Darcy and Lizzy's Sexy Adventures

by G Scott Gray

  “But, Fitzwilliam, all I want is a little Halloween party. Nothing elaborate. And are you saying my family and friends are immoral?”

  “As far as Mr George Wickham is concerned, if the plumed hat fits, then yes.”

  “But he’s only family by marriage. Surely you wouldn’t consider my dear sister Lydia to be of doubtful character?”

  “I believe your dear sister Lydia would do just about anything her husband asked of her. In and out of the bedchamber.”

  Lizzy thought for a moment. She often had private discussions with Lydia, who told her about what she and Wickham did in the bed chamber. It often involved marital toys, strange intimate positions and, frequently, other people. Wickham, according to Lydia had rather unusual appetites, appetites which she (Lydia) was all too willing to fulfil. Nevertheless, Lizzy felt it necessary to come to her youngest sister’s defence.

  “That’s a horrid thing to say, Mr Darcy,” she said with a pout so pretty that Mr Darcy almost gave in then and there in order to take her into his arms. However, he steeled himself and continued.

  “Nevertheless, Lizzy, we have never celebrated Halloween here at Pemberley. My father thought it merely an opportunity for people to get drunk on hard cider, for children to beg for sweetmeats and for shopkeepers to sell their wares, like turnips and candles. And my grandfather thought the same and his father before him, no doubt.”

  “Well, that doesn’t surprise. The Darcys have always been a stiff backed, buttoned up sort of family, haven’t they?”

  “So, you’re insulting my family now?” he said, a little stiffly. “That’s rather comical isn’t it?”

  “Comical? And why, pray, is that comical? Are you making insinuations about my dear sisters?”

  “Well, I was really thinking about your dear mother.”

  “My mother?” said Lizzy haughtily, “How could you possibly find fault with my mother?”

  “Where would you like me to begin, Lizzy? Her shrill voice? Her petty snobbishness? The way she constantly interferes in other people’s affairs, our own included? Her prodigious appetite? Her habit of falling asleep during music recitals?”

  Lizzy smiled. She knew she had to concede. However, there was still the matter of the Halloween party to be settled.

  “Well, yes,” she said. “perhaps she can be a little trying on occasion. But, Fitzwilliam, darling, I really would like to invite one or two people for Halloween.”

  “No, Lizzy,” he said firmly, “the matter has been decided. I have no wish to have large quantities of food and drink brought in to feed a large gathering.”

  She pouted at him again.

  “But, Fitzy,” she said, “I’ll do that thing you like. You know, with my finger.”

  She held up her hand and made a twirling motion with her forefinger.

  “I’ll contact the caterers today,” he said crisply.

  “Thank you, darling. I’ll let mother and father know.”

  “Now,” said Darcy, turning to his wife, “that thing I like with your finger…”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her.

  Both were wearing long nightgowns, as they usually did when the weather turned cold. Darcy sat up and removed his in one quick movement. He lay back next to his wife, propped up on his left elbow and looking down at her. She smiled at him, with her eyes as well as her mouth, and put her hand tenderly on his strong chest. With his free hand he slowly and deliberately unlaced the top of her nightgown and loosened it sufficiently so that he was able to slip his hand inside and gently stroke her fine breasts. He tweaked her nipples and made them hard and proud.

  Lizzy closed her eyes in the beautiful agony of love and gave little gasps of bliss. She pulled the top of her nightgown away and exposed her breasts to him. He kissed them with tiny, darting kisses and then put each in his mouth in turn, sucking them sweetly. She ran her hand down his smooth chest and over his belly. A little further and she felt a jolt of delight as she touched his erection, his manhood smooth and hard. She drew in her breath in mock surprise and placed her hand around its generous girth. She stroked up and down the shaft and now it was his turn to give little gasps of pleasure.

  She wanted him as much as he wanted her and eased herself out of her night dress. She lay naked beside him, unembarrassed and unashamed; proud to be his wife and proud to please him with her body. She parted her legs for him and he placed his hand on her thigh, making her tremble, whence he put two fingers betwixt her legs. To his delight she was very moist.

