Caring for Sheridan Manor Pt. 03

This is another continuation of an ongoing series, so check those out if you want to see how these two started! Thank you all so much for all the positive feedback, and please do comment any ideas for stories you'd like to see from me in the future! This one's a little more romantic and relationship-y, fair warning, and I think that's where the story's headed from here as well.

-

I'll admit it: Sophie scared me. It wasn't that I was a stone butch, exactly, not in the Leslie Feinberg sense at least, but there was a part of me that actually liked her, which was new for me, at least new for a long time. I tried not to make too much eye contact with her during the day or I'd find myself lost in my own imagination, which ran wild with all the possibility of constant access to this gorgeous young girl. I tried not to dwell on the fact that renovations were creeping forward on the manor, which meant even closer to selling, which meant even closer to Sophie leaving, which meant even closer to being alone again.

Christ, Ros. Get it together.

Still, I could feel Sophie watching me constantly, waiting for me to make the next move. She didn't have the confidence yet to pull me aside and demand to be fucked or even kissed. I wondered if she ever would, or if she'd be stuck as a sweet but nervous girl forever. Would she even come out? Was she even gay-gay? None of it mattered, not really, but I knew the ball was firmly in my court, and I wasn't quite ready to let myself play.

By that Friday, though -- my fresh flowers taking root in their beds, the marble floors laid upstairs, menus being planned for the grand open house -- I'd gotten up my courage and let my imagination take me toward her. Around four, right when the workers would start wrapping up for the day, I grabbed Sophie by the elbow while she had stepped to a private corner for a phone call. Her eyes turned up in a smile at the sight of me, clearly wanting to talk, and she worked to finish up the call.

"No, no, I think that the quote you gave was more than fair," she huffed into the phone as I ran my fingers up her arm."It's just that my father -- Mr. Bluth, yes -- he doesn't want to- uh huh. Yes. Sure. I understand. I can-"

The person on the other line -- one of a million vendors she'd been hounding this week, I imagined -- got loud enough that I could hear them through the tiny speaker. I let my hands trace up her arm, along her shoulder, across her neck, and down to the first button of her blouse. She looked at me with wide eyes but made no attempt to stop me.

As I undid the silvery button to reveal a sleek nude bra, Sophie's voice raised on the call. I didn't know if it was from the way I kissed the tops of her breasts or irritation at the vendor. Probably both. Regardless, it was fun to watch her squirm. She said, "We can- ah- we can work with that, I think. Let me- no, no I'm not distracted, I'm- yes, I'll talk with Mr. Bluth about it." She hung up and looked at me, exasperated. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

"Your daddy would fire you? Somehow I doubt that."

"You have no idea the kind of pressure I'm-"

I freed her left breast and brought my mouth to it, sucking softly at her nipple. When I looked up, her expression softened and her posture relaxed. I replaced my mouth with my thumb and forefinger, rolling her nipple between them, and kissed my way up to her neck. As she relaxed into me,I planted kisses across it until she leaned all the way in, looping her arms around my waist. I muttered against her ear, "I understand, Soph, I promise. I have an idea to relax you."

She pulled back and looked at me, sultry, expecting. "Oh yeah?"

"Not that one," I chuckled. Then I cut her a look. "At least not right now."

Slight disappointment crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity knitting her brows together. "If you don't want to do that, does that mean you want to actually, like, do something with me? Like a date?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, like a date, I guess."

She practically squealed. God, she was cute. I tried not to dwell on it. She asked, "What are we going to do?"

"Well, it's Friday, and that means it's girls' night at this gay club downtown. Thought it could be fun to show you a little bit of the local community."

Sophie's eyes widened like she was looking at a fist-sized diamond. "The local community? I didn't know we even had one."

I laughed. "Yeah, we do. It's not huge and almost everyone has already had sex with each other, but it's not half bad.

She scrutinized the expression on my face. I wondered what, if anything, she could read in it. "You mean you still hang out with your exes?"

