Thomas woke to sunlight slipping through the tall shutters, warm against his bare skin. The sheets around him were twisted and damp with sweat, clinging to his body with the evidence of his pleasure like a memory. His limbs felt heavy, his glutes were sore, and the ache between them was a vivid reminder of the night before.
But it was the emptiness of the room that struck him again.
He sat up slowly, wincing slightly in discomfort. The birds on the branch outside sang in soft, rhythmic defiance of the unease building in his chest. He dressed quietly, trying not to let the silence press in too close.
By the time he reached the dining room, sunlight had filled the long windows, casting golden streaks across the polished wood floor. The scent of sweet pastries, eggs, and something spicy floated in the air, comforting, almost jarringly normal.
Lord Ashcombe was already seated at the head of the table, dressed immaculately in a dark waistcoat and open-collared shirt. His expression was unreadable, his eyes hidden behind the flicker of morning light reflecting off his glass of juice.
Lady Ashcombe sat beside him, radiant and calm, stirring honey into her tea with slow elegance. She looked up as Thomas entered, her smile gentle but knowing.
“Good morning, Thomas,” she said softly, gesturing toward the chair across from her. “You look… rested.”
Justin didn’t speak. He didn’t even look up.
Thomas took the offered seat, his hands curling around the teacup that had already been poured for him. His throat was dry.
“Thank you,” he said, unsure if he was addressing her or simply filling the silence.
The clink of silverware against china resumed. Emily cut a soft piece of pastry and lifted it to her lips, her eyes briefly meeting Thomas’s over the rim of her teacup.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, voice low, like the question had layers. Concern. Curiosity. Maybe even a warning.
Thomas hesitated. “A bit sore,” he admitted, glancing at Justin.
Still nothing. The man sat like stone, poised but distant, as if nothing had passed between them.
Emily tilted her head slightly, studying Thomas. “Yes, that mattress is getting old,” she said matter-of-factly, dabbing with a napkin at the corner of her mouth. “But I imagine it’s been through a lot.”
Thomas nearly dropped his cup.
Her smile turned faintly amused. “We must remember to keep some things private, even in this house, darling. Not all the staff know.”
Justin finally looked up. His gaze landed on Thomas like a steady, assessing, unreadable weight.
“You said yes,” he said, his voice like iron under velvet.
Thomas nodded. “I did.”
Justin gave an almost imperceptible nod, then returned to his plate.
Emily leaned forward slightly, her expression softening. “What comes next, Thomas… is up to you.”
Thomas sat back in his chair, pulse quickening again—not from fear, not entirely—but from the gnawing sense that something much deeper had begun. Something he wasn’t sure he could stop.
Or even wanted to.
——
Justin finally pushed his plate away and stood up from the table. He exited the room and returned moments later, clutching a crisp sheet of paper and a pen.
He placed the unfamiliar document in front of Thomas, who saw that it was a sponsorship contract. Justin informed him that it was a type of employment agreement.
“That document, if you sign it, binds us together, Thomas,” he said in a fatherly tone. “It secures your silence, and therefore our protection, from anyone who might otherwise use knowledge of this relationship to harm us or our respected families.”
“I wouldn’t tell a soul. I swear upon my honour,” Thomas cut in.
“I know, I know,” Justin reassured him, “but this just gives us peace of mind—on penalty of court martial.” He shot Thomas a serious look before continuing.
“In exchange for your silence and willing participation in this relationship, you’ll receive my protection and sponsorship. We’ll secure your career and cover all necessary expenses that come with it. Furthermore, I can’t have a sponsor who isn’t a commissioned officer, so the War Office has permitted me to bestow a field promotion to Captain upon you for bravery in the face of the enemy, with back pay of three months. This will remain in effect until you return to HQ for your commission interview.”
Thomas was stunned. The world he had known so well had been torn from beneath him, and the one he now found himself in was entirely unfamiliar.
Emily’s sweet chuckle brought him back to the moment. “Sign it, sweetie, and then let’s go celebrate.” Her words were innocent, but the look on her face was devilish.
“Sign it, and your world changes forever, Thomas. Or don’t—and you leave here this morning, and I fear where you might end up,” said Lord Ashcombe, the alternate landing on him like a block of lead.
—–
Lord Ashcombe dusted the freshly scribbled signature and folded the contract neatly, slipping it into his inner coat pocket with the same precision he applied to every military manoeuvre. “I must inspect the troops before midday,” he announced, adjusting his gloves with an air of ceremony. “Emily, see that Thomas makes himself at home. He’s earned that much and more.” With a final, measured glance at them both, he turned on his heel and exited, the echo of his boots retreating down the corridor like a drumroll fading into silence.
