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Intimacy Call

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INTIMACY CALL

Elinor was walking back home to the cottage. Suddenly, she saw her little “bed bug,” Edward Ferrars, who was canoodling with the whore next door, Lucy Steele.

Edward could not contain himself. “Miss Dashwood, please do fuck me,” he uttered, truly at the mercy of Elinor.

Elinor, aghast by his sudden burst of forwardness (for she was a woman of propriety and reservation, as she thought he was), gasped.  “Edward!” she exclaimed. “Really?  In front of my cottage?”

“Yes, my liberal and handsome lamb,” he said. “In front of the cottage.”

She thought for a few moments, pondering over this out of character request from him.

 “Well, you know what they say,” she began. “Those who can’t, teach, and fuck me if I can’t.  Let’s do it, bitch.”

Thus began a vigorous lovemaking session in the garden in front of the Dashwoods’ cottage. The two lovebirds were so engrossed in one anothers’ bodies (literally in-grossed) that they did not think to conceal their fornication.  They were unfortunately exposed to the elements and any peeping Thomases in the immediate area.

It just so happened that poor Miss Margaret was walking down the second-floor hallway and gazed out the window to inquire after the particular... particulars she was hearing.

“Mother,” she said, drawing the attention of Mrs. Dashwood, who was down the hall.  “Why ARE Elinor and Edward wrestling outside, naked?”

Mrs. Dashwood was quick to invent an excuse.  “Let us go practice your French, dear,” Mrs. Dashwood answered, proud that her daughter was finally fucking after God knows how long.

Edward was having so much fun. This was literally so fun.  So fun, in fact, it was fun.

 

Elinor, on the other hand, longed for more kink.  “Edward, slap me across the face and call me a whore.”

“Miss Dashwood!”  Edward did not know what to say.  “M-Miss Dashwood, I simply cannot.  I just respect you too much.”

“Edward, just call me a bitch.”

“You are a beautiful female dog.”

“No, Edward, fuck!”

“I am trying!”

At her wit’s end, Elinor Dashwood thought of what would upset the sensible Edward Ferrars.  She hit upon it: “Edward, I hate myself.  I am the worst.”

“Dearest Miss Dashwood!  Do not slander yourself so!”

“I literally deserve no rights, for I am a woman with no fortune.  I am the epitome of all evil and scandal.”

Shocked by the words coming out of her mouth, Edward wished with all his heart that she would stop speaking so poorly about herself.  As if on instinct, he gently tapped her upper arm.

“YES EDWARD. LIKE THAT, BUT HARDER!!!!!”

“Y-yes ma’am. I mean...whore!”

 

Thus began the creation of Fifty Shades of Sense , the kinkiest story in all of Devonshire and back.


 

 

 

 

 

Three is NOT the Loneliest Number

Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was not a reserved woman.  In fact, she was probably one of the kinkiest motherfuckers out there.  It was only natural, then, that she desired to spice up her and the Colonel’s life in the bedroom.

“Colonel Brandon,” she began, direct and forward like the Titanic, hitting the iceberg head-on.  “I have a request.”

Colonel Brandon, who literally did not think he could have any more sex for he was simply too old to keep up with this 17 year old woman’s libido, sighed, “what is it?”

“I should like to fuck two men tonight.”

“Whom would you like to fuck?” asked Colonel Brandon, desperate to seek some respite.  If this is what would keep him from having his literal dick fall off, he would do it.

“I should like to fuck you and Willoughby.”

“But Marianne, Willoughby fucked over Jane, as you know?”

“Yes, but that is all in the past. Look to the future Brandon.”

Brandon, again, desperate, agreed.

Marianne quickly sent a letter via curricle to Allenham, where Mrs. Smith read the letter intended for her poor dependent cousin.  She was so shocked that she died on the spot.  Willougby immediately gained all his inheritance and ran to the younger Miss Dashwood’s house to thank her.  There, he found her tying up the Colonel with the cords from their curtains.

“Willoughby!” she exclaimed. “You’re just in time for the main event.”

“Oh, ho?  In defense of your protege, Marianne,  even you can be saucy!”

“Shut the fuck up, Willoughby, and get on the fucking bed.”

Colonel Brandon shed a single tear. 

There, Willoughby was tied to Colonel Brandon. He had no idea what to say, so he said “how’s Jane?” 

Colonel Brandon elbowed him, for it was his only somewhat mobile body part. 

“Yes, that’s it!” said Marianne.

 “Yes, dear, whatever makes you happy,” Colonel Brandon sighed, shedding another tear.  He was simply so weary of this teenage girl’s sexual awakening.

Marry a young girl, they said.  You’re such a sober man, a young woman’s touch would liven you up , they said.  Little did they know, he thought he would literally perish soon.

“Marianne,” began one of the many Johns in this fucking show, “I am so dirty and wet.”

“Yeah you are, slut,” Marianne responded.

