Ending 9 (Martha)

The farewell dinner was louder than any evening before it.

Glasses were raised.

Old stories grew taller with every retelling.

The hunting party was ending exactly as Lord Ashcombe had hoped.

From where you stood behind Sir Edward, you caught sight of Martha carrying another tray from the kitchens.

As she passed, she met your eye for only a moment.

She tipped her head ever so slightly towards the service door.

You smiled.

You knew exactly what she meant.

A few minutes later, when Sir Edward became engrossed in conversation with Lord Ashcombe, you quietly slipped away.

The servants' corridors were almost empty.

You followed the familiar route towards the kitchens, expecting to find Martha somewhere nearby.

Instead you heard crying.

Quiet, broken sobs.

You rounded the corner.

Martha sat beside Emily on a wooden bench outside the stillroom.

Emily's face was buried in her hands.

Martha rested one arm firmly around her shoulders.

Neither of them noticed you immediately.

"It wasn't your fault," Martha said quietly.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

Emily shook her head.

"I should never have been alone."

"You were carrying wine. You weren't asking to be cornered."

Only then did Martha notice you standing a few paces away.

Her expression changed immediately.

Relief… followed by anger.

Not directed at you it seemed.

"Good."

She stood.

"You're here."

"What happened?"

Martha glanced towards Emily before answering.

"Blackwood. He followed her into one of the side corridors."

Emily wiped hurriedly at her eyes.

"He'd been drinking. I tried to leave. He wouldn't let me."

Her voice trembled.

"He grabbed my arm."

Your jaw tightened.

"What happened then?"

Martha folded her arms.

"I happened."

A fierce satisfaction crept into her voice.

"I walked around the corner just in time."

Emily looked up.

"If Martha hadn't..."

She couldn't finish the sentence.

Martha snorted.

"I've never seen a gentleman flee so quickly."

You frowned.

"What did you do?"

"I told him exactly what I thought of him. And when he still wouldn't move..."

A crooked grin appeared on Martha’s face.

"...I introduced his foot to the stable bucket."

Emily gave the faintest laugh through her tears.

"He slipped."

"He did. And somehow landed flat on his back."

Martha shrugged innocently.

"Terribly unfortunate."

The smile faded almost immediately.

"But he'll be angry."

She looked directly at you.

"And I don't trust him to leave it there."

Emily lowered her eyes again.

"I just wanted tonight to be over."

For a moment, none of you spoke.

Then Martha rested a reassuring hand upon Emily's shoulder once more.

"He's not going near you again."

She looked at you.

"Not if the two of us have anything to say about it."

Martha glanced towards the staircase that led to the guest chambers.

Then an idea seemed to strike her.

"Thomas's room."

You looked at her.

"What about it?"

"Well Blackwood won't be looking there tonight."

Emily frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Martha folded her arms.

"The gentlemen will be drinking port for another hour at least. And by the time Blackwood comes looking for you..."

She looked at you with a knowing grin.

"...the last place he’ll look is with the innocent valet."

You couldn't help smiling.

"You're making quite an assumption."

Her grin widened. Then she became serious again.

"The point is... No one will think to look for Emily there."

Emily looked uncertain.

"I can't just sleep in your room."

"You absolutely can." Martha said.

Martha shrugged and looked at you.

"Just this once. And if Blackwood starts wandering the corridors looking for you he'll never dare try Thomas's door."

Emily looked between the two of you.

"I don't want to cause trouble."

"You won't," you said. “I’ll sleep on the floor, no problem.”

Martha nodded firmly.

"And if Thomas is half the gentleman I think he is..."

Martha winked at you.

"...he'll understand."

Emily hesitated for another moment.

Then she gave the smallest nod.

"All right."

Martha smiled.

"Good."

She took Emily gently by the hand.

"You'll stay there tonight."

"I'll bring you some blankets, something to eat..."

"...and tomorrow morning, we'll work out what comes next."

Emily managed a faint smile.

"Thank you."

Martha squeezed her hand.

"That's what friends are for."

She looked towards you.

"And you..."

"...go and make sure nobody notices the two of us disappearing."

"I can manage that."

"I know you can."

For the first time since you'd found them, Emily's expression softened.

There was still fear in her eyes.

But she no longer stood alone.

You waited until the servants' corridors had settled once more before quietly making your way towards your own room.

The house remained alive with distant laughter from the farewell dinner, though it sounded strangely far away now.

You approached your own door hastily.

