by G Scott Gray
The driver took them directly to The Grand. The hotel staff came and took their bags inside and Darcy and Lizzy followed them to complete the formalities of their stay. Darcy had reserved the honeymoon suite but had not told Lizzy. It was only when they were taken up by a smartly dressed porter that Lizzy saw the sign.
“The honeymoon suite? Why, Fitzwilliam, how romantic.”
“I thought it would make up for our all too short honeymoon, my love.”
The porter showed them around their rooms which were sumptuous and elegant. The bedroom contained a large four poster bed with the most luxurious bedding and drapes, while in the bathroom was a large sunken bath of marble. Darcy thanked the porter and handed him a sizeable tip. He turned to Lizzy.
“We can make love as if it is our wedding night.”
“The very first time we made love,” said Lizzy quietly. “I’m glad it was. It made it so special didn’t it.”
“Oh, yes,” said Darcy, thinking back fondly to that first night.
“What shall we do first?” asked Lizzy.
“Order dinner?”
“Excellent,” she smiled.
Darcy and Lizzy did not know it but there were two other guests at the hotel. Wickham and Lydia were staying there too. It’s true they were not in the largest or best room in the hotel. In truth they were in the cheapest and meanest room available, but they were staying at The Grand and that was enough for Lydia.
“Shall we eat or unpack?” said Lydia.
“I have a better idea,” said Wickham with a leer. “I think we should celebrate our anniversary the way a man and his wife should.”
“Oh really, Georgie?” she said, licking her lips a little.
“Now, my pet, which anniversary should we celebrate? Our wedding night or the first time we made love? Of course, for conventional people like your sister and the very proper Mr Darcy they would be one and the same thing.”
“But we’re not conventional and proper are we, George?”
“No, we are not. As I intend to show you now.”
“How thrilling, George. What do you mean?”
“I intend to love you a little differently tonight. I intend to love your bottom.”
“My bottom?” said Lydia.
“Yes. The rough farm hands call it anal. In any event it can be very sensual.”
“You’ve done it before.”
He shrugged.
“Not with you, my love.”
“And when do you intend to love my…er…bottom?”
“Right now. And after that I have a little surprise for you.”
“Ooh how exciting. What is it?”
“I will show you afterwards. Now, kindly remove your dress and undergarments.”
“Yes, George.”
She complied. Slowly and suggestively. First, she unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to the floor. Then she slid down her silky new undergarments and kicked them off. She stood before her husband, naked save for her lacy brassiere. She knew she had an attractive body and enjoyed standing before her husband naked. She enjoyed seeing how it excited him to look at her, as evidenced by the bulge in his tight white trousers.
He moved towards her and put his arms around her waist and put a hand on each buttock. He felt the rush of excitement run through her body. She grinned at him and unfastened his tight white trousers, slowly and teasingly, one button at a time. She pulled them down and then pulled down his short trousers. His manhood sprang up before her, fully erect, the head bulbous and menacing. She brushed her hand against it to check its hardness. She smiled; it was like teak. He kissed her tenderly and nodded to the bed. She went to lie down on it, but he stopped her.
“Not that way, my pet,” he whispered, “on your front. Get on all fours. Then raise your bottom in the air, as if you are offering yourself to me.””
She did as she was bid. Wickham went to his bag and found a little jar of special cream which he had ordered from the apothecary a few days before. While Lydia remained on all fours, her body tense with anticipation, he knelt behind her and opened the jar. He plunged two fingers into the cream and took a generous glob. He rubbed the cream into the puckered opening of her bottom. The cream was cold and made her wince at first. He tenderly rubbed the cream into her flesh to ensure she was ready for his love, her passage smoothed by the creamy emollient.
Satisfied, he held her buttocks softly in his hands and shuffled forward so that the very tip of his erection just touched the opening. She shivered, not sure what to expect. She knew how big he was for he had been inside her secret womanly place many times. This was different though. He pushed forward slightly and nudged himself half an inch inside her. She winced and gasped.
