Chapter 23: Mr. Bennett's POV: Finally, We Belong Fully to One Another

While I had long known Lady Catherine was a passionate woman, I had not expected her to be so free in expressing her passion during our carriage ride and it was a near thing that I did not lose all restraint and take her on the road. I was grateful that my advancing years gave me a modicum of self restraint, for I wished to do things properly.

I resolved as Lady Catherine helped me back into my coat, that I would give her all the joy I could before we coupled. I had no doubt that on this occasion I would be able to perform because I had not indulged myself for days.

I purposely focused my thoughts on other things to distract myself so that I might be able to tuck my turgid member back within my breaches, but it was difficult given that she was right beside me, still breathing hard. Too, despite having wiped my wet fingers dry on a hanky (her hanky, which was even now safely ensconced in my pocket, the damp side folded in), I had no doubt I could still smell her secret sweetness on my fingers even as I tucked the back of my shirt into my breeches. A bit of it the smell of her "honey" lingered in the confined air of our compartment, would perhaps cling to us both as we passed into the inn.

I thought back to who was missing from our wedding, seized upon it as a way to calm my thoughts, "Did you notice that Mr. Bingley was not there today?" I chanced a glance at my beloved, saw that Lady Catherine was looking less rumpled, but still with a healthy color on her face which might seem bright indeed when we stepped out into the sunlight (it was fairly dark with the closed curtains but Roberts and the coachman had been instructed to not open the carriage door until after we pulled back the curtains as I had half suspected, half known that we would not be suitable to exit the carriage immediately after we arrived).

"No, I did not notice at the church, I was too caught up in focusing on you." I looked back at Lady Catherine and a sweet, loving smile was upon her lips, lips that I wanted dearly to kiss again. She perhaps saw something of my desire for she touched her own lips with a lingering finger. I was forced to look away as that was not helping matters. As she continued on, I tried my best to focus on her words and not what else her lips could do.

"Likely I would not have noticed at breakfast either, but Mrs. Bingley sought me out, welcomed me to the family and apologized for his absence saying, 'Unfortunately Mr. Bingley is indisposed.' While her words were all that were proper, I had the sense she was displeased with him."

"Ah, good," I responded, speaking more to myself than her as finally my arbor vitae had wilted sufficiently for me to wrap the long front of my shirt around him and tuck myself back in my breeches and do up my fall. I was almost presentable, only lacked my gloves and hat.

"Good that he was indisposed or that she was displeased?" Lady Catherine's tone had a note of teasing; I suspected she knew exactly what I was happy about.

I could not chance looking back at her just then as it might undo all my progress, but explained, "Good that I was able to right myself. I am not surprised Bingley was absent. He rather over indulged last night. He stayed at Pemberley quite a bit later than me and was already foxed when I left. It was a bit odd, he arrived with unexpected guests that were little known to me, his steward and a couple of tenants. They made for quite a motley crew and I gathered they must drink together regularly."

"Is your son a drunkard? I cannot imagine Mrs. Bingley would like that."

"I do not think he is, but if he were my daughter would be unlikely to say a word against him. It is not that Jane does not feel the same resentments as the rest of us, but she always tries her best to never let any negative feelings show, to be serene, to deny all the ugliness in the world."

I searched for my gloves, found one then the other. My second glove was a top one of hers and I could not help but envy their symbolic embrace. I retrieved them both, then handed hers over. I seated myself again. As I was pulling my gloves on I wondered whether, perhaps, the lingering scent on my right hand would perfume my leather glove. Feeling a familiar stirring I forced myself to continue discussing the Bingleys.

"Bingley could be a drunkard and carrying on with a mistress, and I do not think Jane would ever tell a soul, save for perhaps Lizzy. But I cannot imagine it of him for he dearly loves his wife. I am surprised they do not have almost as many children as the Collinses. Something there, perhaps, is not quite right. He went out on the very night I arrived at his home before our wedding."

