a Jane Austen lemon!
Back in December 2003, during another tough time in my life, I wrote a couple of fanfics. None of them yet have seen the light of day -- until now.
First up from the backup bin: My Jane Austen fanfic, a little lemony epilogue to "Mansfield Park."
I know "Mansfield Park" must be the least liked of all Austen novels. It's not hilariously funny and satiric like "Northanger Abbey." It doesn't have the wit and romance of "Pride and Prejudice," or the sweet maturity of "Persuasion." Instead it has a spineless heroine who lets everyone step on her, and a prissy, morally uptight hero. The author moves heaven and earth just to ensure they end up together, but most readers come away feeling cheated.
Everyone except me, of course. I wrote a lemon for it. The main canon pairing, no less. The human imagination works in strange ways.
Even to myself, my reasons are not particularly clear. I just remember loving the book when I first read it -- perhaps in grade six -- perhaps too young to know any better. Years later, in college, I read a scathing analysis by one of my other idols, Edward W. Said, who used a few chapters within the book to present the economic stability of Mansfield Park as dependent on slave labor. If I remember the essay correctly, he made the book an example of colonial and cultural imperialism. I didn't pick up my copy of Mansfield Park for months after reading Said. I was too agitated.
Yet here I am, posting this. Much older now (not any wiser), I still love Said and I was thankful to read one of my favorite authors in a radical new light. And yet I still loved Austen because I picked up a lot of narrative technique and character development from her.
I have yet to reconcile the opposing forces of my literary influences. I doubt if I ever will -- so many of my favorite writers and critics would probably kill each other if they had to sit next to each other in heaven, or something.
Between Austen and Said, I know there is a giant leap between the two, and I simply cannot choose. But hey -- my old handle used to "vacillate" -- short for "vacillating middle class." Painfully subconscious of my own shortcomings, I am.
Enough rambling, here's there story.
Title: Consummation at Thornton Lacey
Summary: In which a well-worn volume hidden in Lady Bertram's sofa comes to light; Fanny Price is shocked by the illustrated proclivities of consenting adults; and strange talk of horses lead to the sexual awakening of a spineless prude.
Rating: NC-17 or X, definitely.
Genre: hentai, parody. Everyone's OOC.
Disclaimer: None necessary! Mwahahahaha. Jane Austen is already beyond the limits of copyright laws. That's why everyone's ripping her off without remorse.
Consummation at Thornton Lacey
On the morrow, Fanny Price was to be married to her cousin Edmund Bertram. Everything was arranged beautifully by Sir Thomas, as the man was determined that at least one honorable, lasting union would be held in his household during his lifetime. The coming marriage, sanctioned with his guidance, would give Sir Thomas credit and perhaps dim the neighborhood’s collective memory of the failed and hasty unions of his other children.
While certain members of the neighborhood openly rejoiced at such a foregone conclusion to the melodramatic events that occurred in the past twelvemonth, others more skeptical and modern could only conclude that there was something amiss in the baronet’s family, since the only temperate union it could achieve was of a marriage of cousins, and the bride known to most as the poor ward from Portsmouth.
It was for this reason Sir Thomas felt compelled to leave nothing to chance - Edmund’s friend Mr. Owen was engaged to read the service, Fanny’s trousseau was packed and secured, and the polishing of the silver was overseen by Susan.
Everything was going according to Sir Thomas’s exact plans, executed partly by Edmund, that Lady Bertram had no trouble at all except to hurry some needlework on her new pelisse.
Yet that good lady, perhaps with some slight remembrance of her own nuptial night, took it into her head that it was her obligation to enlighten her niece on some of the finer points of marriage that may not have been brought to her attention. This luckily occurred to Lady Bertram on Fanny’s final evening at Mansfield, just as Baddeley was clearing the tea-things and Susan left the drawing room, sent out expressly out of the room to fetch her work.
“Fanny, sit here beside pug. I have a small token for you,” Lady Bertram began, as she rummaged by the side of her sofa and pulled out a slim, well-worn edition. “You realize, of course, you must do whatever Edmund wishes once you are married. Obedience and fidelity are some of your virtues, Fanny. These virtues will be tried sorely in the days to come.”