“Did that hurt, my love?” he said, genuinely concerned.
“A little. But it is quite pleasurable too. Go a little further if you wish.”
He pushed a little further. Inch by inch his manhood slid further inside her tight, pert arse. She made little squeals and cries from time to time, but George could sense that she enjoyed it and that it pleasured her much. Emboldened he continued, nudging deeper, little by little, until he was fully inside her. He rocked back and forth gently, relishing the slightly different rubbing sensation on his manhood; a little tighter, a little rougher, but very good indeed. As he loved her, he was grateful for two things: Firstly, that he had a fine, young wife who was bold enough to experiment with such things – he had never been prouder of her. Second that he had remembered to visit his apothecary for the creamy emollient.
For Lydia their love making passed in a blur. There was pain certainly, but the pleasure was intense. Different from their normal mode of love in ways she could not describe, even to herself. She felt oddly proud of her husband that he knew of such ways of love. She knew that Mr Collins or Mr Bingley would be unaware of what the rough farm hands called anal sex and would be unwilling to venture in it even if they did.
“Faster, George,” she said, “and a little harder too.”
“You are sure, my love? I do not wish to hurt you.”
“I’m sure,” she said, and gave proof of it by thrusting back her hips to allow him to penetrate her further.
“I have never loved you more, Lydia.”
“Nor I you, George.”
He continued to love her passionately, harder, faster with deeper strokes of his large manhood. She felt a sensation build inside, like the climactic moment she usually enjoyed with her husband, but different in some way, as if originating from some different region of her body. It quickly engulfed her, overwhelming her with sheer pleasure which spread, first through her belly, then through her whole body. It lasted for a few seconds but felt like several minutes. When it was complete, she was spent entirely. She moved forward to withdraw him from herself and collapsed forward onto the bed. She lay on her stomach making little moans of happy bliss, her eyes closed and a beatific smile on her face.
“Oh, George, George,” was all she could manage to say.
“My love,” he said, stooping to kiss her neck, “I did not hurt you, did I?”
“A little at first but the pain and the pleasure became one. It was wonderful.”
“I’m very glad, my pet.”
They lay together on the bed, touching and stroking each other, blissfully crushed with exhaustion from their love making. From time to time Lydia touched the secret place between her legs, softly rubbing the little bud of flesh beneath the hood. George was still hard as he had not yet spilled his seed. But he was in no rush and languidly ran a hand up and down the shaft. Lydia reached down and touched him, letting her hand drop and stroking the tight sack, making him spasm with delight.
“Now, George,” she said, “what was the surprise you mentioned earlier?”
“All in good time, my pet.”
He looked into her eyes and kissed her lovingly on the mouth, then lifted her brassiere and planted little kisses on her breasts. She put her hand around the shaft of his manhood and stroked him
softly.
“And you didn’t spill your seed in me, George.”
“No I didn’t did I, my love. Now, would you like me to tell you of the surprise?”
“Oh yes, Georgie, do.”
“Very well. Now, you did enjoy my recent attentions to your sweet little bottom?”
“Anal love? Oh yes George, I liked it very much.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to do the same to me?”
“But how?”
“I’ll show you.”
He got off the bed and rummaged around in a bag. He pulled something out and held it up for her to see. It was a piece of smooth, hard wood, around eight inches long, shaped like a phallus.
“It’s called a dildo,” he said.
“But how does it work?”
He reached into the bag again and pulled out a kind of harness that one could strap around the waist, with a fitting into which the dildo would lock in place.
“It’s called a strap on,” he said. “You see, you strap it around your waist, fit the dildo here, like so, and you’re all ready. Would you like to try it?”
“Yes, I would.”
Lydia tied the harness around her waist and drew it tight, while Mr Wickham helped her attach the wooden phallus.
