My intellectual property is the storyline, all new characters, new character development, and new developments. Glorioux
Warning, this portrays a man, Darcy, in early 1800. A time when husbands had full rights over women's bodies and lives. I don't condone his behavior, don't think is particularly hot, he takes her as if owned her and that is the point. Let me add that all actions have consequences, even for Darcy. One must remember something terrible happened to him. Mature content, Non-consensual sex, or we can call it rape. In the 1800s until not long ago men didn't 'rape' wives, they had rights over their bodies.
After the Wedding Part 2
Going away
Her mother came to her; she was having a fit, "Lizzie, talk to your father. He will only listen to you. That rich old hussy is after him, after his looks. What am I going to do? I will be destitute, living under the hedgerows." She touched her overstated jewelry over and over.
"Mother, I won't say a word. Weren't you the one wanting me gone? I am certain you did. So put up with the consequences, or better yet, sell your precious jewels." She turned around and left, thinking it would be better to leave home.
Jane would neither look nor come to see Lizzie. Her callousness further hurt Elizabeth's battered soul. This was a moment when she could have used her kind words, her sisterly love.
Darcy stayed glued to her, and she had no room to breathe. He was always a few steps away. Why? She had no idea. Was it to stop her from running away? She would run away, but where?
Mary came to wish her happiness. "Jane is pitching a fit," she said, lowering her voice, "because her Mr. Bingley won't take his eyes away from you. It isn't your fault; you look beautiful, breathtakingly so. Honestly, we aren't sure why it wasn't so obvious before. Kitty told her not to be silly."
Her father was sad, "I am so sorry that I couldn't and cannot do anything. He still watches you with hawk's eyes. All of this is your mother's fault. I think that you were set up. Mr. Darcy is hiding something, and he needs you. Cathy told me her brother did the same to her, compromising her at a dance."
"Father, why do you call her Cathy and her daughter, my Annie? What is happening in here?"
"It is a long story, so I'll just tell you briefly. Cathy Fitzwilliam, who was and is my only love, was forced to marry a rich man." He deeply breathed, "Your mother, Mrs. Bennett, well, never mind." He twisted his lips in disgust.
"My dear, please understand. I've never stopped loving her, not for a day. Her child, my Annie, as you must have guessed, is mine. We will talk later, my love. We will be coming to see you soon, " her father told her.
"We, which we?" She was desolate; even if imperfect, her life had fallen apart in a matter of days.
"I mean we, as in Cathy and me. I cannot stay here. Mrs. Bennett has never cared; furthermore, although Mary is the only daughter I can claim as my own, I love all my girls. My dear, please allow me happiness. My sweet girl, don't worry; I am taking all the girls with me." Her father kissed her brow.
They left too soon. Lizzie never looked behind, feeling crushed. She was not allowed to talk to anyone; her life was no longer hers. Tonight, she would miss the bonfires; nothing would ever be the same.
It was better to leave home; it was time to go. Elizabeth was apprehensive but reconsidered thinking she had nothing to worry about Mr. Darcy since he sat across her in the carriage, and he had not looked at her, not once.
She looked at him a couple of times; he was tall, she would say much taller than her father, who was six feet and one inch. His brown hair, streaked with gold was unruly; a longer rebel hair-lock kept falling on his forehead; the nose was thin and not too long; the porcelain white skin had a hint of color on his high cheekbones. The lips were full, and his square jaw had a slight dimple. His eyes were the color of a stormy day, grey with flecks of blue; they were beautiful, no question.
Elizabeth thought that his problem was the lack of warmth, not once had he smiled or said a kind word. He had not looked at her once, not before, not now. This made her relax; perhaps this was a business transaction after all, and she had nothing to worry about.
She was wrong because when she wasn't looking, his eyes ate her up. Desire made his breathing difficult; her intoxicating fragrance made his prick throb. He wanted to take her right there. His legs were too long, so he moved next to her, "I need to sit by you, my legs are too long," he explained. Not much more was said.
At every turn of the carriage, he would casually press his thigh against hers; the brief touches made him want her more; he couldn't wait to be inside her. He was trying to imagine her body naked and warm next to his. He wanted to see her naked, the curly hair down her back, her thighs open, her cunny glistening and ready for him. This was the longest ride ever.
When they finally arrived, he said three words, "We are here." He descended first, and barely touching her, helped her come down. He offered his arm politely, and she took it, staying as far away from him as she could.
At the townhouse, a line of servants stood waiting for them. He showed her to her room, "Dinner will be served in two hours. Get ready, formal attire." With those words, he left her. A young woman, an expert lady's maid, helped her to get ready.
Dinner was a somber affair. He had nothing to say, not even polite conversation. The dining room was like the house, magnificent; the food was cooked to perfection; the wine was the best she ever had. Even though she couldn't eat a bite, he ate without difficulty.
At the end of the dinner, he looked at her for the first time, "I am having a drink, and I will be up in the room in half an hour. You should get ready for my visit."
He touched her chin to lift her eyes up to his. His look made her uncomfortable. It was hungry, as if she were a tasty confection, how very odd. He bent to kiss her cheek; breathed profoundly and walked away. What was happening?
Walking to her room, she remembered what her mother told her, "The marital relations are a good thing. Don't be missish, there is nothing to fear."
Her mother saw that she was scared, "Pish, silliness, the worse that can happen is that you don't like it with him. If so, pretend that you did; make a few noises, and later you can find others whose bed talents will please you more."
What had she meant when she said, "It is like, hmm, I know, you've seen the horses, the same but with people. Yes, that is it! He is the horse. Better, hope that he is," and winked.
Her mother had been crass and rather horrible; thanks to her, Lizzie was terrified.
