My intellectual property is the storyline, all new characters, new character development, and new developments. Glorioux
Warning: Mature Content—again, remember he is damaged. Also, remember that this is the 1800s when women were there to please their husbands. He will be accountable for all he did that night.
Possession-The Savage Within
Later, much later, he would regret his behavior, but not now. Frantically, she struggled to pull her gown up.
"No, no, be still, my dear; I want to see my exquisite wife," he said, sounding like he had a cold. His face looked strange, and his eyes were half-closed. Here, darling, let me see you." To her, it sounded like, 'Let me see the horseflesh I just bought.'
He pulled her gown farther down, revealing her body. He groaned; ah, indeed, he was lucky; her pubis was beautiful, bloody hell, no body hair. It looked like the pictures in the hidden library, his father's secret books.
"Very pretty, my dear." His speech was gravelly. His body burned with lust; he couldn't even breathe.
His loud groan and keening scared her. He licked his lips, his nose flared, and his cock would not stop throbbing; by now, it was halfway out his trousers, seconds from spilling, this is truly exceptional, he thought.
Her body shook, and she was now more than a little fearful. She knew her husband was handsome, but that did not make her less afraid. She was not ready for this; how could she? This man was intimate with her, and she had yet to get her first kiss.
He went on his knees to see her better. His breath was very loud, panting. As usual, he did not need more candles; he could see rather well when he allowed his true self to be out.
"Here, darling, open more." He penetrated her with a finger, not easy. When she tried to push him off, he paid no mind and bent to see her closer. Feeling her wet, warm channel around his finger was mind-bending.
"Sir, please stop," Lizzie begged.
"No, I can't. I just cannot. You are my wife, and I desire you so very much. No sir, my name is Fitzwilliam, but I like William." Darcy was in a word of sensation; his eyes feasted on her; she was prettier than anyone he had ever seen. He could see her pale skin with freckles that seemed to glow in the night light. His wife, this exquisite beauty belonged to him.
She had near zero pubic hair, and her lithe-firm body was a work of art. Her breasts, high on her chest, were creamy mounds topped with dark red cherries, a most unusual coloration.
He pulled her up to stand and turned her once around; her slender back narrowed and flared, her bottom a perfect curve, and each cheek was half of a plump-rounded fruit. His fingers went around her bum, and one traced between her cheeks, making her jump. God, she smelled delicious, making his mouth water.
His breath was now coming out in spurts as his body shuddered. She is perfection; his litany had begun.
He craved her luscious breasts, so he turned her around once more to face him. He sat her again. So much to choose from, he thought, and all mine, mine to do as I wish.
He went down on his knees. Then he held one breast gently and sucked it with relish; he sounded as if he were crying while he touched his wife's body with his other hand.
She wondered why he was doing it but didn't want him to stop.
He moved from one breast to the other while his hands ran over her. Each touch raised his lust. With each pull of his lips, he whimpered and thrust his cock against her leg.
He stood to get a pillow, kneeled on it, and sat on his calves. Her cunny was beautiful, and it reminded him of an orchid, the pearl glistening in the middle of the odd-colored sex. Drops of release ran out from the entrance of her channel like beads of rain; the comparison made him want his mouth right on it. Better, now I can taste her sex, probably pure honey, he thought.
She tried to get away, but he held her with one hand on her delicious bum. He clicked his teeth, "Be still my flower." He thought he was caring, not quite enough.
Once he further opened her folds with his fingers, he moved his tongue along, savoring her; he pressed his face to breathe her sex's scent. She was indeed a garden of sensorial delights, his heavenly garden, his. By now, he could not control the sounds of his mounting lust.
Now she was allowing him because she liked his mouth on her 'that.' Oh, it felt good; he licked it and kissed it and even sucked gently.
Although relatively new, he decided he could do it for hours. He had not known that this act could be so pleasurable. It had never seemed enticing before.
His noises made her feel odd and woke something inside of her. His finger sliding in and out of her felt different. He rubbed her nub, making her press against his mouth and finger. Her legs quivered; the second when he felt her contractions on his finger, rational thoughts left him.
Elizabeth's body climaxed; it was an odd, wondrous feeling. Her eyes seemed out of focus, not sure what had happened.
He stood up, still licking his lips, to lower his trousers. His skin was on fire, and he could no longer wait.
