Pride and Prejudice and Power

Fri, 05 Jun 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Leaning back against the cold marble pillar, Elizabeth Bennet surveyed the gilded ballroom. She was a splash of crimson in a silk dress that became her figure, her identity concealed by the fox-faced mask. The masquerade was the most celebrated event of the season—for a singular circle—and the most perilous. A wrong word, a careless touch, and the whole of England’s social elite could unravel.

Upon the dance floor bodies twirled and dipped in a raucous waltz. The assembly presented an odd mixture of attire: billowing lutestring, sparkling satin, and, in some cases, little more than oiled leather. Feathers, lace and papier-mâché masks concealed faces; yet Elizabeth sensed the pall over the room. Laughter, cries of delight and shock arose and echoed off the lofty, arched ceiling, but it was not as joyous as in former years.

The rumours were now too generally circulated to be ignored. The Prince Regent’s agents were steadily closing the net about that ‘Detestable dinner-club of Sapphists and Catamites.’ Even this may be their last fête.

She considered carefully each person in attendance, seeking not a partner but information. She set herself to learn who was an ally and who might turn. One attracted her notice. Standing somewhat apart from the crowd was a gentleman of remarkable height, whose lavish silver-and-black wolf mask rendered him no less conspicuous. Elizabeth knew the familiar set of his shoulders, the easy arrogance of his stance. She strode toward him, the heels of her boots clacking loudly.

The Wolf noted her approach and as she drew to a respectable distance he bowed. “Good evening, Miss Fox,” said he, extending his hand. Beneath the mask, his dark eyes glittered.

Elizabeth declined the courtesy. “I don’t believe you belong here.”

He stood erect once more. “A fox chasing off a wolf?” His voice was buoyant, but also held something else. Excitement? “I am intrigued.” He adjusted his posture to reveal the tightly braided leather cords he wore around his wrist.

Elizabeth understood the cords at once, and allowed herself a small smile. So that was how it stood. She drew closer. “Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy started visibly, though his composure was immediately restored. “Miss Bennet,” he replied, having returned to his ‘place.’ “An unexpected pleasure!” The steadiness of his manner vexed her exceedingly.

“Indeed? I have of late heard a great many accounts of you, Mr. Darcy. Accounts painting you as a villain in our little community.”

“You mustn’t credit every report that reaches you.”

“What of the report that it is you who turns the Prince Regent’s ear against us?”

Darcy drew a deep breath, filling his chest and pressing against Elizabeth’s breasts. “I’ve been turning the Prince Regent’s ear away from us, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “Mr. Wickham paints a different picture.”

“Wickham,” Darcy spat, “is a traitor to our cause. He thrives on suspicion and discord. He needs upheaval so he may appear their saviour.”

They were drawing attention. Elizabeth snatched his shirt-collar and pulled. Astonishingly, he had the sense to follow. Perhaps he really was one of them?

Safely hidden in a darkened side chamber—appointed for the masquerade, of course—she unmasked him.

For a moment neither spoke. Stripped of the silver and black, there remained only Mr. Darcy.

“Why should I believe you?” she demanded.

“Because you can see through a lie, Miss Bennet. You always have.”

Taking a step back, Elizabeth found her voice of command. “What, then, is the truth of you, Mr. Darcy?”

For perhaps the first time in her recollection, he appeared uncertain. A faint colour rose in his cheeks. “I’m a man who has loved you three years now. I’ve stood silent guard while you fought this battle, serving how I could, in hope you would someday see me.”

She took a deep breath. “Then let me see you, Mr. Darcy.”

He smiled—a small, vulnerable thing—and began to undress.

The coat was first, then gloves, his waistcoat, layer after layer revealing a little more of him. His pale skin seemed to glow in the half-light. Elizabeth touched his sculpted chest, letting her nails tease his nipples and drag slowly through his dark chest hair.

“Kneel.” He blinked, uncertain. She set her hands on her hips. “Must I repeat myself?”

He sank slowly to his knees, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Good boy,” she whispered, caressing his cheek. This was Elizabeth’s natural role; and yet to see Mr. Darcy upon his knees before her produced an intoxication she had not anticipated. He had bared everything to her, and she had offered nothing in return.

“Safeword?”

“Netherfield.” No hesitation. That insufferable man!

This would be more diverting than she’d hoped.

“Wonderful,” she began and her voice was a low rumble. She selected a silk curtain tie-back from the tools that had been placed in the room by the event’s organisers. She let it dangle, trailing the tassels over his shoulders and down his back. “Stand.”

He stood.

The first blow across his back was restrained. The silk rope and knot didn’t break his skin, but the lashes were firm enough to leave bright red trails. She paused between each, waiting for the word, while relishing the way he trembled. He grunted with each kiss of the rope, and when he finally took a half-step away, flinching, Elizabeth stopped.

She was nearly undone by the sudden rush of pride. He took it, every blow. He’d clenched his jaw, balled his fists, even cried out more than once, but he took it. This was a man who could endure, and he was hers.

“You’ve done very well, indeed,” she purred as she pressed herself to his reddened back. The heat of his welts against Elizabeth’s silk dress made her nipples stiffen. “Do you truly want to be mine, Mr. Darcy?” She hugged him from behind, holding the rope out before him.

His hands were trembling as he accepted the troth. “My fondest wish.” His voice quavered.

“Then you are mine, Fitzwilliam Darcy.” She placed her hands on his hips and pulled him against her. “I feel generous,” she purred as her hands roamed over his abdomen, tracking a trail of hair southward from his navel. He gasped as she reached beneath his cock with both hands. “Mine,” she reminded him softly as she cradled his stones in one hand while she curled the fingers of her other around his hard length.

Darcy’s head rolled back, resting on Elizabeth’s shoulder. His cheek brushed hers, behind her mask, but he seemed lost to anything but her movements below. She stroked slowly, tip to root and back again, but she soon sped up. “You’re leaking,” she murmured approvingly, and adjusted her strokes that she might anoint her fingers with the wetness he had begun to weep. She continued so until she felt a tightening of his stones, and his length give a fresh and telling start.

“Do you want to cum, Fitzwilliam?” She stopped moving. “Do you want to spill yourself for me?”

“God yes!” He sounded on the verge of tears.

“Then ask properly.”

His chest heaved and his abdomen shuddered. “Please, Miss Bennet! Please allow me to cum! I beg!”

Elizabeth resumed, her thumb circling the head at the crest of each stroke, squeezing his stones each time she reached the base. Darcy’s body trembled on the edge of release.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Yes, cum for me, you arrogant creature! Let me see you fall apart.”

Darcy’s orgasm was announced with a guttural roar. She held him, hugging tight, as he convulsed, his seed arced to the floor, then flowed over her fingers in hot, sticky pulses. When it was over, she lowered him to the floor. He collapsed against her, his face buried in her bodice.

Elizabeth stroked his hair, her fingers tangling in the damp strands, while Darcy clung to her. Eventually, she disentangled herself from him, standing up and offering a hand to help him to his feet. “You are mine now,” she whispered, her eyes locked onto his. “I would see you at Longbourn House two mornings hence. For breakfast. We have much to discuss.”

Speaking thus, Elizabeth quitted the chamber and paused in the hall, the want still banked low, unspent and entirely hers. She listened to the mirthful sounds from the ballroom for a very long time.

Knotty

Elizabeth_bennet on Knotty Biscotti

Pride and Prejudice and Power