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The Adventures of
Frank & Jane Churchill
(the original Regency
fun couple!)
A Series of Drabbles
NOTE: These stories are Rated R;
they deal with adult subject matters and are intended for mature
audiences.
A
word first about these tales.
If you have already
read The Three Colonels, you know I enjoy mixing and matching
characters from all of Jane Austen's works. As I was writing
that story, I needed some filler and wanted something from Emma.
In my opinion, Emma is very thin as a source for a sequel; I
mean, where do you go from there? Either the other JA characters
will love Emma Knightley or hate her. So, I started thinking
about the other characters in the novel, which led me to Frank
Churchill and Jane Fairfax.
It occurred to
me that theirs was a very unusual relationship. Frank was engaged
to Jane for some time, but kept it secret from his disapproving
aunt. To complete the disguise, he paid attentions to Emma while
ignoring Jane as much as possible. It had to be humiliating to
Jane, yet she put up with it until almost the end of the novel,
when she forced things by intending to seek employment. Fortunately
for the couple, the old woman died, leaving Frank rich enough
to marry.
Frank, while
deceitful, was faithful to Jane, in his own way. He never tried
to win Emma's affections or tried to take advantage of any other
woman. He could not stop himself from secretly giving Jane a
pianoforte, to assure her of his affections. Once he had his
inheritance, he immediately announced his engagement to Jane.
It seems to me that JA meant for Frank and Jane to live happily
in the future. Yet, there was a steak of cruelty about his treatment
of his beloved.
So, who was Jane
Fairfax? Was she a doormat? I don't think George Knightley would
admire a pushover (Emma certainly isn't). Emma only grew to like
Jane once the girl could be open about her prospects. Jane was
certainly happy about marrying Frank.
Was Jane a submissive?
If she was, wouldn't Frank be a dominate? Were the Churchills
in a D/s relationship?
That was all
my evil muse needed. The results are below. Read them at your
own risk.
Barefoot at Enscombe
The bedroom was
in total darkness, save for a candle in each of the four corners.
She was restrained - spread-eagle - naked, save the collar about
her neck. Looking towards the foot of the bed she could see Him,
dressed in his usual immaculate coat and trousers - except his
shirt was undone and opened to his waist, his strong chest visible.
She licked her lips.
He spoke: "The
foot is very interesting. It holds one up all day, yet it is
one of the most sensitive parts of the body. We know, do we not,
that pleasure can give pain and pain pleasure. The foot can illustrate
this paradox quite well.
"For example,
this feather applied to the sole will tickle - a pleasant experience,
except when it goes on too long." He demonstrated.
"Now, when
I apply this crop to the same soles, the pain will be quite exquisite…
like so…"
As always he was
right, but it grew too intense. She was finally forced to use
the safe word: "ELTON!"
He stopped and rubbed
and kissed her red feet. "Shall I release you, my pet?"
asked Frank Churchill.
"No, Master
- I just need to catch my breath," answered his wife Jane
Churchill.
Knots
One silk cravat
was a luxury. Four was extravagant. To utilize them as they were
now being employed was beyond the thinking of most people. But
most people weren't the Churchills.
The figure was tied
spread-eagle across the bed, the light of the candles dancing
across naked skin. Special oils applied expertly gave the body
a most appealing aspect. Another figure was engaged in the ancient
dance of life upon the other; another's skin equally oiled. The
only sounds were those of bodies moving together until the ultimate
release was achieved. The two collapsed in exhaustion and delight,
allowing their senses to return to this world.
"You may speak
now, Jane," said Frank.
"Thank you,
darling."
"Was this agreeable
to you?" he asked as he applied the lightest of kisses upon
her fevered brow.
"Can you doubt
it? You are my loving Master - you know my desires better than
I."
"I labor to
anticipate. However, you seem a little… distracted."
She looked down.
"I… I was. Forgive me, Master."
"Playtime is
over. Tell me your concerns, love."
"F-Frank,"
she said, stumbling over his Christian name as she always did
(in her mind He was always Master), "may I ask something
of you?"
"Of course."
She hesitated. "It
seems I prefer being tied up rather than not. Please, can we
go back to the usual way next time?"
Desire I
Jane Churchill waited
impatiently in the drawing room of Enscombe, awaiting the return
of her husband. For five days He had been gone to London on business
- a time that seemed like years. She longed for her Master's
presence - she was growing distracted without it.
What good fortune
had allowed them to discover each other? Only at His hands could
she achieve release, experience ecstasy, be FREE. Was it not
strange that for her to be liberated she needed to be restrained?
That to feel loved she needed to feel punishment?
Their mutual trust
equaled their mutual desire. Was that not the highest level of
love? To give one's self over to another - totally?
Mrs. Churchill leapt
to her feet to walk about the room again. He was to return
today. In preparation she wore nothing under her dress - no shift,
no small clothes. She was ready for Him.
Was this waiting
never to end? Surely she was addicted to their games as any opium-eater
to his poison. But her obsession brought joy - and, perhaps,
one day…life.
Where was He?
Desire II
Frank Churchill
willed himself to relax. Screaming at the coachman would not
hurry his arrival at Enscombe. No - it would only kill his horses.
