The Poison Pen

As Oscar Wilde so succinctly put it, "there is only one thing worse than being talked about and that is not being talked about." Fitzwilliam Darcy had a good reputation and therefore quite enjoyed being talked about. The Bennet's reputation was now, like their underwear, in tatters and therefore they weren’t terribly keen to be talked about at all. It soon became common knowledge that every female of child bearing age within the Bennet household was now pregnant with a bastard and Mr. Bennet was suffering from a chronic sore throat. It was therefore generally considered that all the Bennet's must be a thoroughly bad lot of ne'er-do-wells and definitely not the sort persons of any breeding should socialise with.

To a certain extent, this was true, for the Bennets could no longer be regarded as being the very model of a typical Georgian family. For instance, Elizabeth had fainted at one point during the ****'s incursion and regained consciousness to find a cock still inside her. It belonged to her father. "I....I'm so sorry, Elizabeth" he falteringly explained, "I....I......j..just....w..wanted t...to know w...what it f..f..felt like t..to b..be a m..m..man again."

"It's alright dearest father, pray continue to shag me. You might as well add your spermatozoa to the cocktail of jiz sloshing around inside me. You cannot damage me further and I find a gentleness in your fucking that was totally absent whilst I was being gang banged." With that, she gently stroked her contrite father's greying hair and wrapped her legs around him as, with a moan, a shudder and an intense feeling of blessed release, Mr Bennet voided his balls into the cunt if his most loyal and loving daughter.

"Oh Mr. Bennet, all our girls are up the duff. They'll never get husbands now. We'll be lumbered with them and their illegitimate sprogs for life now and **** to live in poverty" was now Mrs. Bennet's constant complaint.

Feather brained Lydia heard her mother's reference to living in poverty and tried to find it on a map. When she couldn’t, decided her mother must have meant Coventry instead, which didn't seem so bad. After all, Coventry boasted a statue of a naked woman on horse back and who wouldn’t want to live near to something like that!

The day after the raid, Elizabeth had commandeered her father's study and begun to write a novel. It was an ultra sensational novel about a monster of a man named Ditzfillion Larcy who live in a house called Wembury and kept his sister, Gorgonzola, as a sex ****. This anti-hero manipulated the lives of others and brought them low solely for the purpose of making himself appear superior to those those he so badly treated. With the aid of a close allie named Mr. Prickham, it was Larcy who organised the forcible insemination of an entire family of virtuous women. No publishing house would touch such a book, especially if it were written by a female author; so she self published under the name of Norman Nemesis. The book swiftly took on something of a cult status and circulated through genteel society like a the most delicious rumour ever. Soon everyone was reading it. Well, everyone who could read anyway. The descriptions of the characters in the book were so precisely detailed that who this supposed work of fiction was actually about became glaringly obvious to all those in the know and pretty soon, everyone knew. In no time at all, Mr. Darcy was being ostracised by the whole of polite society and a sizable chunk of rude society also. Suddenly, he detested being talked about with a vengeance and fled to the American colonies in an effort to avoid hearing the truth about himself.

Mr. Wycombe faired even worse, for he was selected to play at centre forward for the Duke of Wellington's team against a french side managed by Napoleon Bonaparte. He didn’t even survive the first half of the match for he was never at his best with early kick offs and the unfamiliar layout of the Waterloo Arena only added to his confusion. This is probably why he wandered so far off-side as to be trampled to **** by the horse of Prussian Cavalry Officer leading a charge down the right wing.

The Bennet's faired much better. Seen as innocent victims of evil, the nations sympathy was with them. Lady Catherine de Bourgh championed their cause and soon invitations to high profile functions were flooding in; (even from the Royal Court).

Eventually, the fuss settled down. The money Elizabeth made from the sale of her book set the family up for life. Mr. Bingley, appalled by the conduct of his former friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy, married Jane and adopted her bastard son so he'd be a bastard no more. They happily lived out their days at Netherfield Hall.

Mary married Mr. Collins who, due to Mr. Darcy fleeing the country, took possession of Pemberly. This they converted into a home for male orphans and though the screams of their charges could regularly be heard wafting across the immaculately kept gardens of an evening, it has to be admitted that the boys in their care were always very clean.

Lydia and Catherine ran off to London and became very successful courtesans; once they'd deposited their illegitimate offspring at the Collins's orphanage. True, Lydia's child had been a girl, but Mary kept her anyway - as someone for her own daughter to play mothers and mothers with.

Mr. & Mrs. Bennet remained together for only a short time before not having anything to worry about took its toll on Mrs. Bennet. She eventually ran off to join a circus, modelling tents.

Elizabeth and her daughter remained with her father. She continued to write successfully under her nom de plume as what she wrote was erotic filth, for which there’s always a market, hence CHYOA. Her stories were mainly about a man's incestuous relationship with his daughter and grandchild. Were they based on fact? We'll never know since Elizabeth's view on not being talked about was very different for that of Mr. Wilde's. In her humble opinion, not being talked about was not at all the worst thing that could happen; it was the very best!