Hurriedly, she dressed in the flimsy gown she had been wearing the night before. At the very moment she was about the quit the room, she happened to spy a pair of men’s longjohns draped over a chair beside her bed. So it was no dream – Mr Darcy had been in her room after all.
Elizabeth smiled to herself. Dare she? Hurriedly, she slipped the longjohns on over her bestockinged legs. Mr Darcy would never guess she was wearing his undergarments! Although he might suspect something amiss if she had to keep on clawing at her nether regions, she thought to herself as she scratched vigorously at her ladyparts; the worsted really was uncomfortably itchy.
Still rubbing most indecorously, Elizabeth ran from her room and down the staircase, through the bar and out into the yard. Despite her reservations about leaving Hertfordshire, she could feel only giddy excitement when looking at Charlie Tango close up. Everything about the balloon was impressive, from its yellow and red striped canopy, to the capacious wicker basket beneath.
Mr Darcy’s face was impassive. ‘Good morning, Miss Bennet,’ he said coolly. ‘We will be departing shortly. If you search in my breeches pocket, you will find a buttered scone that I have prepared for your breakfast.’
‘I am not hu…’ Elizabeth began, but the look on Mr Darcy’s face warned her not to deny his request. He was, after all, her Master now.
‘Eat, Elizabeth,’ he entreated. ‘Do this one thing for me.’ His grey eyes looked suddenly sad, like two koalas whose eucalyptus grove had been cut down by property developers.
Elizabeth was moved. ‘Very well. I shall partake of breakfast this once, if it pleases you,’ she declared. Stepping forward, she slipped her hand into Mr Darcy’s front pocket – no mean feat, for his breeches were exceptionally close fitting. Several minutes of searching produced no results, and Elizabeth withdrew her hand with a puzzled look upon her face.
‘Try the other pocket,’ Mr Darcy suggested.
Elizabeth’s fingers dug deep, probing into every crevice, but once again her search proved fruitless. Mr Darcy appeared agitated; his eyes had taken on a wild look, and his breathing was becoming more rapid. Losing a scone was apparently causing him a great deal of distress.
‘It is not there!’ Elizabeth said, exasperated by her quest for a breakfast she did not even want.
‘Keep looking!’ Mr Darcy gasped. ‘I know it’s there somewhere!’
At once, Elizabeth realized Mr Darcy’s true motivation. ‘There is no scone, is there, Mr Darcy?’ she accused him, withdrawing her hand from his pocket at once. ‘I cannot believe you are attempting to gain sexual pleasure at my expense, in my innocent search for a buttered scone.’
Mr Darcy’s eyes locked on to hers, and what she saw there almost made Elizabeth swoon. ‘Can you blame me, Miss Bennet?’ he said huskily. ‘I’ve told you, I find it hard to control myself with you.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Forgive me, I have a dark, dark heart.’
These were not the words of Fitzwilliam Darcy the sex-pervert billionaire, Elizabeth realized; this was Fitzwilliam Darcy the damaged schoolboy speaking. If only he would display his vulnerable parts to me more often, Elizabeth thought ruefully. She would give anything to see them.
Suddenly, Mr Darcy’s mood seemed to switch, and his manner became formal once again.
‘Let us get you into the basket, Miss Bennet,’ he said, leaning down and lifting up Elizabeth in his hunky arms. He. Was. So. Strong. She was as helpless as a rag doll, his to do with as he pleased. To play dolly tea parties, or, more likely, to boff senseless. The power was in his hands.
Like he was fondling a particularly fine piece of bone china, Mr Darcy gently set her down inside the basket, all the while never taking his sexy eyes off hers. He picked up his own tailcoat and wrapped it tightly about her shoulders.
‘We need to strap you in, Miss Bennet,’ he murmured. ‘We all know how accident-prone you are.’ There were myriad buckles and fastenings attached to the basket’s sides, and Mr Darcy set about pinioning Elizabeth to a bench seat. His breathing became faster as he snapped and tightened each leather strap, and Elizabeth feared he would excite his sensibilities once more, and she would have another scone situation on her hands. But finally, after tying strands of her hair to the balloon cables, Mr Darcy seemed satisfied, and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
‘Are you ready, Miss Bennet?’ he breathed. She nodded, her nerves tingling with excitement. ‘Then here we go, baby!’ he exclaimed. And with that, he let out a blast of gas.
