by G Scott Gray
She stood up and unfastened her dress. It fell to the floor. She lay back on the bed wearing only her brassiere. She looked at Mr Wickham and parted her legs invitingly. Wickham walked slowly to the bed, his manhood hard and menacing. Charlotte’s breathing quickened with a mixture of desire, anticipation and a little fear. Wickham covered her body with his own. He crooked his finger and ran it all the way up the length of the lips of her womanhood. She was deliciously wet and silky.
He positioned himself so that the thick head of his manhood was almost touching the folds of her secret place. He lifted himself up for a moment and then thrust his hips forward powerfully and eased inside her. She cried out as his touch relieved the ache within her, an ache which had become stronger and stronger since her marriage to Mr Collins. She pulled her legs apart a little more and drew up her knees so that he could penetrate her deeper. Her mouth was open and her eyes was shut and she made little moans of ecstasy every time he thrust inside her with ever increasing urgency.
Lydia looked on with interest, amusement and arousal. She liked her husband to make love to her, passionately as well as tenderly. She also liked to watch as he made love to another woman. She took off her dress and removed her undergarments. She pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat naked, her legs splayed, in front of her husband, giving him a very pretty view of her soft, pink womanhood.
Wickham used his teeth to pull up Charlotte’s brassiere, thereby exposing her fine breasts; breasts to which Mr Collins had given all too little attention since their marriage. Mr Wickham sucked on them playfully, pulling at her nipple with his lips, feeling them harden in his mouth. He knew from the intensity of Charlotte’s moans and little cries that she was approaching her climactic moment of pleasure. She felt it herself, spreading slowly inside, and urged Wickham not to stop.
Not only did he stop but in one quick movement he turned her over and pulled her up onto all fours then put his knees between hers, pulling them further apart. He knelt close behind her and plunged his manhood inside her with one great thrust of his hips. He made love to her hard and quick so that could scarcely draw her breath. Her eyes were wide open and to her amazement, and joy, she saw Lydia directly in front of her, loving herself with little circular motions of her finger and thumb on the sensitive little bud of flesh, almost red with desire.
Charlotte’s heard the rhythmic slap of his thighs against her buttocks and all at once her body twitched and shivered as her climax rose quickly, too powerful to stop or even dampen, and it spread through her with a power she had never felt before. She was unable to stop herself from screaming out in joy as she felt Wickham’s manhood bulge for a moment before his seed, hot and thick, spurted heavy and deep inside her. He did not stop, but continued to thrust hard and true until not only were they were both spent but Lydia had made herself come too, expertly working her sweet pussy with her fingers, pushing her middle finger in and out while pleasing her rosebud with thumb and forefinger.
Exhausted but very content, they lay together naked for some time. Mr and Mrs Wickham talked about their married life, in particular their moments of intimacy. Mrs Collins bemoaned her husband’s lack of attention to her in the bed chamber. She also intimated that he did not quite measure up to Wickham in other ways too. She told Lydia that she was a very lucky woman and Lydia blushed charmingly.
“How long will the effects of the sleeping draught last do you think?” said Lydia.
“Around an hour the apothecary said,” replied Mrs Collins.
“So, in another few minutes,” said Wickham. “Pity.”
“What do you mean, Mr Wickham?” said Charlotte earnestly.
“Well, it means that you will need to dress and return to your bed chamber shortly.”
“Do you mean that you would like to love me again?” said Charlotte.
“Of course we would,” said Lydia.
“We?” repeated Charlotte in surprise.
“Yes,” said Wickham with a grin. “Lydia and I have rather advanced tastes in love. You see, we like to welcome people to our chamber and love them together. Myself, Lydia and another. All enjoying love together as it were.”
“You mean another woman?”
“Or another man,” said Lydia. “We’re not fussy.”
“Goodness,” said Charlotte.
“There is very little goodness, I assure you,” said Lydia, “at least I am sure your husband would not find goodness in our activities in the bed chamber.”
