Happy Thanksgiving!


Mr. Darcy closed the door to his dungeon and noticed a book on the billiard table. One of the other members of the club must have pulled it off the shelf. It was odd that it had not been returned to the bookshelf. He placed it back instead of leaving it for a servant, as he did not want anyone to think there was anything unusual about the gaming room.

Then he followed the rest of club through the narrow hall and out the door to the stable yard. The men and one woman were dressed as usual, as if he had hosted a late dinner party. Any stable lads looking out the barn windows would see nothing amiss.

Lord Watsbane turned to Mr. Darcy. "I hope you find someone who can help you fully explore my gift. It would be a shame to leave the Saint Andrews cross here if it would not be used."

"I assure you, the club will definitely use it."

"I am sure, but I meant you, outside the environs of the club." Lord Watsbane nodded with an intent gaze, then climbed into his carriage.

Mr. Darcy strode back into his home thinking of the only person he wanted on the St. Andrew's cross. And she was currently under his roof. But he knew Elizabeth would never consent to be displayed in such a manner, though just the thought of it had him hard and painfully constrained in his breeches. It was a curse to not be able to offer for his love and to show his true self to the woman he admired.

He jogged up the steps and snuffed out his candle. On nights with club meetings, he always let his valet have the night off in case he had marks or welts. Mr. Darcy knew the man was discreet, yet even the most loyal servant would want to share shocking news with at least one person. And that he would not allow. He undressed and washed his face, the cold water snapping him out of his morose mood.

After climbing into bed, he snuffed out the candle and laid back, staring up at the canopy above. If only if only it was possible for Elizabeth to share his foibles. For her to not be disgusted with his proclivities. He reached down and squeezed his rod, then languidly stroked it as he thought of her in his cellar, tied on the cross, her entire body exposed to him.

He felt the pressure building as his fist rubbed harder and faster. In his fantasy, her back was turned to him, her perfect bottom on display, her hands bound behind. Her legs were spread apart with rope, her quim revealed. Mr. Darcy could see it glistening hidden behind her curls. She would moan softly. He gasped as desire hummed along every inch of his body. He could imagine the warm, soft skin of her back. Mr. Darcy wanted to bury himself into her, then roll them over and play with her body until she cried his name.

He stroked himself faster and imagined Elizabeth's face as she orgasmed. Her mouth open and eyes squeezed shut as she came for him. Mr. Darcy groaned as his seed spilled, and wished she were coming around his cock, her muscles contracting as her orgasm gripped his manhood.

He let his hand fall to his side, panting. The cold light of realism now entered his mind and brushed aside his fantasy. She would never understand his desires, and he could never tell her the truth. He was as much a prisoner as those he bound in his dungeon.

###

The next morning found Mr. Darcy frustrated. He was thrilled the skilled master Lord Watsbane had stopped to show them his new piece and how to use it, but it left him yearning, unlike their usual gatherings. Every month he could count on a full night's sleep and languid relaxation after a club meeting, with his desires fully sated. But none of them had taken part last evening, except Lord Watsbane. Should he contact the other members and request a second gathering?

He shook his head as he descended the main staircase. No, just the one gathering this month. With guests at Pemberley, he was too worried to chance another club meeting. The risk of being found out was too great. But perhaps he could still get relief by using the dungeon himself. It was not as good, but it was better than being tightly wound, especially with guests at Pemberley. In particular, one quite beguiling and beautiful guest.

He crossed the foyer, his boots clacking. Mr. Darcy entered the dining room and immediately the siren that haunted him drew his gaze. He nodded to her, then noticed there was no one else at the table. Damn and blast! This would be a tortuous meal. Why could she have not had a lie-in in like his other guests?

He had to address her, to not would be boorish. "I hope you slept well?"

"Yes, quite well. Thank you. I have never slumbered in such a comfortable bed before."

He swallowed and thanked his fast stride for him being seated at the head of the table when she mentioned that statement. A vision of her sleeping in his bed popped into his mind and desire bolted straight to his rod. He drank his tea to give him time to get his body under control. And to make sure he did not say what was on the tip of his tongue. "I am glad to hear it."

Mr. Darcy focused on reading the newspaper while eating his eggs. It was not until he finished and turned the paper aside that he realized he had been so intent on not letting her presence affect his recalcitrant body. He had been incredibly boorish and had completely ignored her.

"I apologize, Miss Bennet. The news has engrossed me too much, and I have been a poor host. If you have no plans to for today, I can arrange for Mrs. Reynolds to give you a tour of the estate."

Her smile lit up the foggy autumn morning. "Thank you. I would like that."

He nodded, then excused himself, as he had business to attend to. First of which was asking Mrs. Reynolds to let him know when she was going to lead Elizabeth in a tour of Pemberley. He would make himself scarce from the dungeon during that time. Despite it being located underground, chiseled out of limestone, he did not want to take any chance that he could be heard. It was best to wait until her tour had concluded.

Though he hoped it would be over quickly. His rod strained against his breeches, and he needed his dungeon desperately. And most likely would many more times while that siren was under his roof.