Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody (16 page)

Elizabeth swallowed nervously.

‘Will you not take off your stockings and garters, Mr Darcy?’

‘I have chilblains, Elizabeth,’ he complained, sexily. His eyes narrowed, and his Adam’s apple throbbed. ‘Now it is your turn,’ he murmured.

Mr Darcy moved towards her with feline grace, like a jungle cat – crawling on all fours, waving his tail and making yowling noises. Arriving at her feet, he paused and gazed upwards.

‘My God, I am going to give you a seeing-to, Elizabeth Bennet,’ he growled. ‘I shall bang you into the middle of next week.’

Elizabeth closed her eyes in longing. Her most unmentionable body parts were now throbbing in anticipation; desire filled every fibre of her being.

Grabbing at her dress, Mr Darcy slowly pulled himself up, using her body as leverage.

‘Oof!’ he puffed.

Now he was towering over her, his grey eyes swimming with desire.

‘Turn round,’ he ordered.

Elizabeth turned, and felt Mr Darcy’s hands deftly undoing the buttons of her gown. Slowly, teasingly, he pulled it over her head. He shook it out, then fetched a hanger from the wardrobe
and suspended the dress from it. ‘Hmm, what’s that?’ he mused, scratching at a small stain on the hem.

‘Ink, I believe.’

‘You should try soaking that in milk,’ he suggested. ‘If that doesn’t work, rub it with some lye soap.’

God, he was such a perfectionist!

He turned back to Elizabeth and gazed upon her near-naked loveliness.

‘I’m going to boff you now, Miss Bennet,’ he declared. ‘Hard. You had better brace yourself.’

Apprehension suddenly seized her. She was unsure of what to do, how to move. Would he be disappointed? As if sensing her thoughts, Mr Darcy took control.

‘Lie down on the bed, Elizabeth,’ he commanded, ‘and lift up your shift.’

Gingerly, she lay back upon the red embroidered quilt.

‘Why, Miss Bennet, are those my longjohns?’ he asked in surprise. His brow furrowed. ‘We had better remove them at once. I’d been wearing them for five days
straight.’

Quickly, he ripped the worsted leggings from her slender legs, and paused, drinking in her milky whiteness.

‘Prepare yourself, Madam, for your first taste of nooky,’ he said huskily, clambering onto the bed beside her.

Jeez, he was so beautiful!
She reached out a hand to caress him.

‘No touching!’ Mr Darcy gasped.

Why?
Why
couldn’t she touch him? He was so exquisite, it was impossible to resist. Determinedly, Elizabeth grasped his manhood with her delicate fingers. Mr Darcy flinched. Then his
body quivered uncontrollably, and suddenly –
oh my!
– there was an emission that, were it to be named, would be bound to soil the pages of this book.

‘Nooooooo!’ groaned Mr Darcy.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Elizabeth.

Mr Darcy’s eyes grew dark, and his mouth set in a grim line.

‘I said, “no touching”, Elizabeth.’

‘Forgive me!’ Elizabeth was mortified. ‘I did not know what might happen!’

‘Dammit, Elizabeth. I am a man of uncontrollable passions!’ Mr Darcy cried. ‘I am constantly in a state of arousal. Especially with you. Do you remember that first evening, at
Netherfield, when I refused to dance? The truth was, I was in such a sexual frenzy at seeing your fine, ripe bubbies barely constrained by that thin cotton gown you wore, that had I been forced to
perform as much as a
pas de chat
, my breeches would have exploded.

‘People believe I am proud, and haughty,’ he continued, ‘when in fact I am constantly on the verge of release. A little stiffness and formality in manner is only to be expected
when one is endeavouring not to reach the point of no return in polite company.’

‘Perhaps,’ Elizabeth ventured, ‘if you dwelt a little less on sexual congress, and diverted your attention occasionally towards less titillating pursuits …’

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Like lacemaking, perhaps?’

‘Is it such a strange idea? You may find such activities have a soothing effect upon your libido, and your … problem … may not trouble you so.’

Mr Darcy leant upon one elbow, and traced the contours of Elizabeth’s face with his freaky fingers. ‘Oh, Miss Bennet, you are so innocent,’ he sighed. His expression hardened.
‘I am no good for you. You should keep away from me.’

‘Wait a minute,
you
invited
me
here.’

