You discover something shocking (Easter Egg, ONLY 100% Curiosity)

You decided to go down to the kitchen to offer your help with the preparations for the ball. To your surprise things were mostly quiet with the dinner mostly prepared. To your even bigger surprise, you couldn’t see Martha pacing around, commanding everyone.

You decided to go look for her.

Behind the kitchen were lots of small storage rooms and cellars. Just as you were giving up towards the end of a corridor, you heard a noice from one of the small pantries at the end of the corridor. You approached it and saw that the door was open slightly - revealing some movement inside.

The warm, earthy scent of flour and yeast still clung to the air in the small pantry, mingling with something else—something muskier, more intimate. The door only stood slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of the scene within. A shaft of golden lamplight fell across the floorboards, illuminating a couple of discarded aprons.

A soft gasp echoed from within the narrow room. Then a muffled laugh.

"Shh… Em, you'll have the whole house knowing our business."

A pause, then a whisper, trembling slightly "Martha… we shouldn't… if someone catches us—"

Cutting her off with a soft, wet sound—a kiss "Then don't make so much noise. Let me make you quiet."

You shifted your weight carefully, pressing yourself closer to the gap in the doorframe. The lamplight catched the curve of Martha's hip as she leaned over Emily, who was pressed back against a shelf of preserves. A jar rattled dangerously, and Martha caught it without breaking the kiss, setting it aside with a muted clink.

Emily pulled back just enough to breathe, cheeks flushed crimson "Martha… I can't—we can't keep doing this. What if Mrs. Caldwell finds out? What if—"

Martha’s thumb traced along Emily's jawline, stopping at her chin, tilting it upward.

"What if the moon fell from the sky tonight? What if the king himself walked through that door?" a soft, almost wicked smile appeared on her face.

"Stop borrowing trouble, Em."

Then Martha moved in closer, pressing herself against Emily.

Emily's breath became shallow, her fingers gripping the edge of the shelf behind her. She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she tilted her chin up, exposing the pale column of her throat. An offering.

Emily’s voice a whisper, almost defiant "Don't make me say what I need. Just… show me."

A low chuckle escaped Martha's lips. Her hand slid from Emily's jaw, down her neck, past the collar of her uniform—fingers dipping beneath the fabric, finding the swell of her breast. Emily gasped, her back arching instinctively.

Martha's hand slipped lower, fingers finding the hem of Emily's dress. She brushed the exposed skin of her thigh with deliberate slowness.

Martha murmured against her neck "We're not hurting anyone, Em. Just two bodies finding comfort where they can."

"Comfort… is that what we call it?", Emily answered in a shaking exhale.

Martha chuckled softly, her hand sliding higher "What would you call it, then?"

Biting her lip, eyes half-lidded, Emily responded.

"Release. Something to carry us through the long nights."

Martha's fingers found their mark, and Emily's breath hitched, her back arching slightly against the shelves.

“Aye… release is one word for it." she pulled back just enough to meet Emily's eyes, her expression turning thoughtful, almost wry "Though I'd wager we'd both find more… lasting satisfaction if there was a decent cock to be found in this entire bloody estate."

"Martha! You can't just—"

Martha grinned "I can and I just did. Tell me I'm wrong, Em. Go on." she tilted her head, counting off on her fingers "There's old Mr. Ashcombe, who couldn't rise to the occasion if you paid him. There's the stable boy, who's barely fourteen and still squeaks when he talks. There's the footman John, who's got eyes only for other footmen—good for him, but not much use to us." she paused, raising an eyebrow "And then there's the groundskeeper, who smells of wet dog and ale."

A reluctant smile tugged at Emily’s lips. "You've… given this some thought."

"More than some, less than I'd like. A woman has needs, Em. And these country oafs aren't exactly lining up to satisfy 'em properly. What we have here is great, but it isn’t exactly a lasting solution."

Emily’s cheeks darkened, voice dropping to a whisper

“And what would… proper satisfaction… look like?"