"Well as Mrs. Bingley, Jane, is now my daughter, I should like to help them if I can. I suspect not everything is right in their chambers. During my hen party we had a little discussion about marital intimacies. "

I looked over at Lady Catherine. Her gloves were now on and her bonnet was upon her head and she was tying the ribbon under her chin. How much I wanted to divest her of everything she had put right! But first we had to leave the carriage and gain our rooms.

"Do you think, my dear, that we could discuss this later?" I heard a slight strain in my voice. "Surely you would like to go inside?"

She nodded, regal as a queen. With slightly trembling hands I cast the curtains open. Almost immediately Roberts opened the door. Lady Catherine gestured for me to go out and a moment later I assisted her down the steps. When she was down she took a hold of my arm. It was lovely to know that this was now my place as her husband to escort her wherever she might go.

Parker told her, "Ma'am, the trunks are already in your rooms."

"Well whatever are you waiting for, take us there at once," Lady Catherine commanded. Parker led the way into a fine stone building and we followed her, Roberts behind us.

It was very difficult to leave my wife at her door, though I would be just next door and Darcy had told me (when speaking that morning of the arrangement made for us) that we had a communicating door. I knew it was necessary, naturally we needed to refresh ourselves and I did not particularly wish to empty my bladder in front of her while she waited to do likewise.

It was only mid afternoon, but I had no desire to do anything but properly attend to my wife as soon as she might be ready, hopefully to be alone with her until morning. Lady Catherine must have thought likewise for she commanded, "Roberts, arrange for dinner for us to be brought to the master's chamber at 8. Parker can advise you as to all my preferences. But you may attend to Mr. Bennet first." Then Parker was opening Lady Catherine's door and she swept inside without so much as a glance at me.

I followed Roberts into my room and then attended to all the necessary arrangements. I considered asking him to assist me into my nightshirt, but given the early hour that seemed a bit odd, so I settled for having my shoes, stockings and coat removed.

While Roberts went to empty my chamber pot, I washed up with the water he had poured in the basin. I washed my face and hands with soap and water, before using the flannel to clean below, focusing closely on those parts of me most necessary for all that was to follow. Because I let my thoughts drift to what it had been like to feel her hand on me, and to consider whether she might consider taking my rod in her mouth (How much I hoped she would not think such activities beneath her dignity as the daughter of an earl!) it was quite difficult to tuck him back in my breeches.

I very much desired to pass through the inside door and seek Lady Catherine out now that my preparations were complete, however I knew logically that it would take her longer to be ready. I sat down upon the bed which apparently would not be the site of our activities (for why else should she want the dinner sent to my room but to let us have privacy in hers). I tried not to imagine Parker undressing Lady Catherine, Parker's hands unbuttoning her dress, Parker helping her shed one layer after another until my wife was bare before her.

I tried to think of other things, I truly did. I glanced about the room seeking objects of distraction. I spied a framed drawing of the peaks. I looked at the furniture in the room, noted it included a small round table with two chairs, perfect for dinner later.

However, I also spotted the pitcher and bowl. That sight immediately made me imagine Lady Catherine bare, Parker washing her with a flannel like my own, the cloth skimming over her pale breasts, the nipples tightening into marbles, as water trickled down her torso, by her belly button, over the slightly wrinkly skin that lay below, before disappearing into the curly hair that covered the pink glistening flesh that I dearly wanted to see again. The image was arresting and my breeches felt extraordinarily tight.

But my mind, wretched thing that it sometimes is, focused on one detail, the saggy wrinkled skin of her lower belly on the body I imagined before me. I did not mind that part of the image; it merely shows, along with her stretch marks, that a woman has born children. But having never seen that part of Lady Catherine's body, I realized that detail could not reflect her. But rather than being wholly imagined, I realized then that the lady I saw in my mind bore the face, neck and arms of my new wife, much of the body itself was that of my Fanny, the woman who had given her whole life to me. The woman who I had loved, still loved, who was gone forever, or at least until we would meet again in heaven in soul and not flesh where she would no longer be my wife.