Then gave three soft knocks.

Martha opened the door just enough to reveal her figure standing inside with Emily beside her.

Emily had changed into a simple nightdress beneath a heavy shawl, while Martha still wore her work dress, though her apron had disappeared and several loose strands of auburn hair had escaped their pins.

"There," Martha whispered.

"I don't think anyone saw us."

You stepped inside.

Emily looked around the small room with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry to intrude."

"You aren't."

She nodded gratefully.

Martha closed the door behind her before checking the corridor one last time.

Satisfied, she turned back towards the two of you.

Martha smiled to herself.

"There."

"That's better."

Emily looked towards you.

"I still can't believe all this is happening."

"Neither can I."

She lowered her eyes.

"I've never been so frightened."

Martha stepped beside her and gently bumped her shoulder.

"But you're not alone now."

Emily nodded.

"No. I'm not."

Silence settled over the three of you.

Eventually Martha let out a long breath.

"Well..."

She glanced between you and Emily.

"I don't know about the pair of you..."

"...but I could use a drink after tonight."

Emily's cheeks flushed slightly at Martha's suggestion, and she glanced down at her hands. The small lamp beside the bed cast a warm, soft glow over the room. Emily looked at the single narrow bed and quickly looked away.

"I don't... I mean, Thomas, are you sure you don't mind sleeping on the floor? It hardly seems fair."

Martha let out a quiet laugh and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. She tilted her head at you with a glint in her eyes.

"Oh, don't you worry about him, Em. A proper gentleman, our Thomas. He'd sleep on the coal pile if it meant keeping a lady safe." She raised an eyebrow at you. "Wouldn't you?"

Before you can answer, Martha pushed herself off the wall with a purposeful stride. She drifted closer, her skirts brushing the worn floorboards. When she stopped before you, the quiet mischief in her eyes sharpened into something more deliberate—a slow spark of heat.

"Though," she murmurs, voice dipping lower, "I always thought... the floor's a rather cold place to be alone."

Martha's words hung in the air like a challenge, her gaze lingering on you with that familiar spark of mischief. Emily, oblivious to the undercurrent, pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and let out a shaky sigh.

"I just wish I could go home," she said softly, almost to herself. "But Father's already arranged everything with the Hendersons..."

Martha's attention snapped back to Emily, her expression softening. She settled onto the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her.

"Mr. Henderson?" she asked, her tone gentler now. "The one your father keeps going on about?"

Emily nodded, eyes fixed on the floor.

"He's... respectable. Steady. His family has money." She bit her lip. "He's also forty-seven years old and talks about his goats more than he talks to me."

Martha snorted.

"He sounds charming."

"Father says charm doesn't pay the bills."

"And he'd be right about that," Martha said with a crooked grin, "but I'd wager he's not in your dreams, is he?"

Emily's cheeks coloured. She glanced at you, then away, her fingers twisting in the edge of the shawl.

"I don't have dreams," she murmured. "I’m a respectable woman."

Martha let out a low, husky laugh that seemed to curl through the quiet room. She leaned forward, planting her elbows on her knees, and fixed Emily with a knowing look.

"Respectable women have dreams too, love. They just don't tell anyone about them."

Emily's blush deepened. She pulled the shawl closer, as if it might shield her from Martha's probing gaze.

"Perhaps," she said quietly, "some dreams are better left unspoken."

Martha tilted her head, her hazel eyes glittering in the lamplight. She reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of Emily's hair behind her ear—a gesture so tender it seemed to catch even Emily off guard.

"Or perhaps," Martha murmured, "you just haven't met the right person to share them with."

The words lingered. Emily looked up, meeting Martha's gaze. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them. Her shawl slipped slightly, revealing the pale curve of her shoulder.

"What about you, Martha?" Emily asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you have dreams you keep hidden?"

Martha's smile turned softer, more thoughtful. She glanced at you before answering.

"I dream of a warm kitchen and an even warmer bed—and someone who knows the difference between work and a gentle touch." She looked back at Emily, her gaze dropping for just a moment. "I dream of being wanted, not just useful."

The words settled heavily in the air. Emily opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came. Her pulse was visible in the hollow of her throat, quickening beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress.

"I think," Emily began, her voice catching, "I think everyone wants that. To be wanted."

Martha leaned in, close enough that her breath ghosted across Emily's cheek. Her lips hovered near her ear, her voice a velvet whisper.