Martha's grin softened into something more intimate. Her hand resumed its slow exploration, fingers tracing idle patterns on the warm skin beneath Emily's skirt.

“Someone who knows what he's about. Not some blushing boy who'd finish before he's even begun, nor some portly old gent who needs a manual and a miracle." her eyes glimmered with mischief "Someone with stamina. And imagination. And hands that know how to use what they've got."

Emily bit her lip, a visible shiver running through her "And until such a paragon appears…?"

Martha leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of Emily's ear.

"Until then, my sweet Em… we make do with what we have." her fingers curl, pressing inward "And what we have is each other."

{if Relationship_Eleanor >= 50} Martha sighed, leaning back against the opposite shelf, a dreamy look crossing her face "Though… there is that new valet. Sir Edward's man. Thomas, I think his name is."...

Emily’s eyes snapped open, a flicker of interest crossing her features "Thomas? The tall one with the dark hair?"

Martha nodded slowly, a wicked smile spreading across her lips "The very same. Saw him hauling trunks this morning. Had his sleeves rolled up, Em. Arms like rope and oak."

She fanned herself dramatically.

"Made me drop a ladle."

The space between them grew warmer, charged with the direction of the conversation. Martha bit her lower lip, her chest rising and falling slowly.

Her hands settled on Emily's hips, fingers dragging her closer. Her voice dropped to a honeyed whisper "If I had him upstairs, Em… I'd take my time. Undress him slow. Run my hands over every inch of that strong back."

Emily’s breath hitched as Martha's thigh pressed between her legs, but she managed a shaky whisper "And… after that?"

Martha’s hand wandered freely below Emily’s skirt.

"I'd lay him down and climb atop. Take the reins proper. Ride him till he forgot his own name."

Emily's head fell back, lips parted, but her fingers found Martha's laces and begun working them loose with desperate focus.

Emily’s voice was unsteady, thick with wanting; "I'd do it from behind… watch him shudder. Make him beg for it."

Martha groaned low in her throat, her eyes fluttering shut as she pulled Emily against her and gave a sharp, possessive tug at her laces.

“Christ, Em… keep talking like that and someone is actually going to be ridden tonight."

A single button pinged against the floorboards, rolling to a stop near the crack in the door. Martha's tongue traced a wet path down Emily's throat, past her collarbone, following the thin fabric of her uniform as it parted. Her hands slid down Emily's sides, gripping the edges of her lifted skirt.

Martha murmured against her skin, a wicked smile in her voice "You keep talking, Em. Tell me what else you'd do to him."

Martha dropped to her knees, her breath hot through the thin cotton of Emily's underwear. Her fingers found the waistband, pulling them down with deliberate slowness, exposing the soft curls beneath. She pressed a kiss to the inside of Emily's thigh, then another, higher.

Emily gasped, one hand flying to grip the shelf above her, the other tangling in Martha's auburn hair.

"I'd—ah—I'd make him wait. Tease him until he's aching—"

Martha's tongue parted her, tasting her with a low hum of approval. Her hands gripped Emily's hips, holding her steady.

Emily’s voice broke - her back arching "Make him—oh—tell me exactly what he wants—Martha—"

Martha's tongue curled, pressing deeper, finding her rhythm. The pantry filled with the soft, wet sound of her movements, and the scent of them both hung heavy in the air.

Martha pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, eyes dark with hunger "And what would you want him to say, love? Tell me while I taste you."

“I'd make him—ah—promise to fill me. To—oh god—to spill himself deep inside, or—Martha—across my—" her voice broke into a shuddering whimper as Martha's tongue worked faster, pressing her closer to the edge "—my belly. I want to feel his—"

A wet, urgent rhythm filled the pantry. Emily's hips bucked against Martha's mouth, her fingers twisting in auburn hair, and then she stiffened, a strangled cry escaping her lips as pleasure wrecked through her in waves.

