Charlotte, Sir Richard... And Mr Darcy

by C P Waterman

  CHARLOTTE, SIR RICHARD...

  AND MR DARCY

  A collection of sizzling variations on Pride and Prejudice

  by

  C.P. Waterman

  Copyright C.P. Waterman 2017, 2018 and 2019

  This book comprises five episodes of a serial titled Charlotte and Sir Richard, and is bundled here as a complete story. The episodes appear here as chapters, in order of original publication:

  1.Mr Darcy's Intimate Friend

  2.Intimacy with Mr Darcy's Friend

  3.Intimate Sketches of Mr Darcy and his Friend

  4.Mr Darcy's Dirty Pictures

  5.Mr Darcy Wants More

  This book contains works of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission by the author, except for brief quotations for review purposes.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  1.

  Mr Darcy's Intimate Friend

  My dear Charlotte,

  Thank you so much for your letter. I am pleased that things are well with you both at Hunsford Parsonage. While I am sure you would value your solitude while Mr Collins is away at his diocesan conference, I am mindful that it has been a long time since I have seen you. I still miss you, and we would be delighted to entertain you here at Pemberley over the first week of next month during Mr Collins’ absence.

  There is one problem; during that week, Lady Catherine de Bourgh has invited herself here, with her entourage - her daughter Anne, and a nephew - and I shall have to suffer her presence much of that time. I am sure you see enough of her already - I hear she is a frequent visitor to the parsonage - and, to that end, I could offer you some sanctuary at a little house on the estate. We call it the East Lodge. It is little more than a modest brick hut, standing by the lake; you would have a wonderful view of our home in the distance and, if you are prepared to look after yourself in this hermitage, I can have fresh provisions delivered to you every day. You would have plenty of opportunities to sketch and paint while you are here.

  On the occasions when I can release myself from the noble lady’s company, I would be delighted to spend time with you. We can talk of the old days at Meryton, and we can invite you to tea at Pemberley when an appropriate opportunity arises.

  Your very good friend,

  Eliza.

  P.S. - I imagine Mr Collins will have the use of your coachman during his sojourn, so I shall arrange for one of our coachmen to come to Hunsford, collect you and bring you here.

  Dear Eliza,

  I was so pleased to receive your invitation. Please understand that I could manage quite well here at the Parsonage while Mr Collins is away, but I fear there is a danger that the servants will watch my every movement and report any perceived irregularities in my conduct back to Lady Catherine. I would not wish to cause discord in my marriage at such an early stage. I am tolerably comfortable with the married state now, having established a routine which satisfies us both.

  I propose to arrive on Thursday next week. The East Lodge sounds perfect.

  I look forward to seeing you and Mr Darcy again.

  Your friend,

  Charlotte.

  As soon as Charlotte sent the reply to Elizabeth Darcy’s letter, she realised she would have to make of list of everything she would take with her. She made sure that she had sufficient pencils; her sketchbook had not seen any use for years, and she wondered if she had lost any of her old skills. She decided to leave her painting materials at home. This was the first time she had an opportunity to enjoy a week away from her husband; before she married, she rarely had a chance to get away from her family. Being the eldest child always brought extra responsibilities in domestic life.

  She would value the solitude she would have at the East Lodge. She was a restrained lady but, with an open door for her to escape from this life for a brief time, she felt a little excited.

  Once she arrived at Pemberley, Eliza accompanied Charlotte in the drive over to the East Lodge. “I know it looks a little bleak, but you’re only here for a few days, and there is an abundance of wildlife for you to sketch. Nobody should bother you, other than Andrew, one of the servants. I’ve arranged for him to bring you some fresh food every day and remove anything that you don’t need. Lady Catherine does not know that you are here, so you should not trouble yourself about her proximity. When she is out visiting her friends in the neighborhood, I shall send word to you and you can come and have tea with us.”

  Once they arrived at her holiday home, Charlotte looked round. “It’s perfect. Thank you, dear Eliza. It’s everything I shall need.” It was a modest habitation, in a picturesque setting, previously used by a gamekeeper and his wife.

  Once Eliza had departed back to the great house, she began unpacking her clothes and her sketchbook and pencils. Looking round on a shelf, she found a telescope. She assumed this had been used by the gamekeeper who lived here so that he could spy on any poachers on the estate. She picked it up, looked through it, and slowly span across the woodland, the lake, and the mansion. This gorgeous scene certainly deserved preserving in her sketchbook.

  A wicker basket full of food had already been placed on the table by the window. She sat down, opened it and examined the contents. Eliza certainly lived well here. She buttered some slices of bread and made herself a cheese sandwich.

  She had only had one mouthful of food when she heard some shouting in the distance. She looked out of the window, and saw two men rowing on the lake; they were heading for the bank opposite, where the lake narrowed. One figure looked like Mr Darcy, Eliza’s husband; picking up the telescope, her suspicions were confirmed. But she was unsure of the identity of the other gentleman.