If I had been given a quarter of half an hour to think these matters over and make my peace again with how things were, likely I would have traded my melancholy for joy and proceeded into Lady Catherine's chambers and directly given her as much pleasure as possible before finally performing the marital act which would bind us together before man and God as husband and wife. But I was not given that time. The thoughts were freshly before me when Lady Catherine knocked at the internal door and said through it, "Tom, I am ready for you." That is not the type of summons a new husband ignores, so I got up, turned the handle and proceeded through.

Lady Catherine was most lovely, wearing a sheer pink nightgown that appeared to be made of silk. The neckline was low and only thin straps kept it up. If it were earlier, likely I would have lept at her and tried to divest her of the gown as quickly as possible, but instead I walked into the room, took up her hand and kissed the back of it.

"What is it, Tom?" Lady Catherine asked me gently. She gestured toward her bed, which I noticed was large and inviting, with a dark blue coverlet. We both sat on the end. I settled a respectful hand span away from her, but Lady Catherine scooted close enough that her silk clad thigh was against my own. She turned toward me and slid her finger tips along the side of my face. With sudden insight she guessed, "Are you thinking about Mrs. Bennet?"

Reluctantly I told her, "Yes, I am. I do not wish to be. I should be thinking just of you and me."

"I understand," she told me, "let me help bear your burdens. Is that not what your wife should do? "

I did not want Lady Catherine to think I did not dearly love her, but my head was full of thoughts of Fanny. I thought about how right after our wedding breakfast at Longbourn, I had not the restraint to wait for a more suitable hour and as soon as the guests left marched the new Mrs. Bennet up the stairs to my room. I acted as her maid servant and removed her dress and shift myself. As I drew each item from her body, I used it as an opportunity to touch and caress her. She blushed but made no attempt to resist whatever I might choose to do.

I recalled how Fanny trembled when she stood bare before me. I told her, "Mrs. Bennet, you are so lovely, the very picture of womanhood," while my eyes swept over her ample breasts and rounded hips. She was well formed, a woman who could bear my child.

I bid her, "Mrs. Bennet, lie down on my bed." My new wife quickly complied, seemingly relieved to cover her nakedness with the bedding. In my eagerness, I proceeded to remove my own clothes.

Fanny's eyes widened when she saw my phallus for the first time, jutting out proudly, prepared to fulfill its purpose. She confessed, "Other than my little brother, I have never seen a male bare and his thing-a-ma-bob is nothing like yours. I am not sure how it is supposed to fit where it must."

I told her with confidence I did not truly feel, "It will be fine when you are ready for it." Still, I did not hesitate to climb into the bed and slide in next to her.

I touched, and kissed and licked her while staying on my knees to the side of her while Fanny lay upon her back. When she moaned from my ministrations (at this time my lips and tongue were suckling at her breast), it was all I could do to resist climbing upon her and taking her right then. Instead, I reclined on my side and gently guided one of her hands to my chest, telling her, "It need not be only me touching you." When given this permission, her hands were eager, curious. She ran her hands down my stomach and tentatively touched my member and then swept down to feel my cods. It was so glorious, her innocent touch, that I almost spent then.

But then Fanny glided one hand back up until it wrapped around my neck and into my hair while her other her hand traveled around to my back, sliding down until she grabbed at my bum. She pulled me closer to where I most wanted to be and I pressed into the side of her hip. I touched her most private place with my fingers, trying to prepare her for my future ingress. She moaned again, this time louder, and I kissed her deeply while my fingers continued to be busy, sliding in and around. Minutes later when I joined with her, it was better than my imaginings for she pulled me close and seemed to never want to let me go.

I recalled many snippets of our repeat performances, how often we indulged when we were newly wed and how sometimes she would demand my attentions even when we had guests. I also remembered telling my daughters about what events led to me wishing to wed her, and how this conversation spurned us into indulging with some frequency again. I also recalled when she was very ill, too ill to get out of bed that still she would ask me, "Tom, can you touch me?"

