Tales of Wantonness 1

  Tales of Wantonness

  Volume 1

  A Pride and Prejudice Sensual Continuation

  R.E. Stirling

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction, based on the works of Jane Austen. All of the events portrayed in this are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  TALES OF WANTONNESS

  Copyright © 2017 by R.E. Stirling

  Tales of Wantonness:

  Jane

  Chapter One

  Jane Bingley stood tall at the entry of her home for the past five years, Netherfield Park, waving farewell to the carriage that carried away her mother and youngest sister, Lydia Wickham. The early afternoon sun was casting a bright golden hue above causing her to appear almost ethereal to any onlookers, though she was seemingly unaware of her beauty.

  Waiting until the carriage was out of view of the house as she did not want to appear too eager for their departure, Jane nodded cheerfully to the footman who held the door for her. As much as she loved her mother and her sister she was relieved that they had finally left and was even more grateful that Lydia would be returning to her home in Newcastle the following morning. While Lydia did seem more mature and settled then she was five years ago, it was always trying when her mother and Lydia were together as each would play off the other in their level of exuberance and silliness.

  “Mrs. Bingley, ma’am,” the butler called her attention as she crossed the marbled entryway. He removed a letter from his breast pocket and held it out to her, “The master instructed me to give you this once your company departed. He did not wish to disturb you when you were with your family,” he added by way of explanation.

  Nodding her thanks, Jane accepted the letter with her ever-present smile, even as she felt her heart constrict. Guessing at the contents, she slipped the letter into her pocket as she ascended the stairs to the upper level. She endeavoured to never air her private concerns among the staff, so it was annoying that even in her chambers she could not be alone. She entered to see her personal maid returning gowns into her wardrobe and sighed.

  “Mrs. Bingley,” Sarah smiled to her.

  Sarah had been with her since she was twelve years old. For the most part she found her familiar presence comforting but she also knew she was in constant contact with the servants of Longbourn, which meant that her mother’s household knew all that occurred at Netherfield. Suddenly struck with an idea to be of service to her sister and gain the peace she craved, she began. “Sarah, I am so glad I found you,” Jane smiled. “It just occurred to me that I did not get those gowns to Lydia.”

  Sarah frowned, “Gowns, Ma’am?”

  Nodding, she walked into the dressing room which contained a large variety of dresses, all of the finest silks, satins and muslins. “I’m sure I mentioned it, or at least I meant to.” Jane knew she didn’t. “I mean to send some of these to Longbourn for dear Lydia.”

  “Oh, what a grand idea! I know Miss Lydia, I mean Mrs. Wickham, would love that!” Sarah gushed in return.

  “Yes, I would like you to go there for the rest of the day to see that she is properly fit, for she is to depart tomorrow.”

  Sarah nodded earnestly. “I believe I know just the gowns.” She quickly went through the wardrobe pulling out dress after dress that Jane did not favour. Most, Jane was amused to see, had been selected with the help of her sister-in-law, Caroline Bingley. “Is this too many?” Sarah asked as she viewed the ever-growing pile.

  “No,” Jane assured. “Please, take them to Longbourn directly and bring Annie with you, she is always quick with a needle.” Agreeing, Sarah happily gathered the gowns and departed, ready to tell all of the continued kindness of her mistress.

  Once she was finally alone, Jane turned the lock on the door and pulled the folded letter from her pocket. Frowning, she sat down at her writing desk. Jane wanted to believe that everything was fine between them, but in her heart of hearts she knew this was not true. He had become distant, preferring to speak to her through servants and notes rather than face to face. Charles Bingley was the love of her life but it seemed apparent that she was not enough for him. Taking a steadying breath, she unfolded the letter.

  My Dearest Jane,

  Forgive me, my love, for not informing you of my departure in person. Caroline wrote that there was a difficulty with our bank when she went to withdraw her monthly allowance. This, coupled with the investment concern I believe I mentioned, I determined that I should travel to London to settle matters. Please do not worry for me, I shall stay at my club so we do not have to open the London townhouse for such a short stay. I plan to return within four days. I would not wish to miss our Wednesday appointment.

  If you have need of me, please write via my man of business. He is aware of my lodging arrangements. Hope you enjoyed your sister’s visit.

  Yours, Charles Bingley

  Folding the letter and tucking it neatly with his others in her desk, she sat back and stared out the window. He had gone to his Mistress. Poor Charles did not realize she knew, dear man, but he forgot that she had taken over responsibility for his accounting upon their marriage. For the past two years bills form various establishments in and around London had been coming in which she dutifully paid.

  When she first married Charles, her mother had explained what would occur on her wedding night, and while things had progressed more or less as her mother described, she did not expect the great pleasure there was to be had nor the anticipation she would feel for each encounter with her husband. Charles had decreed early on that they were only to couple once each week much to Jane’s silent dismay, but the longing only made her weekly conjugal activities with her husband that much more exciting. Over the years as her longings and desires grew, Charles seemed to pull away, seeking relief elsewhere.

