Pride & Prejudice & Passion: Jane Austen for the Adult Reader

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

The next day Elizabeth took extra care with her toilette, to the point where Nell asked if she were perhaps to visit someone of special importance. Occasionally Elizabeth felt the need to remind Nell of her place. Such was the intimacy of their s****l relationship that it could all too easily lead to familiarity, which might then be noticed by others.

“Have I invited questions about my personal affairs?” she said, rather tartly.

“I am sorry, miss,” Nell said, suitably chastened, but inwardly resolved to assert her s****l dominance more strongly at their next encounter.

On her walk to the summer-house, Elizabeth pondered the nature of her task. How could she demonstrate to Bingley the manner in which Jane wished him to behave, when her own practice was always to hold the upper hand with men? It would be a severe test of her ability to dissemble. When she arrived at her destination Bingley was standing outside, his head in a book. He unlocked the door and bade her inside, locking the door again after them. It was a pretty room, tastefully decorated and well furnished, with a table and chairs and a chaise-longue. Mr Bingley invited her to sit, but she preferred to stand by the window, adopting a stance which she felt would be appealing, one hand at her side, the other resting on the window-sill. Mr Bingley took a seat on a chair opposite.

“There is no need for us to stand on ceremony, Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth said. “We both know why we have met here. I shall venture to give you a little instruction.”

“I see,” said Bingley, shifting in his seat and looking ill at ease. “I confess myself somewhat at a loss in how to behave, because your character is so different from Jane’s.”

“How so?”

“May I be frank?”

“I hope you will never be anything else, Mr Bingley.”

“It seems to me that she is the quintessence of virtue, demure and modest in every way.”

“Oh, she is,” said Elizabeth. “And I?”

“You, I am afraid, appear to me to be immodest almost to the point of wantonness, something unnatural in a woman.”

Elizabeth coloured. “I am not sure I care to be spoken of in such terms, sir.”

“No?” said Bingley. There was a disturbing note in his voice, almost one of insolence.

Elizabeth stared at him. He was making it increasingly difficult for her to perform as she had promised Jane, in such a manner as to encourage his taking the upper hand. She was more and more minded to put him in his place.

“Come here,” said Bingley suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?” said Elizabeth, taken aback by his abruptness.

“Come here,” he repeated. There was something in his voice that made it hard for her to refuse. Cautiously she edged towards him. When she drew near he reached out and grabbed her hand, then pulled her across his knees, face downwards. Elizabeth instinctively tried to struggle, and was about to cry out when Mr Bingley brought his hand down hard across her rump. Elizabeth squealed, more from outrage than pain.

“How dare you,” she cried, trying to stand upright. But Bingley had her in a firm grip. His hand struck her again. The blow was hard, stinging. It was followed by another, then another. Elizabeth wriggled and squirmed but could not escape.

“Why are you doing this, sir? This is an insult!” she exclaimed.

Mr Bingley said nothing but continued to spank her, then paused for a moment, but only so that he could lift her skirt right up to her waist. This was an even greater outrage. He recommenced spanking, and this time the blows fell with more force now that Elizabeth’s bottom was protected only by her thin silk drawers.

He paused, this time to speak, while maintaining a tight grip around Elizabeth’s waist.

“I think you are an interfering little busybody, Miss Bennet. I do not care to be taught any lessons on how to behave in the bedroom from saucy little minxes such as you. I am going to punish you for your effrontery, and give you a lesson I hope you will remember, on what happens to naughty little girls who seek to provoke respectable gentlemen.”

So saying, Bingley resumed the spanking, seeming to Elizabeth to smack her harder than ever. She continued to protest volubly and to struggle in vain, though the injury was more to her pride than to her person. Once more Bingley paused, but it was not in order to offer poor Elizabeth any relief. Far from it; still holding her firmly with one hand, he now pulled her drawers right down, halfway to her knees, then began again to spank her, this time on her bare bottom. To the undoubted pain which she was suffering, and the indignity of being put across Mr Bingley’s knee, Elizabeth now experienced a further level of shame in knowing that as he spanked Mr Bingley enjoyed a close-up view of her uncovered behind. This was a disgrace from which she feared she would never recover. Jane’s marriage would bring her into constant contact with a man who had subjected her to such an embarrassment.