Elizabeth gasped in delight as Charlie Tango began, slowly, to rise from its moorings. More blasts of gas, and the balloon rose higher still, up past the elm trees that lined the road to the inn, up until all she could hear was the rush of the wind, and Taylor was but a stubbly visaged speck upon the ground.
At first, Elizabeth gripped the edge of the basket so tightly her fingers ached, but as they ascended, she gradually released her hold. Mr Darcy made her feel safe. He was so capable, so in command! With one hand upon the gas and another tweaking her nipples, he focussed straight ahead, his eyes scanning the horizon. Occasionally, he looked at her and gave a smile.
‘Do you like it up here, Elizabeth?’
She smiled. ‘Very much, Mr Darcy.’
‘Watch this.’ Mr Darcy approached the edge of the basket, where the sandbags were attached.
‘I’m going to drop one!’ he announced, his lips quirked up into a wicked smile.
‘Pray, do not do that!’ Elizabeth shrieked.
With a flick of his hand, Mr Darcy released a sandbag. The balloon suddenly jolted higher towards the sun and Elizabeth’s stomach somersaulted. She smiled up at him – he looked so young, so carefree.
‘Would you like to be in control just this once, Elizabeth?’ he asked, his grey eyes dancing with humour. ‘You may steer Charlie Tango, if you like.’
Elizabeth was flummoxed. ‘How … how does it work?’ she asked nervously.
‘Well, all hot-air balloons operate on a simple scientific principle,’ explained Mr Darcy. ‘Warm air rises in cooler air. Essentially, hot air is lighter than cool air, because it has less mass per unit of volume, and therefore the buoyant force acting upon the balloon keeps it afloat. Are you following me?’
Elizabeth nodded.
‘You can understand the process by thinking of Archimedes’ Principle: any body completely or partially submerged in a fluid is buoyed up by a force equal to the weight of the fluid displaced by the body.’
‘I meant,’ Elizabeth interrupted, ‘is there a joystick or anything?’
‘Oh. No, you just open and close this thing,’ Mr Darcy said, indicating the control on the hydrogen burner. He leant down and unclasped the buckles that bound her hands.
Elizabeth grasped the control eagerly and flames shot up into the canopy overhead.
‘Whoa, go easy, baby!’ Mr Darcy exclaimed in a very un-nineteenth-century way. ‘You only need a light touch.’ Elizabeth quickly adjusted her grip. The balloon steadied and soared at her command, rising and dipping through the cool morning air.
‘On, now off. On, and off,’ Mr Darcy guided her as she fired up and turned off the gas. He smiled at her, his eyes bright. ‘Good girl,’ he said sexily. Or patronizingly, depending on your point of view.
‘Do you know,’ he murmured, ‘what the Quarter-of-a-Mile High Club is, Elizabeth?’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I confess, I have no idea, Mr Darcy.’
Mr Darcy’s exquisite lips quirked up. ‘Members of the Quarter-of-a-Mile High Club have endeavoured to enjoy the act of love while airborne.’
Elizabeth was puzzled. ‘But hot-air balloons are such a new invention,’ she remarked. ‘I was led to believe not many women have ever travelled in them.’
Mr Darcy looked discomfited. ‘It is true that on many of the first manned flights, the balloonists took animals – principally sheep – with them, to test the effects of altitude.’
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. ‘So they …?’
‘Who know
s, Elizabeth.’ Mr Darcy cut in. ‘But the principle is appealing, is it not?’
His grey eyes bored into hers. Elizabeth would have squirmed under his scrutiny, but, bound as she was by so many restraints, she could barely move her limbs.
‘Have you ever …’ She steeled herself to ask the question. ‘Have you ever brought Lady Catherine up here?’
‘No, Elizabeth,’ he said in a low voice. ‘This is a first for me.’
‘And Lady Catherine, has she ever slept in a bedchamber with you?’
‘Never. I do not think she would want me to see her without her make-up and her prosthetics.’
‘Prosthetics?’ Elizabeth was curious.
‘Chicken fillets, Elizabeth,’ Mr Darcy explained patiently. ‘She uses them to enhance her bosom.’
Elizabeth would have hugged herself with joy, had Mr Darcy not just re-pinioned her arms back to her sides. So Lady Catherine’s bubbies were not so magnificent after all!