Lady Bertram’s opening words were unexpected. Fanny grew alarmed despite being wholly unsuspicious regarding to the nature of her aunt’s insinuated musings. Unknown for exertion of any kind, her aunt’s sudden departure from habit aroused Fanny’s suspicions. What sort of advice was Lady Betram trying to impart to her?
“Yes, Ma’am,” Fanny answered hesitantly. “I greatly esteem Edmund, and give full credit to his merits. I wholly doubt whether he could ever try my patience even for an instant.”
Lady Bertram sighed. “Such innocence,” she remarked placidly. “I am happy that despite the goings-on in this household you have managed to maintain your composure, not to mention the fortitude of such goodness and purity, and not merely the appearance and manner of it. In any case, I hope I am not mistaken that you will need this little book. I was not as fortunate as yourself as to read it prior to my marriage with dear Sir Thomas.” Lady Bertram handed Fanny the book she held in her hands. “Consider this my personal gift to you, it would not please Sir Thomas to know that -”
The arrival of Susan left Lady Bertram’s last, mysterious sentence unfinished. Fanny murmured her thanks, her head bowed low. She scurried off to the East Room to peruse her unexpected gift in silence.
. . . . .
Fanny’s face reddened with shame upon the opening of the little volume. Lady Bertram was right, for once, to observe that Miss Lee might have left sex education out of the East Room curriculum. When she was much younger, her monthly flux was explained in terms of the Biblical curse and the duties of a good wife and mother were expounded upon with much frequency; exactly how one became a mother was a matter of ambiguity.
Fanny simply did not know what to make of the sketches of men and women in various stages of undress and fornication. Indeed, the little known masterpieces of T. Rowlandson that have never been seen by more innocent, naïve eyes. How Lady Bertram came into possession of such a lewd volume, and that it was kept well hidden under her sofa cushions all that time, is a mystery that Fanny’s mind could not penetrate.
Nor did the pictures or text make any sense to her, even if she grew increasingly embarrassed and flushed as she continued to leave through the pages. She was disgusted with herself; she very well knew she should put the volume down. Perhaps she should even throw it into the blazing fire. A decent, well-bred lady should not peruse such volumes, nor even acknowledge their existence! But it was a gift, she reminded herself; Lady Bertram meant well by it no matter how dubious a treasure it proved to be. If only she knew what she was supposed to do with it!
Showing it to Edmund crossed her mind, but he would question how she came into its custody. It was simply too incredible for him to believe his mother had simply handed her the book. Besides, he was a man of the cloth! Surely he would be shocked at such goings-on? No man of delicacy, great feeling and consideration would be interested in it; Fanny was almost violently positive about the veracity of that fact.
Fanny blushed once more, as she felt a strange heat rising in her as she continued to peruse the volume. She pulled herself together and shut the book with a brisk clap, just as a knock on the door introduced Edmund’s entrance into the room.
“Edmund!” Fanny cried out, scandalized. “You’re not supposed to see me until tomorrow…”
“My love, how can you believe in such old wives’ tales?” he answered, his eyes laughing as he knelt beside her chair. “We are no longer meant to observe such absurd ceremony. Ours is a marriage of love, not show; and I will not be countenanced by anachronistic conceits. I merely wished to see you before we are wed tomorrow, to give you this.”
Edmund leaned forward and kissed her passionately, his lips soft and full. It was not the first time he had kissed her, but its manner was quite different. Today he was more intense and moist. The kiss was a prelude, a gentle shower to the thunderous and stormy éclat of his love. Fanny was alarmed and pulled back. “Really, Edmund, I…”
He smiled, and let her go like the gentleman he was. “I cannot wait for tomorrow,” he said, making Fanny’s heart stand still, with equal parts of trepidation and excitement.
. . . . .
The wedding ceremony done with and the breakfast banquet over, there was nothing left except for silence and an odd tension Fanny couldn’t place. They had driven over to Thornton Lacey for the night, delaying the longer honeymoon journey for the morrow. They had planned a slow saunter through the Great Lakes, but Edmund had desired to spend the first day of their married life in his new home, not thrown into the company of strangers at an inn with few comforts and less privacy. Fanny was pleased by the arrangement, and had nothing to add on her behalf except for the wish she could take her sister along just as Maria had brought along Julia.
