The heavy oak door of Eliza's studio creaks slightly as you push it open, the familiar scent of oil paints and turpentine greeting your nostrils. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, casting golden rectangles across the polished wooden floor where paint-stained rags lie scattered like colorful confetti.

Your wife sits before her easel, her hair swept back in an elegant chignon with a few loose strands framing her专注的 face. In the moment she looks up, surprise briefly flickers across her features before melting into an enigmatic smile. Her painting hand remains suspended in mid-air, brush dripping a single crimson droplet onto the canvas below.

What truly catches your breath stands beside the ornate sideboard – Rose. The maid's normally prim uniform has been discarded, leaving her in nothing but chemise pushed down to her waist, her skirt hiked scandalously high to reveal smooth, bare buttocks that glow like alabaster in the afternoon light. She turns slightly at your entrance, her eyes meeting yours with a mixture of innocence and something bolder, more calculating.

"My darling," Eliza says, setting down her brush with a soft clink against the paint pot, "I was just admiring our dear Rose's exquisite beauty. Isn't her posterior a work of art in itself?" Her tone remains conversational, as if discussing the weather rather than the scandalous scene before you.

Rose's lips curve into a shy smile as she glances over her shoulder, her posture shifting subtly to present herself more fully. "Thank you, my lady," she murmurs, before directing her gaze to you, "I hope my nude body is not disturbing for you, Sir." The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.