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Darcy Gets Pegged

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It had all started after a party.

Darcy's aunt had grudgingly invited him and Eliza to his poor cousin's birthday dinner and it had gone about as well as all functions involving these opposing forces went.

His aunt had barraged his wife while he tried to keep his smile behind his wine each time his love responded with clever barbs that could be disguised as niceties.

Darcy was still struggling with reading social ques and people, but he'd never felt the urgent need to comport himself the same way his wife had had. What was ineptitude in him was read as a dark and thoughtful demeanor, whereas in Eliza it would've been deemed uncouth and plebeian. Social faux pas's were counted less when you were a rich man with vast estates.

So, he sat back and let the embers of his love for her burn gently in his belly as he looked on in wonder at the verbal onslaught. It almost helped distract him from the grating in his brain, derived from all the scraping cutlery and layers upon layers of voices, all competing for dominance.

Almost.

Halfway through the main course he felt the press of a shoe against his sole and looked across the table at his wife who looked at him with a promising gleam in her eyes. It settled something in him and he dropped the grimace he didn't realize he'd been holding.

They would leave soon, and they would be alone in their rooms together, and Eliza might even, dare he think about it in the presence of people, reward him. He felt the flush rise to his face and ducked his chin to gaze directly into his plate of oysters (a sensory nightmare), surrounded by the pressing and familiar feeling of knowing eyes on him.

True to his expectations they left not long after dessert was served, with the excuse of a headache and pressing need to lie down.

Eliza's mouth was on his neck at the click of the shutting door, her plump arms encircling his waist in a steadying embrace as she left adoring kisses along the back of his ear and jaw. He shuddered, a pleased sigh leaving his lips as he melted back against her.

"You did so well tonight, darling," she murmured, the term of endearment making his chest clench tight, something catching in his throat. "You did so well, enduring all that noise and irritation."

At parties and gatherings of their friends he was always Darcy to her. Eliza wasn't one for public displays of affection, nor did she like admitting that she'd fallen so low as to give her heart away to someone. She was all pride, his Eliza.

But in private she bared herself to him and spoke clearly and with intent of how deep her affections ran. She whispered "my love" into his knuckles and pressed adoration into his fingers with warm tickling kisses. He could never say it back. Could hardly express a word of how much she meant to him with all the choked urgent feelings that caught in his vocal cords but wouldn't escape for the life of them.

And yet she knew.

Perhaps she need only look into the wetness at the corner of his eyes or the slackness of his mouth as it tried to form speech too small for his love to know she was ardently and wholeheartedly adored.

Presently one of her hands was running up and down over the satin waistcoat and down his breeches, ever so slightly dipping lower, over the buttons and almost, almost lower to where he felt his prick slowly stiffen up. He bucked his hips a little and huffed, chasing the pressure.

Eliza tightened her grip on him, stilled his hips with one reprimanding tug and walked them forward a step until she was soundly pressing him against the cool wood of the door.

He felt rather than heard the vibrating groan that left his throat. Her chest was now pressed tight against his upper back, her warm breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck, and her hand still slowly exploring across his abdomen.

"Eliza," he breathed, a plea and a question in one.

She shushed him, "I'm trying to decide what I'm to do with you tonight. How am I going to reward you." Her fingers ghosted over his groin, still too featherlight but there.

"You could start with touching me," he said still trying to move back against her, clothing starting to feel far too stuffy and restraining. "Or I'm going to do it myself." He made to palm his stand with his one hand, before Eliza released her hold on him to take both his wrists firmly in hand and press them, palms open, against the smooth wood. His fingers flexed involuntarily, warmth coiling in his belly at the authoritative manhandling.

Her warm hands were still on his wrists, her body fully covering him like a weighted blanket, comforting and thrilling at once. "No, no. You're not touching yourself tonight, my sweet. You're not depriving me of the pleasure of making you come undone." Her whisper was a stroking caress that had him squirming even harder, thighs pressing together in anticipation. Her hips bucked against his behind and he gasped.

"Do you understand?" She adopted that innocent, coy tone she used at parties and he knew the exact satisfied smile she'd have if he turned around to look, and he loved her so much.

He nodded, forehead knocking against the door and she tapped his hands in a "stay there" gesture as she pulled away to wrap her fingers against his covered throat and tip his head back. She kissed his temples, where sweat had surely gathered from how heated he'd gotten, and said in that same sweet voice, "Good boy." He could've cried.