Mr Bingley paused again, but once more it was not in order to offer her relief. Instead, he noticed that in her struggles Elizabeth had kicked off one of her shoes. They were little more than slippers, light and soft, but when he picked up one and began to use it as a spanking accessory it stung even more than his hand. Elizabeth yelled and managed to wriggle a little from side to side, but it availed her none; Bingley’s aim was unerring, each stroke landing squarely across the centre of her now rosy rump. By this time Elizabeth felt her cheeks were on fire, such was the vigour with which Mr Bingley pursued his lesson. Eventually she ceased to struggle. As the spanking continued Elizabeth relapsed into a more passive mode, absorbing the pain, which was in truth by no means as bad as it might have been had Mr Bingley intended a real thrashing. Instead, he knew well that the major part of the punishment would be the damage to Elizabeth’s self-esteem, the humiliation of being spanked like a naughty child.

At last, after Elizabeth’s bottom had taken on a bright pink hue and was smarting considerably, Bingley left off the punishment. But he had not finished. Putting two hands round her waist, he positioned Elizabeth so that she was kneeling on the chaise-longue, her naked rear presented to him as he stood behind her.

“Do not move,” he said sternly. “If you do, I shall resume your chastisement, even more severely.”

Elizabeth was now too cowed to offer any resistance. She knew enough of men to realise that Bingley’s blood was up. In this mood it would be unwise to confront him, and in fact she had little desire to do so. Her usual demeanour with lovers had in some mysterious way been reversed, if only for the moment. Bingley was evidently intent on having his way with her; was this not exactly the behaviour which Jane had encouraged her to elicit? In some sense the encounter must therefore be judged a success. But though for the moment subdued, Elizabeth still harboured a strong sense that her usual composure had been disturbed in a manner not of her choosing. This was not how she preferred to manage her encounters with the opposite s*x.

Bingley was troubled by no doubts or misgivings. For a moment he gazed at Elizabeth’s bare pink bottom with a feeling of satisfaction. Then he unbuttoned his breeches and prepared to conclude the episode. Holding Elizabeth by the hip with one hand, with the other he guided his member between the lips of her s*x, pausing for a moment to enjoy the delicious sensation of an agreeably tight little cunt before thrusting in with full force. Elizabeth gasped. She could not say that this part of the proceedings was unexpected; intercourse with Mr Bingley was precisely what she had intended, but not upon these terms. She had assumed only that she could encourage him to be a little less diffident. She had not expected that she would be first spanked and then taken from behind in the manner that she had seen employed by farmyard animals. It could not be said that having Mr Bingley’s c**k buried so deep inside her was disagreeable; on the contrary. She had never yet allowed a man to use her in this position, which she believed was not consistent being in control; her preferred position was above, sitting astride the man. But she was forced to concede that this method had its advantages. There was no question that Mr Bingley’s c**k, which though she had not had a view of it felt more than adequate in size, penetrated her to the very fullest extent. At each thrust she groaned as she was filled, in what must surely have been an unladylike manner, but she could not help herself. Mr Bingley’s thrust grew faster and stronger, his hips beating against her poor smarting bottom as he f****d her with all the vigour he could command. Suddenly Elizabeth experienced something which no man had yet dared. Bingley first forced his thumb into her cunt alongside his c**k, filling her even fuller, but then a moment later removed it only to push it into her anus. It was true that Elizabeth had allowed Nell to put a finger there, but only in order to please her, and it was always gentle. Mr Bingley pushed his thumb in deeper; he was rough, and it seemed to Elizabeth that there was something insolent in the gesture, as though he meant to humiliate her further.

Mr Bingley’s excitement now came to a climax. Elizabeth felt his c**k kick and buck as his semen spurted deep inside her. When he ceased to move, there was a moment of silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of both of them. Then Mr Bingley withdrew. Quickly he buttoned up his breeches. Elizabeth struggled to adjust her dress with as much dignity as she could muster, while avoiding Mr Bingley’s gaze.

“I hope,” he said, “that I have made my point. I am fully capable of as much vigour as any woman could hope for. But I do not care to take lessons in such matters from impudent and interfering young girls. Good day to you, Miss Bennet.”

With that he turned and was gone. Elizabeth sat for a moment, staring into her pocket mirror, trying with a comb to bring some order to her hair. She reflected bitterly that what she had seen as an honest attempt to help her sister had been spurned and turned against her. Her dignity had been assaulted, her self-esteem punctured, and perhaps she had done damage to the prospects of her dear sister.

Elizabeth made her way home in a very different frame of mind from when she had set out full of her mission to improve Jane’s marriage. When she reached her house she went straight up to her room. Lifting her skirt and pulling down her drawers, she looked at herself in the mirror, stretching her head round to see the damage which Bingley had done to her bottom. In truth it was far less than that done to her amour-propre. Nevertheless she took the precaution of informing Nell that she would not require her services in the evening for the next couple of days, by which time she hoped any bruises would have faded.