"And someone in this room wants us."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken things. Emily's hands trembled slightly, and she laced her fingers together to still them. The lamplight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the three of you.

Then Martha pulled back just enough to meet Emily's eyes, her expression soft but serious.

"Tell me, love..." she said quietly. "If tonight had gone differently—if Blackwood hadn't found you—would you be lying awake right now, thinking about what you truly want?"

Emily’s breath caught, her cheeks flushing as she looked between you and Martha. She opened her mouth, but no words came—only a faint, breathless sound that betrayed her nervousness.

“I… I don’t…” she stammered, clutching the shawl tighter.

Martha turned to you, a slow, deliberate smile curving her lips. Her hazel eyes glittered in the lamplight, unreadable but warm.

“You see, Thomas,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “our dear Emily is too polite to reach for what she wants. Too proper. Too afraid of what the world might think.”

She stepped closer to you, closing the distance until the worn cotton of her dress brushed against your shirt. The scent of woodsmoke and soap clung to her skin.

“But I’m not afraid.”

And then she kissed you.

Her lips met yours with a gentle but firm pressure, tasting faintly of the mulled wine she must have stolen from the kitchen. Her hand came up to rest on your chest, fingers curling into the fabric as she drew you closer. The kiss deepened for a moment—warm, unhurried, full of quiet hunger—before she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

Her grin was wicked, but her gaze was soft.

“There,” she murmured. “Now Emily knows what she’s missing.”

Martha’s grin softened as she looked back at Emily, her hand still resting against your chest. She beckoned with her free hand, a gentle curl of her fingers.

“Come here, love,” she said softly, her voice a husky murmur. “You’re not alone in this.”

Emily’s eyes widened. She took a half-step back, shaking her head.

“Martha, I… I can’t. I’m not… I’m not like that.”

Martha tilted her head, a knowing look on her face. She withdrew her hand from your chest and crossed the small distance to Emily instead, moving like she had all the time in the world. She reached out and gently tucked the stray strand of blonde hair behind Emily’s ear once more.

“You’re not like what?” she asked. “Wanting to feel wanted? To be touched by someone who looks at you like you matter?”

Emily’s lip trembled.

“I’m… I’m meant to marry Mr. Henderson.”

“Marriage don’t stop you from knowing what your heart craves,” Martha said simply, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “And if there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s a girl who doesn’t give herself a chance to feel.” Her thumb brushed along Emily’s jaw. “You’ve been taking care of everyone else your whole life, haven’t you?”

Emily’s eyes glistened.

“Yes.”

Martha smiled.

“Then let us take care of you tonight.” She turned to you, still holding Emily’s gaze but including you in her quiet invitation. “Just once. No one’s watching. No one’s judging. We’re just three people, hiding from the world.”

Emily’s breathing quickened. She looked at you—properly looked at you, her green eyes searching yours for reassurance. Slowly, hesitantly, she swallowed.

“…You promise you won’t think less of me?”

Martha turned to you, her grin resurfacing with a wink.

“Tell her, Thomas.”

“No… of course not”, you murmured.

Martha turned to you, her grin softening into something warmer—something genuine. She nudged Emily gently with her elbow.

“See? What did I tell you?” She looked at you, a hint of pride in her eyes. “A proper gentleman. And a good one, too.”

Emily let out a shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. She looked up at you from beneath her lashes, a faint, tentative smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Thank you, Thomas,” she whispered. “For everything.”

Martha stepped back, giving Emily a moment of space. She moved toward the small table by the bed and picked up the candle stub, lighting it from the lamp before turning back to face the two of you. The flickering flame cast dancing shadows across her face.

“Alright then,” she said, her voice dropping into something softer. “No more hiding.”

She set the candle down and turned her gaze on Emily, then you. Her eyes glimmered with quiet heat.

“We’re all here because we trust each other. So let’s stop pretending we don’t feel what we feel.”

Emily’s cheeks flushed again, but this time she didn’t look away. Her fingers loosened their grip on the shawl, letting it slip just slightly off one shoulder.

“What… what happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a breath.

Martha stepped closer to you, her hand finding yours. She wove her fingers through yours, warm and sure. Then she looked at Emily, her gaze steady.

“Now, we let tonight be ours.” She turned to you, tilting her head. “If you’ll have us.”