‘Whatever. I am too insatiable, too kinky for you.’

‘Try me.’

‘You don’t know what you’re asking, Elizabeth,’ he groaned.

‘Mr Darcy … Fitzwilliam … I would like to know the real you. Please – let me in.’

Mr Darcy was lost in thought for a moment. Then he seemed to make a decision.

‘Come, Elizabeth. I am going to show you something that will make you wish you had never come to Pemberley.’

It was with evident pride that Mr Darcy led Elizabeth about the finest rooms at Pemberley. There were stately galleries, elegant parlours and lofty bedchambers, all with magnificent views of the
parkland beyond, and all lavishly decorated with sex-themed accessories. Everywhere Elizabeth looked were phallic vases, breast-shaped cushions and furry rugs that looked just like vulvas. Mr Darcy
observed Elizabeth’s face closely, seeming to take delight in her mortification; he was particularly pleased to see her blush scarlet at the frescos of young men in fetish gear in The Old
Queen’s Bedroom. And yet during the tour, Mr Darcy discussed the interior decor with such enthusiasm and knowledge – pointing out pelmets newly imported from France, and the exquisite
detailing on the marquetry cabinets – that once again Elizabeth wondered whether he might be homosexual.
Holy crap, he was so complicated!

At last, exiting the ballroom – which was gaudily decorated with gilded testicles – Elizabeth allowed herself to be guided by Mr Darcy through a side door and into a narrow
wood-panelled corridor. Unlike the handsomely proportioned room they had just left, it was dark and almost menacing, with no window of any kind to let in light and no portraits or other decoration
enlivening the bare walls. In the dim light, Elizabeth could just discern a door at the end of the corridor, painted black or darkest blue, and adorned with a single ornate brass handle.

‘It is a magnificent knob, is it not?’ Mr Darcy remarked, raising one eyebrow. ‘I find when it comes to opening things up, a larger knob is far superior to a small one. And it
is so much more satisfying to grasp.’

Elizabeth sighed. If Mr Darcy’s ‘problem’ was ever to be overcome, then she would have to discourage this manner of conversation. She had had to throw a glass of water over him
earlier in the scullery, when he had become overexcited pointing out a pair of particularly fine enormous jugs.

‘Mr Darcy, I have no particular wish to discourse about doorknobs, whatever their size,’ she exclaimed, her cheeks aglow. ‘I implore you to return to the subject at hand. You
promised to show me your favourite room.’

With a sudden whirling movement, Mr Darcy turned and gripped her arms fiercely. His eyes smouldered like hot coals in the darkness.

‘Yes, Elizabeth, you have seen all the rooms at Pemberley. All – except one,’ he said huskily. In such close proximity, Elizabeth could feel Mr Darcy’s hot breath on her
skin, and smell his distinctive scent of animal musk and cheap supermarket body wash. She felt her knees giving way beneath her.

Just as suddenly, Mr Darcy released her. A wicked grin lit up his chiselled face. Stretching out one of his extraordinarily long index fingers five or six feet to the end of the corridor, he
caressed the paintwork of the door lovingly.

‘Yes, there is another room,’ Mr Darcy murmured, ‘the one closest to my heart – if indeed I possess such a thing. I show it only to those who intrigue me. Only those who
I believe capable of’ – his eyes were truly blazing now, blowing out little puffs of smoke as they locked on to Elizabeth’s –‘
pleasing
me.’

Elizabeth wilted under his gaze, like a six-day-old lettuce. ‘Pleasing you?’

‘Oh, Elizabeth …’ His index finger brushed her top lip.
Crap, if only she’d shaved this morning!
‘Little, innocent Lizzy. What you saw in the Purple Pantry
of Pleasure was nothing. My Lilac Library of Licentiousness is intended to but whet the appetite. This is where my true desires lie.’

With that, Mr Darcy grasped the knob in his manly hands and thrust open the door. He smiled, and his grey eyes shot flames of desire towards hers, singeing her fringe and eyebrows.

‘Welcome,’ he announced, ‘to my Blue Broom Cupboard of Seriously Kinky Shit!’

At first, Elizabeth could discern little of the contents therein; in the dim light, she was aware only of dark shapes – some long and narrow, others broader and more robust –
outlined against the back wall of the cupboard. But as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, details began to leap out at her: the spikes of a scrubbing brush, the curves of a tennis
racket.