If only she could get over her apprehension of the event to come. She had conditioned herself not to think about it since there was still light. But Edmund… Edmund had other plans right after dinner.
“My dear, come with me upstairs, I have a surprise for you,” he said simply as he took her hand in his.
“Another surprise? What is it?” she asked, her spirit already trembling as he shut the door behind him.
“It is our marital bed,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “Do you like it?” A thick white canopy currently concealed the spacious piece of furniture in the well-appointed room newly papered and spotlessly prepared for her arrival.
“Uhm…” Fanny was speechless. What did a lady say when faced with this sort of situation?
Edmund held her tenderly for several minutes before he began pulling the pins out of her hair. “Do you know how much I love you?” he said quietly. “I want you so badly I cannot even wait for the cover of night.”
Edmund didn’t wait for her to respond, as he began the process of undressing her. While she showed him no resistance, she also showed him little cooperation… her mind was reeling from the touch of his hands on her. Her gloves, white gown, and simple undergarments were quickly discarded and his hands roamed freely across her now nude body. It was a circumstance she never considered before.
“Fanny, look at me.” Obediently, she slowly lifted her head and blushed hotly as he smiled with wicked delight at her obvious discomfort.
“I love you. You don’t have to be afraid…. Wasn’t I the one who taught you, directed you, and guided you in almost all branches of your education?” Edmund coaxed her, slowly stroking the length of her bare back. “This is but another stage in your learning, and I am the only one fit to be your instructor.”
“Really, it’s not that, I am…” Fanny was distraught. “I do not suppose it is proper for you to…”
“We are wedded, and there is no impropriety in the expression of our union,” Edmund wheedled her. “Let go of your fears and let me show you how much I love you.” He silenced her with his mouth, leisurely kissing her until she was breathless and aching. She still didn’t feel it proper she should feel so hot and needy, ladies mustn’t feel hot, but Edmund was making her feel so peculiar, with his hands straying down the length of her legs and holding her tightly by the waist.
They stood there, kissing deeply for what seemed like an eternity. When he began to feel her relax in his arms, her tense expression giving way to one of pleasure, Edmund began to flick his tongue gently inside her mouth and down her nape and cleavage. Without knowing what she was doing, she inexpertly began to pull off his cravat and jacket.
“So you were beginning to feel my clothes are a mutual nuisance?” he chuckled low as he peeled off his breeches and his shirt. Standing beside her unclothed and drawing her towards him, Fanny opened her eyes tentatively and ran her fingers down his chest. He groaned, and captured her mouth once more. He massaged her breasts gently, weighing them as if they were made of the most precious silk, before bringing their pointed tips into his mouth.
Fanny moaned, and instinctively rubbed her moistening core against his thigh. Edmund continued his happy assault on her breasts and stomach. She stood there, witless, as he kissed her bellybutton before rubbing his face rub against her softly heating skin. Before she could protest, his head was between her legs and he dipped his tongue onto the surface of her mound.
Her toes curled with the impact of his tongue. She had never felt anything like this before, she opened her eyes, watching his tousled hair between her shaking limbs, and she almost fainted with the warm, tingling sensations he was making her experience for the first time. Before she even realized it, he slipped a finger into her and she buckled at the onslaught of feeling.
“Edmund, what are you… doing to me?” she demanded breathlessly, as he slowly raised his head back to her face.
“Hasn’t it been clear to you?” he said breathlessly, caressing her core with a slight twist of his hips. “I’m trying to drive you mad. I want your total obedience and cooperation as we continue this course of action.”
“Most definitely,” she panted, as she became bold and instinctively ran her palms down his back, to cup his luscious buttocks in her small hands.
Edmund froze, and his expression became ecstatic. He lifted her up and parted the curtains of the bed, and laid her there gently.
Fanny laid there, her eyes peering at him from the veil of her eyelashes. He was a handsome man, and his well-molded features were never more appreciated than in that moment as he loomed over her, not as friend and cousin, but for the first time, as her lord and master. He wordlessly hitched his thumbs around her waist, tilting her pelvis towards him, as his knees strove to part her thighs wide enough to accommodate his presence between them.