‘Pemberley!’ Mr Darcy suddenly shouted, and pointed east. ‘Look, Elizabeth, do you see?’
In the far distance, Elizabeth could just make out a grand house of pale stone, with landscaped grounds, set against a bank of purple-tinged hills.
‘It is truly breathtaking!’ she gasped. It was at least three times the size of Netherfield, and far exceeded that property in elegance. ‘But how have we arrived here so soon? We left Hertfordshire barely an hour ago.’
‘It was imperative that we made haste,’ Mr Darcy replied. ‘Readers are at risk of becoming restless. Now we are at Pemberley we can get on with the truly filthy bits.’
‘Could you sign the visitors’ book?’ Mr Darcy asked Elizabeth as they entered the imposing marble-clad lobby. Elizabeth gazed around in wonder, blushing at the ceiling-high frescos of nuns beating each other with wimples. Such grandeur, and such … individual taste!
‘Of course,’ she remarked, ‘I would be delighted to.’
Mr Darcy held out the book, along with a quill pen.
‘Lovely setting,’ she wrote hastily. ‘Great weather. I am sure we’ll have a super time.’
‘Ha!’ Mr Darcy said triumphantly, snapping the book shut. ‘You have just signed my non-disclosure agreement, Miss Bennet.’
‘Whatever do you mean, Mr Darcy?’
‘It is a legally binding contract that forbids you from mentioning to anyone what goes on at Pemberley.’
Elizabeth swallowed nervously. Just what did go on at Pemberley? Despite her misgivings, she endeavoured to sound bold. ‘So, you have my word that I will remain silent. Does this mean you intend to make love to me tonight, Mr Darcy?’
‘Let us be clear, Miss Bennet, I do not make love,’ Mr Darcy said coolly. ‘I bonk. I have it off. I get my end away. I roger. I boff.’
Elizabeth’s pulse quickened. Bonking! Jeez, that sounded so … hot.
‘Secondly, there is much to do before we can consider your initiation. You need food, and rest. Allow me to show you to your room.’
Mr Darcy crossed the lobby and ascended the main staircase, then turned right into a corridor, with Elizabeth following behind. They passed several doors until they reached one at the end. Beyond it was a small bedchamber with an expansive bed. Everything in the room was white – the furniture, walls and bedding. It was sterile and cold but with the most glorious views of Seattle through the glass wall. Which was most puzzling, seeing as they were in Derbyshire.
‘This will be your room, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy said with a sweep of his hand. ‘You may add any furnishings that you see fit.’
‘Will you …’ Elizabeth hesitated. ‘Will you be sharing my bedchamber, Mr Darcy?’
‘No, Elizabeth, I will not. As you know, I do not sleep with anyone – apart from my cuddly toys. Now come, you must be hungry.’
‘I am fully aware that this is a dark path I’m leading you down, Elizabeth,’ said Mr Darcy, leading her down a dark path through the shrubbery towards the kitchen wing. ‘You must undoubtedly have some questions about the sub/dom scene.’
Elizabeth blushed. ‘I confess, I have so little knowledge of the matters of which you speak, I know not what to ask.’
‘Oh, Elizabeth …’ he sighed. ‘You are such an innocent. A sweet, innocent flower, ready to be plucked. And I can wait no longer. I must pluck you tonight.’
Mr Darcy sexily opened the door to the main kitchen and stepped aside to let her pass through it. Inside a fair-haired woman – presumably the cook – was sweating vegetables over the stove.
‘Oh, good day, Mr Darcy,’ she said cheerfully, mopping some swede and broccoli from her brow.
‘Good day, Mrs Jones,’ Mr Darcy said warmly. ‘You may attend to your other duties. I shall prepare Miss Bennet’s repast myself.’
‘As you wish, Sir.’ Mrs Jones gave a brief curtsey and, stooping to pick up some carrots that had dripped from her underarms, hurried out of the room.
‘She is a medical oddity,’ Mr Darcy explained, filling a pot with water and setting it upon the stove top to boil, ‘and yet a most efficient housekeeper.’ Disappearing into the pantry, he emerged attractively with a packet of Tangy Cheese Doritos and a boil-in-the-bag chicken curry.
‘Ha! Not gay!’ triumphed her Inner Slapper.
