Sabrina's underdrawers

Lucy stared at the fugitive pair of underdrawers she had found in the folding bed of the young ladies' stateroom. She regarded them for a time before she finally brought them to her nose.

Sabrina. On heat.

Lucy's face flushed warm, faced with the fragrantly musky reminder that Sabrina and Annie were lovers in that wet, warm, physical way. Remembering the little rising song in Sabrina's voice as she reached her satisfaction, before Annie's darling little excited panting breaths and her squeal of release.

Lucy snapped the door latch and threw herself on the folding bed. Lifting her skirts and unfastening her drawers, she gave herself swift manual release, playing herself with urgent, clutching fingers until she reached her peak. At the crowning of her joys, the image that stayed with her like a cameo in silhouette, was Annie and Sabrina kissing before the window in the deserted observation gallery.

She wished Edmund could be here, once her lord, now her lover, to mount her and fuck it all out of her, her sadness to bid Annie goodbye, her fear for Annie in a school full of fancy rich girls, her worries for Sabrina's good character, and her perplexity at Clarissa pledging herself to Lucy as her bride, and Lucy as her lord.

But for all their sakes, Edmund would be putting his member up Clarissa as often, as ardently, and as spunkfully as possible.

Lucy held Sabrina's underdrawers up to her regard. The scent of Sabrina's cunt brought the heat up in her cheeks. It would be best to wash them. It would be madness to keep them as they were. But this evening, high in the air over France, the moaning of the propellor-motors of the airship faintly in her ears, she, so recently created Lady Downs, was not sure she was not mad.