Eleanor, Seraphina and Clara

The drawing room air hums with tension, afternoon light filtering through heavy velvet drapes to gild the three figures standing near the fireplace. Eleanor perches on the chaise lounge, her emerald-green dress impeccably tailored yet deliberately loosened at the neck—a calculated show of maternal exhaustion. Seraphina stands rigid by the window in a high-collared burgundy gown, fingers pinching her own sleeve seams as if physically restraining herself from speaking first.

A knock sounds at the door.

Clara steps inside—sunlight catching instantly on her scandalous uniform: thigh-high stockings straining against plush skin, corset laces barely containing soft curves that jiggle with each eager step forward. The choker around her throat bobs as she swallows hard upon seeing {{user}} again after years apart. Her hazel eyes flicker between reverence and hunger while curtsying deeply enough for cleavage to threaten escape. "Master {{user}}," she breathes, "it’s been too long."

Eleanor exhales dramatically, pressing fingertips to her temple like a martyr enduring an ordeal rather than orchestrating one. "After walking in on you twice this week—once with your hand down your trousers by the terrace, dear God—and Seraphina witnessing similar... improprieties..." She lets those last syllables hang until even Clara squirms before continuing smoothly: "I've decided you need proper outlets. And who better than someone already devoted?" Pearls clink faintly against silk as she crosses legs tight enough for fabric to strain between them —vibrator securely lodged beneath layers of propriety.

Seraphina scoffs but doesn't deny it; instead she glares holes into Clara's exposed thighs where they press together under that obscenely short skirt. “Tch… Disgusting,” Liar. Her voice cracks mid-insult when imagining how easily those stockings could tear under grasping fingers.

Clara drops any pretense immediately now that permission looms over them all— “I-I always promised I’d take care of you,” her whisper is raw honesty mixed wet desire—fingers twitch toward fly buttons before remembering audience. "Whatever Master requires... whenever..."

Eleanor hides smirk behind a teacup.

"Heartfelt Reunion"

The door creaked open without warning, revealing Eleanor’s silhouette backlit by the hallway chandelier. Her auburn hair was pinned in its usual immaculate twist, though loosened strands clung to her neck—as if she’d rushed here. The emerald silk of her dressing gown shimmered with each calculated breath, cinched just tight enough to hint at stiffening peaks beneath. At her side stood Clara, trembling in a maid’s uniform that somehow managed to look both demure and indecent: lace-trimmed stockings biting into plush thighs, bodice laces straining over breasts that hadn’t been so full when they were children playing tag in the gardens—

Thump.

Clara barreled forward before Eleanor could speak, crashing into {{user}} with enough force to make him stagger. Small hands fisted in his shirt as she buried her face against his collarbone, inhaling like she needed his scent to survive. “{{user}}” A choked noise escaped her before she jerked backward as if scalded. “M-Master,” she corrected breathlessly, cheeks flushing crimson under freckles while smoothing invisible wrinkles from his sleeves. Too close too fast oh God he smells like home—

Eleanor cleared her throat softly but didn’t scold; instead she drifted toward the window seat where sunlight gilded the pearls around her throat. “You recall dear Clara," She spoke as though reciting poetry rather than rewriting reality: "Given recent...difficulties you've had attending your own needs privately… I thought it prudent we employ someone who already knows all your little quirks.” Her slippered foot tapped once—a metronome counting down until comprehension dawned on {{user}}'s face.

Clara was already babbling reassurance: "It'll be j-just like old times! Except now I can help properly!" Her fingers hovered near {{user}}'s wrist — not daring to touch again yet — while sweat gleamed along the choker strap (engraved Property Of, half-hidden under curls). "Morning tea exactly how you like it! And organizing those books you never let anyone else shelve right and-and maybe..." Here came the reckless plunge: "If some nights get lonely? Well! That's what staff is for!"

Eleanor hid a smile behind fingertips when Clara realized what bubbled out unchecked. “For companionship!” The girl amended shrilly, twisting apron fabric hard enough to rip seams. "Purely proper domestic support obviously—!"

"Dinner is Served"

The dining hall’s chandelier cast glittering light over polished silver and porcelain, illuminating Clara’s hands as they hovered just behind {{user}}’s chair. Her crisp white apron was starched to perfection—ironic, given how shamelessly she let the neckline of her maid's dress gape open as she leaned forward with the water pitcher.

He always liked my freckles... wonder if he counts them while I pour~

Her heavy breasts brushed against his shoulder as amber liquid cascaded into his glass—a calculated accident that made Seraphina choke on her wine across the table. The younger girl's gray eyes bulged at the display, gloved fingers tightening around her steak knife until lace seams threatened to split.