I stifled yet another laugh. "You've got a lot to learn about being a lesbian." I added quickly, "If you are one. I don't mean to-"

"Yeah, I'm pretty fucking sure I'm a lesbian," she said. "I've never felt like this about any guys before. I know that much."

I knew she meant sexually -- at least, I convinced myself that's what she meant -- but my heart still fluttered to hear it. I shook my head a second to clear it. "Well, it's a pretty small group. Imagine you only know five people you could have sex with, and those five people all only have each other. It happens. We try not to keep scores or grudges."

"That's nice, I guess." She buttoned her shirt back up and said, "I need to change into something cuter than this if we're going out on the town."

"'Out on the town'?" I teased, raising up my pinky and putting on an accent, "You sound so high society."

She shoved me on the arm and I feigned pain. "I'll meet you at your place tonight?"

"Perfect. Maybe nine PM."

Sophie searched my eyes again, which made me a little nervous, as she pressed, "No dinner date?"

I pursed my lips, unsure how much to say about all the hangups that had been a problem, you know, my entire life. I offered, "That would definitely be a date-date."

She smiled softly, seeming to understand. "Maybe next time?"

"Next time," I agreed, even though I didn't know if it was the truth.

-

My heart was pounding by the time eight rolled around. I had to get ready and suddenly the minimalist, casual wardrobe that usually served me well seemed to betray me. Yeah, it was a club and there wasn't exactly a dress code, but I just knew that Sophie was going to show up in some tight sexy little number probably with some beaded clutch. I didn't want to be the slovenly butch with the hot femme on her arm. Not a good look.

So I dug into the depths of my closet for my wedding and funeral suit. I took out the navy blazer and returned the slacks and tie to the garment bag. I put on my best pair of jeans -- which meant no holes and no dirt stains -- and cuffed them three times at the bottom. On top, I buttoned up a white dress shirt, leaving the top few undone to bring out some cleavage and make the whole thing seem much more blase than it actually was.

I left my hair down, which I figured was nicer considering I almost always kept it up. I even raked some gel stuff that my sister had insisted on giving to me through it, giving the chocolate brown mass some body and curl. I even put on mascara, for Christ's sake, and accidentally smudged it on my cheek as Sophia knocked on the door.

I swiped at it, not making any progress without water or a wipe, then sighed and opened up the door for her. At the sight of her, I practically passed out on the spot. She had on a pink crushed velvet dress that hugged her so tight it might as well have been painted on. Her strappy, glittery heels brought her eye-to-eye with me for the first time. The new angle of those shockingly green eyes sent my breath hitching in my throat. She had heavy fake eyelashes like a doll and little flecks of star-shaped glitter across her cheeks like heavenly freckles.

Sophie beat me to speaking since I seemed to be unable to find any words at the moment. She took a deep breath and said, "You look great."

When the compliment made me nervous, I brushed off my jeans out of habit even though there wasn't any dirt on these ones. "Compared to you, I look like a bridge troll."

She gave me a sympathetic laugh, licked her thumb, and rubbed the mascara splotch off my cheek. "No, you look confident-" she ran her hand under one of my lapels and pulled me in close "-and sexy, I promise."

I took her hand in mine and led her to my truck.

The car ride was as quiet as it was electric. Sophie's hand never left my thigh, and I knew she didn't have any idea how much I fixated on that slightest touch. I drove deep into the city, into Boystown, where the crosswalks are always painted in rainbows and the businesses had progress flags in their windows, unashamed. We lived in a swing area, the mix of red and blue sometimes overwhelming, but this part of town was safe.

I parallel parked (expertly, I might add) outside of Marly's. Electronic music pulsed even through its brick exterior. The glass here was silvered, though, revealing nothing about the building's interior. I had chosen this spot specifically to get Sophie's assuredly adorable reaction when we walked inside.

She stiffened in the cool, not-quite-dim light. Her voice came out both shrill and hushed. "You said this was a bar, not a sex shop!"

I laughed and turned to her. She'd stopped in her tracks. I touched her cheek softly and replied, "The bar is through the back. Plus, there's nothing wrong with sex shops. Local businesses and all that. And they're way less sleazy than people imagine, as you can see." I gestured around. "No cum stains or anything."