Lady Ashcombe’s demeanour shifted as the door closed behind him—her coy restraint evaporated like morning mist. She turned to Thomas with a slow smile, her eyes glinting with mischief and promise. “Well, Captain,” she purred, the title rolling deliciously off her tongue, “it seems we have a few moments to ourselves.”
She reached out and took his hand with surprising firmness, guiding him through the dining room’s high arch into the more intimate warmth of the lounge. The scent of jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the distant chatter of the house. As the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, the outside world ceased to matter. In the dim glow of the morning sun, with velvet curtains drawn and silence wrapping around them like a cloak, Lady Ashcombe stepped close, her voice a whisper against his jaw.
“Now,” she said, fingers already at the buttons of his tunic, “let’s make this agreement… binding.”
Thomas barely had time to respond before her lips found his—hungry, commanding, and without pretence. Lady Ashcombe kissed like a woman long denied, her mouth parting his with a confidence that left no room for hesitation. Her hands moved quickly, fingers unfastening his tunic with practised ease, each button falling open like a secret revealed.
He responded in kind, sliding his palms over the curve of her waist, marvelling at the heat of her body beneath the silk of her dress as he pulled the cord loose. She pressed closer, sighing into him as he gathered the fabric off her shoulders and tugged it downwards. With a whispered laugh, she stepped back just long enough to let it fall in a cascade to the carpet, leaving her in nothing but her stockings and corset, which barely contained the full rise of her breasts.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she murmured, reaching for the clasp of her corset.
But Thomas stopped her, his hands replacing hers. “Let me,” he said, his voice rough with restraint, as he unhooked the stays one by one. The garment loosened under his touch, revealing pale, flushed skin that shimmered in the sunlight.
She guided him to the chaise lounge, pulling him down with her, legs entangling. Their mouths met again, deeper now, and her hand slipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, fingers bold and sure. He gasped against her neck as she encircled his already swollen item, and she smiled—wickedly, triumphantly as she slowly began to stroke him—before pushing the fabric down over his hips.
Emily wasted no time and slid his already engorged head up and down her glistening folds, collecting her seeping nectar onto his monstrous head before aligning him with her sweet hole. He entered her slowly, both gasping as their bodies met fully. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation—only the rhythm of something inevitable. She clutched at his back, urging him deeper into her tightness, desiring to feel him stretch her again, her moans soft and urgent in his ear. Their bodies moved together with growing intensity with every long, slow thrust, the plush velvet beneath them creaking with each movement.
In that secluded chamber, with only each other as witnesses, their agreement was sealed not with ink, but with sweat, skin, and the quiet violence of desire.
Thomas’s breath caught as his gaze lifted mid-thrust, drawn by a flicker of movement in the corner of the room.
Lucia?
She stood by the far wall, half-shrouded in the velvet shadow of the curtain, her hands demurely clasped in front of her, eyes wide but unflinching. Her presence sent a jolt through him, not of shame, but of sharp, disoriented disbelief. How long had she been standing there? Had she watched everything from the beginning?
“Emily…” he whispered against Lady Ashcombe’s neck, slowing. “We’re not alone.”
Emily didn’t flinch. She smiled—languid and unbothered, her fingers threading through his hair to pull him back into her. “I know,” she murmured, arching her hips against him driving his penis against her swelling G spot. “Lucia’s seen far more than this. Haven’t you, darling?”
Lucia inclined her head ever so slightly, her expression unreadable but not scandalised. She remained silent, still as a statue—but her eyes never left them.
Thomas hesitated only a moment longer, caught between instinct and desire, but Emily’s hands urged him forward again, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “Don’t stop,” she breathed. “She’s here because I trust her. Because she understands.”
Emily rocked her hips upward with greater urgency, her body demanding his focus, not his doubt. And as her nails raked down his spine and her lips captured his in another bruising kiss, Thomas gave in—utterly, completely.
Their rhythm resumed, more intense now, fueled by the electric thrill of being watched. Emily moaned unabashedly, her voice echoing softly off the high walls. Thomas held her tighter, his hips driving into her with a fierceness that bordered on desperate, the sound of his cock moving in and out of her dripping honey pot filled the room. At the same time, Lucia remained silent—present, but never intrusive, her breath shallow, her presence a haunting frame to their passion.