I was diligent, oh so diligent then in seeing to her pleasure, and whether or not she reached it, she always requested afterwards, "Tom, come here. I want to be with you now; at least I can do this one wifely duty." Afterwards I always held her and when she was fast asleep I would beg God to spare her. But he did not listen.

Those memories were too intimate and precious to share with anyone, so I simply told Lady Catherine something else that was true. "Fanny would have delighted in the fact that all her daughters are settled, that she has grandsons and granddaughters. I never thought she would die before me, not get to enjoy her triumphs like she should. There were so many years that she fixated on finding husbands for our daughters and despaired that if they did not marry well she would be dependent upon the charity of her brothers. She was always saying that Mr. Collins (first the father and then his son your parson), might evict her from Longbourn, toss her and our daughters out in the hedgerows."

"Mr. Collins would have never done that, but I have a feeling that his father would have. I do not know much of him, but what I did know was not good." Lady Catherine responded.

I replied, "I knew Mr. Collins senior was a horrible man, to my regret I let his son remain with him. But even knowing what my wife might face, I did not engage in those economies which might have provided better for her and our daughters. She was always after me to loosen my purse strings further but she could not seem to understand that I was barely keeping us from debt, that every pound she spent on dresses and furnishings for our house, was one less pound we might save for the future."

Curious, I asked Lady Catherine, "Has our wedding reminded you of your wedding to Mr. de Bourgh? Do you miss him?"

Lady Catherine leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and then turned my head toward hers with a slight pressure with her fingertips. "Tom, you are nothing like him. What we did in the carriage was better than anything I ever did with Mr. de Bourgh. He did not care for me except as I might be the means of getting him children. Any pleasure I ever got from our interactions was due to the preparations I made prior to his arrival. Tonight will be the true wedding night I was always meant to have."

Although Fanny was still a bit in my mind, my senses were overwhelmed by my eager bride who climbed into my lap and began kissing me. It was wonderful, but just one thing was wrong. I told her, "Lady Catherine, would you mind removing your wig? Should not your husband see all of you as you truly are? It does not matter if you have less hair upon your head than me; I would rather touch baby wisps upon your head than another woman's elaborate hair."

"How did you know?" she asked me, her hand tracing along my head.

"In our earlier days all of us wore wigs, and when we wore wigs, the style of such hair never changed. In all the time I have known you, your hair has always been the same. How could it be anything other than a wig?"

"I should have known that you would know," she told me, one hand gently touching her wig.

"So will you remove it for me?" I asked again.

"If you wish," she replied, looking down, seemingly suddenly shy.

I nodded, "Please, my dear."

Lady Catherine climbing off of my lap, leaving me bereft and all too aware of that jutting protuberance which was uncomfortably bound by the fabric of my breeches. She strode to the mirror and began removing pins that must have attached that wig to her own hair. Finally she pulled it off.

While I had been brave in my declarations, I was relieved when I saw not a bald head but short curly hair, some hairs dark, some hairs light. Lady Catherine drew her hands through her hair, fluffing it a bit, before she turned back to face me.

"I like it," I told her honestly, "now is this not more comfortable?"

"Yes," she confessed, "but being like this makes me feel vulnerable."

She sat back beside me on the end of the bed. We turned our heads toward each other and leaned into a kiss. As we kissed, I slid my near hand along her cheek and then up into her short locks. They were slightly damp, perhaps with perspiration, but soft and fine.

When we broke the kiss, Lady Catherine said, "May I?" and motioned toward my crotch.

I nodded and she said, "Stand up and hold still." Then she slowly undressed me. As she did so, she ran her hands along my body. Every touch of her hands made me further burn with desire. I wondered if Fanny had felt the same that first time as I undressed her, but then banished that thought from my mind. Instead I focused on Lady Catherine's hands, Lady Catherine's touch.

When I stood bare before her, Lady Catherine asked, "Tom, do you not wish to undress me?"