  Once the pair had reached the bank, they tied the boat to a tree trunk and wandered a short distance away before turning round. They stood close together and held each other tight; their faces converged, and Charlotte watched open-mouthed as she saw them kissing with all the fervour of two lovers. For it wasn’t a quick peck on the cheek; it was raw mouth-on-mouth passion, something which she had never enjoyed with any other human soul. She had heard of some men who dressed up as women to enjoy clandestine activities with other men - “mollies” - but she was unaware that real men - gentlemen such as Mr Darcy - would be party to anything like this.

  She sensed the raw, virile energy in their embrace and would willingly have surrendered herself to either of them if she could enjoy but a minute of this experience.

  They turned and began talking; in a few moments they were undressing. She continued watching, transfixed, her telescope jammed tight against her eye, not wishing to miss anything.

  She was confused. What on earth was going on, she wondered. Who was the other gentleman? Then he turned his head round towards the Lodge; she did not recognize him. It was not long before they were completely naked. Charlotte had never seen a naked man before - only statues and paintings - and was curious. She and her husband had always extinguished the candles when they went to bed; although she had felt his erection inside her on those occasions when he made love to her, she had only touched Mr Collins’ penis once or twice in the dark; her hand had brushed against it by accident, and nothing more.

  But now, having seen these tw
o rugged, virile men, she felt aroused. Very soon, both men began undressing. First, they removed their shirts and she observed Mr Darcy's broad chest and sturdy shoulders; the other gentleman’s body reminded her of a statue of a muscular Greek athlete she had once seen, and his face had classically handsome features. She continued watching as they pulled off their boots, followed by their breeches.

  As they pulled away from each other, they both appeared aroused from their embrace; through her telescope, Charlotte observed that they held their erections towards each other and, as they came close again, brushed their shafts against each other to heighten their pleasure. After a moment, Mr Darcy's companion got down on his hands and knees. Mr Darcy climbed on top of him and pushed his cock inside the gentleman's anus.

  This was too much for her. She felt blood rushing to her face; her excitement was making her knees tremble. To steady herself, she moved against the table in front of the window, and her crotch brushed against the corner. She felt a delicious sensation, and pushed herself harder against the corner. Now pulling up her skirt, she positioned herself so that her genitalia were pushing hard, brushing back and forth on the smooth wood.

  Not taking her eye away from the telescope, she wanted to enjoy the sensation of the men's sexual activity from the safety of her cottage. She would love to have been closer, but she dared not risk revealing her presence. Mr Darcy's facial expression changed as he continued thrusting into his companion’s rectum; his face was tense as he savored the excruciating pleasure. She wanted to shut her eyes tight to concentrate, so as to enjoy a similar sensation, but she could not take her attention away from the men.

  Still transfixed, she continued watching as Mr Darcy's thrusting drive came to a conclusion; she heard a faint roar in the distance as he arrived at his climax. Charlotte imagined Mr Darcy was close to her, his cock up inside her and ejaculating his seed. In that moment she felt the approaching rush of her own orgasm. She was quite unprepared for the powering surge within her; she wanted to cry out Yes! Yes! It’s glorious! but managed to keep her words to a whisper. It was the first climax she had experienced in her life; she had no idea of its exhilarating intensity, and immediately craved a second one. She resumed her focus on the men.

  Mr Darcy was pulling himself away, and she noticed his erection was becoming flaccid. She had not noticed his testicles before, and how well they were hung. This sight induced her to clutch herself tight; her fingers felt a second stream of lust running down her thigh, and she attempted to pad herself dry with her skirt.

  The other gentleman got to his feet and bowed gracefully to Mr Darcy, waving his hand to indicate that it was his turn.

  Mr Darcy duly obliged; when he knelt down, it was at a different angle so that his butt was facing her window. Through the telescope, she observed his testicles again, hanging low between his thighs. His companion climbed on top of him and inserted his penis in Mr Darcy's anus; as he began thrusting into his friend, she noticed his balls were swaying with the activity of his pushing and pulling. This excited her once more, and she desperately wanted to replicate the movements of his torso with her own body. She returned to the corner of the table to masturbate once more; she was losing her self-control as another wave of frenzied animal craving overpowered her, body and soul.

  In the aftermath, she was trembling again, and she felt that she had to abandon the telescope and sit down. Her orgasm had consumed more energy than she had ever realised; she knew that men craved regular sexual activity until middle age, and most womenfolk were patient with their husbands while they used their bodies. She had no idea that the fair sex could enjoy such moments. Had she committed a sin? She didn’t care. Nobody knew. And nobody would ever know.

  Once she had composed herself again, she looked out of the window and saw the men were lying on the bank, side-by-side and still naked, chatting amiably for a few moments. By and by, they got dressed and returned to their boat, quickly rowing back across the lake in the direction of Pemberley.