Emily cried out as she came, her head thrown back as a warm torrent of cum coated Justins shaft, balls and thighs. Her hair spilling over the edge of the chaise like silk. Thomas followed moments later filling her quivering pussy with his white-hot seed, collapsing into her with a groan that seemed to shake the air between them.
In the breathless stillness that followed, Emily turned her head slightly and smiled slyly at Lucia.
“You may bring the wine now, Lucia,” she said, voice still husky from release. “Captain Ashcombe has earned it.”
——-
The birds sang softly outside, and the sun cast golden patterns across their skin as Thomas lay on his side, chest still rising and falling in the afterglow. Emily draped a leg over his, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the line of his jaw, then lower, across the curve of his shoulder. The scent of sex clung to the room like a veil.
Lucia returned quietly, her footfalls silent on the thick carpet. She carried a silver tray with a decanter of dark wine and three crystal glasses. As she approached, her eyes flicked briefly to Thomas, then settled, steady and unreadable, on Emily.
“Pour for him first,” Emily instructed, her voice smooth as velvet. “He’s had quite the morning.”
Lucia obeyed without comment, but her fingers brushed Thomas’s as she handed him the glass—a deliberate touch, brief but charged. He met her gaze. There was no apology in it, no shame. Only curiosity. Invitation, perhaps.
Emily watched them both with a sly smile. “She’s not as shy as she seems,” she murmured, swirling the wine in her glass. “Are you, Lucia?”
Lucia raised an eyebrow—not in protest, but in playful defiance. “Only when it’s useful, my lady.”
Thomas took a slow sip, the wine bold and warming, grounding him amid the surreal sensual haze. “Is this how the Ashcombes typically conclude business?” he asked, smirking.
Emily laughed—a rich, throaty sound. “Only with the very special ones.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, then whispered, “And you, Thomas, are proving very special indeed.”
Lucia moved toward the window, pulling open the heavy frame to let in the faint midday breeze. “The grounds are empty, my lady. Lord Ashcombe will be gone for hours.”
“Good,” Emily said, stretching with feline ease. She rose from the lounge, bare and unhurried, and crossed to a nearby armchair, draping a silk robe over her shoulders but leaving it open. “There’s no reason to waste daylight.”
Thomas sat up slowly, eyeing the two women—the lady of the house lounging like a goddess, her beloved and trusted lady in waiting hovering at the edge of propriety. The tension between them wasn’t just sexual. It was something deeper: a shared understanding, a game they both knew how to play.
Lucia turned toward him again. “Would you like a bath drawn, Captain?” Her tone was formal, but her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Or perhaps… something more invigorating?”
Thomas stood, his still semi hard cock protruding from his hips, and walked toward the decanter to refill his glass. He glanced at both women, his body stirring again under their gaze.
“Why not both?” he said, raising his glass. “The day is young.”
——
Steam rose in lazy spirals from the copper bathtub near the window, the midday light catching in the ripples of water. Lucia had drawn it herself, scenting it with oils—jasmine, lavender, and something darker, muskier. The air was thick with heat and the quiet hum of anticipation.
Thomas stepped into the bath, easing down with a low groan, letting the warmth envelop his aching muscles. He let his head rest against the edge, closing his eyes for a moment, only to open them again at the sound of soft footsteps.
Emily stood beside the tub, her silk robe loosely tied at the waist. Her lips were still puffy, protruding subtly between her thighs, and her nipples pressed snugly against the soft fabric. Her dark eyes smouldered. Lucia trailed just behind her, still in her modest dress, though the top buttons were undone, revealing a hint of the swell beneath.
“We’re not like other couples,” Emily said, kneeling beside the tub. Her fingers dipped into the water, swirling the surface near his chest. “Not bound by the same… constraints.”
Thomas looked from Emily to Lucia, his breath catching as the lady’s hand slid further beneath the water, teasing his thigh.
“In this house,” she continued, “I understand his desires and he respects mine. We honour them. We protect them.”
Lucia moved to the other side of the tub, kneeling with mirrored grace. She reached for a cloth and began to run it over his shoulder, the contact light but lingering. Her touch was careful and reverent, but there was a spark behind it, growing bolder with each pass.
Thomas’s pulse quickened. He was suspended between Emily’s seasoned control and Lucia’s quiet, coiling hunger. The boundaries that defined class, role, and expectation were dissolving, steam-softened, and swept away.
Emily leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “Lucia has served me for years,” she whispered. “She’s loving. Discreet. And very eager to get to know you.”
Lucia’s fingers paused on his chest, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she offered him a small, cute smile—shy but daring. “If you’d like to know me,” she said softly.