Mention of her husband reminded Charlotte that he would waken soon and she needed to return to her own chamber. She pulled down her brassiere and put on her undergarments. As she was fastening her dress, she said:
“I must confess, it was not mere chance that I knocked on your door. I have been planning this since I received the invitation to Pemberley. I decided I would look out for a man who might be willing to please me without causing any scandal. I know Mr Wickham by reputation and I saw him leer at me during breakfast. I was therefore of the opinion that he would be willing to help bring my plan to fruition as it were.”
“Well, I’m glad to have been of service,” said Wickham with a little bow.
“I enjoyed your service very much, thank you, Mr Wickham. And thank you too, Mrs Wickham.”
She opened the door and was about to leave when she turned to them.
“And that was only the first part of my plan. I hope to continue with my plan this evening. And perhaps again tomorrow. And this time perhaps Mrs Wickham will assist me also.”
“I would like that very much, Mrs Collins,” said Lydia with a grin.
Mrs Collins returned to her own bed chamber. She sat down in an easy chair and watched her husband sleep. He made little gurgling noises and slowly awakened from a deep, albeit medicinally induced sleep. He opened his eyes and looked at his wife, uncertain at first who she was and where he was.
“Hello, William,” she said. “I trust you slept well.”
“I think so yes. Where am I?”
“We’re at Pemberley, my dear. Don’t you remember? We were invited by Mr Darcy to celebrate Halloween.”
“Ah yes, now I remember, the pagan festivities. I understand we are to indulge in festive past times this afternoon. Well, I have a sermon prepared and I am willing to read it out and put an end to these frivolous and godless activities. When do we commence?”
“In around twenty minutes.”
“Splendid. That will give me enough time to put on my sternest, darkest suit of clothes. For I intend to be very stern with all of these godless people. I will make them see the error of their ways.”
“Yes, dear.”
He dressed himself austerely in black, picked up his sermon (all twenty pages) and went downstairs with his wife. When they reached the ballroom, the other guests were there already. The room was decorated with jack o’ lanterns made from large turnips, and the guests were drinking a delicious Halloween punch made from autumn fruits together with wine, brandy, nutmeg and cloves. Everybody appeared to be enjoying themselves. Mr and Mrs Darcy were excellent hosts, tending to every need of every guest.
Mr Collins approached Lizzy.
“Mrs Darcy,” he said, “as I once proposed marriage to you in your dim and distant past, I feel that I should approach you first. I consider these celebrations to be pagan in nature and consequently godless. They may lead to the drinking of strong liquor and indulging in the pleasures of the flesh. Therefore, I have prepared a short sermon to read to your guests. It is a mere twenty pages long. Would you permit me to read it?”
“I really ought to consult with my husband, Mr Collins.”
“Very well.”
Lizzy approached Darcy who was at that moment talking to Mrs Collins.
“Fitzwilliam, my love,” she said, “Mr Collins would like to give a short sermon - a mere twenty pages long - extolling the evils of pagan festivities. He said it might lead to the drinking of strong liquor…”
“Nonsense,” said Uncle Gardiner, on his way to fetch
another bottle from the cellar.
“Or it might,” continued Lizzy, “lead to indulging in pleasures of the flesh.”
“Again?” thought Mrs Collins to herself. “I certainly hope so…”
“So?” said Lizzy. “Should we allow him to deliver a sermon to our guests?”
“I can’t imagine anything worse,” said Darcy with a shudder.
“I have an idea,” said Mrs Collins.
“Really?” said Lizzy and Darcy together.
“Yes. It involves Mr Collins, a glass of cordial and a sleeping draught, perhaps two.”
“I’ll get the cordial,” said Darcy.
Mrs Collins slipped upstairs and returned with the sleeping draught hidden in her bosom (she knew Mr Collins would never look there). She mixed it with the cordial and handed it to her husband. She told him it would lubricate his throat and give his voice more resonance when he was delivering his most excellent sermon. He drank it quickly with a smack of his lips. Two minutes later he was asleep in an armchair.
The chair, with Mr Collins in it, was carried to the library by two servants and the party continued.