"Yes," I told her and without any further prelude I squatted low and slid my hands along the sides of her legs and upward, drawing her pink nightdress from her as I rose. When I reached her dairy, I slid my fingers along the sides, letting my fingertips seek out the tips which hardened with my touch. She obligingly raised her arms and I pulled the gown up and over. Then she stood bare before me.

Lady Catherine's body was proportioned differently than Fanny, slimmer through the hips, longer through the torso, sagging in places, but still I found it just as delightful. A moment later we were in a naked embrace, our hands roaming freely, neither of us ashamed.

For what had we to fear? We wanted to be with each other, to know each other intimately and because we were married it was proper, for we were joined before God and belonged to one another. Nothing could be more natural than wanting to give and receive delight.

For many hours we kissed, licked and nibbled. Sometimes we acted on pure instinct or in the way we thought might give each other the most pleasure; at other times we followed the other's instructions. It was well that I had diligently cleansed all parts below, for Lady Catherine had no qualms about placing her lips around me. I enjoyed her ministrations for a time, but did not want to end the evening in that way and so told her, "That is enough for now, let me have my turn if you will."

Lady Catherine revealed, "Tom, your fingers are lovely, give me much delight, but would you, could you, use your mouth, too?" She then looked away, blushing like a maiden. She wiggled her lower lip in and out of her mouth as she awaited my reply.

"Of course," I told her, "nothing could make me happier than seeing to your pleasure." That might have, perhaps been a lie, because there was an activity that I was very much anticipating, but I could not help but think that if it would be even sweeter if first I gave her the ultimate delight. I climbed down to the end of the bed and knelt between her legs. Soon enough I was suckling at that button of hers at the top of her lower lips while my fingers plunged into her wetness. It was perhaps messy and undignified, but neither of us cared about that.

After some minutes of this in which my lips and tongue grew tired, my wrist began to ache and my knees grew sore, I tried all the harder. She was panting and moaning and it was glorious, but still I knew she could have more, if only I could persist a little longer. Perhaps a minute later, when I was pondering whether I could continue on, but stubbornly kept doing so, her moans grew louder and then she screamed, clenched and fluttered about my fingers. I continued, a little slower, trying to draw out her pleasure and felt further flutters and she moaned long and low. Seeing, hearing and feeling her come undone was incredibly satisfying to me. Finally I withdrew from her, collapsing to the side as I lightly rubbed the outside of her nearest thigh.

"Come up here, Tom," she told me, tugging at my shoulder. I obeyed, regaining my knees and crawling upward. I collapsed beside her and held her tight. A few minutes later, still occasionally shuddering in my arms, she told me, "Tom, that was wonderful. I never thought I could feel all of that. I am not a stranger to self-pleasure, but what you gave me does not compare with anything I have ever done for myself."

After Lady Catherine had recovered a bit longer, she told me, "I have not forgotten about you, my long-suffering husband who still needs his pleasure. Could I, perhaps, climb a top you?"

"Please do." I reclined upon my back, my member which had softened a bit, springing back up straight at the idea of what she was proposing.

Lady Catherine climbed a top me and slid against me, dragging her wetness over me, her nether curls sweeping over my own. Oh, how good it felt, but I wanted more. I flexed, trying angle my member toward her. She grasped at me, fumbled a little and then brought me into her embracing passage. We both moaned and I felt myself thicken, rapidly heading toward the point when I could no longer hold back.

I frantically tried to think of something that might delay the inevitable conclusion of her tentative plunging. Seeing her bushy bubby bouncing and swaying as she moved upon me, was not helping. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, but my mind was blank (or rather fully occupied with sensation and the juxtaposed images of all our past delight). I could not so much as recall a single Latin conjugation.

I pulled Lady Catherine tight in my arms as I gave myself over to it. Shuddering and expelling within her depths, I called out, "Oh, oh, my wife!" Being joined with her, wrapped around each other, was all I could have desired. I opened my eyes to see her staring at me, face flushed, eyes soft and distant.

She stayed on top of me for a time before sliding to one side. Although it was still early, I fell asleep moments later, my wife tucked beside me.