Every issue, Brendan McDougall takes a classic literary text and fills it with graphic, explicit,
filthy, transgressive, don’t-show-your-grandma sexiness. Keep it under lock and key.
“I must confess I think her as the most boink-able creature as ever appeared in print.”
– Jane Austen on Elizabeth Bennet.
With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, Elizabeth opened the letter and, to her still increasing wonder, perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter paper, written right through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise full of a white sticky substance, presumably expelled from Darcy himself. It smelt strongly of ham, with hints of pineapple. Pursuing her way along the lane, feeling as though the morning air was blowing right up between her legs and vigorously licking her glistening pussy, she began to read. It went as follows:
“Be not alarmed Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers, which were last night so repulsive to you. I asked for your hand in matrimony, but I confess that this is not my true desire. Rather, I really only want to rest you, naked as a babe, against one of the many fountains in my famous Pemberley garden, and slide my long, aristocratic cock deep into
your witty, little butthole. So I reprise my offer, amended, to include, to put it more bluntly than I would have liked, a whole lot more anal sex.
“Before I continue to espouse the mutual virtues in this potential relationship, I must first address the two offences that you last night laid at my charge. The first being that I, without any regard for the poor man’s future happiness, utterly shafted the young Mr Wickham and ruined him in the eyes of the public. I confess to acting in such a way, but I did so not out of malice undue. Firstly the guy is a total dickbag to the point of caricature. Like, I don’t know if you heard, but he totally tried to manipulate my young sister to his whims. She’s also, like, underage, so obviously not on. I admit that I was, as can be imagined, super pissed off by this, but the true reason for my extraction of vengeance was that I experienced a great thunderclap of envy in my manly chest whenever I imagined the possibility that he would achieve the opportunity to stick you before I. In this, I acted selfishly, but only selfishly because I find you hotter than a KFC zinger burger procured on the sun. So I urge you to perhaps envision my digressions as a compliment.
“The second accusation was that I, split your sister and my good friend Mr Bingley apart, before he had the opportunity to split her. Again, my rationale was selfish, and I admit that my actions denied young Jane the good tromboning that is her due. The truth is that I did so to protect Mr Bingley and I’s long formed status as eskimo brothers. I feared that, if Bingley were to start getting his dick wet with your sister, then any chance of scoring a four-way that included your fine ass would be jeopardised. While I wasn’t sure whether you get off to that sort of shit, I decided that it wasn’t worth the risk of missing out on the chance of plunging your slit.
“I would like to conclude this letter by advising you of the aforementioned mutual benefits in this proposed tryst. When I think about you, I cum. When I was writing this letter I came all over myself, and then with my left hand scooped the jizz into the envelope as proof of my affections. In terms of what I can offer you in turn, my thrust is true and my member is as long and hard as iron. Such an ironic cock do I possess, that I am wont to leave my lovers magnetised after just a few minutes of porking. I admit that I am proud, obsessed with my own importance and in possession of basically no virtuous traits other than some murky definition of honour, but should you choose to share a bed with Bingley and I, then I can guarantee night after night of free and direct intercourse, the likes of which you shall find nowhere else in this green land.
Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.
P.S. I’m also quite rich, if that helps.”
Elizabeth, now positively wetter than the inside of a pufferfish, finished the letter with a sigh. It’s true what they say, she supposed—every man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a gobby—and besides she did love all that was long and ironic, and he did have a nice house. She decided, after meditating briefly upon the class structures of the time, and coming to the conclusion that she probably wasn’t going to cop a better offer, that she may as well just marry the proud bastard.