Her fingers were deft and practiced as they worked into the knot of his cravat, carefully tugging so as to not choke him, and then working the collar buttons open once the cloth had been slipped off. Soon his throat was uncovered and free game for her mouth, which devoured every last inch of skin; biting and sucking, and then gently lapping at each mark with her tongue to soothe the pain into pangs of pleasure that reverberated against his body.

One of her hands was holding onto his jaw, keeping him in place for her, while the other was working down all the buttons of his upper layers. Coat, then waistcoat, then the shirt, all button by button with stroking movements of her hand as he was revealed bit by bit for her. She grazed her teeth across the abused skin of his neck as her hand slid into the open slit of his shirt and she rubbed gently over his pecs.

Eliza didn't like her chest played with. It just didn't do anything for her, she'd admitted when they'd still been learning each other's bodies. Darcy respected it and left it well alone at that, because there were other ways to pleasure his love, but he couldn't truly understand it; there was one thing that was sure to drive him wild and that was being touched where he was softest and most sensitive. And she knew it and used it to her advantage.

Clever fingers were pinching and tugging on his nubs, not so hard as to sting, but firm enough to be felt and he couldn't help the keening moans he released. His ribcage exploded in warm tingling pleasure that muddled his mind and left him into a horribly aroused putty at the ruthless hands of his love. His prick was now painfully fully erect and the palm that cupped it made him seize up and buck against it. He was at the mercy of two maddening, slowly building pleasures. Eliza stroked along the length of his prick, forcing his legs wide open and leaving him helpless but to squirm in place in futile, aborted attempts at getting away from her ministrations. It was too much and at once not enough, and when he felt her thumb run over the head of his cock where he was at his most sensitive he cried out in alarm and begged, "Please, please, Eliza I can't - I- I am going to spend, please."

Eliza did pull away and the absence of her touch left him even more distraught than he was at the thought of coming far too soon. He was panting and shaking with premature tremors, until Eliza gently took him by the arm and turned him around to face her.

He took a moment to drink in the sight of her as he tried to get his brain to form coherent thought. She was just as disheveled as he felt, eyes shining bright and clever. He’d called her not handsome enough to tempt once upon a time. He’d been a fool back then. He hadn’t known familiarity and love were the true lenses of beauty. She was the most beautiful woman to him now and being the sole subject of her attention left him breathless and vulnerable in the most thrilling of ways.

He would’ve worshiped her if she’d only let him.

“You’re okay, darling. I’ve got you,” she muttered, swiping his hair lovingly to the side. He felt how sweaty he was all over and felt like flinching away from her touch, so as to not disgust her. He stayed in place, though, and let her caress him, because he knew that was what she wanted. “Can you do something for me?” He nodded, eager to please. She smiled and tucked another curly lock of hair away from his face. “I want you bare for me, okay? Take off your clothes and get on the bed, then wait for me without touching yourself.” He swallowed and nodded again, after which she took one step away and moved to the fireplace.

His hands were shaking as he pulled his shirt over his head and shucked his fawn breeches off, stumbling over his feet in a hurry to get them off. From behind him he heard Eliza stoking the fire and piling on more logs. He hadn’t yet even gone to take off his stockings before he felt her tugging him toward the bed, where he fell with a yelp on the covers. Eliza, grinning, climbed at the foot of the bed and came between his legs, one hand running down the length of his calf.

“What a sight you are like this. Tell you what, I think I’ll keep you in your drawers,” she was pulling off the stocking slowly, gooseflesh rising on his skin as it slipped off and fell on the floor. The air was growing warmer with the banked fire in the fireplace, but that had nothing on his shiver at the implication of her words. “We will have to push them aside for the strap.”

Darcy’s face felt hot. “You packed it?” Elizabeth’s wicked grin said it all. He opened his mouth once, twice in shock and then managed, in a rather petulant tone, “I’ll make a mess!”

She slipped off his second stocking and leaned over him to capture his mouth in one sweet, promising kiss. “I’m going to have you spending in your drawers as if we are having an illicit affair somewhere we shouldn’t be, my love. You’re going to look so beautiful; all flushed and embarrassed.”

Darcy’s whine at that held no trace of disapproval. She rewarded him with another kiss, a deeper one that left him breathless when they parted. When she pulled away her expression wasn’t playful anymore. “You remember how to say “no”, right?” He nodded and splayed his fingers wide open in the gesture they deemed fit for when they were deep in a scene and he found himself nonverbal. She smiled, kissed his open palm, and then gathered her skirts and raised herself up. “Lay on your stomach for me then. There you are. What a pretty, obedient thing.” She ran a hand down his flank and he buried his face in arms.

