Caring for Sheridan Manor Pt. 01

I'd been taking care of the grounds of Sheridan Manor ever since I was old enough to pick up a rake and a trowel. My mother, and her mother, and her mother, had all been groundskeepers at the Vermont mansion. My mom died a few years back, shortly after my 30th birthday, and my siblings moved away long before that, so now it was on me to keep things in order. I'd been trying to find a good addition to join the gardening staff since then, but it seemed I was always following behind them, cleaning up, anyways. So I took care of things myself.

"Today's the day, huh? Meeting the new owners. Always exciting."

I startled at the sound of Arlon's voice, nearly jumping out of my skin. He was the house manager who was technically my boss, but he was more like a father to those of us whose families had worked here for ages. Despite his age, he was quieter than a mouse when he snuck up on me in the garden. We worked with a few other on-site staff members year-round; since it was Spring now, my job was the busiest. Turning mulch, pulling weeds, replanting flower beds.

I wiped my dirty hands on my denim overalls and mused, "What do you think they'll be like this time?"

He chuckled. "Foolish, of course."

Since the property had fallen out of the hands of its original owners, families had come and gone through the estate. Some with enough children to actually fill out the eight bedrooms, some older couples with money to spare on summer homes, some young money who just wanted to throw parties and show off.

For now, it was empty, but it had just been picked up by some local real estate developer who had no idea what they were getting into. The original owners had stipulated that all on-site workers had to stay on at a consistent salary, so it had been a difficult sell. Some sucker, I imagined, with far too much hope on their hands and dreams of restoring the place to its "former glory" or whatever they romanticized in their minds.

And the suspicion that I shared with Arlon and the other members of the staff was proven right when it was finally time for us to meet them.

Or, her.

We met her at the front door, standing in a line, a few hours after I wrapped up my morning rounds. I hadn't bothered changing out of my standard "uniform" -- the overalls, a flannel shirt handed down from my older brother, work boots, hair tied back out of my face -- even though Arlon had wanted us in our Sunday best, so to speak. He came from that old money school of thought and usually wore a blazer with elbow patches.

The new owner stepped out of her car, which struck me as a gift-from-daddy situation. Charcoal black, brand-new shiny, a silver thing protruding off the hood. She was petite and blonde, her brown roots slightly grown in, and she wore a navy skirt suit that made her squirm. Underneath the fitted blazer, a slightly frumpy pastel button-down hinted at a figure that the rest of the outfit obscured.

All this together made her my opposite on site. I was tall and muscular, almost never thought of as feminine even when dressed to the nines. I kept my dark hair long, yes, but rarely had it framing my face or twisted into an updo. I hadn't worn heels like hers -- not a wedge, not a stain on them -- in years. I never wore makeup while she had a glossy pink lip like a college girl. I estimated she was nearly ten years my junior, if not the full decade. No way she afforded the estate on her own. Another gift from daddy, I guessed, or one of those "prove yourself as an adult" projects rich people threw at their children.

She went down the line introducing herself, shaking hands with each person and meeting their eyes. Her voice was soft enough that I couldn't hear until she reached me; she must not have realized it was customary for a new owner to address all of us as a group, voice firm, tasks already prepared.

After one look, she avoided eye contact with me as she stretched out her hand. "Sophie Bluth of Bluth Realty. I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you."

Daddy's project all but confirmed.

I got a better look at her face as she avoided looking at mine. I guessed she was a homophobe and had clocked me on site, which wasn't unusual in this wealthy, secluded area. I knew how to keep my head down and stay out of trouble with those types. Uptight, wealthy, a stick firmly planted up their cinched assholes.

Still, she'd be decent eye candy for me if she was wandering around the yards a lot. Her eyebrows were full and neat, probably microbladed and professionally waxed or threaded. Her nose was straight and confident, perhaps "fixed" by a surgeon but maybe just blessed from genetics. Though she was fairly thin, her jawline was soft like a storybook character's. She had round lips, barely any cupid's bow, and perfectly clear skin: No pimples, no moles, not even a freckle. Just smooth cream. Minimal makeup adorned her face -- only that early 2000s glossy lip and some light mascara. Knowing that she reveled in her own glow made her seem even younger to me.