  Charlotte was alone once once more and, in the tranquil ambience of her holiday home, an idea came to her. The scene she had witnessed at her window was merely an ephemeral episode, and would probably never happen again in the same place. She had to capture it in a sketch.

  She reached for her sketchbook and pencil, and shut her eyes for a moment to visualise the most intense moment she had seen. She began sketching furiously, reinvigorated at the thought that she would be able to recreate the erotic event that she had witnessed. Mr Darcy’s face emerged quickly on the page; his face was taut, betraying the height of his virile pleasure.

  As her pencil moved down the sheet, she depicted his manly chest and muscular arms. Then she arrived at his hand, holding his erection in the curled fingers, in the act of masturbation. Below his fist were his testicles, containing the seeds of his masculine power.

  Next, on the same page in her sketchbook and beside Mr Darcy, was the other gentleman. He was on his hands and knees on the grass, his butt exposed to display his anus and his testicles, ready to receive his friend’s cock.

  Charlotte looked at the sketch and made some additions to her work. She wanted to refine the hair on both men, and to depict some features she had missed: the lake in the foreground, and the trees in the distance.

  All in all, Charlotte was very satisfied with this. She couldn’t wait to create another sketch; she would have to return to the wooden table by the window, sit down and continue looking across the lake to the bank where the men had enjoyed their revels. Her muse might deliver another erotic scene which she might imprison on a page of her sketchbook.

  She realised that this work must never see the light of day; although she was aware of her talent for sketching and painting, she had never considered the unladylike pursuit of erotic art. If, when she returned home, her servants were to see these pictures, they would be horrified and report their findings to Lady Catherine. This would ruin her husband, whose patronage he enjoyed from this noble lady.

  Should I destroy them? she wondered. No, she decided. These scenes would be a joy for her to savour forever. She would never experience the kind of love that these two human beings were enjoying today; these sketches would serve as a reminder to her that such love actually existed.

  A mischievous notion came to her. She might persuade Mr Darcy’s friend to share a picnic with her one day this week at the lakeside and, whilst in his presence, she might entice him to bare his body to her.

  On those occasions when she had copulated with her husband, he had not always been gentle with her, but she had borne the discomfort by counting slowly while he plunged into her. This enabled her to calculate an average time that she might have to endure the ordeal. Then, drying herself with her nightgown as he rolled over and went to sleep, she wondered how many times they may have to perform this act in order to in order for her to conceive.

  And then, once she conceived, she would have to spend months wondering if her firstborn – a boy, perhaps – might turn out to be the image of Mr Collins, both in features and in character. She could not bear to think that she might create a facsimile of her husband with whom she would have to live for the rest of her life. It might be better for her to give birth to a baby who was conceived with the help of another man whose character might be more amenable. Nobody on earth would ever know. Although the perceptive Lady Catherine might have suspicions, she would never have any proof.

  Charlotte went into the bedroom and put the drawing under her pillow. She would look at it tonight before she went to sleep, and would recall to mind the bodies of Mr Darcy and his friend. She might fantasise that she had joined them in their frolic; she would take off her clothes and offer her body to them both. She imagined that she had taken Mr. Darcy’s penis in her mouth and was rolling its tip round her tongue. She looked up at his face; it was screwed up in ecstasy, just as she had seen it earlier that day – an expression she had captured perfectly in her drawing of him.

  It was a warm, sunny afternoon a
nd it was silly to waste her time in the cottage. Taking her sketchbook, she sat down near the water’s edge and looked along the length of the lake, with Pemberley at its far end. That view would be perfect for a sketch, she decided. Such solitude was a rare prize for her, and her mind was already feeling refreshed.

  She was sitting there, in the grass, for about an hour - the sketch was nearly complete - when she heard a horse’s hooves approaching. From the pace of the sound, the rider was making a leisurely progress along the road. She looked round; the rider was dismounting, and soon walked across the grass to her.

  “Mrs Collins, I presume?” he began with a slight bow. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Charlotte rose to her feet and bobbed a curtsey. When she looked up at his face, she realised he was Mr Darcy’s friend whom she had been watching, and whose body she had recorded two hours earlier.

  “My name’s Walden. I’m a guest at Pemberley. A nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Since you - or, rather, your husband, is closely tied to her, I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”

  “We may have met at the wedding of Mr and Mrs Darcy, but your face is not familiar.”

  “Alas, I was unable to attend. And you’re an old friend of Mrs Darcy, I believe.”

  “I am a little older than Eliza, but I’ve known her family all my life. Sir, I’m a little concerned that you appear to know so much about me, but I know nothing of you.”

  “What can I tell you? I’m an intimate friend of Darcy. We were at Eton together. My mother was the sister of Lady Catherine’s late husband, which makes me her nephew by marriage. What else do you want to know?” He looked down at her sketch. “It’s a lovely view, and you have captured it very well.”

  “Thank you, but I haven’t sketched for many a year,” she’s replied.