Let me send Clarissa

"Lucy, let me have you again," Edmund pleaded, his prick already stiff.

"Hush, Edmund," Lucy said, relishing her familiar use of his name. After years as Edmund's well-hammered prick-socket, mother of a bastard daughter, and upstairs maid, Lord Jeremy's bequest had placed Lucy as the equal of Jeremy's son Edmund and made Annie an heiress, next in line to the estate of Downs Edge.

It had also put Lucy in a position where any son of hers by Edmund would have a claim on Edmund and Clarissa's estate. Marrying Sabrina to a likely cousin would not do.

"Please, Lucy," Edmund said.

"Let me send Clarissa," Lucy said. "She will never forgive you if you've gotten a boy on me."

"But you could..." Edmund said.

"Never," Lucy said. "I would like a boy, I think," she said. "I'm sure Clarissa would as well." Lucy's fancy was tickled by the notion of Edmund plunging his prick into Clarissa, fresh and wet from Lucy's sex.

"Lucy?" Edmund said. "How could you..."

Lucy cut him off. "Stay. I shall tell her you need her here." She cleared her throat. "Cover, now," she added, indicating Edmund's naked prick, still yearning in her direction.

"How could you be so bold?" Edmund half-whispered.

Lucy was spirited, yes, but she had been careful never to cross Edmund. With his father's bequest today, his acknowledgment, this new Lucy had sprung forth as if from Jeremy's brow, wise and wilful, a Minerva that had been lurking inside the compliant maid who had never turned him away.

Lucy quit the WC and pulled the door to.

Edmund awkwardly covered up his prick, still stubbornly erect. He stood waiting in the glow of the electric discharge tube and a tiny measure of watery daylight from a window high on the wall but below proper street level.