“Now,” said Darcy, “has everybody had some punch?”
“Not nearly enough. Yet,” called Uncle Darcy. The other gusts laughed.
“Good. Our first game is ‘spin the carafe’.”
He held up a carafe of brandy.
“First we need to empty the carafe.”
“I’ll help you,” said Uncle Gardiner.
He took the carafe from Darcy, tilted his head back and drank the contents without pausing. He handed the empty bottle back to Darcy.
“Thank you, Uncle,” said Darcy.
“My pleasure.”
“Well, now that Uncle Gardiner has kindly emptied the carafe for us, would you all take a chair and form a circle.”
Each guest took a wooden chair and they sat in a circle.
“Now,” said Darcy, “I will place the carafe in the centre. I will spin the carafe. It will point to one person. The base will point to the person opposite. This means that they will dance together later at the ball.”
“That’s not how we play spin the carafe is it, my pet?” said Wickham to Lydia with a leer. He glanced at Mrs Collins and she smiled back.
The guests watched as Mr Darcy spun the bottle. It stopped and pointed at Mrs Bennet. The base pointed to Charles Bingley. On the second spin the bottle pointed to Jane and the base pointed to Mr Wickham. Dancing partners were in this way assigned. Once the bottle had been spun for the last time the only people remaining were Kitty and Caroline Bingley.
“Oh, how unfortunate,” said Mrs Bennet. “They are both women and women cannot, of course, dance with each other.”
Mr Bennet was not so sure. Not only might they dance together but they might do other things too…
Other games were played. One game involved a lady peeling an apple and throwing the skin over her shoulder. The letter which the peel then most resembled would be the first letter of the man she was to marry. As Mrs Bennet, Jane, Lizzy, Lydia and Charlotte were already married, only Mary, Kitty and Caroline played the game. Mary peeled an apple and threw the peel over her shoulder. Everybody eagerly looked at the peel to try to ascertain which letter it most resembled.
“I think it looks like a ‘Q’ don’t you, Mr Bennet?” said Mrs Bennet.
“What name begins with ‘Q’?” said Mr Bennet.
“None that I can think of,” said Mrs Bennet.
“I think it looks more like an ‘X’,” said Jane.
“I agree with you entirely,” said Charles.
“But what name begins with ‘X’,” said Mary.
“There’s Xavier,” said Mrs Bennet rightly.
“I see,” said Mary grimly, “if I don’t meet a man called Xavier, then I am destined to be an old maid.”
“Well, that’s what the peel says,” said Mrs Bennet firmly.
Kitty and Caroline played the game too. Kitty peeled her apple, and all agreed that the discarded peel resembled a ‘C’. When Caroline’s peel fell to the ground the consensus was that it resembled a ‘K’.
“Well, Kitty,” said Mrs Bennet, “it appears that you are to marry a Charles or a Christopher.”
“And you, Caroline,” said Charles, “are to marry a Kit or a Kenneth.”
“Or a Kevin?” said Mrs Bennet.
“Kevin?” said Caroline with distaste, “I’m not marrying someone called Kevin.”
All laughed and agreed that it had been an excellent and amusing games.
Kitty and Caroline spoke quietly together in a secluded little corner.
“So, I am to marry someone beginning with C and for you it is a K,” said Kitty. “Our names.”
“Yes,” said Caroline. “But we both know that is not possible. A woman cannot marry a woman.””
“Perhaps one day, in the distant future,” said Kitty sadly.
Kitty squeezed Caroline’s hand.
“Until then,” she said, “I will consider you my one love. And when we make love, I will think of us as married.”
“Tonight then?” said Caroline with a smile. “It is most fortunate that Mr Darcy put us in the same bed chamber.”
“Indeed, my love,” said Kitty. “Only, I am not certain it is just down to fortune.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it possible that my sister Lizzy knows about our feelings towards each other.”
“Then she is a kind and understanding sister,” said Caroline.
“Yes she is. She is like my father in that respect.”
After a few more amusing games Darcy directed the guests to the library. It was dimly lit and decorated in black and orange and the open fire made strange shapes in the hearth and threw odd looking and shadows on the walls.