She gave a little gasp.

‘You like what you see, Miss Bennet?’

Mr Darcy was immediately behind her now, his warm breath caressing her bare neck.

Elizabeth’s own breathing was ragged. Every one of her senses was heightened; she felt giddy, as if she were on the edge of a cliff, looking down. Attached to gilded hooks set into the
cupboard walls were instruments of every kind of punishment. Wooden spoons in various sizes. Fearsome-looking hairbrushes. Ping-pong bats, curtain tie-backs; she could even make out a monstrously
large carpet beater. Their appearance was at once menacing and yet, in some strange way, thrilling.

Her eyes fell upon one particularly terrifying-looking instrument: a long red stick, at the top of which were affixed scores of grey, rope-like tendrils. Elizabeth blanched.

‘What, pray, is that?’ she asked in a whisper.

Mr Darcy shrugged. ‘Oh, that’s just a mop. I think one of the servants must have left it here.’

He leant past her and from one of the hooks, took down a slim, bristled brush.

‘We shall start gently, Elizabeth,’ he said huskily, caressing the bristles of the brush between his long index fingers. ‘You deserve to be punished for your repeated
impertinence and wilfulness, but I shall deliver no more pain than you can withstand. You are, after all, an innocent.’

Elizabeth’s legs trembled.
Holy flip, what was he planning?

‘Kneel, Elizabeth,’ Mr Darcy commanded. His whole body seemed to throb with desire, and Elizabeth, as if in a trance, did as she was bid. She knew not why, but she felt powerless to
resist.

‘Now, bend over, on all fours.’

Shakily, Elizabeth complied.

At once, Mr Darcy’s strong hands were upon her, seizing her gown and petticoat at the hem and tugging them up, hard – oh, the disgrace! – to expose her stocking tops and bare
derriere. Elizabeth flushed scarlet, and her breath came in little gasps.

She felt Mr Darcy’s palm caress the curve of her behind.

‘Oh, Elizabeth,’ he murmured. ‘You are truly callipygous.’

‘Calli-what?’ she breathed.

‘It’s Greek, Elizabeth. It means you have a fantastic arse.’
Wow, he knew so much about stuff!

Suddenly, Mr Darcy ceased his ministrations. ‘Enough!’ he barked. His tone had changed, and Elizabeth guessed that fondling was no longer his intention.

‘I am going to beat you with this toothbrush, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy said huskily. ‘It will hurt, but you must show forbearance.’

Elizabeth girded her loins, awaiting the blow.

There was a tantalizing pause, and then –
pfft!
– Mr Darcy brought the toothbrush down on Elizabeth’s quivering flesh.

‘Again!’ Mr Darcy cried, and twice more the toothbrush grazed Elizabeth’s behind.

‘Is that good, Elizabeth?’ Mr Darcy asked, panting now.

‘Um …’ Elizabeth was uncertain how to respond without causing Mr Darcy distress. ‘I can’t really feel anything much.’

‘What, nothing?’

‘It kind of tickles, I suppose.’

‘Oh!’ Mr Darcy sounded deflated. He squeezed past her and rummaged in the broom cupboard for a minute or so, emerging with a devilish grin, brandishing a folded-up copy of the
London Gazette
.

‘I see we are going to have to be strict with you, Miss Bennet,’ he said lasciviously. ‘You evidently have a stronger constitution than I credited. Prepare yourself!’

Pat!
The newspaper flopped against her derriere.

‘Maybe if you rolled it up?’ suggested Elizabeth.

‘A wicked notion, Miss Bennet!’ Mr Darcy murmured. ‘I heartily approve.’

There was a pause while Mr Darcy unfolded the newspaper, then rolled it into a thick stubby wand. Then unfolded it again and rolled it, more carefully this time, into a long, thin wand.

Phtatt!
Mr Darcy swung the newspaper against Elizabeth’s flesh.

‘My God, Elizabeth!’ he moaned, breathing heavily.

Phtatt! Phtatt! Phtatt!
Mr Darcy’s breathing was ragged now. ‘Feel it, Elizabeth!’ he groaned. ‘Give it to me!’

Give
what
to him?
Elizabeth wondered, feeling both mystified and slightly embarrassed. To be honest, this wasn’t really doing anything for her at all.