She was starting to enjoy it until she saw him naked. She immediately remembered her mother's ill-advised words, "No, no," and moved back. He was bigger than she imagined. She knew that humans weren't horses, yet 'it' looked dark and menacing. He would injure her. His finger was already big, but that? His sex twitched against his stomach, and she could see the moisture on top.
"Sir, please no more; stop." She was shaking, afraid.
"Shh, all is fine," he could barely speak. He was no longer rational.
He thought to hear angry noises, but he dismissed them as the wind outside that was blowing viciously, beating on the windows. He stood between her legs and lifted her thighs. He did not wait. His dose of patience was over. He had never had an innocent before, but inevitably, he had done enough, never mind that they were complete strangers.
Her channel was slick as he tried to enter her. He groaned loudly, thinking, so bloody good. All gentleness was gone; the savage man was rising, taking over.
Even if she fought it, he could feel her flutters around the broad head of his sex. His eyes closed in ecstasy when her channel hugged his cock, "So good...so sleek...God, more." He would say.
She was in pain and confused. Whereas it hurt because he was huge, her body liked it, wanting more. This feeling is wrong, she thought, as she moved with him.
Perhaps if he had shown tenderness and care and was gentler, she might have accepted him, but this was not about love or feelings; this was about his pleasure and nothing else. At least, she saw it that way.
"Yes, dear, more, yes," he could feel more fluttering around, "Do it, darling, yes," he looked at her briefly and saw how their face showed her arousal, "So pretty," he told her.
He thrust harder, too much pressure, all gentleness gone out, and bit Elizabeth's shoulder to contain his cries. When he bit hard enough to draw blood, she screamed in pain. It made no difference since he was deaf to all but his pleasure.
Darcy thought and hoped that it was only a novelty. He was barely in and nearly spilling. Never so fast, seconds, and almost there. He pushed more, and Elizabeth cried for him to stop that he was hurting her, but he couldn't stop had he tried, which he didn't. Feeling her channel around his cock was glorious. Shudders of pleasure shook his body, so his hips thrust even harder and faster.
"Tight, so good, my darling," so much that it hurt, a good hurt. He was in awe. She is perfection, so his litany went on and on.
The wind was blowing furiously outside. The air seemed charged with threats, but he ignored it. He let go of one leg to place it over his shoulder. His finger slid between her bum cheeks and pushed. She squirmed, "Here, next time."
Next time, what? What is he saying? She wondered. The pain hadn't subsided, and he was ripping her apart.
He stood between her legs and never made it to the bed. He fixed his eyes on his sex, now covered with the blood of her innocence. It made him happy to know that he was her first. He smiled with pride, with possession, mine, only mine.
It was challenging to move, but it was okay, ever so perfect; seeing her channel hugging his cock made him shudder. She was slick, warm, and responsive, and she was all that he could wish for.
He was inside an erotic carousel, his cock expanding inside her tight sheath. Looking at her bare pubis was a heady sight, "No hair, pretty...gods..." he pushed more, "in… let me…in…" He coaxed her as he would his horse.
"So good—my darling—open I need more—just a little—my dear," speaking terms of endearment never said before. Affection to him, to her empty words.
Bloody hell, her warm, slick channel was a vise around his throbbing cock. "Dear, let me in—do let me—dear love—my wife," he spoke between shudders.
He had never said loving words, more like commands. He could tell them now because Elizabeth was his wife. He could open himself to her.
My wife is so bloody beautiful, he thought when he felt her taste still in his mouth. He had only tasted a woman once briefly and hadn't liked it, but now he had his wife for that. He was lucky because she was pure ambrosia.
He needed to breach her, but how? She was too tight, so he played with her nub. He wished that he could see her eyes, but she shut them.
"Open darling, just a little more." He kissed her face, licked, touched her; he couldn't have enough. He thrust faster while his body writhed with pleasure.
He bent and sucked her nipples hard, and each tug made him thrust harder. He was out of control. He lost time; never before had he experienced this sexual bliss. He screamed his pleasure when he felt his seed burst inside of her.
Most important of all, he would hide her from all men. It was his prize not to be shared. He would have her day and night, his treasure. "Yes, my dear, mine, you are mine." She would stay by his side day and night, except when they slept.