“Oh,” said Nell. “I trust I have done nothing to displease you, miss.”

“No, not at all,” said Elizabeth, a trifle irritated at having to explain herself. “I simply require privacy. I do not think I need to give a reason.”

Elizabeth found herself unable to tell Jane the full story of her encounter with Bingley. Instead she gave a partial summary the next day, in which she said that the two of them had, as agreed, proceeded to intercourse, during which Mr Bingley had given ample evidence of his forthrightness as a lover.

“I think you have nothing to fear, Jane. He is extremely forceful, I find. I think his diffidence with you has been owing to a misunderstanding. I trust all will now be well.”

“Oh, thank you, dear Lizzie,” said Jane, kissing her. “How lucky I am to have such an understanding and helpful sister.”

Elizabeth accepted the compliment as best she could. The two sisters were getting ready for church, where they would doubtless encounter Mr Bingley. Elizabeth did not look forward to this, but it could not be avoided. On entering, they saw that Bingley was already in attendance, accompanied by another gentleman, well-dressed and with a noble bearing. Who could this gentleman be, Elizabeth wondered. Jane had smiled openly at Bingham as they took their seats, while he had merely nodded curtly at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth sat through the service, hoping that she would not be obliged to talk to Mr Bingley afterwards, yet at the same time wondering if she might nevertheless be introduced to his friend. In order to pass the time, and divert her thoughts from recent unpleasantness, she began to daydream. Elizabeth’s reveries usually involved some kind of s****l fantasy. Her mind never ceased to be actively engaged on such matters, either reliving past encounters or imagining new ones, often of a most unlikely kind.

The vicar mounted to his pulpit and began his sermon. He was a kindly and inoffensive man, not handsome but presentable, with a homely wife and a large family. His sermons, however, were legendary for their length and dullness. As the Reverend Buxton droned on, Elizabeth imagined herself in the pulpit with him, unbeknown to the congregation. Kneeling on the floor out of sight, she proceeded to put her hands up under the vicar’s white surplice and find the buttons securing his breeches. Undoing them slowly, one by one, she reached inside for his c**k. She was pleasantly surprised to find, not only that it was already aroused, ready for her attention, but that it was of a good size, long and thick. As the vicar continued his address to the assembled worshippers, Elizabeth took his c**k in her hand and squeezed it, gently at first but harder and harder. She was gratified to hear him stumble slightly over a sentence.

Elizabeth’s aim, while at work in the pulpit, was to play a little game. She would caress and suck the vicar’s c**k, gradually raising his desire to the point where he was in danger of losing control of his sermon. But she would maintain his arousal just below the point at which he would orgasm, because at that moment he would undoubtedly reveal to his listeners that his attention was distracted.

In her imagination the vicar became increasingly aroused. Elizabeth licked the head of his c**k, circling it with her tongue, sliding her tongue up and down the shaft, then taking the head between her lips, sucking slowly but with increasing strength. She put her other hand inside the vicar’s breeches and wrapped it around his balls, squeezing just a little, once again pleased to hear him hesitate over a phrase as the pleasure grew intense.

She was undecided whether the fantasy ought to end with her bringing the vicar to orgasm just as he intoned the final words of his sermon, or whether the fantasy should be a protracted one. Perhaps she would remain hidden in the pulpit until the church had emptied and then the vicar would lead her to the altar. Laying her down upon her back, he would raised her skirts and open her drawers and introduce his big, shining, eager c**k into her by now well-lubricated cunt. As the vicar f****d her she imagined a choir of angels singing. Perhaps the church choir itself might have reappeared, standing by, singing a hymn while they waited their turn to use her upon the altar. Perhaps –

“Lizzie,” hissed Jane, giving her a nudge, “wake up. You should be on your knees.”

Elizabeth abruptly looked around, hoping no one had noticed her lapse. Everyone had their head bent in an attitude of prayer; except for one, Mr Bingley’s friend, who was staring right at her. Elizabeth blushed. Of course the man could have no knowledge of what she was thinking, yet she almost felt as if he did.

At last the service was ended. Standing by the door of the church, the vicar shook the hands of his parishioners as they left, little knowing, as he touched hands with Elizabeth, what indecencies she had visited upon his person in her imagination. Outside, Jane put her arm through Elizabeth’s and led them towards Mr Bingley and his friend. Bingley’s sister Caroline was with them. Elizabeth tried to hold back, but in vain.