“Edmund, I am uncertain…” he did not seem to hear as he continued to kiss her and plunge his finger inside her slickened pathway, sending delicious shivers of desire up her spine. “Does it please you?” he asked, cradling her head tenderly in his other hand. Unable to wait for a response, he pulled out his hand and lowered himself carefully into her body.
Fanny grew silent. She was shocked beyond belief. She could feel her new husband inside her, and the sensation made her burn up with a frenzy she could not name. “Edmund, to be fair, I don’t…” once more he ignored her gentle protestations and breathed heavily into her ear. “This may hurt you somewhat, I must apologize…” and slowly he pushed himself beyond the last barrier, and Fanny cried out in pain.
Who can be in doubt of what followed? Edmund waited for Fanny to relax around him once more, listening to the cadence of her breathing before making his next move. “Think of the first time you rode your mare,” he whispered. “It is not you adjusting to the center of the horse’s power, but the horse adjusting to your presence on his back. The rider and the beast need to adjust to the other before they can move in unison.”
“But you are not a mare, and I have never ridden bareback,” Fanny answered back, almost fretfully, as Edmund began to withdraw, only to plunge back in again. “No, I am not a mare,” he answered, chuckling, “and I do not fancy the thought of something else between your legs.”
“Please, Edmund, I feel smothered,” she looked up at him with piteous eyes, and he relented at last. Taking his weight off her, he twisted to his side and pulled her along with him as the lay face to face. He curled her right thigh around his own pelvis. “Perhaps riding sidesaddle would be a better proposition?” He swallowed a smile as she tightened her hold around him, the position both familiar yet new.
Edmund set up a slow and gentle rhythm, trying to subdue himself in order to build up the need inside her, and his patience rewarded him soon as she began to buckle under him, panting and writhing, her breaths coming in short spurts as her body began to climb to a height she did not know she could ascend.
“Edmund, I love you,” she whimpered, as a flood of spasm began to overtake her senses. He moaned himself, feeling her tightness too much to bear, and began driving into her in earnest. He turned her on her back once more, coming into her much harder and much faster, pressing her thighs wide apart and deep into the mattress, as he finally flooded her insides with his thick warm fluids.
Fanny held him tightly against her chest feeling overwhelmed by his presence, as she tentatively kissed the perspiration that gathered on his brow.
“Will I get ever get used to this?” Fanny said, still quaking from the pleasing onslaught, as he held her still and pulled out of her body.
His hands toyed with her hair fondly. “Remember when I was so inconsiderate to deprive you of a horse, and you went without exercise for a week… the time will come when you will long for it, and I will be only so willing to perform for you. There are many things we can still learn together, my love.”
Fanny’s trembling in his arms disguised the slight flush of excitement she began to feel once more. “Aunt Bertram was only right to lend me that book,” she thought drowsily. “Whatever you wish, my love,” she said aloud, before falling into a light doze cradled in the protection of his arms and their bed. Sheltered in the heart of Thornton Lacey and secured in his affection and physical need, her long desires had come true at last.
Notes:
For examples of the pornographic drawings of T. Rowlandson, see Lawrence Stone’s amazing treatise on the era, “The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500-1800.” Rowlandson’s drawings date from the same time as Jane Austen’s life, making them temporal - but not stylistic - contemporaries.
There's a place for everything Jane Austen and room for intense Fanny Price bashing. Pemberly must be one of the best websites dedicated to one of my favorite dead authors. Unfortunately, due to their strict GP rating, I doubt if anyone from that community will read this story. I just lurk there sometimes.
At turns I find the character of Fanny Price amusing, pathetic, but still likeable. She’s a realistic literary creation because she’s a loser who makes most contemporary readers feel uncomfortable. I don’t think it’s her fault she was a victim of verbal and emotional abuse most of her life, rendering her incapable of defending herself. She’s the one Austen heroine no one else seems to like at all. In spirit, Fanny Price is closer to manga archetypes of the Tendo Kasumi and Sanjo Tsubame variety. Perhaps to readers only exposed to Western literature, especially hardcore feminists, there’s just too much to hate. She's exasperating but I have some sympathy for her, that's why I wrote this story -- I wanted her to get some long overdue lovin'.
