by Delaney Jane
He tasted of salt and soap and musk. She sucked at him, running her tongue over the head and up the veiny sides. Her hand gripped the end of him that would not fit into her mouth, and stroked. He other hand teased his sack, his cock jumping with each squeeze.
His fingers threaded her hair and down her neck, until he was holding onto her shoulders, watching her suck him. Lizzy looked out of the corner of her eye. Mr. Hurst parted her buttocks so wide that Lizzy could see everything. His face moved with a viciousness that almost frightened her, and Mrs. Hurst’s legs shook violently.
Finally, he jumped up, took his cock in his hand, and slammed into Mrs. Hurst. He ploughed into her hard and fast, her breasts swinging free.
Lizzy watched this, watched Mrs. Hurst reach her climax, screaming into the gag, watched Mr. Hurst slap her ass several more times, slamming into her. She watched this while sucking at Darcy, her nethers on fire with need, warm fluid running down her inner thighs, but she wanted to taste him, all of him, and so she moved her head faster, sucking harder.
He hissed, his grip on her shoulders hard, and then, just as Mr. Hurst arched, pressing deep into his wife, Darcy stiffened, his breath held. Lizzy felt his cock swell in her mouth, and then hot liquid filled her cheeks. She hummed her pleasure, swallowing the gift and sucking on him until he eased her off of him.
Mr. Hurst had untied his wife, and the two of them were climbing into bed, his cock hard once more.
Darcy helped Lizzy to her feet. His eyes glittered in the dark. He reached out and wiped at her lip.
“Now,” said he, his voice a hoarse whisper. “It is my turn.”
With that, he bent and threw her over his shoulder. He grabbed her ass, squeezing hard. She bit her tongue to keep from making a sound.
His ass bare, trousers in hand, Darcy carried her down the hall, up a flight of stairs, and into a wing of Netherfield that felt as far from the rest as Longbourn felt from there.
He set her down on the thick, fur rug at the foot of a curtained bed. Lizzy glanced at the bed, but Darcy strode past it, to a bookshelf in the corner. At this, he reached behind a book, there was a soft click, and the bookshelf swung forward just enough to let Darcy slip through, which he did without looking back at Elizabeth.
She was beginning to think he had forgotten her when he stepped back out. His shirt was open, his trousers still gone, leaving his cock hard and bouncing as he walked toward her. She took a shaky breath, as he held out a thick strip of black fabric.
“I think,” he said. “It is not yet the time for you to see that room. However, there are things in there that I think you would enjoy even without the benefit of seeing them.”
She frowned, confused, and glanced past his shoulder at the soft light coming from the hidden doorway.
“May I?” He held up the cloth, nodding to her face. She understood, and with understanding came a surge of heat between her legs. She nodded.
Darcy stepped behind her, lifting the cloth to her eyes. The last thing she saw was the light flickering behind the books, and then he was tying a knot at the back of her head.
“Now,” his voice whispered in her ear. “Come find me.” And then he was gone. Cold air slipped around her with his departure.
Blinded and terrified as she was, Elizabeth had no desire to remove the mask. She reached out her hands and took a few tentative steps. Warmth met her fingers as she moved closer to the hidden room. Her feet shuffled across the rug. She could hear nothing save for the crackle of a candle and the clink of metal in the room beyond.
Finally, as the smell of burning candles met her nose, her fingers found the books. She felt her way to the edge, took a breath, and stepped into the hidden room.
It was warm, the sound of a steady fire crackling nearby. The smells were vast – candle wax, fire, old leather, horse, wine – so many that her head swam.
“D-Darcy?” She reached out again, feeling for something, anything. And then her hip bumped something, which wobbled. She grabbed it, stopping it from tumbling over. It was a small wooden table. On top she felt long, round objects rolling on a tray.
Behind her there was a creak and the sound of a door closing. She had no time to turn before he was behind her, his warmth surrounding her, and his hands were at the neck of her nightdress, pulling it down and off, leaving her naked.
