Taking His Seed
By Ashley Rhodes
Copyright 2011 Ashley Rhodes
Smashwords Edition
“Miss Lisbeth! It’s time to wake up, you indolent girl! Honestly! It’s a quarter past ten already.” The voice forced its way through the warm fog of her sleep, and Lisbeth Frey sat up slowly, her normally lively emerald eyes blurred by sleep. Her auburn hair tumbled around her face in a disorganised but fetching mess, accentuating her youthful features.
She looked about her. Clemence, one of the maids, and her nanny since she was a little girl, was bustling around the room, having already drawn back the plush velvet drapes and opened the windows. Noticing the girl watching her, Clemence turned and said, “Your father has requested your presence, Lisbeth. Hurry along now, go and get yourself washed and dressed. You know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Lisbeth groaned, a loud and exaggerated sound. “Must I, Clemmy? It’s always so boring speaking to him, what with him harping on about my ‘responsibilities’ and ‘duties’.” The maid’s eyes softened a little as she said, “You’re eighteen years old now Lisbeth, a full grown woman. As heir to your father’s estate you will discover that those duties will only grow with time, so you may as well resign yourself to them. Now come on, let me help you get ready.”
She approached Lisbeth and drew back the covers. The young heiress was wearing a white cotton nightie, and Clemence reached over to help her pull it over her head. Lisbeth blushed and tried to wriggle away from her maid. “Clemmy! I can do it myself, for goodness’ sake!” “Don’t be silly girl; do you think you’ve got anything under there that I haven’t seen a thousand times before? Now get out of bed!” Lisbeth clambered slowly off the luxuriously soft bed, and allowed the older woman to pull the nightie over her head. Clemence noted with a mixture of maternal pride and a twinge of jealousy that the girl had developed quite the bosom within the last couple of years – large and round, pert nipples standing erect in the breeze that was entering through the open window. The small tuft of hair between her legs was both a sign of her maturity, and a reminder of how new it was.
Lisbeth squealed at the cold, and galloped over to her washroom, where Clemence had left a large bucket of steaming warm water. The maid ran her eyes down the girl’s body as she moved towards the washroom door, noting the soft swell of her buttocks. Some young lord, or perhaps a rich merchant, would be very happy with a prize such as this!
Nathaniel Frey reclined in a large, luxuriant red leather chair, smoking his pipe and perusing the day’s newspaper. He was sat in his drawing room, surrounded by artefacts of his family and his office. The dark mahogany panelling lent the room a sombre but dignified air, and Thomas Frey, one of his descendants, surveyed the room from a large portrait on the wall.
Nathaniel put down his newspaper and sighed in frustration. He rang the small bell he kept on his desk. Momentarily, Clemence opened the door and peered in. “Yes, Sir? Is it about Lisbeth? I’ve told her that she’s expected, I expect she won’t be but a few minutes now.” “See that it is only a few minutes!” he said peevishly. “Were it anybody but my own daughter, I would not suffer the indignity of waiting!” Clemence nodded nervously and closed the door behind her as she scurried off to chivvy Lisbeth along.
A few minutes later, Nathaniel peered over the rim of his spectacles as his daughter pushed the door to the drawing room open, a sullen look on her face as she approached her father’s desk and sat haphazardly in the chair waiting there. “Clemmy said you wanted to talk to me.” Her father glanced at the lavish grandfather clock to his side. “I’ve been waiting for you for over half an hour, Lisbeth. Why do you insist on trying my patience so? You’re a woman now; it’s time to start acting like it.” Lisbeth kept her eyes downcast, not meeting his gaze, and her face retained its sullen countenance.
As her father droned on about responsibilities, duties, social engagements, all those words she had learned to despise so much, Lisbeth let her mind wander. Recently, she had started to take notice of Ned, the boy whose job it was to tend to her father’s gardens. He was of an age with her, the son of one of the commoners who worked the fields on her father’s land. Most days he could be seen somewhere around the grounds, trimming, hefting, chopping, lugging. He had shaggy blonde hair, and his piercing blue eyes often met Lisbeth’s own in passing, as he offered her a supplicatory greeting. He often went shirtless in the heat of the summer, and Lisbeth had spent many a secretive moment stealing glances at his youthful body, hardened and honed by physical labour. She frequently fantasised about what waited beneath the thin cotton trousers he wore, had often imagined hungrily tugging them down to fondle his virile member……