After his valet readied his bath, Darcy dismissed his servant, he didn't want him to see his arousal. He wore a robe, loose linen trousers; he put a bit of cologne after cleaning his teeth. When ready, he opened the door between the rooms.
He had wanted her for hours. Not only had the ride been torture, but at dinner, he also had a cockstand that was painful; it was still the same. The knowledge that she was his heated the lust that burnt him. He wanted to see her naked body, to taste her, to run his lips and tongue all over. The idea of his mouth at her sex made him moan; he could imagine breathing the scent of her arousal. It was time.
The wait would soon be over; she was exquisite; hence, the idea of having her was wrecking his mind.
He couldn't even remember his motives behind this marriage. Only one thought was at the forefront, I must lay with my wife; I want her. His cock wholeheartedly agreed and twitched; he was hard once again, his bollocks felt heavy and ached. He resisted touching himself, no more, he wanted his wife.
Upon entering the room, he asked her, "Did your mother explain to you what will happen tonight?"
He looked at her straight on when he gave her a velvet box. She took it and laid it on a table. His mistress would have opened it first, but not her, breeding, he guessed. At least her fishmonger mother had done something right.
"I asked, did she explain what will happen tonight?" He hoped so; otherwise, he would need to, and that was something that didn't appeal to him.
She still didn't answer.
The Savage
Interlude-
During a few seconds, old buried memories surfaced briefly; it was often a prelude to sexual activity, and afterward, the 'savage' would come out. He always managed to drown the unbidden images. At that moment, William Darcy was living the day of his twin sister's tragic death. That was when the 'hunger' started, but today he wanted to keep the old ghosts away. Tonight was his wedding night, the one that he had never wanted, or not for a long time. He tried to center on this time. He blinked and was back.
He looked at his wife, she was still an innocent, and he wanted to know if her mother had explained to her what happened between a man and his wife, but she didn't answer.
She was magnificent, so his body responded to her beauty. Albeit she was his and he desired her, she didn't conform to his idea of a suitable bride.
He'd wished for a sophisticated woman, one who had many social graces, handsome but not beautiful; one who would be open to fill his prodigious hunger; one who'd be willing to accommodate his extreme needs. He liked and wanted to try it all, and could go at it for hours. He didn't deny it; bed-sport was his favorite pastime.
He had mistresses since he was but a lad; it started soon after that awful summer. Luckily, his uncle procured his lovers. Sometimes he'd have two because of his excessive needs; it was the way of the Fitzwilliam; one that his father and uncle didn't condone and consider abhorrent.
The last six weeks were hell, and he was about to change it. His mind had been in turmoil because of Georgiana, and the last time he saw his mistress, just yesterday, was to let her go. He was already engaged and had a strict honor code; hence, he didn't cheat on anyone, much less on his fiancée, even on a non-willing one.
All and all, this wife was acceptable, she would do. Her beauty did something to him. He came behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck, "What fragrance are you wearing? Is it a French perfume ?" His voice was lower and seductive.
He licked her naked neck. He was already fully aroused, his cock throbbing; he couldn't stop his keening sounds. Yes, he was more than ready.
Albeit, he had relieved his need twice already, he was still dripping seed. "I asked, what perfume are you wearing? My dear, did a cat get your tongue?" He clicked his teeth, trying to make light out of it, barely able to control himself. He tried to remember that she was of gentle origin and an innocent, but it wasn't easy.
Lizzie was flustered, stiff as a board, her heart raced, "Sir, my uncle gave it to me, I am not certain. I think that it is neroli and something else." Her voice was shaky.
She heard him breathing like he had been running how she wished to be elsewhere. Why did ill uttered vows give this stranger the rights to her body? Why had he chosen her? She had hoped that maybe he would give her a reprieve.
"Sir, maybe, err, we could wait until we know each other better? I just learned your name," she sounded hopeful.
"No, you are my wife, and this is our wedding night. We are married and I believe in loyalty, so, I won't have other females. Besides, I have strong needs to be with a woman," he shuddered, "if you must know, I want you in my arms."
Indeed, she was his wife, and he needed her. Calling it a need, was inaccurate, he was burning for her; his bollocks were aching, wanting relief.
Does he want me? How? For what? He hasn't spoken two words to me, neither has he looked at me, not really, why? She wondered.
He kissed her neck as his hands moved up to under her breasts, she jumped. "Shh, ahh, be still, be still my dear. Today can be pleasurable for you, though maybe not the first time."
Yes, probably not tonight, tonight would be unpleasant. Darcy knew that he was unusually large, but she would get used to him.
He imagined how small she probably was. Picturing her narrow channel, hugging his cock inside a tight-slick hold, was too much. With that in mind, he wanted her now, right then. The desire made his body burn, and his restraint was tenuous at best; he was about to become a savage, soon it would become impossible to control the hunger inside. When his fingers moved up, she felt a shot of warmth on her lower belly. She didn't move; soon his hands held her breasts, caressing her nipples between his fingers. She could hear his labored breathing right by her ear.
She pressed onto him, onto his aroused sex; immediately he moved his hips against her almost naked bum, already pressing against him. Dear God, this is intolerable, I won't be able to be gentle, he knew himself. His mind was in a haze of lust. He took his robe off, turned his wife around and sat her on the window seat. Once there, he lowered her gown leaving her shoulders bare.
Right away, she tried to pull her gown until her eyes saw him, oh dear. She could see 'it,' coming out his trousers. He followed her eyes. Her eyes opened like saucers, and her cheeks blushed brightly.
He looked down and saw that he was ready, fully blooded. He nearly smiled at Elizabeth's face; she was so sweet and innocent, but not for long, he regretted it, he did, but this would not stop him. She was his wife; therefore, he had the right to her intimate embrace, and he was doing nothing wrong. He was dismissing how cold he had been to her before, and how much she disliked him.