First up from the backup bin: My Jane Austen fanfic, a little lemony epilogue to "Mansfield Park."
I know "Mansfield Park" must be the least liked of all Austen novels. It's not hilariously funny and satiric like "Northanger Abbey." It doesn't have the wit and romance of "Pride and Prejudice," or the sweet maturity of "Persuasion." Instead it has a spineless heroine who lets everyone step on her, and a prissy, morally uptight hero. The author moves heaven and earth just to ensure they end up together, but most readers come away feeling cheated.
Everyone except me, of course. I wrote a lemon for it. The main canon pairing, no less. The human imagination works in strange ways.
Even to myself, my reasons are not particularly clear. I just remember loving the book when I first read it -- perhaps in grade six -- perhaps too young to know any better. Years later, in college, I read a scathing analysis by one of my other idols, Edward W. Said, who used a few chapters within the book to present the economic stability of Mansfield Park as dependent on slave labor. If I remember the essay correctly, he made the book an example of colonial and cultural imperialism. I didn't pick up my copy of Mansfield Park for months after reading Said. I was too agitated.
Yet here I am, posting this. Much older now (not any wiser), I still love Said and I was thankful to read one of my favorite authors in a radical new light. And yet I still loved Austen because I picked up a lot of narrative technique and character development from her.
I have yet to reconcile the opposing forces of my literary influences. I doubt if I ever will -- so many of my favorite writers and critics would probably kill each other if they had to sit next to each other in heaven, or something.
Between Austen and Said, I know there is a giant leap between the two, and I simply cannot choose. But hey -- my old handle used to "vacillate" -- short for "vacillating middle class." Painfully subconscious of my own shortcomings, I am.
Enough rambling, here's there story.
Title: Consummation at Thornton Lacey
Summary: In which a well-worn volume hidden in Lady Bertram's sofa comes to light; Fanny Price is shocked by the illustrated proclivities of consenting adults; and strange talk of horses lead to the sexual awakening of a spineless prude.
Rating: NC-17 or X, definitely.
Genre: hentai, parody. Everyone's OOC.
Disclaimer: None necessary! Mwahahahaha. Jane Austen is already beyond the limits of copyright laws. That's why everyone's ripping her off without remorse.
Consummation at Thornton Lacey
On the morrow, Fanny Price was to be married to her cousin Edmund Bertram. Everything was arranged beautifully by Sir Thomas, as the man was determined that at least one honorable, lasting union would be held in his household during his lifetime. The coming marriage, sanctioned with his guidance, would give Sir Thomas credit and perhaps dim the neighborhood’s collective memory of the failed and hasty unions of his other children.
While certain members of the neighborhood openly rejoiced at such a foregone conclusion to the melodramatic events that occurred in the past twelvemonth, others more skeptical and modern could only conclude that there was something amiss in the baronet’s family, since the only temperate union it could achieve was of a marriage of cousins, and the bride known to most as the poor ward from Portsmouth.
It was for this reason Sir Thomas felt compelled to leave nothing to chance - Edmund’s friend Mr. Owen was engaged to read the service, Fanny’s trousseau was packed and secured, and the polishing of the silver was overseen by Susan.
Everything was going according to Sir Thomas’s exact plans, executed partly by Edmund, that Lady Bertram had no trouble at all except to hurry some needlework on her new pelisse.
Yet that good lady, perhaps with some slight remembrance of her own nuptial night, took it into her head that it was her obligation to enlighten her niece on some of the finer points of marriage that may not have been brought to her attention. This luckily occurred to Lady Bertram on Fanny’s final evening at Mansfield, just as Baddeley was clearing the tea-things and Susan left the drawing room, sent out expressly out of the room to fetch her work.
“Fanny, sit here beside pug. I have a small token for you,” Lady Bertram began, as she rummaged by the side of her sofa and pulled out a slim, well-worn edition. “You realize, of course, you must do whatever Edmund wishes once you are married. Obedience and fidelity are some of your virtues, Fanny. These virtues will be tried sorely in the days to come.”
