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Learn how to enable JavaScript on your browser. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good riding crop must be in want of a pair of bare buttocks to thrash.
At least, that is how it seemed to Elizabeth Bennet.
If Mr Bingley had never come to Netherfield and set his heart upon her sister Jane, then she, Elizabeth, would never have encountered his close friend, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.
And that one chance meeting was all it had taken for her to be lured into his secret world of hot and horny perverted sex, like a helpless moth drawn towards a candle flame.
Worst of all, she was the mistress of her own undoing.
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Mr Darcy had made no protestations of love. In fact, he had made his intentions plain from the outset. I have it off.
I get my end away, I rodger, I boff. In short, his sole purpose within the pages of this book is to act as a cipher, to represent an ideal of manliness based on hunting, fishing and DIY, in order to form a striking contrast to the kinky, brooding, slightly prissy anti-hero.
His wife was in no way discouraged by lack of an audience.
For instance, why, Elizabeth asked herself, could Mrs Bennet not sit demurely with her hands folded in her lap like any other nineteenth-century matriarch, instead of slumping upon the chaise longue with her legs wide open, so everyone could see her vulgarity?
Why were her daughters so hopelessly strait-laced? Although her two youngest, Kitty and Lydia, were starting to display signs of interest in the young officers in Town, no doubt she would be in her grave before any of them got laid.
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Mother to five virgins! It was a torment almost too great to be borne!
For a few moments the scene in the drawing room was one of chaos, until Elizabeth — who, like many a romantic heroine, was hopelessly accident-prone — caught her foot on a leg of the card table, and landed upon her lustrous chestnut-tinged curls, wrestling them into a scrunchie.
It seemed she would rather be occupied in reading books, wearing hopelessly frumpy clothes and going for bracing walks in the countryside.
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Mrs Bennet sighed discontentedly. If he is one of those newfangled metrosexuals, I shall not. In fact, I would think it some sort of contrived literary device to make her eventual deflowering all the more salacious.
But this isand it is quite acceptable for a young lady to remain chaste until marriage. I insist upon it. An invitation was soon afterwards dispatched to Netherfield, and Mr Bingley duly visited Mr Bennet and sat with him in his study for ten minutes or so, where an offer of daughter-fondling was formally made.
The whole endeavour must have proceeded favourably, as a week later reports reached Longbourn that Mr Bingley was to host a ball, and the Bennet sisters were to be invited.
Mrs Bennet could barely contain her excitement. Until now, sadly, he always held his balls too far away for my daughters to reach.
But now he resides at Netherfield his balls are within their grasp!
Cragg, the housekeeper — having strong, although unpleasantly gnarled, working-class hands — managed to knot her unruly hair into a simple braid.
Glancing in the looking glass, Elizabeth sighed. With her alabaster skin and full lips, she thought herself not so pretty as Jane, whose strawberry-blonde locks attracted so much attention.
She would never draw admiring glances, she decided, with so many faults; her breasts were too pert, her legs too long and shapely, and her vivid blue eyes too large and limpid.
And what man would want her once he knew about her magical vibrating vagina? No, matters of the heart were not for her.
Mr Bingley himself was the most genial of hosts — a gentleman with an easy, cheerful manner, a pleasing countenance and blue eyes that shone in mirth.
He lost no time in exhorting every lady in the assembly to dance.
Elizabeth could see at once that Mr Bingley had made a favourable impression upon Jane; her sister remarked at length upon his muscular body, his cherubic blond curls and the cut of his jib.
He must have stood six feet two or three inches in his Cuban-heeled riding boots; his carriage was upright, his shoulders broad and his buttocks firm and well sculpted.
Elizabeth felt a pull in some dark, secret place inside her belly. It might have been her spleen. Or then again, perhaps it was her G-spot.
Having received minimal schooling and being largely ignorant of female anatomy, she could not be entirely certain.
Sunday is much the same. Plum lace insert high leg cupped body extension Of condyles 4 , in the tiboa To prevent fiiCtlon,the bone surfaces are capped by smooth hyaliw cartila9p 5 Tough, inelastic l ogaments Aol the bone on place and form the joint capsule 6. Her astonishment, as she reflected upon what had passed, was increased by every review of it.
Just as she was musing on her inner organs, Mr Bingley called out to his friend. Do come and dance! However, I must whip this bookshelf into shape.
Some fool has put Lord Byron before William Blake, do you see? But come, Darcy, I beg you to desist! Why concern yourself with books when you can dance with some delightful young ladies?
There are many lovely creatures here tonight. What about that pretty young thing over there with the humungous chest? She is not to my taste.
Where is she?
Growing bones retain bands of cartilage Different kinds of connective tissue have different properties suiting them tO their own near their ends, separating, in long bones, the special tasks. She applied two coats of bright red polish over the clear base coat as Cathy looked on. Plum lace insert high leg cupped body extension The small intes-.
You, my friend, have been dancing with the only true beauty here tonight. She is most agreeable, is she not?
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But what about her sister, Elizabeth? Is she not a handsome creature also? And her mother is a vulgar creature. What is that large one upon her shoulder?
Is it a penis? But privately, her spirits were much affronted. There was no denying that she thought Mr Darcy the most handsome billionaire she had ever seen.
Gazing upon his lithe frame propping up the bookshelf, one leg cocked at a rakish angle, the other leg arranged at a cockish angle, she felt a jolt of energy coursing through her body.
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Elizabeth wondered what it would be like to take a turn about the rose garden in the company of such a man. Or to sit in the shade of an arbour, reading Wordsworth together.
At the very thought of a mutual poetry-reading session, her body gave another little shiver of excitement. Evidently, she had partaken liberally of the rum punch, and her face glowed like a beacon.
She turned crimson with shame. Is he not hot, Lizzy?
Yet, that night, she dreamt of loosening her stays under his steely grey gaze, as if in a daze. While lost in a maze, with her bloomers ablaze.
It had been one of those days. So what if he is a trifle dim-witted? He is also handsome, agreeable and good humoured. After all, he danced with me but twice.
Elizabeth caught them deftly and threw them back. That proves it! He returns your affections! But sweet sister, be wary.
You have met him but once, and his reputation But we only have her word for that. I, for one, am convinced there is little truth in the matter. Slighted by Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy!
Are you affronted?
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After all, our stepfather has but two thousand pounds a year, and Mr Darcy is a man of vast wealth, and well known for his charitable works.
There is much to admire in his philanthropy. Although, inside her head, her Subconscious and her Inner Slapper were having a bitch-fight in a metaphorical car park.
And anally retentive. Did you notice the way he rearranged the ornaments on the mantelpiece? I will endeavour to put him behind me. I fear that is exactly where he would be if Mama has her way.
On occasion they would be diverted by some small project, such as knitting balaclavas for the terminally ugly of the parish, and one such scheme led to a letter being delivered to Longbourn early one morning.
My dear friend Jane, We do entreat you to dine with Looseata and me today. Come and discuss the matter as soon as you can on receipt of this.
And you can pretend to be saddle-sore, and ask Mr Bingley to rub your inner thighs.
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