He wasn’t pretty and could never be, but he was desperate to be obedient. To be good for her and do exactly as she said, because he trusted her to take care of him. To pull him apart and then put him back together.

Behind him he heard the distinct rustle of her stripping off her petticoats and dress. Then there were the clink of a glass vial and surely what was the strap on being buckled. They had bought it months before and thoroughly tested it in every room of their home. Those were glorious few weeks that had him sore and wrung out and the most relaxed he’d been in all his life. He felt the dip in the bed as Eliza returned. She put one hand on his abdomen to lift him up and then carefully pushed a pillow underneath his hips. He immediately felt his stomach swoop with another flare of arousal, his body remembering that gesture from all other instances in which he’d been similarly ravished.

“Look at you. Gorgeous,” she was stroking his ass, warming him up through his drawers. One reason Eliza also liked the strap was that, through her own admittance, he knew she liked looking at him from behind. That had been a fact that had fed his ego to bursting and if he delighted in bending over for her in innocuous ways, that was his own secret to take to the grave.

She was tugging on his drawers then, sliding them down and running two oiled fingers down the cleft. He tried to buck back against them, but he was halted by a hand keeping him in place. The oil was warm against his skin, meaning she must have warmed it in her hands beforehand, and the care of that had his chest expand with warmth. There was a finger pressing into him then and welcoming it in felt like the beginning of relief that sung across all his nerves.

She was working him open, stroking from inside and pressing just where that bundle of nerves lay that made his vision explode in colours, and he twitched and spasmed with it, writhing in place, held down by her hands.

She was up to three fingers, sliding in and out in a steady rhythm, when she pressed forcefully onto his prostate and he cried out, hands flying out to grab the sheets to steady himself. “Fuck me, please Eliza, please-“ She twisted her fingers inside him again and his hips twitched wildly up, legs straining with the effort of keeping in place.

Warm lips touched his shoulder as Eliza withdrew her hand and Darcy keened with the loss. “How could I ever refuse you when you’re so lovely to me, my dear.”

He felt it slick and cool nudging against his hole as Eliza slowly, ever so slowly, rubbed the head around and almost into him. When he felt it breach him, blunt and girthy, he let out a stuttering gasp and a whining “Eliza”, that she responded to with a shallow thrust of her hips and a chaste kiss to his lips.

She was murmuring praises into his skin, “good boy” and “lovely”, all as she slowly inched the cock into him. Every thrust was electric and shocking with its intensity, his world narrowing down to the sparks of white-hot pleasure that was steadily building. And then Eliza slid it all the way in and it pressed against every wall of his insides, and he gasped with the intensity of it, with the indescribable rightness of it.

Tears were sliding down his cheeks he hadn’t known he’d shed, his mouth gaped wide open as he keened with every tight thrust Eliza gifted him with. And then she pulled out and thrust  in earnest, pressing her full body weight right into him, her hips angled just right and he was lost.

“Ah- ah-Eliza p-please, please, please-” He begged, and he did not know what for except for more. More of this. More of this all-consuming pleasure that rocked him quite literally onto the very precipice of pleasure. Almost, almost, almost to its crescendo, but he couldn’t-

“Eliza touch me, I can’t-” If she denied him this, even as she ruthlessly, gloriously took him, he felt he would die. Or spend right into his pants, and then he would’ve been hopelessly obedient and disobedient at once.

“You’ve been so good, so so good. So good for me darling. You can let go now,” her murmurs were a soothing salve to his distress. She reached underneath him and took a firm hold of his cock through the linen and with quick, tight thrusts of hand and fist he was finally tipping over with a wordless cry.

Everything went white and still. He was floating and at once sinking, and when he came to, he realized he was still making small pitiful noises. He took a big gulp of air and turned his head, a plea for a kiss that was answered immediately. Eliza withdrew from him ever so carefully and he groaned with discomfort as she unsheathed herself.

He couldn’t move a single muscle, spent as he felt, so he let her take care of him. He watched as she put another log in the fire, before retreating to the adjoining room and returning with a damp washcloth, which she then used to tenderly wipe the sweat and spunk off him. As he’d predicted his drawers were a sticky, uncomfortable mess, but he couldn’t begrudge them when he saw the heated look in Eliza’s eyes as she drunk him in.

Soon they were both cleaned and nestled under the covers of their bed in the warmth of their embrace. His face was buried in Eliza’s soft neck and she stroked his hair and murmured assurances to him, as he wholly unwound. This was what made all the unpleasant smells and sounds, and textures in the world. Being in his wife’s loving arms, taken care of and adored.

And once tomorrow came? He’d repay her for the pleasure in double.