‘I do have one question,’ Elizabeth ventured. ‘How did you become this way? Was it at Beaton that your interest in pain and humiliation began?’
Mr Darcy dropped the curry into the pan of water in a really sexy way.
‘Why is anyone the way they are?’ he mused, shaking Doritos into a bowl and placing it in front of Elizabeth. ‘Please, help yourself.’
‘I seem to have lost my appetite, Mr Darcy.’
‘Eat!’
Reluctantly, Elizabeth took a handful of crisps.
‘Is it easy to find young ladies who wish to … to indulge your fantasies?’
‘Let me see. There was Dolly and Molly. Then Polly. Then Kitty and Mariah, Harriet, Juliana, Mary and Charlotte, then Sven – that was a bit of a departure for me – then Emma, Augusta and Amelia.’
‘So many!’ gasped Elizabeth.
‘You have no need to be jealous, Miss Bennet,’ he said ardently, gazing intently upon her features. ‘There is something special about you. You have bewitched me.’ His steel-grey eyes were hungry, like the wolf.
Suddenly, he slammed his fist upon the table.
‘Eat up your bloody Doritos, Elizabeth!’
Elizabeth gave a start. He was so changeable!
‘I have another question,’ she blurted out, spraying Doritos crumbs across the flagstone floor. ‘Do you intend to hurt me?’
Mr Darcy looked grave. ‘I shall punish you, Elizabeth. And yes, it will hurt. But I will start gently. Tonight, I shall merely hump you – hard.’
He took a step forward and seized her in his arms. Elizabeth could feel the length of his body against hers, as he gently unpinned her hair with one hand, fixed it into a funky, low-slung ponytail and gave it a quick squirt of hairspray. ‘Et voila!’ he trilled.
Wow, he was so good with hair and stuff!
He leant down and held her, forcefully, pressing his manhood against her womanhood. ‘Let me roger you, Elizabeth,’ he breathed. ‘I want to stick it in you. I want to stick it in you and wiggle it about.’
Oh my! He spoke so eloquently, so urgently, that Elizabeth felt all resistance melting away.
‘Yes! Yes! Take me now!’ she said huskily.
Mr Darcy took her by the hand, and led her back through the kitchen door, through the shrubbery, in through the side door to the East Wing, up the main staircase, across the gallery to the West Wing, and down a corridor to the left. Then down another staircase, past the nursery and left again into an anteroom.
‘Do you still want to do this, Elizabeth?’ he asked, looking searchingly into her eyes.
‘I must confess, I am going slightly off the boil,’ she answered.
‘Then we have no time to lose.’
Together they hurried down
another corridor to the right, up a narrow staircase, and down another corridor, and finally, in through the door to his bedchamber. Holy crap, it was vast! The room was dominated by an enormous four-poster bed, hung with a red silk canopy. Beside it was a red leather chaise longue, a red leather pouffe and a red leather console table. On the ceiling was a painting of Poseidon the sea god, poking a naked woman with his trident.
Slowly, sexily, Mr Darcy removed his pocket watch and placed it carefully on the console table beside the bed. He shrugged off his tailcoat, folded it neatly and laid it upon the pouffe.
‘I have waited so long for this moment, Miss Bennet,’ he breathed. Carefully, he removed his cravat and linen shirt, ironed them, sprayed them with lavender laundry spray and added them to the pile. Next it was the turn of his breeches. Holy flip! Elizabeth gazed down at the floor as he removed them, and when she found the courage to look up, he was almost naked. Oh my! He was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Apart from one thing.
Elizabeth swallowed nervously.
‘Will you not take off your stockings and garters, Mr Darcy?’
‘I have chilblains, Elizabeth,’ he complained, sexily. His eyes narrowed, and his Adam’s apple throbbed. ‘Now it is your turn,’ he murmured.
Mr Darcy moved towards her with feline grace, like a jungle cat – crawling on all fours, waving his tail and making yowling noises. Arriving at her feet, he paused and gazed upwards.
‘My God, I am going to give you a seeing-to, Elizabeth Bennet,’ he growled. ‘I shall bang you into the middle of next week.’
Elizabeth closed her eyes in longing. Her most unmentionable body parts were now throbbing in anticipation; desire filled every fibre of her being.
Grabbing at her dress, Mr Darcy slowly pulled himself up, using her body as leverage.
Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody Page 10