Lady Bertram’s opening words were unexpected. Fanny grew alarmed despite being wholly unsuspicious regarding to the nature of her aunt’s insinuated musings. Unknown for exertion of any kind, her aunt’s sudden departure from habit aroused Fanny’s suspicions. What sort of advice was Lady Betram trying to impart to her?
“Yes, Ma’am,” Fanny answered hesitantly. “I greatly esteem Edmund, and give full credit to his merits. I wholly doubt whether he could ever try my patience even for an instant.”
Lady Bertram sighed. “Such innocence,” she remarked placidly. “I am happy that despite the goings-on in this household you have managed to maintain your composure, not to mention the fortitude of such goodness and purity, and not merely the appearance and manner of it. In any case, I hope I am not mistaken that you will need this little book. I was not as fortunate as yourself as to read it prior to my marriage with dear Sir Thomas.” Lady Bertram handed Fanny the book she held in her hands. “Consider this my personal gift to you, it would not please Sir Thomas to know that -”
The arrival of Susan left Lady Bertram’s last, mysterious sentence unfinished. Fanny murmured her thanks, her head bowed low. She scurried off to the East Room to peruse her unexpected gift in silence.
. . . . .
Fanny’s face reddened with shame upon the opening of the little volume. Lady Bertram was right, for once, to observe that Miss Lee might have left sex education out of the East Room curriculum. When she was much younger, her monthly flux was explained in terms of the Biblical curse and the duties of a good wife and mother were expounded upon with much frequency; exactly how one became a mother was a matter of ambiguity.
Fanny simply did not know what to make of the sketches of men and women in various stages of undress and fornication. Indeed, the little known masterpieces of T. Rowlandson that have never been seen by more innocent, naïve eyes. How Lady Bertram came into possession of such a lewd volume, and that it was kept well hidden under her sofa cushions all that time, is a mystery that Fanny’s mind could not penetrate.
Nor did the pictures or text make any sense to her, even if she grew increasingly embarrassed and flushed as she continued to leave through the pages. She was disgusted with herself; she very well knew she should put the volume down. Perhaps she should even throw it into the blazing fire. A decent, well-bred lady should not peruse such volumes, nor even acknowledge their existence! But it was a gift, she reminded herself; Lady Bertram meant well by it no matter how dubious a treasure it proved to be. If only she knew what she was supposed to do with it!
Showing it to Edmund crossed her mind, but he would question how she came into its custody. It was simply too incredible for him to believe his mother had simply handed her the book. Besides, he was a man of the cloth! Surely he would be shocked at such goings-on? No man of delicacy, great feeling and consideration would be interested in it; Fanny was almost violently positive about the veracity of that fact.
Fanny blushed once more, as she felt a strange heat rising in her as she continued to peruse the volume. She pulled herself together and shut the book with a brisk clap, just as a knock on the door introduced Edmund’s entrance into the room.
“Edmund!” Fanny cried out, scandalized. “You’re not supposed to see me until tomorrow…”
“My love, how can you believe in such old wives’ tales?” he answered, his eyes laughing as he knelt beside her chair. “We are no longer meant to observe such absurd ceremony. Ours is a marriage of love, not show; and I will not be countenanced by anachronistic conceits. I merely wished to see you before we are wed tomorrow, to give you this.”
Edmund leaned forward and kissed her passionately, his lips soft and full. It was not the first time he had kissed her, but its manner was quite different. Today he was more intense and moist. The kiss was a prelude, a gentle shower to the thunderous and stormy éclat of his love. Fanny was alarmed and pulled back. “Really, Edmund, I…”
He smiled, and let her go like the gentleman he was. “I cannot wait for tomorrow,” he said, making Fanny’s heart stand still, with equal parts of trepidation and excitement.
. . . . .
The wedding ceremony done with and the breakfast banquet over, there was nothing left except for silence and an odd tension Fanny couldn’t place. They had driven over to Thornton Lacey for the night, delaying the longer honeymoon journey for the morrow. They had planned a slow saunter through the Great Lakes, but Edmund had desired to spend the first day of their married life in his new home, not thrown into the company of strangers at an inn with few comforts and less privacy. Fanny was pleased by the arrangement, and had nothing to add on her behalf except for the wish she could take her sister along just as Maria had brought along Julia.