  When the first invoice from a London establishment came, her heart nearly broke and she retreated even further within herself. It was at this time that she started her secret shame. Her diary. Not of things that have happened, but of pleasures she could only dream of. Dreams that came from the most depraved part of herself.

  Hooking the chain that she wore around her neck with her finger, she pulled the braided gold out from her bodice and using the key that was attached to it in lieu of a pendent, she unlocked the bottom compartment of her desk, removing her diary. Running her hand over the cool leather of the book cover, she remembered Charles’s tentative touch of her breasts through the lacey material of her night shift. He always insisted that she keep it on for her modesty. He’s groan of pleasure when he slid his manhood inside her most secret parts. How she would have to bite her lip to keep her own moan from escaping because the last time she gave in to her passion, he withdrew from her in concern and would not continue lest she be hurt. In her dream he would continue, pressing deeper and deeper as she screamed and begged him for more.

  She had taken to perusing the most inappropriate books when they were in London, searing her mind with the raw and depraved descriptions of the pleasures of the flesh. The more she tried to suppress her yearnings, the more depraved her readings would become. They became fodder for her fantasies and for her diary.

  Opening to the last passage she had written, she picked up her quill to continue.

  I entered his study today without his permission. As I approached his desk, I began leafing through the papers there trying to discern what had captured his attentions away from me. He had not visited my chambers in over a day and I was yearning for his touch. Suddenly he appeared behind me and roughly pulled me towards him. “Why do you defy me?” He whispered, his hot breath licking my e
ar and neck as he bent me over his desk. “You know you may not enter without my approval.” He grinded his hardness into my posterior. “My steward will be here in moments.”

  A thrill went through me at the thought of an audience to my punishment. “I am sorry, Master, I only wished to bring you tea.”

  He lifted my gown and slapped me hard on my behind. “Lies! If that were true, then where is the tea?”

  I moaned with the sharp pain of each slap. “You are right! Please, I only wanted you.” He struck me again and again as I felt the pain mingling into pleasure. “Please, Master. I need you.”

  He bent over me to again speak in my ear, pulling my head up by my hair, I could feel his erection pushing against the throbbing and raw skin of my bottom. “I thought you were an angel when I married you, but you are not. You are nothing more than a seductress sent to temp me.”

  “Yes!” I cried. “I am yours! Please, please! I need you!”

  Pushing me down harder against the great wooden desk, he forcefully entered me as he pulled my hair tight between his fingers. “My, you did need me, didn’t you?”

  I began to moan like the whore that I knew I was as he pumped into my core harder and harder. “Please, Master!” I begged.

  Reaching around to my front, he pulled my breasts free so they were accessible to his roaming hands over my bodice before he began to roughly pinch and pull at my nipples sending a wave of pleasure through my treacherous body. “Is that what you wanted?”

  “Yes,” I hissed. “Harder, please harder!”

  He stopped suddenly, fully inside me as he again pulled my hair to bring my head back as I arched my back. “I will not finish unless you tell me what a whore you really are.”

  “I am.”

  “You are what?”

  “A whore. I am a whore. I am your whore.” He started to thrust in me again and again as I kept chanting, “I am your whore. Please, I am almost there. Please, let your whore have release.”

  Reaching around, he rolled my nipples between his finger and thumb then pinched them hard and pilling then roughly as he began to shutter his release inside me. The sharp pain was exhilarating but as I approached my own release, he suddenly withdrew from me and dropped my dress back down. “Leave, I have work to do.”

  I turned and corrected my bodice, wondering if I could finish myself off, but stopped when I saw his smirking face. He pulled me to him and lifted me to sit on his desk. “You did not think I would leave you like this, did you?” He pushed my legs apart and again lifted my gown. “Beautiful,” he breathed out before bringing his face to my most secret place where he began to stroke and fondle me, then finally to lick and suck my nub of pleasure while thrusting his fingers vigorously inside me. Wave after wave of intense pleasure began to wash over me as I screamed my release. “God, you are beautiful when you are wonton.”

  I looked at him with a smile. “Only for you, my love.”

  Jane dropped her quill then leaned back as she brought herself to her pinnacle seated there at her desk. Once she filled her need, shame filled her breast as it always did. This must be why her husband did not want her; She was depraved. Shutting her diary, she quickly pushed it back into its compartment and turned the lock on her shame.

  Chapter Two

  Charles Bingley moaned as the woman he paid to pleasure him for the evening rode his cock as he laid back on the bed. Her breasts bobbed enticingly in front of him but he could not bring himself to caress the beautiful globes of flesh. The nipples on the woman were darker and larger than Janes, making it more difficult for him to picture that it was Jane he was with. As the woman expertly rolled her hips on his member, he moaned out, “Yes, Jane. Oh god, yes!”

  The woman stopped suddenly. “Molly.”

  Startled, Charles looked up at her. “What?”

  “My name is Molly.” He nodded distractedly but said nothing as he waited for her to start moving again. “Oh,” she moaned in an exaggerated voice as she grinded against him. “You feel so good.”

  Charles was again startled by her voice and the insincere quality of her compliments. “Don’t speak,” he commanded.