Martha pulled you closer to kiss Emily, and it was as though she had been waiting a hundred lifetimes for the touch of your lips. It was gentle at first, a trembling meeting of flesh that tasted of uncertainty and quiet longing, before a slowly kindling fire began to bleed through. Her fingers sought the fabric of your shirt, clutching it tight as if you were the only solid thing in a tilting world, and a soft sound—something between a sigh and a whimper—escaped her throat as she melted into you.

Martha watched from a few feet away, arms folded, a slow smile curving her lips. The lamplight caught the glint in her hazel eyes—part approval, part hunger.

"There we go," she murmured, more to herself than to either of you. "That's it."

Emily broke the kiss after a long moment, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes—those green eyes—were wide with wonder.

"I..." she started, then stopped, shaking her head. "I've never—"

"I know." Martha moved closer, her voice softening. "You did beautifully."

She reached out and gently took Emily's hand, turning it over in her own, running her thumb across her palm.

"You deserve this, Em. To be kissed. To be touched. To be wanted."

Emily's lower lip trembled, but her eyes stayed fixed on yours, searching for reassurance.

"Thomas," she whispered. "Is this—is this all right? You don't have to—"

Martha raised an eyebrow at you, waiting. The candle flickered, casting shifting shadows across her auburn hair.

You met Emily's gaze, and the weight of her question hung in the air between you like the last note of a song. Slowly, deliberately, you turned to Martha. Her arms were still folded, but the challenge in her eyes had softened into something more like expectation. Without a word, you reached out and took hold of the laces at the back of her dress.

Martha let out a low, breathy laugh, her lips parting in surprise and delight.

"Well now," she murmured, her voice a husky whisper. "I was wondering when you'd get to that."

Her dress loosened, and she shrugged it down her shoulders with an easy, practiced movement, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of dark wool. Beneath it, her shift was simple and thin, and the candlelight showed the outline of her curves through the fabric. She stepped forward, barefoot now, her hands finding your chest once more—this time with purpose.

"You were right, you know," she said softly, her breath warm against your lips. "A proper gentleman..."

She leaned in, brushing her mouth against yours in a kiss that was slower, deeper, and hungrier than the first.

"...but not so proper he doesn't know what he wants."

Behind her, Emily watched with wide eyes, her fingers curling into the edges of her shawl as if she might need something to hold onto. Martha noticed, and she pulled back just enough to glance over her shoulder at her.

"Come here, love," she said, her voice gentle again. "He's got enough warmth for both of us."

Martha’s attention had not left Emily. She stretched out a hand, palm open, inviting Emily closer from the pool of shadow near the bed.

“Your turn,” she said, her voice a low murmur. “No one’s rushing you.”

Emily’s breath fluttered. She took a hesitant step forward, then another, her eyes fixed on Martha’s open hand. Her fingers met Martha’s, and she let herself be drawn in—standing now between the two of you, the shawl slipping a little further off one shoulder. She looked down at her own hands, shy.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted quietly. “I never learned... any of this.”

Martha brushed her knuckles along Emily’s cheek, tilting her face up.

“You don’t need to know anything. Just feel.”

Emily glanced over at you, searching for reassurance.

“Stay close?”

Martha drew Emily’s hand to your chest, placing it flat against the fabric of your shirt, feeling the steady beat beneath.

“He’s right here,” she whispered. “We both are.”

Slowly, Martha reached for the ties at Emily’s nightdress. Martha worked them loose one by one, careful and unhurried. When the thin cotton fell from Emily’s shoulders, she drew in a sharp, surprised breath, but she did not stop.

“It’s all right,” Martha murmured. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Emily’s eyes fluttered closed, her lips parting.

The nightdress slipped from Emily's shoulders and pooled at her feet like a whisper of surrender. She stood there, trembling, her arms half-raised as if to cover herself before she let them fall, her gaze fixed somewhere between your chest and the floor.

Martha let out a soft, reverent sound.

"Look at you," she murmured. "Like a painting. Like something out of a dream."

Emily's blush deepened, spreading down her neck to the tops of her breasts, but she didn't shy away. Instead, she met Martha's eyes, then yours, and something in her expression shifted—fear melting into a fragile, uncertain trust.

"Don't... don't stop looking at me," she whispered. "Please."

Martha stepped forward, her hand trailing down Emily's bare shoulder, across the delicate curve of her collarbone, before resting just above her heart. Her lips brushed Emily's cheek, her jaw, then hovered at the corner of her mouth.

"We're not going anywhere," she breathed. "Neither of us."