{endif}

{if Relationship_Charlotte >= 50} Martha sighed, leaning back against the opposite shelf, a dreamy look crossing her face "Though… there is that new valet. Sir Edward's man. Thomas, I think his name is."...

Emily’s eyes snapped open, a flicker of interest crossing her features "Thomas? The tall one with the dark hair?"

Martha nodded slowly, a wicked smile spreading across her lips "The very same. Saw him hauling trunks this morning. Had his sleeves rolled up, Em. Arms like rope and oak."

She fanned herself dramatically.

"Made me drop a ladle."

The space between them grew warmer, charged with the direction of the conversation. Martha bit her lower lip, her chest rising and falling slowly.

Her hands settled on Emily's hips, fingers dragging her closer. Her voice dropped to a honeyed whisper "If I had him upstairs, Em… I'd take my time. Undress him slow. Run my hands over every inch of that strong back."

Emily’s breath hitched as Martha's thigh pressed between her legs, but she managed a shaky whisper "And… after that?"

Martha’s hand wandered freely below Emily’s skirt.

"I'd lay him down and climb atop. Take the reins proper. Ride him till he forgot his own name."

Emily's head fell back, lips parted, but her fingers found Martha's laces and begun working them loose with desperate focus.

Emily’s voice was unsteady, thick with wanting; "I'd do it from behind… watch him shudder. Make him beg for it."

Martha groaned low in her throat, her eyes fluttering shut as she pulled Emily against her and gave a sharp, possessive tug at her laces.

“Christ, Em… keep talking like that and someone is actually going to be ridden tonight."

A single button pinged against the floorboards, rolling to a stop near the crack in the door. Martha's tongue traced a wet path down Emily's throat, past her collarbone, following the thin fabric of her uniform as it parted. Her hands slid down Emily's sides, gripping the edges of her lifted skirt.

Martha murmured against her skin, a wicked smile in her voice "You keep talking, Em. Tell me what else you'd do to him."

Martha dropped to her knees, her breath hot through the thin cotton of Emily's underwear. Her fingers found the waistband, pulling them down with deliberate slowness, exposing the soft curls beneath. She pressed a kiss to the inside of Emily's thigh, then another, higher.

Emily gasped, one hand flying to grip the shelf above her, the other tangling in Martha's auburn hair.

"I'd—ah—I'd make him wait. Tease him until he's aching—"

Martha's tongue parted her, tasting her with a low hum of approval. Her hands gripped Emily's hips, holding her steady.

Emily’s voice broke - her back arching "Make him—oh—tell me exactly what he wants—Martha—"

Martha's tongue curled, pressing deeper, finding her rhythm. The pantry filled with the soft, wet sound of her movements, and the scent of them both hung heavy in the air.

Martha pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, eyes dark with hunger "And what would you want him to say, love? Tell me while I taste you."

“I'd make him—ah—promise to fill me. To—oh god—to spill himself deep inside, or—Martha—across my—" her voice broke into a shuddering whimper as Martha's tongue worked faster, pressing her closer to the edge "—my belly. I want to feel his—"

A wet, urgent rhythm filled the pantry. Emily's hips bucked against Martha's mouth, her fingers twisting in auburn hair, and then she stiffened, a strangled cry escaping her lips as pleasure wrecked through her in waves.

{endif}

{if Relationship_Martha >= 50} Speaking of which… Thomas - Sir Edward’s valet has been giving me looks all week. Got a sturdy pair of hands on him, that one. I let him have a bit of a taste today."

Emily’s eyes widened.

"Martha… you wouldn't."

Martha grinned, wicked and unashamed "I would, and I will. Promised him a visit in my room tonight, after the dinner." she leaned closer, voice dropping "If you hear floorboards creaking past midnight, don't go investigating."

"You're going to let him… in your room?" Emily said with a strange mix of scandal and intrigue in her voice.