“For your amusement before the dancing,” he said, “I thought it would be pleasant to read an extract from Mrs Radcliffe’s latest novel.”
“Who on earth is Mrs Radcliffe?” said Mrs Bennet.
“She is a writer, mother,” said Mary. “She writes tales of ghosts and ghouls. She is very popular. I have read a good number of her books. They all concern a plucky heroine in a haunted castle or abbey. And she always solves the mystery.”
“It sounds rather amusing, doesn’t it, my dear?” said Mr Bennet.
“Does it?” said his wife. “Well, wake me if I fall asleep.”
“Now,” said Darcy, “would anybody like to read an extract?”
Mary put her hand up at once.
“I would like to read, Mr Darcy, by your leave.”
“Of course, Mary,” said Darcy. “Come and sit by the fire and we will all gather around you as you read.”
Mary was normally rather shy, but on this occasion, she relished the opportunity to read from Mrs Radcliffe. Darcy handed her the book and she sat on the luxurious armchair, her face lit by the fire. She cleared her throat and paused dramatically.
“The Mysteries of Udolpho, by Mrs Ann Radcliffe,” she said in clear, pleasant tones.
The guests settled themselves in anticipation of an entertaining story.
“In the province of Gascony, there stood in the year 1584 the chateau St Aubert. To the south, the view was bounded by the majestic Pyrenees whose summits frowned with forests of gloomy pine. These tremendous precipices were contrasted by the soft green of the pastures and woods that hung upon their skirts…”
It was an excellent reading and when Mary closed the book many of the guests shuddered and hugged themselves to keep out a little chill, even though they enjoyed it tremendously.
“Bravo, Mary,” said Mr Bennet.
“Most enjoyable,” said Jane.
“I agree,” said Charles.
“Very well read, Mary,” said Darcy.
“I’m just going to the wine cellar, Darcy,” said Uncle Gardiner.
“Should we wake Mr Collins up?” said Lizzy.
“No, let him sleep,” said Charlotte.
> After Mary’s dramatic reading, preparations were made for the Halloween Ball. Everybody bathed and dressed themselves in their finest attire, suitable for dancing. The gentlemen wore elegant breeches, shirts and jackets of silk, satin and linen. The ladies wore beautiful ballgowns in a variety of coloured silks; blue, green, purple, yellow and white.
A small orchestra played the finest minuets by Mr Mozart and Mr Haydn. For the first dance, partners were those assigned in the game of spin the carafe. After that husbands danced with their wives. And after that, gentlemen were free to ask whomever they wished to dance with them.
Mr Wickham asked Mrs Collins to dance.
“It would appear, Mr Collins,” he said gallantly, “that your husband is still asleep. Therefore, I feel I must offer my services once again and ask if you would permit me to take his place for this dance?”
“I would be delighted, Mr Wickham.”
He took her hand and whirled her around the dance floor.
“Are you hoping to put the second part of your plan into operation tonight, Mrs Collins?” he whispered.
“I hope so, Mr Wickham.”
“Mrs Wickham hopes so too. Come to our bed chamber at midnight.”
“Very well. I will probably need to give my husband another sleeping draught.”
“Excellent.”
The ball ended and it was announced that dinner was served. Mrs Bennet hurried to the dining room to ensure she had a seat nearest the platters of food, followed closely by Uncle Gardiner who wanted to make another visit to the wine cellar before the food was served.
Last to reach the dining room was Mr Collins who had only just woken up.
“Why, William, there you are,” said Mrs Collins.
“What time is it? Did they enjoy my sermon?”
“It’s late in the evening, my dear,” she said. “And I’m afraid you didn’t deliver your sermon, for you fell asleep quite suddenly. You missed the Halloween games and also the dancing.”
“Oh dear,” he said. “At least I’m in time for dinner though, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you’re in time for dinner.”
He ate with gusto, though not so much as Mrs Bennet. Charles drank liberally, though not so much as Uncle Gardiner.