  “Make love to me, Fitzwilliam,” she said softly.

  “It would be my great pleasure, Lizzy,” he whispered.

  He placed himself above her, so that his face was almost touching hers. He kissed her on the mouth and she responded and placed her tongue in his mouth where it entwined with his own. He positioned himself so that the large head of his manhood just touched the soft, pink lips of her secret womanly place. With one strong, graceful movement of his hips he eased himself inside her, marvelling as he always did, that she was so wet and silky. He moved his hips back and forth, sliding in and out of her sweet sex, slowly and gently at first but very soon with increasing power and speed. All the while they kissed passionately, urgently, exploring each other and always looking into each other’s eyes with their own secret little words of love.

  They had been married for some time now but every time they made love, they agreed that it was like the very first time. No matter how familiar they were with each other, the act of love was always magical.

  He continued to love her with great passion and vigour, his breath hot and sultry on her neck. His love was so powerful that the heavy four poster bed shifted a little on its oak legs. And she responded in kind, putting her arms around his neck to pull him closer, squeezing her breasts with her hands in a seductive fashion and pulling her legs apart still further, so he could penetrate her more deeply.

  So, in tune were they that they felt the first stirrings of their climactic moment at the same time. Hers began from within and built inside slowly and inexorably, like the tide coming in, even as little waves crashed on the shore. The waves may crash and return but they are overwhelmed by the steady rise of the tide. His was less subtle but more obviously forceful. It grew quickly and, although he tried to hold it back to sustain their love making, he soon reached that point from which there is no return.

  They reached climax together and for those few magical moments of ecstatic bliss forgot themselves as an individual body but felt themselves to be joined together as one. They did not speak but their eyes said everything that needed to be said, could be said.

  Afterwards they lay side by side on the bed. Darcy lifted Lizzy’s hand to his lips and kissed in tenderly.

  “Fitzwilliam, you quite overwhelm me when you love me like that.”

  “Lizzy, my love,” he said, “it is the same for me. Perhaps more so.”

  He put on a silk bathrobe and ordered cordial and some buttered toast to be brought up. Five minutes later, a servant brought a tray with a pitcher of cordial, toast and a little dish of butter. They refreshed themselves and lay in bed naked, happily talking and making future plans.

  “We really ought to have the lake dredged, it’s getting silted up. The only trouble is that none of my men are qualified for such a specialist job.”

  “Perhaps you should insert an advertisement into a magazine.”

  “Talking of insert,” said Darcy with a grin, “weren’t you going to do that thing I like. You know, with your finger.”

  “Yes, I was, wasn’t I?”

  “Well we already have the butter.”

  “Yes, we do, don’t we? Do you want to assume the position?”

  “Very well.”

  He turned over while Lizzy reached for the butter…

  It was one of the things which Lydia had discussed with Lizzy when they talked about what their husbands particularly enjoyed in the bed chamber. Lydia described it in some detail in regard to Mr Wickham. Wh
en Lizzy mentioned it to Darcy. He was dubious to say the least. However, one evening, after too many glasses of brandy he asked Lizzy if would be willing to try it on him in the bedchamber. She readily agreed and, after a short trip to the kitchen to fetch the butter, she did as he asked.

  He found it very pleasing. It was strange that his hated enemy, George Wickham, had introduced him to something, albeit indirectly, which he found so pleasurable.

  After a very enjoyable hour in the bedchamber they bathed, dressed and went down for a late breakfast.

  “Are you finding it a little difficult to walk, Fitzwilliam?” said Lizzy as they descended the staircase.

  “Only a little, my love,” he said with a contented smile.

  They sat at the breakfast table and were served bread, various cooked meats, cheeses and coffee.

  “Would you pass the butter please, Lizzy?” said Darcy, picking up a piece of bread.

  “I think I left the dish upstairs.”

  Darcy called over a servant.