When the next round was over, he was hard before pulling out. Elizabeth had shut herself, and although her body might be responding, she felt far away. He walked, holding her up, not separating and still thrusting. He was deep inside a sexual haze, in his' savage' state.
He was speaking his pleasure, not caring if he revealed his inner desires; he bit her, licked her, and feasted on her. He sat her on his lap; she kept her eyes closed. He leaned back to see his cock moving in and out of her. His hands on her hips moved her.
She was a feather, weightless. Sex did something to him, increased his physical prowess, and enhanced his perception and intelligence, which lasted for long periods. He felt elated.
This was the best. Heedless that she was new to this, blind and deaf to her tears, he didn't slow down. His hands and movements were too rough, so what? She was his.
He kept thinking, no wonder his uncle wanted her mother. He, the man who always showed restraint, didn't, not this time. Never before had he revealed himself. He kept his needs hidden, no need to empower his mistresses. He might have been rough beforehand but was always detached, not now. It wasn't possible.
Yes, he had needed things before, but never before, he had been very vocal. That night, he was quite loud as he thrust wildly, letting pleasure take hold of him, making her how it felt.
He wanted her touch, but it didn't come, so he placed her hand on his cock, but it didn't move, "Touch, darling, here, touch me here." He pushed her hand with his. He hadn't noticed her state since he didn't see the need.
He wished for her touch. He wanted to be touched everywhere and would teach her how. That was another quirk. He wanted sex, but caresses, only erotic touches, and not too many. Now, he wanted her to touch him with caresses with care, like a wife, like he thought a wife should do.
His focus had changed; in his mind, this marriage was his free choice, not for Georgina's sake but his. He had given her his name and would share his vast fortune so that she could accommodate him. He didn't care if he showed himself to her; what could she do? She was his, and her father had no power over him. He was a nobody; he would show him. Even if his aunt helped him, what could they do? She was his wife.
His need to be touched and to hear her scream his name was overpowering. It never occurred to him that he was one-sided. Nobody had taught him to be tender or caring or to consider the needs of others, not after his beloved twin was gone. Something changed that day.
He was finally done with her and left the room. He had kissed, licked, bitten, and touched her body everywhere, but her mouth not even once. Not one nonsexual caress, no tenderness, she was only a body, nothing to him, his beauty for his pleasure, not a real compliment. Later, he would wish he had known her mouth's taste. He wondered why he hadn't kissed her and had no explanation other than something had stopped him.
He didn't believe that he had been excessive; it was his wedding night, and she needed to be pregnant in a hurry. It was clear his perception was twisted. Thinking of her pregnant with his child, he liked the idea. He never had the same woman for more than six months. He had short-duration generous contracts, mostly because he knew when they would start trying to get pregnant. To avoid risk, he learned their cycles and took precautions.
He wanted to explore more but decided to let her rest, after what was it six or seven times, he lost count, excellent. He could have had her, but she needed a break. He was already full of the energy from tonight. On his way back to his room, he made sure to leave the door open.
Darcy was sleeping when he heard a noise in her room. Right at midnight when a bright light lit the room.
Soon, he heard a cry of outrage. He went to look.
Time of Reckoning
Within eerie lights a tall man stood in the middle of her room, if that were a man. Fitzwilliam Darcy would have said, he was an angel with dark wings made out of silk. The angel's face was dark, and angry. His face was chiseled, like a sculpture, with marks in dark colors that glowed, with inner lights.
"Hmm," Darcy mumbled looking at the being, who is this? He thought.
The visitor wore a strange ensemble, armed with weapons everywhere.
He saw other flying figures, just outside. Darcy knew things that many didn't, so he wasn't scared. Not that he knew what the being was, he just knew there were things that nobody knew about them; but Darcy had nothing to fear since he had done nothing wrong.
A/N Sadly Darcy believed he had done nothing wrong. It is true that up to very recently in the US marital rape wasn't acknowledged. In many European countries rape laws were awful, but they are slowly changing. In Germany it wasn't rape if the victim did not scream or tried to defend herself. I am sure not many men in his society would think he had abused her. We think with 21st century minds, or many of us do. However, I think whoever the father is thinks differently. Give Darcy time to see the error of his ways. I have changed things in this version to clarify it, or make it flow better.