His body pressed against her back, his naked cock hard and warm between her cheeks, and there he pumped himself ever so slightly.
With the blindfold over her eyes, she could not tell if the room was dim or bright, large or small. All she knew was the table before her, the fire nearby, and the man behind her. She arched her back, making her buttock spread wider, engulfing his cock. He hissed into her ear, the tip of his cock pulsing against her asshole. She shivered at the sensation.
Darcy took her hand and guided it to the tray.
“Pick one.” His voice in her ear was deep and soft, like a sweet growl.
She wrapped her fingers around one of the hard cylinders. One end of it was rounded. It felt like smooth wood.
“What’s it for?”
He plucked it from her fingers. “You’ll see.” And then he pushed her forward, bending her over the table. The tray and the items crashed to the floor, clanking off the wood and thudding off a rug. He pulled a leather strap over her hands, tightening it around her wrists. She hovered, her belly barely resting on the unsteady table, her hands in the air in front of her, tied together.
Darcy kicked out her ankles, spreading her legs wider. She heard him spit. There was a sound like oil slicking over skin, and then he pulled her buttocks wide. She felt a moment of anticipation, and then he plunged his cock deep into her.
For a moment neither of them moved as her body opened to him, as he pushed a little deeper, fitting into her. And then he palmed her breasts, whispering against her bare back.
“My God, woman, your cunt is made for me. It is mine.”
She shivered at his words, pressing back against him, pushing through the initial pain and letting it become pleasure.
Holding onto her hips, Darcy pulled out until only the tip of him remained inside of her, and then he slid back in, deeper. He did this, again and again, slowly pulling out and sliding back in, his pace even and measured, driving her to madness.
Her hands fisted, pulling against their binding. She wanted to be free, to put her hands on him, make him move faster, but she was shackled and blinded.
“Please,” she groaned, lifting her hips a bit.
“You’ll not make demands when it is my turn, Miss Bennet.” His tone was stern, but his voice shook with a need almost as great as her own.
“But I—”
“I warned you.” And she felt a sharp pain sear her nipple. The pain did not go away nor recede, but it did send a spasm of sensation shooting to her nethers. She squirmed, trying to both remove whatever was causing the pain, and remove her blindfold so she could see what it was. “You’ll leave that alone. And this one as well.”
She felt another sting of biting pain as he clamped something to her other nipple. It hurt her so, but it caused such sensations that she could not hope to recreate. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out, from pleasure or pain or both.
His deliberate slowness made it so that she could feel every bit of him as he slid in and out of her, the smooth head, the rigid length, the coarse hairs as he fitted his hips against her buttocks, his cock buried inside her. She could not wiggle back enough to make him move faster, nor could she beg him for fear of what he might do next. Although, the pain clamps on her nipples had caused was beginning to fade away.
Edging forward, Lizzy reached for the blindfold. Darcy yanked her back, slamming into her. She gasped, gripping the leather strap in front of her.
“You are not ready to see, just yet. And for not doing as you were told…”
She shook as she heard him spit again, and then there was pressure between her buttocks. His cock buried deep inside her, pulsing and still, L
izzy felt something cold, wet, and hard as wood push into her asshole.
She tensed and felt his hesitation. But her tensing had nothing to do with fear, so she relaxed, breathing out, and in that moment, he pushed the wooden phallus into her. Her breath caught. Her body gripped him, the object pushing at her vaginal walls, squeezing his cock inside her.
When it was in as much as it would go, Darcy gripped her hips and growled, “My Lizzy.” And then he pulled out, slamming back into her. Faster and harder, his body nudging the phallus in her ass with each thrust, he built up a rhythm.
Elizabeth gasped and moaned. “Oh, please,” she begged, not knowing what it was she wanted.
“My name, Miss Bennet,” he growled, slamming hard into her. “Say it.”
“Darcy,” she gasped.
