Fitzwilliam Darcy was not fond of the idea that the Bennet ladies were to stay at Netherfield for an indefinite amount of time. Although it was, of course, graceful and hospitable for Bingley to open his estate to them, Darcy felt that it was improper. The elder Miss Bennet could easily have been brought home in one of Bingley's carriages. Her scheming mother must now be rejoicing at the thought of having both her daughters under Netherfield's roof. Darcy had to admit, however, that the younger Miss Elizabeth was quite striking. Her arrival at Netherfield unsettled him. He could not tear his eyes from hers, lively and green. Her compassion for her sister was admirable. He dared say that Miss Elizabeth was quite a character. He was intrigued to know more.
It was just after dinner and Mr. Darcy realized that Miss Elizabeth was probably still tending to her sister. He wondered what the room Charles bestowed upon her looked like. He wondered if her accommodations were adequate. Reaching her room at the end of the corridor of the guest wing, Darcy pushed the door and entered the room. It was modernly yet lavishly designed, bearing the signature gaudiness of Miss Caroline Bingley. Darcy knew in his heart that Miss Elizabeth would not agree with the style, nor feel comfortable in a room like this. The chandelier in her sitting room was too large and hung too low. The walls were covered with a jade green tone, embellished with wood elves and ugly flowers. The table in front of the sofas was too large. Its legs too wide. The sofas themselves were too plush, too deep, and too impractical. There was a stack of books on the table. Darcy made his way towards the books and read the covers of each of them. Miss Elizabeth read mostly non-fictions by James Beresford, a favourite of Darcy. The Pemberly library contained many a work by Beresford and Darcy was sure Miss Elizabeth would enjoy spending an afternoon in his library. As he pondered this, Darcy heard a splash coming from Miss Elizabeth's wash closet. Darcy made his way towards her wash closet and he pushed the door lightly, opening it to a crack. He could not help himself as any other red-blooded young man.
The sight from within froze him where he stood. Miss Elizabeth was lying in her tub, with water reaching only half way to her waist. Her head hung back and rested on the edge of the wooden tub, her arms lazily splashing water over her arms and, by God, her beautiful chest. Darcy could do nothing but stare and hoped that Miss Elizabeth would not turn to look in his direction. She sat up, preparing to exit the bath before stopping and knelt in the tub instead. Darcy watched as a sly smile graced the innocent face of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. One hand reached low into the tub, and Darcy could only guess that it was rubbing, in circular motions, on Miss Elizabeth's womanly parts. Her other hand, free to do what she wanted, reached up to one of her breasts and squeezed hard. Mr. Darcy felt his breeches tighten as Miss Elizabeth threw her head back and mewed softly.
Her face became flushed with desire and the water splashed more and more violently as Miss Elizabeth rocked her hips. Darcy could only imagine what it would be like if he was the one to induce this reaction in her. His breeches tightened considerably more again. His own face was flushed. He wanted to remove his person from her room, having compromised her privacy and every sense of decorum, but he could not move. He could only watch as Miss Elizabeth touched herself, pleasured herself. He watched with his mouth hung open. She was nearing her release, and screamed a name Darcy would never imagine coming from her lips.
"Oh, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth mumbled. Darcy's eyes widened, "Oh Mr. Darcy, how cruel of you."
Darcy thought Miss Elizabeth had finished when he heard, "Mr. Darcy make love to me. Show me what it is like when we join. Oh Mr. Darcy. Oh!"
With that, Elizabeth's body shivered and shook violently, leaving a dumbfounded Darcy in her doorway. Darcy had reached his limit and knew he would lose his last shred of self-control if he stayed any longer. He walked silently to her door and slipped out of her room into his, which was only two doors to the left of hers.
When he reached his room, he locked his door loudly. Immediately, he stripped and removed his breeches. His member had already grown considerably and he stroke it evenly. Obviously practiced, Darcy, with a few hard strokes and the image of Elizabeth pleasuring herself fresh in his mind, ejaculated into his fist.
That night, Darcy found no sleep as the image of Elizabeth's flushed face and the memory of her crying out his name haunted him. He stroked himself many times and ejaculated many times, screaming her name. He could not decide whether he wanted her to hear him call her name or not.
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