In his mind's eye
he saw his beautiful Jane, oiled skin glistening in the candlelight
as he prepared to take her. Her passions only betrayed by the
fire in her eyes.
He took a sip of
brandy to cool his nerves. Mustn't drink any more; it would
not do to disappoint my lovely pet.
No one of his acquaintance
could understand his life, had they been aware of it. Certainly
not Darcy with that imp of a wife of his. He knew the Darcys
disapproved of Jane's subservience, but they did not know who
was the true slave and who was the true master. Only Jane knew;
only Jane understood. Frank was totally addicted to his wife
and their games.
Their mutual trust
equaled their mutual desire. Was that not the highest level of
love? To give one's self over to another - totally? Her - her
body; and him - his soul?
A signpost passed
by. Only ten miles more to go.
Desire III
Mr. Churchill's
return to Enscombe was a rather sedate event, from all observed
indications. The servants only saw a quick peck on the cheek
for the Mistress. But it was all part of the game. Frank's hands
told him his wife was naked under her clothes. And the light
supper served indicated she was in the mood for play - one did
not engage in the games the Churchills preferred on a full stomach.
Soon they had retired
to their private apartments; there Mr. Churchill was welcomed
home far more passionately. "Oh, Master, how I have missed
you," Jane said after the addictive kiss. She turned and
the evidence of her desire could be made out if one looked closely
for the damp stain on the back of her dress. A couple of quick,
practiced movements; and her dress lay as a puddle at her feet.
She turned and Churchill's mind went blank.
"Do I please
you, Master?" Even with the choker, she was wearing less
than usual.
"H-how?"
"My new maid,
June, is handy with your razor, beloved Master."
Frank's first thought
was to throw himself down at her feet in thanksgiving - but that
would never do. There was a part to play.
"My
razor, pet? I do not recall any request to use my property."
She bowed her head.
"I have been naughty, Master."
"And what happens
to naughty pets?"
She bit her lip
to hide the grin that threatened to break out. "Shall I
assume the position, Master?" He nodded and she happily
climbed on the bed on all fours. "Your crop is on the nightstand,
Master."
"Yes. A round
dozen should do you, my pet."
Indeed it will!
Eye of the Beholder
Guests had come
to Enscombe, and the niceties must be paid. Jane Churchill sat
before her looking glass while her abigail, June, fussed about
her hair. June glanced at the mirror, taking in her Mistress'
lovely visage. Her dark hair done up in the latest fashion. Her
pale skin shown to best advantage with the smoky grey-blue gown.
And the ever-present collar about her neck.
June's thoughts
flashed back to that day, months ago, when the Mistress requested
a most unusual task requiring the Master's razor. June had been
told of the Churchills' proclivity for outlandish demands of
their servants when she first came to work there, but nothing
prepared her for the reality. Conjectures of the nature of their
intimate games were whispered below stairs; but loyalty, money
and fear kept the stories from traveling beyond the walls of
the estate.
June could not understand
it. The Mistress was lovely and accomplished. Why did she submit
to even half of the behaviors the Master was rumored to demand?
Oh, how you must suffer!
Jane Churchill sighed.
Frank's parents had come to stay for a month whole. They could
not, in good conscience, banish them to the far reaches of the
keep. And the walls, while thick, could not be completely soundproof.
There was nothing for it; no games for the next four weeks.
She glanced up at
her abigail. Oh, you do not know how I suffer!
Candles
It had been too
long since last they played.
They had shared
love, of course. Two passionate people such as Frank and Jane
Churchill could not go many days without loosing themselves in
lovemaking, even as pedestrian as they found regular intercourse.
It was satisfying… to a point.
Now Jane knelt in
his darkened bedroom, naked save for her ever-present collar,
light from a dozen candles dancing on her skin. He was before
her, fully clothed, tall and powerful, waiting to grant her release.
She could barely keep herself still; she could wait no longer.
"M-master…
may I?" she whispered. He nodded. Her hands flew to his
breaches and freed him. She stoked Him gently, reverently, worshiping
His manly beauty. Her tongue snaked out to touch the very tip.
"Excellent,
my pet," He growled. "Please me and I shall give you
a reward. I shall… give you a kiss."
With one quick movement
she swallowed Him.
Frank gasped with
pleasure, a single thought in his mind: Got to love a woman
with no gag reflex.
Downstairs at
Enscombe
McMillians had been
the butler at Enscombe for a little over one year. His predecessor
had been in the position for eleven, and had given him the following
advice when he turned the duty over to him:
Mr. Churchill
is a fair master, but he insists upon two things - loyalty and
privacy. His demands in both are absolute. Do as he asks and
you shall be rewarded well above your expectations. Fail him
and you will never work in England again. Do you accept this
bargain?
McMillians had accepted
and he had kept his word, and so had Mr. Churchill. In ten more
years McMillians could afford a quiet little place for himself.
But there was a cost. McMillians drank more whiskey than he did
before, if only to drown out the bits and pieces he overheard
between his master and mistress--
"Mr. McMillians!"
cried a maid who had a soft spot for him. "Drinking again?"
He eyed the comely
wench and in his mind's eye pictured her as he recalled the last
not-so-whispered request by the master to his wife: I want
you on your hands and knees; dress pulled above your waist--
"Cecily,"
he asked, "do you have your feather duster handy?"
The End
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