There was a crack, and pain seared her buttock as he smacked her. She screamed, pressing back into him, meeting his thrusts.
“Again,” he said through gritted teeth.
Arching her back, her head thrown back to meet him, Elizabeth smiled. “Darcy.” Smack! “Darcy!” Smack! “Darcy!” Smack!
The clamps on her breasts stung anew with each thrust, as her breasts swung free.
Her legs were shaking so hard she could barely stand. Darcy reached under her and touched her most sensitive spot. He rubbed three fingers over her nub, while slamming into her, pressing the phallus deeper. And she was lost.
She arched, mouth open and silent.
“That’s it,” he said, his voice lost in a haze. “Come for me, Lizzy Bennet.”
Wave after wave rode over her, the fire moving through her from where they came together outwards. Finally, as the sensations became too much, as everything became more sensitive, Lizzy screamed, pressing her butt back, opening to him as he moved faster, his cock swelling inside her.
He pulled out of her so fast she nearly fell, but he caught her with one arm, cradling her as he came onto her backside. She felt the heat of his dripping down the backs of her thighs.
Darcy rubbed a hand over her buttocks, smoothing his cooling juices onto the hot place where he smacked her, and then he spread it to her asshole. He removed the phallus slowly, his pinkie sliding in to take its place a moment before sliding down to her hole and then her nub. She shuddered at the touch.
There was a clunk, as something heavy hit the floor, and then Darcy was gently removing the clamps from her nipples. Pain shot through them as blood returned. He moved the table, walked her forward, and then untied her hands.
He did not remove the blindfold until he had walked her out of the small room and into the colder bedroom. She stood naked, listening as he closed the bookcase door, and then he was in front of her, the blindfold in his hand, his naked body shining in the moonlight.
Her nipples were swollen, but deliciously sensitive. Her wrists were red, but not hurt. Her bottom was sore, but she would gladly do it again. He lifted her nightdress over her head and helped her slip into it. His juices, still sliding down her legs, were soaked into the soft fabric.
Standing over her, Darcy’s dark eyes moved down to her lips, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Before he could, she looked away.
And then he, pulled on his trousers, took her hand, and led her back down the halls and the stairs and to her own room. There, he gave her a slight bow.
“Miss Bennet,” he whispered. “Now that you are more aquatinted with my tastes, I suspect it is your wish that I let you be from this night forward.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
He shifted his feet. “Not many ladies—”
“I am not many ladies. I shall see you for breakfast, Mr. Darcy.”
He nodded and turned to leave.
“And I will be at your door tomorrow night at midnight.”
Darcy’s dark eyes widened a moment, and then he nodded once again.
Elizabeth watched him go until the darkness swallowed him, and then she closed her door. While she did not wish her sister’s ill health prolonged, she would be taking complete advantage of her proximity to Mr. Darcy for the remainder of their stay. There was much to learn, and Mr. Darcy seemed more than willing to take her as far as she wanted to go.
Chapter Six
The Warmth of a Touch
As the days passed, Jane found she was beginning to feel better, despite her family’s visit the day after Lizzy arrived, which left her feeling much worse, though she hid it. After two days of broth and tea, she woke on the third morning to find she was starving. The maid brought in a stack of toast, eggs, fruit, and coffee, all at Jane’s request.
She was stuffing her face, sitting up against the pillows in her bed when Charles walked in. He smiled at her, jelly clinging to the corner of her mouth.
“Mrs. Coulson said you’d ordered a feast,” he chuckled. “I was on my way down to breakfast, but wondered if, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind if I joined you in here?”
Jane swallowed the bite of toast, her embarrassment at being caught acting like a pig ebbing away.
“Of course, please.”
Charles stopped beside the chair, looked down at it, and then slid onto her bed.
Jane froze, though she tried to hide it. He sat beside her knees, the tray over her lap between them. His cheeks were quite pink, but he reached for a triangle of toast and spread it with jam.
They ate in silence, the sun streaming through the windows, the smell of drying mud wafting in on the breeze.