“There,” he said, giving the phallus a playful tap, “it’s done. Now, would you like to love me with it?”
“Yes, George,” she said with a dark little grin, “I rather think I would.”
“Splendid.”
He got on all fours, ready for her to love him from behind with the phallus.
“No, George, not like that. I want you to lie on your back.”
He did as he was bidden and lay on his back.
“Now, part your legs for me please.”
He opened his legs for her, all the time smiling at her broadly.
“Would you like a little cream to prepare yourself?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She opened the little jar of emollient and coarsely slapped it over the region, pushing her fingers inside him to ensure he was properly prepared.
She acted as though she were the husband and he were the wife. She got on top of him and carefully guided the wooden phallus until it was just at his opening. She thrust a little way in, expecting him to cry out in pain. Instead he smiled at her.
“That doesn’t hurt, George?”
“A little but I’m quite used to it. I had a few female acquaintances in Covent Garden with whom I used to spend many pleasurable hours. They were very accommodating ladies, not so young some of them, but very experienced in the ways of love. This was a long time before I met you of course.”
“I don’t mind, George. Whatever you did before we met is not my concern.”
She thrust harder, making love to him the way he customarily made love to her, placing herself between his legs and rocking her hips back and forth. It was difficult to find a position in which she was comfortable and able to love him with the phallus. She got into a sitting position which was not only easier and better for the act of love but also from which she could look down at his body, not for a second loving him any less hard or fast. She was very pleased to note that he was as erect as before, if anything even harder.
Back and forth rocked her hips, and in and out thrust the wooden phallus. George touched himself and was himself surprised how hard he was.
“Yes, George,” said Lydia, “move your hand up and down your erection. I want to see you spill your seed.”
“I will do whatever you say, Lydia.”
“Good. Now let me see you pleasure yourself.”
“Yes, my love.”
She continued to love him, powerfully and well and watched as he stroked his manhood with his right hand. She went harder and faster, making him groan with a mixture of pain and pleasure. He was becoming close to spilling his seed so she took over from him and moved her hand up and down the shaft of his manhood, skillfully loving his bottom with the wooden phallus fixed to the harness around her waist.
She squealed with delight as he gave one final grunt and ejected forth a great jet of his seed, so powerful that it spurted high in the air and over her breasts, which delighted her further. She took her hands away from his manhood and used them to cup her breasts and lift them to her mouth so she could taste his salty semen.
“Mmm, that was lovely, George. Did you enjoy it too?”
“I did indeed, my love. I’m afraid I spilt myself on your lovely breasts.”
“No, I liked it, Georgie.”
She withdrew from him and unfastened the harness. They lay together, naked, happy and spent.
“Happy anniversary, my pet,” he said.
“And to you, my love,” she said. “What would you like to do now?”
“I think perhaps we should bathe, put on fine clothes and go down for dinner. I appear to have drained myself and am rather hungry.”
“That’s a wonderful idea.”
Wickham ordered hot water to be brought up and a bath was drawn. They got in the small tub together and washed each other’s bodies lovingly. They dried themselves on large white towels. As Lydia dressed Wickham sat naked on a chair and watched her furtively from behind a newspaper. He loved to watch his wife dress. He loved to watch her undress even more.
When she was dressed, he got dressed himself. They both put on perfumes and sweet smelling potions and when finished both looked handsome and elegant.
“Shall we go to dinner then, Mrs Wickham?”
“It would be my pleasure, Mr Wickham.”
They linked arms and went down to the restaurant.
“And may I say, my love,” he said gallantly, “you look absolutely…what the devil is he doing here?”
“What? Who’s here?” she said, confused.
“Why that damned fool Darcy. That tiresome fellow who married your sister.”
“Mr Darcy? Here with Lizzy?” she said looking around.
“Don’t make a fuss,” said Wickham, irritated, “they may see us and then we may be obliged to join them.”