Martha pulled back, adjusting her bodice with a smirk "I'm going to let him do more than that, Em." she winked "And I'll tell you every detail tomorrow."

Emily’s voice was barely above a whisper, laced with something between shyness and hunger "Tell me… Martha. Tell me what you're going to let him do."

Martha's eyebrow lifts, a slow grin spread across her lips. She shifted her weight, pressing Emily more firmly against the shelves, one hand braced beside her head.

Martha’s voice a low, honeyed murmur "Eager tonight, aren't we?"

Emily’s cheeks were burning, but she met Martha's gaze "I want to picture it. While you're… away - and I can hear you. I want to know."

A pause. Martha's eyes searched hers, then softened. She trailed a finger down Emily's throat, tracing the line of her collarbone.

Martha let out a low chuckle "Fine, then. I'll paint you a picture, sweet Em." she leaned in, lips brushing Emily's ear as she spoke "I'll have him wait until the house is dark."

Emily’s breathing quickened, fingers clutching at Martha's sleeve "And then?"

Martha’s hand drifted down, fingers toying with the edge of Emily's bodice "Then I'll open the door, barefoot, wearing nothing but my undergarments. I'll let him look at me—let him see what he's getting. And I'll watch his eyes go dark with hunger."

Martha's hand slipped lower, finding the hem of Emily's skirt again. Her fingers resumed their slow, deliberate exploration, brushing against the damp warmth beneath.

"I'll take his hand and lead him to my bed. Lay him down slow. Take my time undressing him—button by button. Watch his chest rise and fall. Let him feel the weight of waiting."

Emily let out a soft, shuddering exhale "And then?"

Martha’s fingers curled, pressing gently, finding their mark through the thin fabric of Emily's undergarments "Then I'll sit down on him. Slowly. Let him feel all of me—the heat of my thighs, the weight of my breasts against his chest. I'll grind against him, just enough to make him ache, until he's hard and desperate beneath me."

Emily's breath hitched sharply. Her hips shifted almost unconsciously toward Martha's hand.

Emily spoke in a strangled whisper "Where will he… finish then?"

Martha's grin turned wicked. Her thumb circled slowly, deliberately, as she spoke.

"I'll have him lay me back, then. Let him climb on top and push inside—slow at first, then deeper. Let him pound me until the headboard knocks against the wall. And when he's close, when he's groaning and shaking…" she paused, her eyes locked on Emily's "I'll make him pull out. Make him kneel over my face. And I'll watch him spill himself across my tongue—every hot, salty drop—before I swallow him dry."

Emily's entire body tensed. A soft, strangled moan escaped her lips as her hips bucked against Martha's hand. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the shelf.

Emily’s voice came out ragged, almost pleading "Martha… please…"

Martha's eyes glinted in the lamplight. Without a word, she sunk to her knees in front of Emily, pushing her skirt up to her waist. The coarse fabric rustled as Martha pressed her face between Emily's thighs, her breath quick next to the damp cotton of her undergarments.

Martha spoke muffled against Emily’s thigh "Hold still, love. I'm not done with my story yet."

Martha hooked her fingers into the waistband of Emily's undergarments and pulled them down, letting them pool around her ankles. Emily gasped as cool air met her exposed skin, but the gasp turned into a sharp moan as Martha's mouth found her spot.

Martha's tongue was slow at first—teasing, exploratory—circling the sensitive nub with deliberate patience. Emily's hips jerked, a trembling hand flying to Martha's head, fingers tangling in her auburn hair.

Martha paused just long enough to murmur against her, the vibration sending a shudder through Emily's frame "I'll tell you how he tastes after… but first, I want to taste you."

Martha's fingers joined her mouth, sliding inside with practiced ease. Emily's head fell back against the shelves, a jar of pickled beets rattling dangerously. Her breath came in short, desperate gasps, her body caught between the fear of being caught and the rising tide of pleasure.

