April 2022 Story - The Finger Curse (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

Penelope sighed heavily when she sat alone in the kitchen. The night was waning at half past 2 o’clock in the morning. The servants now had to clean everything up, which would most likely take another hour. Very tiring work indeed – walking here and there and picking up after the drunken ribaldry. Penelope needed a quiet respite before plunging headfirst back to work. She was still flustered about Agnes’s stomach problems.

To think – in all these years she had never once witnessed Agnes suffer a bout of gas or bloating. Then suddenly – it happened! Penelope blushed brighter remembering how stuffed and nearly immobile Agnes looked.

All these years, Penelope wished she could hear Agnes belch or fart. Just once. When Penelope would comb her hair, she was always in a fit of anxiety, transfixed by Agnes’s bright chestnut hair and her delicate skin. Everything about Agnes was divine, from the way she spoke to the way she walked and composed herself. Everyone rolled their eyes at Agnes, but not Penelope. Sometimes she even dared to lean closer while combing her hair to catch a whiff of Agnes’s divine natural scent. She could not describe it other than intoxicating. They say that people can fall in love with each other’s scent. No perfume, no matter how expensive, could sway Penelope except for Agnes’s bodily scent. Some of the more learned men called it “pheromones”, similar to how plants and animals give of certain scents. Whatever it was, it added to Penelope’s long list of things about Agnes that made Penelope fall for her.

Despite Agnes’s very off-putting pompous nature, she was the only one to treat Penelope as an equal. The other servants frequently made passing judgments about Penelope. She was always “too quiet”, and people often found her “too suspicious” because she was “too quiet”. They kept thinking she was trying to say something when she really was not. She simply was not one to socialize very much.

But Agnes talked about everything to her, even when Penelope hardly replied. Other nobles, and even the king and queen, often demanded an answer as a sign of respect, even when they asked rhetorical questions. For some reason, not Agnes. Agnes was so stuck-up about everything except that. Other people did not seem to understand. Truly, Penelope felt safe and warm in Agnes’s chambers, like it was a retreat from the work she had to do outside.

Penelope thus often daydreamed about Agnes right in front of her, staring at her hourglass figure and thinking about what her naked body must look like. Many lewd thoughts derailed her. Other times, she simply wanted to be near her, especially to see that royal smile.

And yet, all of Penelope’s desires were just a dream. There was no possible way Penelope could ever be with Agnes. It would be quite a scandal for a chambermaid to cavort with high nobility, and not to mention with a princess! She shuddered at the thought of what the king and queen would do to her. Lock her forever in the dungeon perhaps. Or worse.

Penelope thus suffered this long-hushed love for Agnes almost all her youth. She was there when Agnes cried about family drama, when she needed to talk about family drama, and when she was just being herself talking about the men she was thinking of marrying.

Agnes always talked about how rich these men were, how they would be able to carry on the family line. Never once did she talk about their personalities or how she felt about them. Penelope had an odd feeling that maybe…there was a remote chance that Agnes could love her. It was so bizarre but Penelope kept thinking about how Agnes always complimented her hair or advised her on how to dress when she was not working. It could have simply been Penelope’s imagination. Agnes did always love telling people what to do.

Penelope jumped when the other servants entered the kitchen through the side door. She squeaked and made sure she looked in order.

“Gosh, that was one of the most obnoxious parties yet!” said Belinda, a stout and heavyset woman with reddish hair. She placed several dirty dishes by the sink, but then nearly collapsed on the chair next to Penelope. “I’m getting too old for this nonsense, Pen. I need a drink.”

Marcus was the head butler of the royal family. He passed through the kitchen with a stack of plates with a steady hand despite being 85-years old. How he still had energy past midnight nobody understood. He casually picked up a flagon from somewhere and placed it on the counter, then placed the plates in the sink and went on his way back to the ballroom to clean up some more.

The other two maids in the kitchen were sisters, Margaret and Milly. The former was older than the other, but both could nearly be mistaken for twins were it not for a mole on the left side of Margaret’s face. They both had brunette hair and pointed noses. They also both had a penchant for being the nosiest maids in the castle. Sometimes personalities mimic body parts.

“Did you hear that Lord Filmore left early?” Milly said.

“I knoooow!” said Margaret, gasping and placing her hands on her cheeks. “Phyllis mentioned that she saw them on the balcony, and he was reaching for something in his pocket. But Agnes then left in a huff.”

“Was she mad?”

“I’ve no idea. Phyllis said she was.”

“Oh dear. I thought their courtship was going marvelously.”

Penelope was not one to be interested in gossip, but her heart raced when she heard this. She had been unaware of Lord Filmore’s departure. Once she accompanied Agnes downstairs, she went to her other duties for the remainder of the night, then needed a moment alone in the kitchen once it was over. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, wrapped up in listening to the conversation.