It was too late. Lydia gave a shriek when she saw her sister and ran across to their table, her arms extended.
“Why, Lydia,” said Lizzy, almost knocked backwards by the force of Lydia’s embrace, “what are you doing here?”
“That’s just what we were wondering about you.”
“When you say ‘we’,” said Darcy with distaste, “do you mean your husband is here too.”
“Yes, of course. Georgie, come and say hello to Lizzy and Mr Darcy.”
“Lizzy,” hissed Darcy in her ear, “you know I cannot bear to be in the same room as that man, let alone greet him at our table.”
“Can’t you learn to forgive and forget?” said Lizzy.
“After what that popinjay did to my dear Georgianna? Impossible, Lizzy, quite impossible.”
“Lydia,” called Wickham, “there is a table over here.” He indicated a table on the opposite side of the room, so far away that he and Darcy would not be able to see each other, let alone converse.
“But, George,” she protested, “it is on the other side of the room. There are plenty of other tables much closer to Mr Darcy and my sister.”
“I think your husband is right, Mrs Wickham,” said Darcy coolly. “It may be for the best if you sit over there.”
“Lizzy?” said Lydia, appealing to her with tear stained eyes.
Lizzy did not say anything but gave a little nod to indicate that Wickham and Mr Darcy were right. Lydia joined her husband at the far away table.
“Why does Mr Darcy dislike you so much, George?” she said.
Wickham shrugged and perused the menu.
“I think I may have the guinea fowl. Although it’s not very big. I like a nice big, gamey bird. What about you, my pet? What will you have?”
At their own table at the other end of the room Lizzy and Darcy sit in discussion.
“I can’t blame you, Fitzwilliam darling, to dislike that man a
fter what he did to your sister.”
“I assure you, Lizzy, I do not intend to give the man any further thought whatsoever. And I certainly will not let it ruin our holiday.”
He picked up her hand and put it to his lips. He poured her another glass of wine and held it up in a toast.
“To us, my love,” he said.
“To us,” she said.
“In any event, Lizzy, it could be worse. Your mother could be with us in the hotel.”
At The Slug, only a few yards from The Grand, in the mean little room of their mean little hostel Mrs Bennet complained once again to Mr Bennet.
“And another thing, Mr Bennet, I think there was something wrong with the cheese. It had blue mould running through it.”
“It was stilton, my dear. It’s supposed to have mould running through it.”
“Well I didn’t like it. And Mary has been put right at the other end of the corridor.”
“But you said that would give us a chance to be alone together and enjoy ourselves.”
“Well I’m not enjoying it, Mr Bennet. And it is affecting my poor nerves.”
She took out a large handkerchief and indulged in twenty minutes of copious weeping. It was, thought Mr Bennet, the only thing she had enjoyed since arriving in Brighton. He took a new handkerchief from his small suitcase, handed it to his wife and sent down for another bottle of wine. And one glass; for him only.
In her own little room, Mary wondered idly what Kitty was doing. She could not have known that at that moment Kitty was lying naked in bed, in the arms of Caroline Bingley. They had just made love and were basking in the soft glow of mutual affection. Miss Bingley had used all her experience in the ways of womanly love and had loved Kitty over and over, with her fingers, with her tongue. Finally, she had shown Kitty how to make love by ‘scissoring’ each other, their secret feminine places rubbing together and bringing them both great joy as they reached their climactic moment at the same time. Kitty was a fast learner and used her tongue with great finesse as well as the power of her passion to bring great pleasure to Miss Bingley also, so that she (Miss Bingley) felt the fires of love betwixt her legs.
But Mary knew nothing of that. All she knew of love were the crude words used by the crude farm hands. She did not understand all the strange things they spoke of but enough to feel a strange warmth and moistness in her pelvic region which seemed to ache sometimes until she had put her hands in her undergarments and rubbed the little button of flesh beneath the hood of her sex until it made her breathless with a kind of beautiful agony.