Thomas looked between them, heat spreading low and deep within him. He realised then that this wasn’t just seduction—it was initiation. A transformation. The agreement he’d signed was only the beginning; what they were offering him now was something more intimate, more dangerous: complete immersion in their private world.
He reached for Lucia’s hand, guiding it lower beneath the water, while Emily watched with an approving gleam.
“Let’s get acquainted”, he said, voice thick with want.
Lucia drew in a sharp breath as Thomas guided her hand beneath the water and pressed it to his ridged cock but didn’t stop him or pull away. Emily stood, untied her robe, and let it fall again, stepping into the tub with slow, deliberate grace. Water rose around her thighs as she straddled Thomas, her fingers tangling in his wet hair.
“We share everything here,” she whispered against his lips. “Pleasure. Power. Secrets.”
Lucia stayed at his side, still clothed, still watching—though her breathing had quickened, and her pupils darkened. Her hand moved under the surface, slowly stroking the soft skin of his hard cock. Emboldened now she pressed her thumb against the slit in his tip sending sharp pulsing pleasure through him. She then aligned his shaft between Lady Ashcombe’s legs as she sank onto him. Emily claimed his mouth in a kiss that was slow, open, possessive.
The bathwater churned around them. The room grew thick with sighs and steam. And in that moment, beneath the gilded ceilings of that beloved farmhouse, all three of them fully and freely surrendered to the sensual freedom they had chosen.
The water sloshed gently as Lady Ashcombe lowered herself fully into Thomas’s lap, guiding him inside her once more with the practised elegance of a woman entirely in control of her desires. Her sigh slipped into his mouth as she kissed him, slow and searching, her hips rolling in a rhythm that seemed to match the flicker of sunlight across the tiles.
Thomas gripped her waist, fingers digging into soft, wet skin, his breath hitching at the intimate slide of her body over his. The heat of her breasts as they pressed against his chest, the warmth of the bath, the scent of oils and skin—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.
Lucia remained kneeling at the side of the tub, close enough to feel the splash of water against her forearm. Her lips parted as she watched them, one hand slowly rising to her chest, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of her bodice. She glanced up at Emily, who, without missing a stroke, turned her head and met Lucia’s gaze with a commanding and permissive look.
“Yes,” Emily murmured, her voice low and breathy, “you may.”
Lucia swallowed, cheeks flushed, and let her hand slide down her front. She gathered her skirts and lifted them just enough to slip her fingers beneath, resting her other hand against the tub’s edge for balance. Her breath quickened as she touched herself—tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence—watching every subtle shift of Emily’s body as she rode Thomas in the steaming water.
Thomas’s eyes flicked toward her, drawn by the soft, wet sounds of her pleasure. The sight of Lucia’s eyes heavy, lips parted, skirt hiked indecently over her thighs, only sharpened the edge of his arousal. He moaned into Emily’s neck, thrusting up harder, driving her breathless for a moment before she bit down on his shoulder, her fingers tangling in his soaked hair.
“Don’t look away,” Emily whispered, voice ragged with pleasure. “Watch her. Watch how much she wants this.”
Lucia gasped, her movements growing erratic, her face flushed and glistening with sweat. The tension in her shoulders, the tremble in her thighs—it was all so achingly real, so exposed. She was no longer the quiet attendant in the shadows. She was a part of this now.
Emily arched her back, throwing her head back as her climax approached, water cascading from her body with each undulation. “Touch yourself faster, Lucia,” she moaned. “Let him see how beautiful you are when you come.”
Lucia obeyed, her eyes fluttering shut, hips rolling into her hand as her breath turned to whimpers. Just as Emily shuddered around his raging cock—tight, pulsing, her cry echoing in the stone and steam—Lucia gave a strangled gasp, her free hand clutching the tub’s edge as she came, legs trembling, her face awash in open, stunned ecstasy.
Thomas climaxed moments later, buried deep within Emily, his groans muffled against the soft milky skin of her breasts as he erupted within her. For a long time, none of them moved, save for the water’s gentle lapping around them.
Emily finally leaned back, smiling with a kind of decadent satisfaction. She looked from Thomas to Lucia, her voice soft but firm. “You see now?” she whispered. “There is no shame here. Only freedom.”
Lucia let her skirt fall back over her knees, chest still rising fast, and nodded—silently, reverently.
Still inside Emily, Thomas looked at both women, realising that this was not simply indulgence—it was a ritual, a rite, a shared covenant of flesh and trust.
And the day was far from over.