“Good morning, ladies,” said Bingley, raising his hat. Elizabeth tried not to blush as she caught his eye, then looked away. Bingley briefly introduced his friend as Mr Darcy, who was staying at Netherfield for a month. Jane immediately engaged Bingley and his sister in conversation, leaving Elizabeth with Mr Darcy. She saw a tall, dark man with a rather haughty expression, not displeasing to look at but not a man who would encourage intimacy, perhaps. She wondered for a moment whether Bingley might have confided in his friend what had transpired the previous day. Surely, if he was a gentleman, he would not. But could she be certain?

Darcy’s manner was courteous but reserved. They conversed for a while, speaking of this and that: the weather, the state of the crops in the locality.

“And how long do you propose to stay among us, Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth enquired.

“Perhaps a month,” he said. “After that my presence is required in London.”

“Oh how I should love to go to London,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “We must seem very dull to you, down in the country.”

“I prefer country life,” said Darcy. “I am not one for balls and parties.”

“Oh, but I hear from dear Jane that Mr Bingley will give a dance at Netherfield. Surely you will attend.”

“Only if I must,” said Darcy.

Elizabeth, who loved dancing, was disappointed. Could she like a man who did not care for social gatherings? On the way back from church Jane spoke of nothing but Mr Bingley. It seemed that Bingley’s actions against Elizabeth had not dimmed his appreciation of her sister. That at least was something to be thankful for.

The next day Jane was off to Netherfield again. “You must come with me. It is only proper, Lizzie.”

“Of course you must go with Jane, Lizzie,” said her mother, Mrs Bennet. “It is indeed proper. And surely you should like to meet Mr Bingley’s friend?”

Elizabeth wondered why so much of her life was occupied with the proprieties, while her other, secret life was conducted as if no such obligations existed, as if the only obligation was s****l pleasure. At Netherfield, Bingley’s sister Caroline was distant, offering none of the warmth that Elizabeth thought proper to her brother’s betrothed. Darcy, on the other hand, seemed more disposed to be charming. He sought out Elizabeth and made sure to be walking next to her when they strolled through the park.

“I believe you have a house at least the equal of this one,” said Elizabeth, who had enquired of her sister a little of Darcy’s circumstances. She had ascertained that he was unmarried, that he owned a large estate in Derbyshire named Pemberley, and had an income to go with it. She knew only too well why her mother, an inveterate match-maker where her daughters were concerned, had encouraged a meeting.

“Bingley’s place has many charms,” he said. “Though of course one is always prejudiced in favour of one’s own.”

“Have you known Mr Bingley for long?”

“For many years.”

“And is this the first time he has shown interest in marriage?”

“I confess myself a little surprised. Though of course there were always girls who pursued him, because of his comfortable situation.”

“And perhaps because of his personal qualities?” Elizabeth forced herself not to show any prejudice against Bingley, despite her outrage.

“He has sometimes been sought by pretty but empty-headed girls lacking both wit and fortune.”

“And you disapprove of girls who have no fortune?”

“I do if they seek to remedy their situation at the expense of my friend, with no other motive.”

“And likewise should they pursue you with a similar motive?”

“And I do not look favourably on girls who seek to press me about my personal affairs.”

Touché, thought Elizabeth, trying not to blush. Darcy was certainly haughty; was he really quite so disagreeable as he seemed?

“So now I know what sort of ladies you disapprove of,” she said. “Are there any who find favour with you?” She smiled at him, turning the full force of her dark eyes. She was not to be so easily discouraged.

Darcy, somewhat softened by her charm, paused for thought. “I find myself always perplexed when thinking of this topic. I cannot decide whether I prefer a pair of flashing dark eyes or a quick and lively mind.”

Elizabeth looked to see if he intended a personal allusion. His face gave no clues.

“And if a lady should possess both attributes?”

“Ah, then,” said Darcy, “she might well find favour.”

Elizabeth would have willingly continued such a promising conversation, but unfortunately her sister called back for them to join her and Bingley. Elizabeth attempted to rescue something by remarking that Mr Darcy had been persuaded to speak of his preference in women.

“Oh, Darcy,” Bingley said, laughing, “he’s such a misogynist that none can please him. I have given up trying to find a match for him.”

“God forbid I should be found a match. May I not choose one for myself?”

“But you will never do so,” Bingley replied. Elizabeth noted that Caroline looked displeased. Could it be, thought Elizabeth, that she had designs on Darcy herself? Well, what is that to me, she thought. He was not the sort of man she liked. He was not malleable, not likely to be easily bent to her will. No matter; there were plenty more fish in the sea.