Then Martha turned to you, her eyes dark and gleaming, and gave you a slow, knowing smile.

"Come here, Thomas. A girl like this deserves to be adored."

She stepped back slightly, her fingers still ghosting over Emily's skin, creating a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Emily looked up at you, her lips parted, her eyes bright.

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you and Emily. Martha's fingers found the laces of your trousers while her lips trailed down your neck. She worked them loose with practiced ease, her knuckles brushing against your hips as she knelt, pulling the fabric down. She looked up at you, hazel eyes dark and half-lidded as she pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. A slow, wicked smile curled at the corner of her mouth before she rose, wrapping her fingers around the length of you.

"Look how ready he is," she murmured, her gaze flicking between you and Emily, as she took you in her hand. "This is for us, love. All of it."

Emily watched, her breath hitching as her fingers trailed uncertainly down her own belly. Martha brought her free hand to Emily's cheek, her thumb tracing the flushed skin.

"Don't just watch," Martha whispered, turning Emily's face toward yours. "Feel. Let him feel how much you want this."

Martha raised your chin gently, urging you to meet her gaze before she leaned in and captured your mouth in a deep, searching kiss, while her hand still held you close to Emily.

When the two women kneeled down in front of you, you knew that the sight of them before you was something you’d remember. Emily was hesitant, her green eyes flickering between you and Martha, seeking guidance. Martha simply gave her a reassuring smile and a gentle nod before she leaned in.

Martha’s lips parted as she took you into her mouth, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside, curling just enough to make you draw a sharp breath. She was thorough, methodical in the way a good servant does things—but the heat in her eyes was no duty. Emily watched, her hands fidgeting in her lap, before she shyly leaned forward and pressed a soft, uncertain kiss against your hip. Martha paused long enough to guide her.

“It’s alright, love,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “Just like this. Gentle.”

Emily’s lips parted and she followed Martha’s example—clumsier, sweeter, her breath hitching. Martha’s soft chuckle vibrated against your skin as she shifted, guiding Emily until both women shared the same rhythm.

After a moment, Martha drew back entirely, her lips slick and shining, and looked down at Emily.

“You’re a natural,” she said.

Then she lowered herself onto the floor, lying flat on her back before she tugged at Emily’s hips. Emily made a small, startled sound as she tumbled forward, her thighs straddling Martha’s face as Martha's hands clamped onto her waist. Martha wasted no time, burying her mouth between Emily’s thighs, and Emily's eyes flew wide. She gasped, a shuddering, breathless cry that caught in her throat as her hands scrabbled for purchase on the floorboards.*

"Martha—!" she whimpered, her fingers digging into the wood.

Martha’s response was a low, pleased hum against her, and Emily bucked involuntarily. She pressed her thighs tighter around Martha’s head, her head falling forward, her tangled blonde hair framing her flushed, dazed face.

"I... I can't..." Emily gasped, and her gaze darted up to you, still kneeling in front of you. Her lips were swollen from earlier, her chest heaving. "Thomas... please... I need..."

You stepped closer, and Emily's eyes widened as she realized your intent. She opened her mouth, her breath hitching, and you pressed forward—not roughly, but with a firm, steady pressure that left no room for hesitation. Her lips stretched around you, her eyes watering as she took you in, her inexperience written in the trembling of her jaw.

Below her, Martha's muffled laughter vibrated against Emily's pussy, making her shudder around you. Martha's hands gripped Emily's hips, steadying her as she squirmed. Martha pulled her mouth away just enough to murmur, her voice thick and warm, "That's it, love. Take him. You're doing so well."

Emily's eyes fluttered closed, and she began to move—clumsy, unpracticed, but earnest. Her tongue curled and her cheeks hollowed, and the sounds she made were muffled, wet, desperate. Her fingers found your thighs, gripping you for balance as she learned.

Martha hummed, returning to her work with renewed vigor. Her tongue was precise, pressing flat against Emily's clit, sliding lower, curling inside her. Emily whimpered, muffled around you, and her rhythm broke. Her hips bucked against Martha's mouth, grinding, seeking.

She pulled off just long enough to gasp, "Please—I'm close, I'm going to—"

Martha smiled against her, wicked and knowing, as she sucked hard. Emily cried out—a high, thin sound—and came undone. Her body seized, her thighs clamping around Martha's head as her climax tore through her.

You felt her mouth tighten around you, her tongue still working in desperate, uncoordinated strokes before you. Her body seized around you, her hips grinding down against Martha's mouth as she came. Her throat worked, struggling before her lips released you. She slumped forward, trembling, her forehead resting against your thigh.