If only she could get over her apprehension of the event to come. She had conditioned herself not to think about it since there was still light. But Edmund… Edmund had other plans right after dinner.
“My dear, come with me upstairs, I have a surprise for you,” he said simply as he took her hand in his.
“Another surprise? What is it?” she asked, her spirit already trembling as he shut the door behind him.
“It is our marital bed,” he said, pulling her closer to him. “Do you like it?” A thick white canopy currently concealed the spacious piece of furniture in the well-appointed room newly papered and spotlessly prepared for her arrival.
“Uhm…” Fanny was speechless. What did a lady say when faced with this sort of situation?
Edmund held her tenderly for several minutes before he began pulling the pins out of her hair. “Do you know how much I love you?” he said quietly. “I want you so badly I cannot even wait for the cover of night.”
Edmund didn’t wait for her to respond, as he began the process of undressing her. While she showed him no resistance, she also showed him little cooperation… her mind was reeling from the touch of his hands on her. Her gloves, white gown, and simple undergarments were quickly discarded and his hands roamed freely across her now nude body. It was a circumstance she never considered before.
“Fanny, look at me.” Obediently, she slowly lifted her head and blushed hotly as he smiled with wicked delight at her obvious discomfort.
“I love you. You don’t have to be afraid…. Wasn’t I the one who taught you, directed you, and guided you in almost all branches of your education?” Edmund coaxed her, slowly stroking the length of her bare back. “This is but another stage in your learning, and I am the only one fit to be your instructor.”
“Really, it’s not that, I am…” Fanny was distraught. “I do not suppose it is proper for you to…”
“We are wedded, and there is no impropriety in the expression of our union,” Edmund wheedled her. “Let go of your fears and let me show you how much I love you.” He silenced her with his mouth, leisurely kissing her until she was breathless and aching. She still didn’t feel it proper she should feel so hot and needy, ladies mustn’t feel hot, but Edmund was making her feel so peculiar, with his hands straying down the length of her legs and holding her tightly by the waist.
They stood there, kissing deeply for what seemed like an eternity. When he began to feel her relax in his arms, her tense expression giving way to one of pleasure, Edmund began to flick his tongue gently inside her mouth and down her nape and cleavage. Without knowing what she was doing, she inexpertly began to pull off his cravat and jacket.
“So you were beginning to feel my clothes are a mutual nuisance?” he chuckled low as he peeled off his breeches and his shirt. Standing beside her unclothed and drawing her towards him, Fanny opened her eyes tentatively and ran her fingers down his chest. He groaned, and captured her mouth once more. He massaged her breasts gently, weighing them as if they were made of the most precious silk, before bringing their pointed tips into his mouth.
Fanny moaned, and instinctively rubbed her moistening core against his thigh. Edmund continued his happy assault on her breasts and stomach. She stood there, witless, as he kissed her bellybutton before rubbing his face rub against her softly heating skin. Before she could protest, his head was between her legs and he dipped his tongue onto the surface of her mound.
Her toes curled with the impact of his tongue. She had never felt anything like this before, she opened her eyes, watching his tousled hair between her shaking limbs, and she almost fainted with the warm, tingling sensations he was making her experience for the first time. Before she even realized it, he slipped a finger into her and she buckled at the onslaught of feeling.
“Edmund, what are you… doing to me?” she demanded breathlessly, as he slowly raised his head back to her face.
“Hasn’t it been clear to you?” he said breathlessly, caressing her core with a slight twist of his hips. “I’m trying to drive you mad. I want your total obedience and cooperation as we continue this course of action.”
“Most definitely,” she panted, as she became bold and instinctively ran her palms down his back, to cup his luscious buttocks in her small hands.
Edmund froze, and his expression became ecstatic. He lifted her up and parted the curtains of the bed, and laid her there gently.
Fanny laid there, her eyes peering at him from the veil of her eyelashes. He was a handsome man, and his well-molded features were never more appreciated than in that moment as he loomed over her, not as friend and cousin, but for the first time, as her lord and master. He wordlessly hitched his thumbs around her waist, tilting her pelvis towards him, as his knees strove to part her thighs wide enough to accommodate his presence between them.