It quickly became apparent to Brandon that John Willoughby had quite a lot of sexual prowess, probably because he seduced and successfully impregnated and left Jane and many a young woman in the utmost distress, with no home, no help, ignorant of his whereabouts (or, as we would say colloquially in modern-day terms, he blew his load and hit the road ).  The Colonel refused to be outdone, literally, by this pompous bastard. 

So Alan Rickman--I mean--Colonel Brandon--

--rolled up his metaphorical sleeves (for he literally could not do that as he was tied to the person he despised most in the world) and declared, “No, Marianne Dashwood, I am dirty and wet.”

Marianne literally N ÜT on the spot.

“Oh… Colonel…” she gasped, promptly fucking him into oblivion while Willoughby just kind of lay there, forgotten.  He was still tied to Colonel Brandon though, so he couldn’t really do anything about it.

Here is where Colonel Brandon’s sex drive was revitalized and thus began an extremely and weirdly frequent sexual union between the two lovers.  Willoughby, from time to time, would stop by to see how they were doing, and every time, he would inexplicably get tied to something in the house.  They would then forget about him and leave him there for like half a day until he finally would be like “Marianne? Colonel?  Please?” and they would remember and free him.  Willoughby is a free elf.



 

 

 

 

Your Whores are Ready Sir

Thomas was preparing to start a fire to keep the Dashwoods warm for the night. You see, with the absolute lack of sex in that household (since it all took place on the front lawn), there was no extra body heat being produced to warm the rooms. So Thomas had to build a fire every night. But tonight was different.

“Betsy,” he said, “Miss Marianne is ill.” This was before the fantastic orgy that was the double wedding, and Marianne was busy dying somewhere in Cleveland. In fact, Brandon had just scooped up Mrs. Dashwood and ridden off, leaving the servants all. alone.

“Im about to perish. Im literally screaming right now” they heard Marianne yell in the distance. “Well Thomas,” said Betsy, “you’d best be carrying some wood for me right now ;)”

Thomas, as it turned out, was into role play. He asked Betsy to pretend to be a pretentious noble, and she smiled and said she was Mrs. Ferrars now . And just like the Lucy Steele we all know and love she then fucked over anyone who stood in her way, including the incredibly logged man Thomas. 

Just at that moment, Willoughby showed up in his whore-drawn curricle on his drunken way to visit the Palmers and harass the miss dashwoods. However, he was so drunk that his whiskey dick was no longer able to spur the whores forth. So he requested Thomas’s aid.

“This takes more brainpower than I have at the moment,” said Thomas as he attempted to fuck the whores of Willoughby’s curricle. “Well yes” said Willoughby “that is because Betsy just fucked you senseless you libertine servant log man.”

What neither of them counted on was Betsy’s insatiable appetite. “It’s so small!!” She yelled as she looked at Willoughby’s dick and collection of whores. “We must go gather more whores to embellish this curricle. I know of some friends we could ask, but we must go quickly to London.” Upon saying this, the group of whore dancers came to transport them to London, as the magical whore dancers do for any cottage residents. Among the whore dancers, however, were servants from Barton Park and London who had changed what they wore over their base costume. “Perfect,” growled Betsy, “all part of my master plan.” And she leaped on the whore dancers and began their servant orgy as Willoughby, who had somehow gotten tied to the gate, sat by waiting for someone to notice him.

As it turned out, Thomas still had to build a fire that evening, as all the sex had taken place outside, as usual.

“I am the captain now,” said Betsy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let’s Get Physical

It was a rainy day on the midsummer night of the 20th of December. The spring had been extremely wet, and this was all the better for the gossiping rat gang. They knew this rain would cause SOME sort of incident in the Devonshire county, as it always does, and it would probably concern the Dashwood family. The rats texted in their Rat Gang group chat to prepare for chaos. 

 

John Squanch: Hey gang, trouble’s a brewin’ with the Dashwoods. I can smell it, it's raining.

Martin Brindley: I did see. Would you folks want to meet up and…hehe…read The Tempest?

Fanny: Hmmm…how about the front lawn of the cottage, 16:00?

Willoughby Wonka: But alas, it is raining. Why read we The Tempest outside?

John Squanch: All. The. Better. For. The. Rats, Wonka.

 

And so they assembled their whore-drawn curricle and began the journey to the front lawn of the Dashwoods’ cottage. It was no secret, however, that each of them had ulterior motives as to what they were going to do at the said cottage. Usually, this gang spied on the Dashwoods. But, you see, rats react differently to rain than humans do. Rain makes this rat gang exTREMELY horny. The only rat gang member that did not fully understand this capacity for horniness that these rats possessed was willoughby wonka, although the other rats were sure that they could convince him to participate in their massive orgy on the Dashwoods’ front lawn.

 

Yet when they arrived, ready as ever to gRoPe each other senseless, an obstacle presented itself right in front of their eyes, and these rat gossips found themselves caught in the common trap of accidental voyeurism that, oddly enough, was not the first time this problem presented itself to Dashwood/Brandon family members (the person shall remain nameless, we have absolutely no clue who this Dashwood/Brandon family member is. no clue.)