Emily’s voice cracked, barely a whisper "Oh… oh… Martha… I—"

Martha's tongue pressed harder, faster, curling against her. Her fingers crook, finding that soft, secret spot within, and Emily's knees buckled. Only Martha's free arm wrapped around her thigh kept her upright.

The world narrowed to the wet heat of Martha's mouth, the deft curl of her fingers, the rough wood of the shelf pressing into Emily's back. A low, strangled cry built in her throat as the pressure coiled tighter, brighter, threatening to shatter.

Martha murmured against her, the words vibrating through Emily's core "That's it, love. Let go for me. I've got you."

Emily's body obeyed before her mind could catch up. She shuddered violently, a choked cry escaping her lips as the wave crashed through her. Her hand clasped over her own mouth, muffling the sound as her hips rubbed against Martha's face.

Martha rode her through it, gentle now, lapping softly as Emily trembled and gasped above her. After a long moment, she pulled back, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, a satisfied grin spreading across her flushed face.

Martha rose to her feet, steadying Emily with a hand on her waist "There now." her voice was warm, teasing "That ought to hold you 'til morning."

{endif}

{if Relationship_Emily >= 40} Emily hesitated, fingers twisting in Martha's apron "There is… someone. Newly arrived."

Martha's hand stilled. She pulled back just enough to study Emily's face, one eyebrow arching with keen interest.

"Oh? And who might that be, then?"

Emily’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson "Thomas. Sir Edward's new valet. He came up from London for the hunt."

A pause. Martha's eyes narrowed, then widened slightly as recognition dawned.

"The tall one? With the dark hair and those shoulders that barely fit through the door?"

Emily nodded, barely meeting Martha's gaze "We've been… exchanging pleasantries. In the corridors. He helped me carry linens, and his hand brushed mine, and—" she stops, swallowing hard "And today I gave him a bit of a taste you might say."

Martha let out a low, appreciative whistle, leaning back against the opposite shelf. Her arms crossed beneath her breasts, pushing them up against the fabric of her dress.

"Well, well. Our little Em, making eyes at the valet. I didn't think you had it in you."

Emily was defensive, but soft "I'm not made of stone, Martha. And he's… kind. And handsome. And when he looks at me, I feel—" she struggled for the word "—wanted."

Martha's expression softened. She uncrossed her arms, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Emily's ear.

"Wanted, is it? That's precious, Em." a pause, her voice dropping lower "And what else do you feel, when he looks at you?"

Emily's breath hitched. She looks away, then back, something vulnerable and daring flickering in her green eyes.

Emily whispered "Warm. Restless. Like there's something coiled in my belly that needs… unraveling."

Martha's lips parted. A beat of silence hung between them, thick and charged.

Martha’s voice was deep. "And have you done something about this… unraveling?"

Emily gave a shaky nod "Tonight. After the farewell party, when everyone's distracted or asleep. I asked him to come to my room."

Martha's eyes widened. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.

"You didn't."

Emily had a mix of terror and excitement in her voice "I did."

Martha leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper "Emily Carter. You're full of surprises tonight." her hand found Emily's, squeezing "Tell me everything. What did he say? What did you say? Don't spare a single detail."

“He looked at me like I'd offered him the moon, Martha. His eyes went wide, and his throat moved when he swallowed, and I saw his hand tremble ." she drew a shaky breath, her fingers curling in the fabric of her own apron "I left him in his own thoughts but I think he’ll be there."

Martha's lips parted, her sharp hazel eyes fixed on Emily's face with an intensity that bordered on hunger. She said nothing, but her hand slid from Emily's fingers to her wrist, then up the warmth of her forearm.

Emily was emboldened by Martha's silence, her cheeks flaming "I want him to—to take his time with me." her voice trembled, growing more explicit with each word "I want him to lay me down on my cot and undress me piece by piece, kissing each bit of skin as it's bared. I want his hands on my waist, guiding me onto my back, and I want to feel the weight of him pressing me into the mattress."