I pulled my eyes off of her as our handshake went on far too long. I stammered, "Roslyn Tanner. Gardner. And whatever else is needed. I stay over in the guest house, across the southern alley, so you'll see me around more frequently than some of the others."

Sophie swallowed, still staring squarely at her feet. "Good to know."

She took a step back and said, "This summer, I want to work closely with all of you to return the house to its former glory and find the perfect family who can make it their forever home."

An inadvertent chuckle escaped my throat, but Arlon covered it by clearing his throat, always concerned at what he described as my "crass, uncaring way."

She heard it, though, and she cleared her own throat in embarrassment. "I'll meet with all of you individually this week to get a sense for how things are managed here, and then we'll start bringing in contractors the week after that to start work!" She offered up an unsure, insecure smile that tried to project confidence but failed so adorably." It's going to be an amazing few months if we can all work as a team.."

A few awkward seconds passed.

Nancy, the ancient housekeeper, muttered, "You're supposed to dismiss us, miss."

"Right, shit, of course-- crap, sorry. Um. Yeah, you can go. Thank you."

I laughed again, this time more obviously, and headed back down the driveway toward my shed.

-

Despite the new "owner," my work life didn't change much. Every day, Sophie Bluth of Bluth Realty pulled in a different staff member, kept them in one of the office suites for hours, and then emerged with them at the end of work hours. They all seemed to like her well enough, assuring me that she was nothing to worry about and gentle as a lamb.

She would eat her meals with someone on staff but scurry out of the kitchen when I came in for a drink. She strolled around sniffing flowers in the backyard until I appeared to trim a hedge; then, she'd check her watch and huff off as if she had something important to do. Each time, I just rolled my eyes and moved on. Scarier people than her had come and gone and they'd never outlasted me.

There were only five of us on permanent staff, so, by the time Friday came, I expected that it was my turn for our little one-on-one. Lunchtime came and went. She talked with Arlon about something across the lawn while I ate my salad in the greenhouse, surrounded by my saplings. The afternoon passed; she showed off a blueprint to a contractor and gestured grandly at different parts of the manor.

At four p.m., I began locking away my tools for the night; I was finishing early that weekend since I was supposed to drive up to visit my brother in the morning.

Arlon caught my arm as I walked around the back of the estate, toward my guest house, to settle in for the evening. "Ros, why don't you get cleaned up and try to talk with Ms. Bluth? I think if you just made an effort she'd be responsive."

"What gave you that idea? Her completely ignoring me or her being absolutely smitten with the rest of you?"

"Fair enough," He sighed. "I left your check for the month in my office, top drawer. Don't forget to pick it up before the weekend starts up. The contractors are coming on Monday and I wouldn't want anything getting lost in the chaos."

"Of course. Thanks."

I took a quick shower in my own quarters to scrub off the day's layer of dirt and changed into some bike shorts and an oversize college crewneck, Princess Di style. With everything settled for the evening, I walked back out my front door to grab the check before making dinner.

I opened the door and walked into the alleyway just as Sophie turned the corner around the main house, clearly on her way to me. I debated flipping around and heading home, but she'd already caught my eyes and I didn't want to look as callous as, well, she had for the past week. I took a few steps toward her, crossed my arms over my chest since I wasn't wearing a bra, and asked, "Can I help you with something? Lost?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes too wide for her face. I noticed for the first time that they green as any of the saplings growing in my greenhouse. "No, ah- I'm sorry; I was just about to come and try to speak with you when Arlon told me you'd gone home early. If this isn't a good time I can-"

I stiffened. She sounded serious. "What about?"

"It'll be quick; I don't need to keep you from..."

I half pointed toward where she'd come from. "I was just going to pick up my paycheck."

"Right, yeah, of course," she stammered in that breathy, confused voice. "End of the month. Sorry."

I offered her a charity chuckle. "You can stop apologizing. I don't know what to say when you do."

"Yeah, sorry-- er, no. My dad says that too. That I apologize too much." Silence passed between us for a few too many seconds. She glanced at my face, holding eye contact with me properly for the first time since we'd met. Pink blush rose up in her cheeks, so rosy it would've been visible even with makeup on. "That's what I wanted to do though. Apologize."