 

Elinor and Edward were fucking on the front lawn. The gossips could see that Elinor no longer lacked communication and now actively worked to conceal nothing. Edward called her a whore. Elinor smiled. It was a lot. 

 

Martin Brindley and John Squanch were absolutely furious. “yOu TOOK. OUR. FUCKING SPOT, OUR SPOT FOR FUCKING!!” they yelled boldly to Edward and Elinor. Edward and Elinor only heard each other (VERY loudly), and continued having sex on the front lawn. Although nature didn’t kink them up as much as it did Marianne, Elinor and Edward could still appreciate it. Suddenly, they saw Thomas exiting with about 500 logs and observing their confused and furious faces. “I suppose you haven’t heard,” he said to the rat gang, “that all the Dashwood sex always takes place outside” (Marianne started this, because nature was, again, her kink).

 

“It is folly to linger, I will not torment myself by remaining any longer,” said Willoughby Wonka, an OBVIOUS pussy. Having heard this, Elinor finally spoke up.

 

“Really, Wonka, it’s too ridiculous, you must fuck!”

“fuck!” said John Squanch, getting an idea.

“fuck!” said Fanny, thinking alike. They slid across the lawn on stools while they were saying this.

“Really Wonka, you are MORE than welcome,” said John Squanch again.

Margaret added, finally, “…..…orgy?”

 

They nodded their heads and wagged their tails in agreement and excitement. At the gossip rat gang’s encouragement, Elinor obtained a pen and paper to write to her sister Marianne and Marianne’s husband Colonel Brandon to invite them to the festivities, but then she realized that the rain continued to pour. Elinor knew that her sister Marianne, like the rats, became EXTREMELY horny in the rain due to her prior experiences in this stormy weather and her nature kink. Suddenly, she heard Marianne in the distance.

 

“I’m going to perish, I’m literally screaming right now!!!!!!” and Elinor knew she...didn’t have to invite them.

“Marianne is…reading The Tempest ,” Elinor said.

The rat gang nodded in understanding at her inability to come — attend the orgy — but Willoughby Wonka was still hesitant.

 

“For heaven’s sake, Willoughby Wonka, do you NEED a formal invitation to fuck here?” said Elinor.

“Fine,” said Wonka. “But only if we can all fuck in my whore-drawn curricle. It’s yellow, and it makes me feel safe.”


They again nodded their heads and wagged their tails in agreement and excitement, and scurried to the whore-drawn curricle to become even more dirty and wet than Elinor and Edward already were. Margaret looked on the entire time from her treehouse with her telescope, smiling like Hansel and Gretel in Hoodwinked 2 ,  and her actions accounted for the 3rd time [accidental] voyeurism has occurred in this (literally) fucking family.

 

 

 

 

Elinor and the Doctor

It was a dark and stormy night when Doctor Squanch came calling. How long had it been since he had been in this house on that fateful night? The night on which his whole world was turned upside-down, and everything after became a fever dream. But more about that later.

On this night he had received a letter from Mrs. Elinor Ferrars, detailing some fever that had overtaken her. And so he came, and here he was, his hand on the ornate knocker, paused in expectation. 

Before he had a chance to knock, the door flung open, with Mrs. Marianne Brandon standing in the archway.

“Doctor Squanch, we’ve been expecting you. Your patient is this way.” Marianne led the way through the dark house, and as they made their way through he began to make out strange fixtures on the wall. Why was a riding crop hung on the wall like that? And what was that glint of metal next to it?

Before he had time to investigate further, Marianne brought him to the chamber door that he had left some years ago. Marianne flung the door open to a room lit with only two candles on opposite sides of the bed.

“Elinor will be so glad to see you doctor, I’ve been waiting to deliver the good news. Or perhaps I should just lock you in and leave you two here.” With a wry smile and a wink, Marianne slammed the door behind her, and after a moment Squanch heard the deadbolt slam. And then another, and then another.

“I’ve been expecting you doctor.” A voice from the shadows beckoned. “I’m afraid I’ve been taken over by a violent fever, and there’s only one cure for it.” Elinor crawled out from under the bed.

“You.” With that, Elinor grabbed John’s sizeable squanch through his trousers. He yelped, thinking that a woman over 30 can most definitely inspire affection. As she dragged him over to the bed, he noticed the substantial amount of leather hanging from the walls, in. Elinor winked.

“Queen Mab ;)” With that, Squanch couldn’t contain himself anymore, literally, as his front pant flap came flying down due to the sheer force of his arousal. Elinor saw this, and eager to get started, threw herself onto the bed, her legs as open and inviting as her sister.

As Squanch towered over her, Elinor gave one last request: “Doctor, I want you to make me bleed.” 

“Then you better send your sister in.”

 

 

Sent from my iPhone.