Martha guided you both towards the bed. Emily's trembling body pressed into the mattress, her breath still coming in shudders as Martha guided her down onto the pillow. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and searching, finding yours as Martha held her.

"Look at her, Thomas," Martha murmured, settling her hips over Emily's face. "So beautiful. So ready."

Martha leaned down, her breasts brushing against Emily's stomach, and guided you forward with a knowing look. Martha gripped your cock and guided it towards Emily’s awaiting opening. You felt the warmth of Emily's core before the first push, and she gasped, her fingers curling into the sheets.

"...carefully," Martha whispered. "Slow. Let her feel all of you."

You pressed forward, inch by inch, and Emily's eyes widened. Her lips parted, thighs trembling as her body adjusted to the sensation of being filled. Martha guided her hips with her hands, then leaned down to press a kiss to her breast, murmuring praise. "There. Just like that, love. Take all of him."

When you began to move, the rhythm was unhurried, deliberate. Martha sat up and positioned herself over Emily’s face, sliding her hips forward along Emily's tongue, teasing and testing her before sinking down. And Emily, trembling with both pleasure and need, pressed upward, her hands gripping Martha's thighs. The sounds of the three of you—soft gasps, wet heat, and creaking bedframe—swirled together in the dim candlelight.

The rhythm built, and Martha's fingers found your chest, trailing down as she urged you deeper. "Don't hold back," she breathed. "Feel her. She's ours. This night is ours. No rules."

You met Emily's eyes, glassy and shimmering, and she reached up—her hand finding the back of your neck, pulling you down, her lips brushing yours in a raw, breathless kiss that tasted of Martha.

The night fell into a rhythm. You both took Emily together, Martha guided your cock between Emily's thighs as you filled her.

For the second time that night Emily was close to her peak, Emily reached for the both of you without hesitation, her voice still trembling but her fingers finding your chest and Martha's hip.

Martha continued to ride Emily's face, grinding her hips down as her thighs trembled. She let out a cry that was equal parts exhaustion and ecstasy, and then her body seized. A rush of warmth poured from her, slicking over Emily's mouth and cheeks, dripping down to the sheets.

Emily surfaced, gasping, her face glistening as her tongue lapped at the moisture coating her lips. She breathed out, reaching up to pull Martha down into a deep, breathless kiss. The candlelight, low, flickered across the sweat-sheened arches of Martha's back as she crawled toward you, resting with her face just above Emily’s opening and your cock.

Your rhythm faltered, your body tensing as the pressure crested. With a low groan, you pulled out just in time, your release spilling hot and thick across Emily's folds, before a final pulse caught Martha's cheek. Martha laughed softly, wiping a streak from her eyebrow with her thumb and bringing it to her lips. She held your gaze as she tasted it.

"Now that's a proper finish," she murmured, her voice husky and warm.

Emily lay breathless beneath her, her chest rising and falling, her skin glistening with the combined remnants of the night's pleasures. A stray ribbon of your release traced across her lower belly, and she looked down at it with a dazed, wondering expression before glancing up at you.

"I didn't know there would be... so much," she whispered, a shy smile touching her lips.

Martha, still crouched over her, reached down and dipped two fingers into the warm fluid on Emily's stomach. She lifted them, slowly parting them to show the glistening strands that connected her fingertips.

“I'll need to clean her up," she said, her eyes glinting. "Unless you'd rather have a taste."

Martha’s smirk deepened. She ran two fingers slowly through the mess on Emily’s belly and pussy, gathering a glistening trail before lifting them. Her gaze flicked between you and Emily, a question burning in her hazel eyes. Emily watched, wide-eyed and breathless, her lips parted. But then Martha seemed to reconsider.

“Maybe another night,” she said softly, her voice still thick with pleasure. “You’ve earned a little rest first.”

She lay her fingers gently against Emily’s stomach, spreading the cum across her skin like a balm before she leaned down to press a tender kiss to Emily’s forehead. With a few swift movements she tidied them, washing the mess clean with a damp cloth.

Once she was done, Martha lay between you and Emily, pulling the single thin blanket up over the three of you. Emily nestled against her, her head resting on Martha’s shoulder, her hand reaching across to find yours.

“Thank you,” Emily whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet. “Both of you. I haven’t felt this safe in years.”