“Edmund, I am uncertain…” he did not seem to hear as he continued to kiss her and plunge his finger inside her slickened pathway, sending delicious shivers of desire up her spine. “Does it please you?” he asked, cradling her head tenderly in his other hand. Unable to wait for a response, he pulled out his hand and lowered himself carefully into her body.
Fanny grew silent. She was shocked beyond belief. She could feel her new husband inside her, and the sensation made her burn up with a frenzy she could not name. “Edmund, to be fair, I don’t…” once more he ignored her gentle protestations and breathed heavily into her ear. “This may hurt you somewhat, I must apologize…” and slowly he pushed himself beyond the last barrier, and Fanny cried out in pain.
Who can be in doubt of what followed? Edmund waited for Fanny to relax around him once more, listening to the cadence of her breathing before making his next move. “Think of the first time you rode your mare,” he whispered. “It is not you adjusting to the center of the horse’s power, but the horse adjusting to your presence on his back. The rider and the beast need to adjust to the other before they can move in unison.”
“But you are not a mare, and I have never ridden bareback,” Fanny answered back, almost fretfully, as Edmund began to withdraw, only to plunge back in again. “No, I am not a mare,” he answered, chuckling, “and I do not fancy the thought of something else between your legs.”
“Please, Edmund, I feel smothered,” she looked up at him with piteous eyes, and he relented at last. Taking his weight off her, he twisted to his side and pulled her along with him as the lay face to face. He curled her right thigh around his own pelvis. “Perhaps riding sidesaddle would be a better proposition?” He swallowed a smile as she tightened her hold around him, the position both familiar yet new.
Edmund set up a slow and gentle rhythm, trying to subdue himself in order to build up the need inside her, and his patience rewarded him soon as she began to buckle under him, panting and writhing, her breaths coming in short spurts as her body began to climb to a height she did not know she could ascend.
“Edmund, I love you,” she whimpered, as a flood of spasm began to overtake her senses. He moaned himself, feeling her tightness too much to bear, and began driving into her in earnest. He turned her on her back once more, coming into her much harder and much faster, pressing her thighs wide apart and deep into the mattress, as he finally flooded her insides with his thick warm fluids.
Fanny held him tightly against her chest feeling overwhelmed by his presence, as she tentatively kissed the perspiration that gathered on his brow.
“Will I get ever get used to this?” Fanny said, still quaking from the pleasing onslaught, as he held her still and pulled out of her body.
His hands toyed with her hair fondly. “Remember when I was so inconsiderate to deprive you of a horse, and you went without exercise for a week… the time will come when you will long for it, and I will be only so willing to perform for you. There are many things we can still learn together, my love.”
Fanny’s trembling in his arms disguised the slight flush of excitement she began to feel once more. “Aunt Bertram was only right to lend me that book,” she thought drowsily. “Whatever you wish, my love,” she said aloud, before falling into a light doze cradled in the protection of his arms and their bed. Sheltered in the heart of Thornton Lacey and secured in his affection and physical need, her long desires had come true at last.
Notes:
For examples of the pornographic drawings of T. Rowlandson, see Lawrence Stone’s amazing treatise on the era, “The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500-1800.” Rowlandson’s drawings date from the same time as Jane Austen’s life, making them temporal - but not stylistic - contemporaries.
There's a place for everything Jane Austen and room for intense Fanny Price bashing. Pemberly must be one of the best websites dedicated to one of my favorite dead authors. Unfortunately, due to their strict GP rating, I doubt if anyone from that community will read this story. I just lurk there sometimes.
At turns I find the character of Fanny Price amusing, pathetic, but still likeable. She’s a realistic literary creation because she’s a loser who makes most contemporary readers feel uncomfortable. I don’t think it’s her fault she was a victim of verbal and emotional abuse most of her life, rendering her incapable of defending herself. She’s the one Austen heroine no one else seems to like at all. In spirit, Fanny Price is closer to manga archetypes of the Tendo Kasumi and Sanjo Tsubame variety. Perhaps to readers only exposed to Western literature, especially hardcore feminists, there’s just too much to hate. She's exasperating but I have some sympathy for her, that's why I wrote this story -- I wanted her to get some long overdue lovin'.