemberley is hilly, and I will permit perambulation only where the gradient of the land is 1:1. Shall we continue?’

  ‘Item 5: Domestic duties. The Submissive shall be responsible for the washing, ironing and dusting, and shall clean the bathroom twice a week. If the Dominant happens to drop his socks and pants on the floor, the Submissive shall pick them up and put them in the laundry basket. If the Dominant on occasion leaves the toilet seat up, the Submissive shall put it down …’

  ‘Hang on a minute, there’s something really dodgy about this,’ muttered Elizabeth’s Subconscious.

  ‘…The Submissive has the right to ask the Dominant to put out the bins once a week, and to mend any wonky shelves that may require re-aligning. Although whether or not he complies is the Dominant’s prerogative.’

  Just then, Mr Darcy was interrupted by the arrival of another serving maid, bringing the first course. She set down a dish of braised ox tongue on the table, and Mr Darcy prodded it gently with his fork. ‘I hope you enjoy tongue, Miss Bennet,’ he said teasingly.

  Elizabeth sighed and raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you making an oblique reference to cunnilingus, Mr Darcy?’

  Mr Darcy gave a start. For a moment he struggled to speak, and could only stare at her in confusion. ‘We both know that’s not how this works,’ he spluttered at last. ‘I make the innuendos, and you just blush.’

  ‘Oh. Forgive me, I don’t know what came over me,’ said Elizabeth apologetically. A blush crept prettily across her flawless cheeks. ‘No, Mr Darcy,’ she said in a shocked whisper. ‘I am unused to tongue.’

  ‘You will have to develop a taste for it if you are to reside at Pemberley with me,’ Mr Darcy said lasciviously, his grey eyes raking her body.

  To reside with him at Pemberley! Elizabeth’s heart beat a little faster.

  Mr Darcy poured gravy over his tongue and sprinkled it liberally with pepper.

  ‘You have barely touched your food, Elizabeth,’ he said curtly. ‘You must eat. You will need the same calorific intake as an Olympic rower if you are to keep up with my intensive boffing regime. It will be the equivalent of competing in the Oxford-Cambridge boat race every single day.’

  Elizabeth fanned herself with her napkin. ‘Will it truly be that arduous, Mr Darcy?’

  ‘Oh, indeed it will, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy said in a low voice, his grey eyes like molten steel. ‘When I have it off, I have it off hard.’

  Elizabeth winced. Mr Darcy took another mouthful of tongue.

  ‘Now that we are in agreement on the basic rules, what do you say? Will you come to Pemberley with me, and be my sex slave?’

  Elizabeth, deep in thought, bit her nails. Mr Darcy gave a growl of desire.

  ‘Say yes, Elizabeth.’

  She gazed into his smoky-grey eyes, which were sizzling now, like sausages on a griddle. ‘Yes,’ she breathed.

  ‘Then let’s not wait Elizabeth,’ he murmured back. ‘Right now all I can think of is ripping off your dress and thwacking you until you are black and blue.’

  Elizabeth’s nerves began to tingle. His voice was irresistible, and rivulets of desire cascaded over her whole body.

  ‘I want you, Elizabeth. Here. Now.’

  Elizabeth glanced anxiously at the two servants who were hovering by the door.

  ‘And I know that you want me too.’

  She frowned. His arrogance knew no bounds!

  ‘How can you be so certain?’ she enquired.

  ‘I know because your body gives you away,’ Mr Darcy said confidently. ‘You are flushed, your breathing has changed, and you have just stripped off and are lying naked on the table with only a few frosted grapes covering your modesty.’

  Elizabeth glanced down. Holy heck, he was right! She hadn’t even realized that she’d been disrobing. Why did he have such a powerful effect upon her?

  ‘Taylor!’ At Mr Darcy’s command, Taylor’s stubbled face appeared from beneath the tablecloth.

  ‘Be so good as to preserve Miss Bennet’s modesty.’ Averting his eyes, Taylor laid his cloak gently across Elizabeth’s body.

  ‘I have taken the liberty of booking a room,’ Mr Darcy said. ‘Taylor will carry you up there.’

  ‘Are you coming too?’ Elizabeth enquired, as Taylor scooped her into his lower-class arms. The wine she had drunk was making her head swim, but also making her bold.

  ‘I have never slept in the same room as a woman, Elizabeth,’ Mr Darcy said darkly, and for a moment his beautiful face took on a mournful expression.

  ‘Then perhaps you will make an exception tonight?’

  ‘I cannot sleep beside you,’ he said sadly. ‘But I will come up later for a grope.’

  A grope! Her insides turned to liquid at his words.

  Carefully, Taylor carried Elizabeth through a small door in the corner of the room which led to a narrow staircase. Thank heavens she did not have to go through the public bar, Elizabeth thought gratefully, and be exposed to the ogles of the lower classes. The stairs wound up to a tiny attic room, sparsely decorated but for a bed and a washstand.

  ‘Thank you, Taylor,’ Elizabeth said as the burly manservant set her down gently upon the floorboards. Taylor nodded briefly and turned to go, then seemed to hesitate.

  ‘Just one thing, Miss,’ he said hurriedly, thrusting something into her hands. ‘You might need this.’

  He had vanished before Elizabeth had had a chance to read the label on the tiny tube he had given her. ‘Hmm, KY Jelly,’ she said aloud. ‘Sounds delicious. Maybe it’s for toast?’ She rubbed a little on her lips and immediately pulled a
face. She was sorry to scorn Taylor’s gift, but it was nowhere near as good as Cragg’s marmalade.

  Flinging the jelly onto the washstand, Elizabeth threw herself upon the bed and wrapped the coverlet about herself. Mr Darcy would be here soon; she had to stay awake. Yet the two sips of wine she had partaken of, and her fraught nerves, meant that sleep was soon upon her. At one point, she was vaguely aware of Mr Darcy slipping naked into her bed – or did she dream it all? He reached out a hand, cupped her right breast and squeezed it gently.

  ‘Honk! Honk!’ he whispered.

  If ever a man needed saving from himself, Elizabeth thought through the fog of sleep, it was Fitzwiliam Darcy.

  It seemed to Elizabeth that she had barely closed her eyes at all when the sun began creeping in at the window, like a burglar with nice warm hands. Sighing, she nestled deeper in the bedsheets, enjoying the feel of cotton against her naked body. Today she was leaving Hertfordshire. Could she really give up her life at Longbourn, her turns about the parlour and her needlepoint, her pianoforte and her plans for replanting the herb garden, for the life of a sexual submissive?

  The window was ajar, and Elizabeth could hear voices in the yard below. Above the usual chatter of serving maids and stablehands, she recognized Taylor’s gruff tones, and Mr Darcy’s deep, sexy ones. Her curiosity roused, she threw off the bedcovers and pulled back the curtain. Holy inflatable rubber sphere! There, in the inn forecourt, was a magnificent sight – Charlie Tango, standing proud and ready, swollen to full size, waiting for her. She had never seen anything so breathtakingly enormous. Mr Darcy, clad in an open-necked white shirt and tight grey flannel riding breeches, did not look up, so engrossed was he in humping sandbags over the rim of Charlie Tango’s basket.

  Elizabeth stood for a moment, transfixed by the scene below. By now, dawn was sending out fingers of light, which gently tickled the distant hills and excitedly probed the furrowed fields. Sunlight sprinkled down on Mr Darcy’s lithe, athletic form like golden showers, causing his copper highlights to glow bright ginger. Elizabeth drank in the sight of him. Once again, she felt the familiar tug of desire for this sexy, complicated billionaire landowner.