  “Ah, Poole,” he said, “I wonder if you’d mind going to my bed chamber. You’ll find a dish of butter beside the bed. You see Mrs Darcy and I were having a little…er…snack this morning.”

  “Of course, sir,” said the servant.

  After a few minutes he returned with the butter. He handed it to Darcy with a little wink. Darcy would have found this flippant and rude under any other circumstance but chose to say nothing.

  “Have we anything planned this weekend, Lizzy,” said Darcy.

  “I will commence plans for our Halloween party.”

  Darcy groaned.

  “Now, Fitzwilliam,” she said, “you promised we could have a party if I did to you that thing you like.”

  She lifted her hand and twirled her forefinger. Darcy smiled in resignation.

  “Very well,” he said. “Who do you wish to invite?”

  “Only a few, specially selected people. My mother and father. Mary and Kitty. Jane and Mr Bingley. Miss Bingley. Mr and Mrs Collins. Lydia and Wickham. Uncle Gardiner and my Aunt.”

  “Is that all?” said Darcy sarcastically.

  “It’s not that many.”

  “And you know how I feel about Wickham.”

  “But I can’t invite my other sisters and not Lydia. And I can’t invite Lydia and not her husband.”

  “I know, Lizzy. But Wickham?”

  She held up her finger again.

  “Very well,” he said reluctantly.

  “And I will speak to the servants about purchasing victuals.”

  “I will order the wines and brandies if you wish. I will speak to my vintner and make sure there is plenty to drink.”

  “Don’t forget Uncle Gardiner is coming.”

  “Yes, I’d forgotten,” said Darcy. “I’ll place an extra large order.”

  Preparations were duly made, and invitations were sent to all the guests.

  Lydia and Wickham received their invitation one afternoon. They were in bed, which was not unusual even at that time of the day. They were making love when a servant knocked at the door.

  “Who is it?” called Wickham.

  “It’s Patricia, sir.”

  “Come in, Patricia,” said Lydia.

  Lydia and Wickham often invited the servants into their bed chamber, not caring if they saw them while they were making love. They often invited Patricia into their bed too.

  “It’s a letter for you, sir,” said Patricia, holding out a silver platter on which lay a sealed letter.

  “Thank you, Patricia,” said Wickham. “Please place it on the dresser. I will read it later.”

  “Yes, sir.” Patricia started to the door.

  “Patricia?” said Lydia.

  “Yes, Mrs Wickham?”

  “Would you like to stay for a little while?”

  “Yes, stay a while,” urged Wickham.

  Lydia was on all fours and Wickham was on his knees, making love to her from behind with vigour.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” said Patricia.

  “Mind?” said Lydia. “No, I think we’d enjoy it.”

  Patricia took off her dress and pulled down her bloomers. She knelt in front of Lydia. She lifted up Lydia’s face and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. Lydia put a finger betwixt her (Patricia’s) legs and rubbed the soft pink lips of her secret womanly place. Behind her, Wickham leered at Patricia while loving his wife with long, slow thrusts of his hips.

  He felt his climactic moment approach and withdrew himself from his wife’s sex. He made a sign for Patricia to kneel before him. She took his member in her mouth just as his seed spilled from his manhood and spurted in her throat. He gave an ecstatic little sigh as she swallowed and used her hand to ensure that he was spent entirely.

  “Thank you, Patricia,” he said between gasps.

  “It was my pleasure, sir.”

  “Mine too, Patricia. Now, I think you should pleasure Mrs Wickham too. I believe you can bring her to climax with your tongue.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With a little squeal of delight, Lydia turned onto he back. She opened her legs, her sensitive parts wet and glistening with arousal. Patricia put her head down and licked the soft folds of skin, drawing her tongue the full length of Lydia’s pussy, from her bottom all the way up to the little rosebud beneath the hood, darting the tip between the lips.

  Lydia made little gasps and moans, her eyes closed while Wickham looked on with pleasure.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, my pet?” he said with a leer, glancing at Patricia.

  “It’s lovely, Georgie,” she said.