I broke her gaze, which suddenly made me blush, too. My shoes became the most interesting thing in my line of sight. "Oh. Ah, okay."

"I've just been...um, I'm sure you've noticed, right?"

"Yeah, I did, obviously." Her face fell at the harshness in my voice. She still wore that same baby pink lipgloss and her cheeks were the same embarrassed shade. She looked so young and inexperienced and unsure of herself, so I added, "You don't have to apologize for it. I know I can intimidate people."

"No, no, it's not you."

Suddenly, in what felt like a lightning bolt, I saw right through her. The meticulous way she presented herself, her desire to make everyone like her, the rigid relationship with her dad that I could read into every moment of her existence. I smirked like a real bastard. "I had you all wrong, didn't I? I thought you were avoiding me because I'm gay. But you're avoiding me because you're-"

As if her red cheeks weren't enough, she covered her face with a perfectly manicured hand. "Oh, don't say it, please."

"Why are you so embarrassed?" I took a step closer to her and she took a step back, toward the brick wall of the house. "It's the twenty-first century, after all. Nothing to be ashamed about if you're a little gay."

"Tell that to...well, everyone I know." Sophie laughed a tiny bit, which diffused the tension between us but not her awkwardness. "I just wasn't expecting for anyone to be here who's so..."

"Obviously a lesbian?"

She laughed again. One of those soft and sweet laughs. "Yeah, that."

I rolled my eyes and uncrossed my arms. "I should've guessed; you don't even wear nylons like a real New England stiff."

"Maybe I should start biting my nails and wearing flannels like you so it's more obvious."

"And just like that she finally has a personality!" I chuckle and say, "Well, I'm glad you're not boring on top of being a piece of work. Maybe we can play together like grownups now."

"Actually-" she took a step closer to me "-I was hoping that maybe we could do some non-work things, maybe. I just don't really have a ton of gay friends and I've never even kissed another girl, honestly, and I thought it could be nice to, I don't know, grab dinner or-"

"Have hot lesbian sex? That kind of thing?"

Sophie laughed, but it was strangled. She started to say something then stopped. Then did the same thing again. Finally, she settled on, "I'm sorry, I don't really know how to respond to that."

I took another step toward her. She didn't step back. "Didn't I tell you to stop apologizing? I was just making small talk. Joking. Might be a foreign concept to you?"

She looked up at me with nervous eyes. "Were you? Joking, I mean."

"I suppose that depends on you." I reached out and touched her hand, just barely. "There's something sexy about the whole 'aloof ingenue' thing you seem to have mastered putting on. And you could obviously use some unwinding."

"What makes you say that?"

"You're joking."

She shook her head.

I looked at her seriously. "Well, today you're wearing yet another bland neutral blazer and skirt that's too long for how young you are. You stand up way too straight. And you work at your family's realty office even though you're closeted. I've never seen a girl who could use a quick Friday night orgasm more."

My finger trailed halfway up her forearm to wear her blazer's sleeve was cuffed. I let my thumb slip just under the hem, wrapping around to the underside of her arm. At even just this slightest touch, her breath caught in her throat. "I agree that's a fairly compelling case."

"Even turned on, she maintains the real estate jargon," I teased. I dropped my hand from her arm and let it trail down to her thigh, brushing her bare skin just above her knee and just below her skirt, my other hand above her head. This was a move young girls liked -- the whole 'bad boy pressing her up against a wall' routine. "How about it, Sophie? I imagine you'd only take a few minutes of my time and then we can go back to pretending you hate me to the rest of the world."

"We don't necessarily have to go back to that," she breathed, trying to keep her cool even while turning red all over. "We could be civil. Friendly, even."

I leaned in as if to kiss her. She looked up at me with those wide eyes, but I dodged over to the hollow of her ear. My lips met her neck, which was salty from her nervous sweat. "But isn't it more fun this way? Secret trysts in the alley, stolen kisses in my greenhouse, stealing away to the master bathroom with the freshly installed jacuzzi tub..."

"We weren't going to put in-"

"Hypotheticals, Sophie." I pulled my hand up further, beneath her skirt, and up to her ass. I found her firm, toned butt uncovered save a tiny g-string thong perched right below her hip bone. I whispered, "Now let's get a better look at that."