  She stopped again then nodded her agreement, her golden hair moving in waves over her shoulder, the only real similarity to his dear Jane. The woman again started bobbing in earnest on him, nothing but her heavy breathing and the sound of their coupling hitting his ears as he tried to re-enter the fantasy he was constructing for himself. “Oh, Jane,” he moaned out. “Yes, my love.” The woman again stopped, pulling him back to reality. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  She blinked at him. “My name is Molly.”

  Pushing her off as she gave an indignant cry, he rose and pulled the sheath from his member. “Clearly you are not accustomed to this. I shall leave you.”

  She just glared back, “You better pay still.”

  He nodded as he pulled on his pants. “Send the bill as always. My man will see to it.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Who is Jane? Some piece of skirt that rejected you?”

  Pulling on his shirt and coat, he pulled a coin from his pocket and flicked it towards her. “That is for me to know.”

  Without finishing his dressing, he all but ran from the room and out of the brothel. Once he was out in the crisp night air, he sucked the cool air into his lungs, calming his libido so he could retrieve his horse from the stable without embarrassing himself. How humiliating, he shook his head at he looked around him. The London streets were dirty and cramped and he truly did not care for the city but he could not suppress his desires any longer so he took the excuse that Caroline’s latest complaint presented and, like a coward, he left his home.

  Feeling more like himself, he collected Ajax, his great black stallion that Darcy gifted him when they last visited Pemberley a year ago to meet the newest Darcy. How Darcy would be ashamed of him if he knew.

  Once atop his horse, he was at a loss to decide where to go. He had intended to stay the night at the brothel, to get his monies worth as it were so he had not made arrangements at his club, and while it was not too late by London standards, he did not have a change of clothes as he had arranged for his valet to deliver him a set in the morning. They carried the smell of the brothel otherwise. Sighing, he turned his horse towards Grosvenor Square, where his own bed awaited him.

  He entered the ally that ran along the back of the row of townhouses, the backs of the homes not as grand as the front. The entire square was designed to show the impressive wealth of the new money that was flowing in from the more industrial areas of the north and the coast, seeking the life of a gentleman. This was his Father’s dream. Coming to the rear of his home his sudden appearance caused a stir with the pair of footman who were out smoking. Nodding his head in greeting as he dismounted, the scrambled to snuff out their tobacco.

  “Mr. Bingley, sir! We did not expect you. Miss Bingley did not mention your coming,” the young man stuttered.

  Charles frowned, “Miss Bingley is here?” At their nod of confirmation, he turned and marched toward the home. On the one hand, his presence would not cause an inconvenience to the closed house, on the other, it was infuriating that his sister would dare to take up residence in his home without consent.

  Entering through the kitchen he was about to demand to know where his sister was but the stares he received made him recall his state of undress. “Please have a bath made ready for me,” he called as he took the servants stairs to his chamber.

  Once he was made presentable, he found his sister in the parlor reading. “Why are you here?” he asked by way of greeting.

  She looked up, clearly startled by his appearance. “Charles! My goodness, Jane did not say you were coming.”

  Annoyed that she did not answer, he crossed his arms. “Caroline.”

  She blinked, seeming to not know what he was asking of her. “Can I get you anything? Have you eaten?”

  He sighed. “Why are you in my house? I thought you had your own apar
tments. Is there a problem with them?”

  Caroline frown in confusion. “I have been living here for the better part of a year, brother.”

  This was shocking to him. “A year!”

  She rose, setting her book aside. “Yes. Jane and I have been corresponding and she explained it would be better for me to stay here as you are here but rarely. When you came to town last, she wrote ahead so I could arrange to stay with Louisa.” She paused as she studied him. “You truly had no idea?” Embarrassed that he did not know the comings and goings of his own family, yet angry that no one bothered to consult him, he simply turned away and retreated from his sister’s presence. “Charles?” she called after him.

  “Not now, Caroline,” he waved her off.

  Ordering a tray to be brought to him, he retreated to his study as he began to brood. Sitting behind his desk, he stared into the newly lit fire as he thought over his life.

  He was adrift, with no real direction. All he did was draw money from the interest earned by his father’s hard work and try to live the dream that his father imparted on to him. He had his manor house, though he just continually renewed the lease, not yet content to buy. He married a gentlewoman and had a position in society. He should be happy.

  The longer he reflected on his life and his decisions, the worse he felt. Jane deserved so much more than him. He tried so hard to honour her as she deserved as a gentlewoman, just as his Father had told him it would be, but his own weakness drove him to seek pleasure in the arms of others. He was weak and had dishonoured their marriage vows in an effort to protect her sensibilities from his lusts.

  He was able to suppress his urges sufficiently enough in the beginning, but as time passed, it became harder. It was his brother Hurst who had encouraged him to go to the brothel, at the time he was angry that Hurst would think that he would betray his wife so easily. But, the more he rolled the thought around in his head, the easier it was to convince himself that it would be the prefect solution. He would fill his need while Jane would not have to suffer his lustful attentions. Now, he only felt disgust for himself.