  Patricia licked and sucked her more and more urgently, planting delicate little kisses on the sensitive little bud while Lydia squeezed her breasts, feeling her nipples harden beneath her fingers. Lydia felt her body shiver as the glorious glow within her began to spread. It started deep inside and grew outwards and engulfed her body entire as she cried out in ecstatic bliss. It took her some time to recover. Finally, she smiled, first at her husband, then at Patricia.

  “Thank you, Patricia, that was wonderful.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Mrs Wickham. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “No, I think that’s all Patricia, thank you,” said Wickham.

  Patricia got dressed and left the room. It didn’t occur to Wickham or Lydia that she might be frustrated that she had helped them achieve the ultimate sensual pleasure but had not enjoyed it herself.

  “Patricia’s a good girl, isn’t she?” said Lydia.

  “A very good girl,” said Wickham, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Indeed.”

  “I very much enjoyed watching you and her together.”

  “I wonder what was in the letter,” said Lydia.

  “The devil with the letter,” said Wickham and pulled his wife to him.

  He had so enjoyed watching Patricia and his wife that he was aroused again, his manhood hard and smooth. He made love to Lydia, hard, quick and urgent and gave a great grimace of satisfaction as he shot his sperm deep inside her.

  Afterwards they lay naked on the bed. They ordered coffee and did not bother to cover themselves up as Tom, a handsome kitchen servant about the same age as Wickham, brought it in on a tray.

  They sipped their coffee, lying on the sweaty bed.

  “I suppose we should take a glance at the letter now,” said Wickham carelessly.

  “Yes, I suppose it might be important.”

  Wickham opened the letter.

  “Well, well,” he said. “it’s an invitation from your sister’s husband.”

  “From Mr Bingley?” she said.

  “No, the other one.”

  “From Mr Darcy? But I thought you and he weren’t even on speaking terms.”

  “We’re not. Not since that little misunderstanding with his insipid little sister.”

  “So, what are we invited to?” said Lydia.

  “He’s having a Halloween party of some kind.”

  “Hall
oween?” said Lydia with a happy little squeal, “I love Halloween. My sisters and I used to carve lanterns out of turnips.”

  “That sounds most amusing,” said Wickham sarcastically.

  “It was. What did you do?”

  “When I was a boy, my friends and I used to knock on doors and ask for sweetmeats or fruit. Like little beggars we were. Then I hit upon the idea that if they did not give us anything then we would play some little trick, like putting soap on the saddle of their horse or hanging their cat from a tree.”

  “George,” said Lydia with a frown, “that’s awful.”

  “I know but I always seemed to get rather a lot of sweetmeats.”

  “It’s strange though, from what Lizzy told me Mr Darcy despised Halloween and said he would never celebrate such pagan nonsense.”

  “Perhaps your sister found some way of persuading him,” said Wickham. “You ladies have guileful and use your little tricks to achieve your aims.”

  “Why, George Wickham, what do you mean?”

  He held up his finger and quickly twirled it round.

  “Oh that,” she said. “Well, is it my fault if you have colourful tastes in the bed chamber?”

  “So, shall we go?” said Wickham.

  “To Lizzy and Darcy’s little party? Yes, I think so, don’t you?”

  “Well, I suppose I’ll be able to enjoy some fine wine and brandy gratis.”

  “Unless my Uncle Gardiner is there.”

  “Yes. I just hope Darcy places an extra large order.”

  Mr and Mrs Collins received an invitation the same morning. Mr Collins was in his study, reading an improving book. Mrs Collins sat looking out of the window wondering to herself if her marital relations with her husband would ever have any prospect of improving. The previous night she had worn a very short night dress of very thin, very sheer silk. She had entered the bed chamber while Mr Collins sat in bed reading the Bible. Slowly, seductively she walked towards the bed, her nightgown barely decent.

  “William, darling,” she said huskily, “do you see anything you like?”

  He looked up and looked over his spectacles.

  “My dear Mrs Collins,” he said, “you appear to be improperly dressed.”