I gripped her hip to turn her around against the wall and yanked her skirt down around her knees. The thong was petal pink and dainty and suited the rest of her to a tee. Little lacy triangle at the top of her peach ass, thin elastic string barely holding it together. I took one of the strings in my hand, pulled it away from her hip a few inches, and let it snap back on her skin again just to see the faint mark it would leave. She gasped and said, "I didn't think you were mean, Roslyn."

"Tell me you don't like me being 'mean' and I won't do anything like that ever again." I dropped down and kissed the place on her side where the elastic had snapped. She stayed silent, so I sucked gently at the skin, then harder, seeing where she would stop me. Still silent. No thought of a protest of my supposed meanness. On the next kiss, I used my teeth, sunk them just so into her, enough that I knew it would send a sting up bones. Her leg trembled involuntarily underneath my mouth.

I stood up, pressing my body against hers, stroking her exposed ass gently. Leaning back toward her ear, I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear, "Let me make you feel good. A little pain makes a lot of pleasure even stronger. Trust me."

From the way her head leaned back toward me and her back bent to press her ass against me, I figured she agreed. But she still managed to squeak out, "Okay. I trust you."

"I'm going to spank you now, just a few times, then I promise I'll give you an orgasm more intense than any boy ever has."

She giggled, nervous, "That wouldn't be particularly hard."

"Never had a good boyfriend, then?"

"Not in bed, no. Very supportive and everything. My dad liked him. But he could never, um, give me one."

I pulled back and turned her around, looking her right in the eyes. "You've never had an orgasm?"

Then she dropped her eyes and fiddled with her panties. "Not with another person. Is that something I'm supposed to mention?"

I laughed, "All you have to tell someone before sex is that you want it and make sure they do too. So far that doesn't seem to be a problem here."

She nodded fervently. "Not for me, for sure. What about you?"

Once again, I laughed. She was just so damn cute. So nervous and unsure and so obviously turned on but so obviously trying to hide it. "If I didn't want it, I wouldn't have suggested it. For the record, though, I'm glad you told me. Because now I know how to act."

I took Sophie's chin in my hand and softly, slowly, reverently pressed my lips to hers. Her mouth parted and I felt her draw in a breath. Her hand shakingly reached up to the back of my neck and pulled me closer. As the pace and intensity of our kiss increased, I made quick work of the buttons on her silky blouse.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, I looked down to take in the sight. Her breasts spilled slightly over a pink push-up bra that matched her thong. Front clasp. I turned my mouth's attention from hers down to her neck, her collarbone, the plate of her chest, to the tops of her breasts. Half-kneeling, I undid the clasp of the bra with my thumb and forefinger, slowly releasing her breasts from their confinement. When I finally let the cups pop away from her full chest, I was rewarded with her pale, prominent nipples, wrinkled and hard as the wind kissed them. I caught her right nipple between my teeth and sucked.

Sophie gasped and moaned, then tried to stifle the sound with her hand.

I replaced my teeth with my fingers, keeping rolling pressure on her nipple. I said, "No, don't be quiet; I like to hear it."

Her voice was nothing but a gasp. "What if somebody else hears?"

"There's nobody on the grounds but us. Show me how much you want it. Need it."

I returned to sucking and biting her nipple, careful to give the other equal attention with my fingers. At each roll and press, she squirmed against me. I feel into the rhythm of her body, listening to her precious soft moans as she tried to get more comfortable with being seen, being heard, being touched.

When her breaths became ragged and I'd adequately purpled the skin around her nipples, I reached down and slipped a finger beneath the thin layer of lace that separated her perfect cunt from the cool evening air.

"Please," she whispered, "please touch me."

A smirk flirted with the edge of my lips as I pulled down her thong. She kept her pubic hair, blonde and wispy, in a neatly trimmed bush, shaved close further down where I could barely see without spreading her legs. I trailed my fingers over her hip bone and across the line where her panties had sat.

I looked up at her -- her disheveled bra and blouse, her blushing chest, her unruly expression -- and said firmly, "Louder."

She squirmed from how badly she wanted me to just move my fingers another inch, but I could tell she was battling that internal voice that told her to be quiet, be pretty, be palatable. Finally, she let out a breathy moan and said, "Touch me. I need it."