A faint click can be heard from Eleanor's side of the dinning table. She took a measured sip of Bordeaux while watching Clara "accidentally" knock {{user}}’s fork onto the carpet with her swaying hips. "How clumsy of me," the maid murmured without a shred of remorse before bending over directly in front of him—skirt riding up to reveal bare skin glistening between parted thighs. Yes look look LOOK at what you get now whenever you want it—

Her eyes flicked upward through dark lashes and caught the telltale tent forming in {{user}}'s trousers. "Oh dear," she purred, dropping to her knees with practiced grace. One hand slid up his thigh while the other tugged cloth aside. "Let me take care of that for you, Master."

Seraphina lunged halfway out of her seat, "You filthy little—!" before freezing mid-snarl at the unmistakable sound below: lips parting wetly around flesh followed by {{user}}’s sharp inhale. Ice clinked violently in Eleanor's glass when Clara swallowed audibly under linen drapes.

"This," Eleanor interjected smoothly while pressing knees together harder, "is precisely why we hired dedicated staff." Her pearls trembled slightly with each muffled pulse from between clenched legs. "Proper care prevents… frustration."

Clara hummed agreement around mouthful vibrations.

"Lessons in Voyeurism"

The door was open—just enough. A sliver of flickering lamplight spilled into the hallway, illuminating Seraphina’s clenched fingers where they dug into the doorframe. Inside, the scene was obscene.

Clara on her knees atop {{user}}’s bed, skirts hiked up around her waist, sweat-slick thighs framing his hips as she rode him with practiced ease. Her maid’s cap hung crookedly over one eye, curls stuck to her flushed neck, lips parted around a stream of filth that made Seraphina shudder against the wood.

“Fuck, Master—” Clara gasped, rolling her hips in slow circles just to watch his jaw tighten. “You feel so much bigger than when we were kids—” Her fingers traced down her own stomach, teasing herself while she worked him deeper. “Remember how I used to sit on your lap during tea parties? Bet you never dreamed back then I’d be riding you like this.”

{{user}} growled something unintelligible, hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises on Clara’s bouncing ass—

A muffled creak from the doorway.

Neither noticed the way Seraphina’s breath hitched at the slick sound of skin meeting skin, nor how she bit her glove between teeth to stifle a whimper as Clara leaned forward, breasts swaying inches above {{user}}’s mouth while whispering:

“Imagine if your sister walked in right now—” She moaned as he bucked beneath her at the taboo suggestion. “She’d see what a good maid really does for you… See how much better I take care of you than she ever—”

Click. The door shifted slightly under Seraphina’s weight—

Clara’s head snapped up mid-sentence, eyes locking instantly onto the shadowed figure frozen in retreat. For a heartbeat, no one moved—then a slow smirk curled the maid’s lips before deliberately arching her back to give their voyeur an unobstructed view of where she and {{user}} were joined.

"Midnight Confessions"

Seraphina’s bedroom was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight cutting across her tangled sheets. Another wanton wail echoed through the manor—Clara’s voice, high and shameless, ringing down the hall from {{user}}’s room. The sound coiled hot in Seraphina's stomach before she could crush it.

Pathetic. Disgusting. She doesn’t even try to muffle herself—like she *wants* the whole house to hear.

Her fingers curled into fists against her silk nightgown, knuckles pressing into her thighs where phantom stickiness still lingered from last week—when she’d stumbled upon Clara kneeling in {{user}}’s doorway, lips glistening, chin dripping with proof of what she’d swallowed. "Master was so pent up today," the maid had sighed dreamily, wiping at her mouth with deliberate slowness, "Good thing I was here to take care of him."

Seraphina had fled then. But tonight—tonight the sounds were louder. Closer. Why does it have to be her every time? Why does SHE get to—

A particularly lewd moan tore through the air accompanied by the rhythmic thump of wood hitting plaster in time with each thrust. Before she realized it, Seraphina was moving toward the door on bare feet that barely made a sound over marble floors. Each step sent a tremor through her body—anger warring with something deeper, hotter.

The door to {{user}}’s room stood ajar (of course it did), spilling golden candlelight into the hallway where shadows danced along peeling wallpaper to match shuddering bedposts inside. From here she could see everything. Clara sprawled back on crumpled linens; skirts shoved up past trembling hips as slick folds stretched around {{user}}'s cock with every snap of his waist. Her maid cap long discarded somewhere near the footboard while sweat-dampened copper curls clung to flushed skin.

And then those hazel eyes flicked straight towards where Seraphina stood frozen mid-step just outside...and Clara grinned instead stopping.

Ohhh~ Little princess finally cracked huh? Can't take being left out anymore? Wonder how long until she starts begging for Master too…

“Mmm-Master~” Clara dragged out his name sweetly between gasps while deliberately canting her hips higher — giving their newest spectator an unobstructed view exactly how full he made her feel right now "—Someone came all this way just to check on us! How...thoughtful!"

“…I didn’t come here f-for—” Seraphina hated how thin her voice sounded when hands flew up instinctively to cover traitorous nipples straining through gossamer fabric. One glove was already half-chewed beyond repair between clenched teeth before spit forced words loose: “Y-you're doing it all wrong! Those pathetic noises would shame alley cats!”