It was pleasant, as it always was with Charles. As much as Jane had tried to find a flaw in him, she could not. He was handsome, he was rich, and he was undoubtedly sweet. She wouldn’t call him a puppy dog, though.
Perhaps he, like she, put on a façade when out in public. As far as anyone who knew her thought, Jane was a beautiful, agreeable woman whom never said a negative word against anyone. It was her shield against cruelty.
Maybe Charles used a similar shield, that of a dumb puppy, in order to protect him. He was handsome and rich. Even his friend had a shield. That darkness that hovered over Darcy was only a mask; Jane knew that now. Having spent several days here talking to Charles, she learned that Darcy was no more a monster than Charles was a puppy.
There was something about Charles, something that bothered Jane. She couldn’t put a name to it, but despite his sweet nature, she often found herself feeling quite flushed when he was around. She had yet to determine a reason.
Jane lifted her coffee cup and took a sip. Charles swallowed a bite of toast.
“Have you another cup?”
“Oh! No, I’m sorry. But I can call Mrs. Coulson.”
He just smiled. “Not to worry. I only need a sip.”
She glanced down at the cup in her hands. “But I am ill.”
“You’re on the mend. I shall be all right, but if I don’t have some coffee, I may well choke on this toast.”
She laughed with him, and then, hand as steady as she could make it, handed him her coffee. He took it, and pressed his lips where hers had just been. Charles drank deeply, refilling he cup afterward, and handed it back to her.
When she took hold of the cup, he leaned toward her. She held her breath, as his hand came closer to her face. She felt his thumb at the corner of her mouth, grazing her lips. There was jam on his thumb when he pulled back.
His smile was sheepish. “I’m sorry, I should have just told you. It was distracting me.”
That flushed feeling flooded her, and when he sucked the bit of jam from his thumb, she felt a tug deep in her belly, between her legs.
The blue eyes found hers, and his filled with concern.
“Are you all right, Miss Bennet? Shall I call your sister?”
He stood, ready to do just that, but Jane shook her head. “No, no. I just—It was just a slight dizzy spell. I’m all right.”
Charles stared at her, as though waiting for her to pass out. She smiled at him.
“Truly, I think I ate too much so soon after not eating much at all.�
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He relaxed slightly, though he still did not seem convinced.
“Will you read to me?”
At this he perked up. He took the breakfast tray, set it aside, and reached for one of Mr. Darcy’s books. He did not sit in the chair, as she thought he might, but sat again on the bed beside her, closer than before. His hip brushed her thigh through layers of blankets and clothing, but she could feel the heat of him.
Charles began to read. She only half-listened, watching his lips move, his fingers turn the pages.
She had the crazy urge to grab him and pull him down on top of her. The thought seemed so passionate, so violent, that she gave a slight start.
Charles glanced her way, question in his eyes. She smiled, wrapping her arms around her middle, and settling more deeply into the pillows.
He went on, reading about King Arthur, one of her favorite stories, getting deeper into the book. At times, he faltered over words, some of them seeming a bit intimate, but with a look toward Jane, and her encouraging nod, he read on.
It was when he came to a part where Guinevere snuck into Arthur’s bed and stripped out of her dress that Bingley stopped and looked at the cover.
“I assumed it was a romance story about King Arthur and Guinevere, but I didn’t think Darcy would give me one of those books.” He met Jane’s look. “I can pick another.”
The proper thing to do would have been to tell him to take the books and leave. This felt far too intimate, and she was feeling that desire to pull him down onto her again. But he was so close, she could smell the clean scent of him, and his lips parted.
Jane leaned toward him.
At that moment the door to her room opened. Charles was standing, his face too red, before Lizzy walked into the room. She saw Charles, startled, and gave him a curtsey. He bowed.
“Have I interrupted?” asked Lizzy, breathless, her own cheeks quite flushed.
“No, no,” said Charles. “I was just leaving to find Darcy.”