Chapter Two

The next day Elizabeth took extra care with her toilette, to the point where Nell asked if she were perhaps to visit someone of special importance. Occasionally Elizabeth felt the need to remind Nell of her place. Such was the intimacy of their sexual relationship that it could all too easily lead to familiarity, which might then be noticed by others.

“Have I invited questions about my personal affairs?” she said, rather tartly.

“I am sorry, miss,” Nell said, suitably chastened, but inwardly resolved to assert her sexual dominance more strongly at their next encounter.

On her walk to the summer-house, Elizabeth pondered the nature of her task. How could she demonstrate to Bingley the manner in which Jane wished him to behave, when her own practice was always to hold the upper hand with men? It would be a severe test of her ability to dissemble. When she arrived at her destination Bingley was standing outside, his head in a book. He unlocked the door and bade her inside, locking the door again after them. It was a pretty room, tastefully decorated and well furnished, with a table and chairs and a chaise-longue. Mr Bingley invited her to sit, but she preferred to stand by the window, adopting a stance which she felt would be appealing, one hand at her side, the other resting on the window-sill. Mr Bingley took a seat on a chair opposite.

“There is no need for us to stand on ceremony, Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth said. “We both know why we have met here. I shall venture to give you a little instruction.”

“I see,” said Bingley, shifting in his seat and looking ill at ease. “I confess myself somewhat at a loss in how to behave, because your character is so different from Jane’s.”

“How so?”

“May I be frank?”

“I hope you will never be anything else, Mr Bingley.”

“It seems to me that she is the quintessence of virtue, demure and modest in every way.”

“Oh, she is,” said Elizabeth. “And I?”

“You, I am afraid, appear to me to be immodest almost to the point of wantonness, something unnatural in a woman.”

Elizabeth coloured. “I am not sure I care to be spoken of in such terms, sir.”

“No?” said Bingley. There was a disturbing note in his voice, almost one of insolence.

Elizabeth stared at him. He was making it increasingly difficult for her to perform as she had promised Jane, in such a manner as to encourage his taking the upper hand. She was more and more minded to put him in his place.

“Come here,” said Bingley suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?” said Elizabeth, taken aback by his abruptness.

“Come here,” he repeated. There was something in his voice that made it hard for her to refuse. Cautiously she edged towards him. When she drew near he reached out and grabbed her hand, then pulled her across his knees, face downwards. Elizabeth instinctively tried to struggle, and was about to cry out when Mr Bingley brought his hand down hard across her rump. Elizabeth squealed, more from outrage than pain.

“How dare you,” she cried, trying to stand upright. But Bingley had her in a firm grip. His hand struck her again. The blow was hard, stinging. It was followed by another, then another. Elizabeth wriggled and squirmed but could not escape.

“Why are you doing this, sir? This is an insult!” she exclaimed.

Mr Bingley said nothing but continued to spank her, then paused for a moment, but only so that he could lift her skirt right up to her waist. This was an even greater outrage. He recommenced spanking, and this time the blows fell with more force now that Elizabeth’s bottom was protected only by her thin silk drawers.

He paused, this time to speak, while maintaining a tigh