Martha wrapped an arm around her and extended a hand for you to hold.

The candle burned low, then sputtered out. In the dark, the silence was filled only by the sound of three slow heartbeats drifting into sleep

MORNING [DAY 5]

Morning light crept through the narrow window, pale and grey. The house was still quiet—only the distant clatter of the kitchens stirring below. On the thin mattress, the three of you had shifted in the night: Emily now curled against your side, her head resting on your shoulder, one hand splayed across your chest. Martha lay on her back, the blanket pooled around her waist, her auburn hair strewn across the pillow.

Martha’s eyes opened first. She blinked, drowsy, then a slow smile spread across her face as she took in the sight of Emily pressed against you. She propped herself up on one elbow, watching the two of you with a look of quiet satisfaction.

“Well, now,” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “That’s a picture I could get used to.”

She reached across, her fingers brushing lightly over your stomach, just above the blanket. Emily stirred, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn’t wake. Martha’s grin widened.

“She’s worn out. Good.” She leaned over, pressing a kiss to Emily’s hair, then turned her attention to you, hazel eyes bright and hungry. “But I’m wide awake.”

Her hand slid lower, beneath the blanket, finding you already half-hard. She hummed approvingly.

“And it seems you are too.”

Martha's fingers curled around you, stroking slowly, deliberately, until you were fully hard beneath the blanket. She gave a low, satisfied hum, then shifted—throwing one leg over your hips, straddling you with the sheet pooling around her waist. Her breasts swayed as she positioned herself, and she held your gaze as she sank down onto you with a slow, breathy sigh.

"Oh..." she breathed, her eyes fluttering half-closed. "That's... that's better."

Emily stirred beside you, her cheek still pressed to your shoulder. Her lashes fluttered, and she blinked awake, her gaze hazy. She watched the two of you for a moment, her eyes tracing the curve of Martha's back, the slow rise and fall of her hips. A soft blush spread across her cheeks.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice sleep-roughened. "You two... started without me."

Martha let out a husky laugh, her rhythm faltering slightly as she glanced down at Emily. "Sorry, love. I just had to try as well."

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of your head, and began to move with more purpose—a slow, grinding roll of her hips that drew a low groan from you. She angled her hips deliberately, rocking back and forth, making sure you hit deep.

The soft creak of the bedframe became a steady rhythm as Martha rode you, her movements unhurried but deliberate. Emily shifted beneath the blanket, pulling it up to her chin but watching over the edge, her eyes fixed on where your bodies joined. Her breathing quickened, her hand slipping beneath the covers.

"Does it feel good?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Martha turned, a bead of sweat tracing down her temple. "Oh... you have no idea," she breathed. "He fills me so well, Em. Feels like—like he's reaching all the way to my heart..."

Emily's lips parted, a soft, quiet moan escaping her. Her fingers moved faster beneath the blanket as she kept watching, entranced. Martha bit her lip, leaning back, planting her hands on your thighs to take you deeper.

The pace quickened.

Martha's thighs trembled, her breath coming in sharp gasps, punctuated by the wet, sticky sounds. She reached a trembling hand down, pressing her fingers against her own clit. She was chasing her release.

She leaned down, her lips brushing your ear. "Fill me, Thomas," she whispered. "When you're ready... don't hold back. I want to feel you spill into me."

Martha's rhythm grew frantic, her nails digging into your shoulders as she chased her release. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her inner walls beginning to flutter.

"I'm—Thomas—I'm close—" she panted, her head falling back, hair damp against her neck.

Beneath the blanket, Emily's hand quickened too, her eyes wide as she watched the two of you. She couldn't look away. Her own soft, breathy whimpers joined the rhythm.

You could feel Martha's fluttering walls pulsing around you, gripping, drawing you in deeper. She was beautiful like this—wild and undone, teeth biting her lip as she pushed harder. Her whole body tensed.

"Now," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Come inside me, love... I want to feel it... I want—"

She broke off with a sharp, keening cry as her body convulsed around you, clenching tight. The sensation—her pulsing, writhing, grasping—was too much. With a low groan, you surrendered, spilling deep inside her with a warmth that sent shudders rippling through both of you.

Martha collapsed forward onto your chest, breathless and trembling. For a long moment, neither of you moved—only the sound of gasping breaths filling the room.

Beside you, Emily stirred. Her hand emerged from beneath the blanket, and she pressed it to her own fluttering stomach.

Martha lifted her head, grinning lazily. "That good, was it?"