“Maybe she just wasn’t feeling well,” Margaret said. “Nerves and all that.”

Belinda grumbled. “All this sissy courtship with these nobles. They’re dancing around each other like a bunch of headless chickens, that’s what they do. My husband and I were simple. We liked each other, we fucked, and that was it.”

Milly snorted as she laughed, but Margaret looked aghast. “My, my, Belinda. How crude.”

“Wot? It’s the truth. All these nobles be fucking anyway to high heaven. They just don’t openly talk about it.” She drank straight from the flagon, and Margaret immediately cried, “You’re supposed to pour it in a mug first! What will you do if Marcus sees you? That flagon is for the guests!”

Belinda nearly chugged the entire flagon. She set it down with a satisfied sigh and belched aloud, much like a bullfrog. Penelope found her belches to be quite amazing. Belinda herself was very pretty. Whenever she had her hair down, she looked like a lioness with her curly mane. Had she not been married already, and maybe also a little younger, Penelope would have dared to try courting her.

“Whatever,” Margaret said, seeing that Belinda did not care at all.

Belinda laughed. “If Marcus cared so much about the guests, he wouldn’t have given me their flagon of ale.”

“True. He has been…slipping lately in his duties.”

Milly said, “Have you seen how old he is? No wonder.”

“No, no,” Margaret replied, shaking her head. “He clearly has been fed up with the family’s horse shit lately.” Margaret then looked left and right even though nobody else was around. She leaned forward and whispered, “Agnes is the worst.”

“Course she is!” Belinda half-yelled. “Everyone knows that. The dumb lass hasn’t any sense of how the other half lives. Think she’ll survive a day out there in the city? I’d kill to see her try.”

“Spoiled rotten, she is,” Milly said, shaking her head. “The other day, Marcus got upset because she kept ordering him to make a new soup for supper. She first said she wanted tomato and basil, had a sip, hated it, and then ordered chicken soup. She sipped the chicken soup, hated it, and demanded vegetable stew. She then had the audacity to complain to him why he didn’t put any chicken in the vegetable stew when it should be a given to put some meat a vegetable stew. Honestly. I might actually leave the day she becomes queen. Can you imagine her ruling the kingdom?”

Margaret took a swig from the flagon and let out a sizeable belch as well. This was Penelope’s favorite part of the evening – when the servants congregated in the kitchen as the party died down and the maids belched and farted. They often got into contests, led by Belinda. They did so by eating all the leftovers. The king and queen hated when people didn’t eat their fill, so they ordered their servants to finish whatever scraps remained.

Belinda always joked about that being the reason why she got so fat. Margaret and Milly were relatively new maids, but even after a year they seemed to put on some weight. Their dresses were tighter than Penelope remembered.

Milly rubbed her belly and moaned. “Uff. I had to eat about five plates of leftover scraps. I feel like a cow.”

Penelope blushed even redder with excitement. She tried hard not to stare but kept stealing glances. Milly undid the strap of her dress and groaned rubbing her bulging belly. She then started to press on it, and out came a short but loud fart.

PRRRP!

“Ahhhh, there we go. Nothing like a good fart to feel better.”

Margaret stopped drinking and then raised a finger.

“What is it?” Milly asked.

Margaret bent over a little bit, lifted up her dress, and let fly a rip-roaring fart – much louder than Milly’s.

They all cackled, and then stopped as they waited for Belinda’s response. She sat there waiting, concentrating. Penelope leaned forward, eager to hear what kind of monstrous fart Belinda would let out.

Belinda’s face became red like a tomato as she strained.

prrut!

The fart was weak, puny, and nothing short of a whimper. Margaret and Milly burst into a fit of laughter. Penelope grimaced, but was amused, nonetheless. Belinda rarely lost these contests, but it was nice to see someone else win for a change. Margaret stole the flagon of ale from Belinda and toasted to herself.

“I’ll drink to that!”

Margaret finally addressed Penelope and said, “Pen, I’m surprised you put up with us. You just sit there and don’t say much. Maybe you got something stirring in your bowels that you need to let out? Better let it out there than out there, where you’ll get scolded?”

“Bah!” Belinda said, patting Penelope’s shoulder and shaking her. She quite hated it when Belinda did that. “Pen here doesn’t burp nor fart. She’s a good girl like the others.” Penelope was not looking at her directly but she could sense Belinda rolling her eyes.

Everyone snorted into laughter, which was abruptly cut by Marcus barging in, and the door nearly hit Margaret from behind.

“Am I the only one cleaning up after everyone’s mess? Tut-tut!”

Penelope straightened and filed out of the kitchen with the other women. They passed by the grand stairwell, and she stopped to look up, thinking about Agnes. She could see a dim light coming from the corridor, and when she leaned forward, she heard the distant echo of crying.