Martha's fingers tightened around Emily's arm. A single bead of sweat trailed down the kitchen maid's temple. She shifted closer, her body nearly pressing against Emily's side.

Emily’s words were tumbling out now, breathless and raw "I want him to spread my thighs with his palms, to look at me before he slides inside. I want him to fill me slowly, inch by inch, until I can feel him in my stomach." she gasped, as if the confession alone stole her breath "And when he's done, when he's spent… I want him to finish on me. To mark me with it, to claim me."

Martha let out a low, shuddering breath. Her hand found Emily's waist, then the curve of her hip, pulling her firmly against the frame of the shelf. The jars rattled again, but neither girl paid them any mind.

Martha’s voice hoarse "Em… you're going to be the death of me."

She didn’t wait for a reply. Martha dropped to her knees in the narrow space, her rough hands pushing up the hem of Emily's plain cotton skirt. Her fingers found the damp warmth at the junction of Emily's thighs, parting the fabric of her underclothes with practiced ease. The maid pressed her mouth to Emily's thigh, biting down softly at the tender skin.

The pantry was suffocatingly warm. A single lantern flickered on the hook beside the door, casting long shadows that swayed with each breath. Outside, the distant clatter of pots being scrubbed echoed from the main kitchen—some junior maid finishing the evening chores. But in here, the world had shrunk to the width of two bodies and the soft, wet sounds that filled the space between them.

Martha's mouth worked its way higher, her lips trailing up the inside of Emily's thigh. She paused at the crease where leg meets hip, her breath hot and damp against the tender skin. Above her, Emily's hands found grip on the edge of the shelf—her fingers wrapping around a jar of pickled beets.

Martha murmured against her skin, her voice muffled and husky "Tell me more, Em. Tell me everything you want him to do to you."

Emily’s voice was a thin, wavering thing, caught somewhere between shame and desperate pleasure "I want… oh, Martha… I want him to bend me over the edge of the bed. To hold my hips so hard they'll bruise."

Martha's fingers curled inward, finding the slick heat at Emily's center. She didn’t push inside yet—just circles, teasing, feather-light.

"And then?"

Emily gave a sharp inhale, her back arching "And then I want him to take me from behind. Hard. Fast. Until I'm crying out into the pillow."

Martha’s fingers paused, just barely touching, making Emily wait "And his seed, love? Where do you want that?"

Emily’s breath cane in ragged gasps now, her knuckles white against the jar "On my… my face. I want him to paint my face with it. To watch me swallow what he gives me."

A low, guttural sound escaped Martha's throat—something between approval and raw hunger. Her patience broke. She pressed forward, her mouth finding Emily's core with an urgency that bordered on feral.

Emily's head fell back, a strangled cry caught in her throat. A single sealed tin of biscuits tumbled from the shelf, landing with a soft thud on the floor, unopened and forgotten.

Emily was gasping, her hips grinding against Martha's mouth "Yes—Martha—yes—"

Martha's hands gripped Emily's hips, holding her steady as she worked, her tongue relentless. The sounds were wet, obscene, swallowed only by the narrow walls of the pantry. Emily's breathing grew ragged, her whole body trembling like a bowstring drawn too tight.

Martha pulled back just long enough to breathe, her chin glistening, her eyes dark with hunger "That's it, sweet Em. Let go. I've got you."

She dived back in, and Emily's world fractured—her body tensing, her cry swallowed by her own palm pressed over her mouth as the pleasure crashed through her. The shelf groaned, and for a moment, she clung to the edge of it, caught between falling and flying.

Slowly, her grip loosened. Her body sagged, breath coming in soft, broken little gasps. Martha rose from her knees, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a satisfied, almost wolfish grin spreading across her face.

“That should keep you satisfied until your date”

{endif}

The two women begun to get dressed and you decided it was time to go. Although you’d have to sit somewhere and cool down before getting upstairs with the rest. The scene had left you throbbing and people would definitely ask questions.