Martha lifted her head, a lazy grin spreading across her flushed face. She eased off you slowly, a slick warmth trailing down her inner thigh as she settled onto the mattress beside you. Emily, still curled beneath the blanket, reached out and placed her hand on Martha's damp hip.

"You two..." Emily murmured, her voice soft with wonder. "You looked beautiful together."

Martha laughed, breathless, and turned her head to press a kiss to Emily's shoulder. "And you look beautiful watching." She traced a finger down Emily's arm.

A faint blush crept across Emily's cheeks. She bit her lip, but before she could answer, a distant clatter sounded from below—the kitchen staff stirring, pans and pots being readied for the morning meal.

Martha's eyes flicked toward the window. The grey light had brightened, growing warm and golden.

"We should move," she said quietly. "Before the whole house wakes."

She slid off the bed, her bare feet padding across the worn floorboards. She gathered her shift and dress from where they'd fallen, pulling them on with practiced speed. Emily did the same, her movements more hesitant, fumbling with the ties of her stays. Martha stepped behind her, deftly lacing her up with gentle fingers.

"There."

"Coast is clear. I'll go first, and you follow a few minutes after, Thomas."

She slipped through the door and disappeared.

You dressed, gathered your belongings and made your way downstairs.

Kingsmere Hall had already begun saying its farewells.

Carriages stood ready in the courtyard.

Servants hurried between guests collecting the last travelling cases.

As you crossed the servants' yard, two familiar faces emerged from the kitchens.

Emily smiled the moment she saw you.

Martha smirked.

"Morning."

"Morning."

Emily glanced around to make certain nobody was paying attention.

"I hope you slept well."

Martha laughed.

"I know he didn't."

Emily's cheeks immediately reddened.

"Martha..."

"What? I'm only stating the obvious."

She folded her arms.

"It wasn't exactly a large bed he had."

Emily covered her face for a moment.

"You promised you weren't going to tease me."

"I promised no such thing."

Martha grinned.

"And besides..."

She looked at you.

"...I'm rather proud of the memories we made."

Emily couldn't help laughing despite herself.

"You really are impossible."

"So I've been told."

For a few precious moments, the three of you stood together.

Eventually, the coachman called for Sir Edward's luggage.

Your smile faded ever so slightly.

"I suppose it's time."

Emily nodded.

"I suppose it is."

Martha slipped something small into your hand.

You looked down.

It was the ribbon that had been holding back her hair.

"A souvenir."

She shrugged.

"So you don't forget my face."

"I don't think that was ever likely."

"I know."

She smiled warmly.

"But now you've got no excuse. You have to come back next year and return it."

Emily stepped forward before shyness could stop her.

She wrapped her arms gently around you.

"Thank you."

"For everything."

You held her close for a moment.

"You'll both be all right?"

Martha answered before Emily could.

"We've survived worse."

She tilted her head.

"And next year we won't have to spend half the week beating around the bush."

Emily looked down with a shy smile.

"I'd like that."

"So would I." said Martha

A familiar voice carried across the courtyard.

"Thomas."

Sir Edward stood beside the waiting carriage, already dressed for the journey home.

"The horses are ready."

"I'll be right there, sir."

You turned back towards the two women.

Neither of them looked particularly eager to say goodbye.

Martha solved the problem first.

She stepped forward, kissed you quickly, then gently pushed you towards the carriage.

"Go on."

"If Harrington has to come and fetch you himself, he'll never let you hear the end of it."

Emily smiled.

"We'll see you next year."

"You have my word."

Martha folded her arms.

"You'd better. Because if you don't come back..."

She grinned mischievously.

"...I'll have to ride all the way to Harrington Manor and drag you back myself."

"I've no doubt you would."

She laughed.

"Damn right."

With one final look at both of them, you crossed the courtyard and climbed into the carriage beside Sir Edward.

As the horses started forward, Edward glanced towards the kitchens where Martha and Emily still stood watching.

"They seem rather fond of you."

You smiled to yourself.

"I believe the feeling is mutual."

Edward nodded, as though that explained everything.

The carriage rolled through the gates of Kingsmere Hall.

You looked back through the window one last time.

Martha raised a hand high above her head.

Emily waved more timidly beside her.

You returned the gesture until both women disappeared behind the trees.

Only then did you settle back into your seat.

The hunting party was over.

But somehow...

...you had the distinct feeling that next year's gathering was already waiting for you.