"I've never been to one."

"I figured."

I took her hand and pulled her through the aisles of strappy lingerie, leather, and 11-inch dildos. Her eyes drifted nervously around, glancing at girls with shaved heads, nose piercings, and confident gazes.

The music pulsed louder as I pushed through a velvet curtain and then the metal door to the club. The large, open space was lined with red velvet booths. Ladies' night always brought out a mix of straight girls wanting to escape the grope-heavy uptown clubs, shy closeted women in unsexy-but-sexy clothes, and experienced lesbians who leaned into them with conviction. It wasn't a perfect vibe, but it was cleaner than the Black Rabbit and there were more women than at Vinyl, where I went if I wanted the attention of the handsy bartender who always wore the leather straps across her chest.

Sophie clung close to me, clutching one of my hands as if she'd spotted her father in the corner. I'd been in this position before and it was one of the perks of being butch, at least for me. Being the protector, the supporter, the guide, all on behalf of the prettiest girl in the room. The bartop was slick and marble and cold against my hand's heel as I leaned in, ordering us two whiskey sours. They appeared in copper cups and I handed one to Sophie, lifting it above my head. "To you."

"And to you," she replied with a little smile.

After a couple drinks, just chatting on the barstools, she loosened up and dragged me to the dance floor. Usually I'd put on a show about how I couldn't dance -- which was true -- but Sophie melted me too easily. She pulled me into the center of the dancers and turned around, wrapping my arms around her waist and pushing her body against mine. She moved like a myth, a whisper, a hymn. She was all hips and waist and stretch and smooth. Every few measures, she glanced back over her shoulder at me.

My heart raced and it had nothing to do with my poor attempts at keeping up with her. I roved my hands over her hips, her waist, her perfect round ass. She leaned into my shoulder and rolled her hips and swiveled around to kiss me whenever the songs changed. It sounds cheesy, but, for a few perfect minutes -- or maybe more than that; I lost track of the beats and the kisses as the alcohol and her scent sank in -- she was the only person who existed.

We danced our way through a few more songs as the moon surely rose high in the sky, enough to get our heart rates up and slick sweat in our hairlines. Enough to make the taste of our skin salty for the other. She asked me questions that neither of us cared about the answers to, right against my ear, and I did the same to her, just so we could be talking.

Sour mix sweet on her breath, Sophie mumbled in my ear, "I want you."

That sent an electric shock straight down. I'd started to think that feeling wouldn't go away, no matter how many times I'd be lucky enough to have her.

Her wide eyes, batting lashes, met mine. "Do you want me too?"

The honesty slipped out before I could stop it. Blame the whiskey. "Always."

"I don't think I can wait until we get back."

A smirk licked at my lips. "You want me to fuck you in some bar bathroom?"

I worried for a split second that she was too drunk, but we'd only thrown back a few and it'd been an hour, maybe more already. Her eyes were warm, bright, certain. She replied, "No, out under the lights, in your truck."

I bit my tongue to avoid rolling my eyes. "Very romantic."

"I think you might actually like that."

"Touche."

Regardless, I walked her back through the bar and the shop. In the middle of Marly's, though, she stopped again and said, "Can we pick something out?"

I grinned. "Absolutely. Go wait by the door."

And, a few minutes later, I had a small, discrete bag and a very excited Sophie to take care of. I checked my watch and told her, "We don't have much time before last call at the bar."

Her cheeks were red and warm. "I don't think we'll need very long."

"Is that so?" I pushed her up against the back of the truck and ran my hands, stong and hard, up her thigh. She wasn't wearing any underwear and her wetness coated my fingers. My breath hitched in my throat at her warmth. "Oh."

With my other hand, I pulled down the bed's door and helped her jump up. She scooted back and pushed things out of the way. I had a soft tarp wrapped up with my camping gear, which she found and spread out to lay on. I jumped up to meet her, doing my best to be suave with a hand full but fumbling a bit as I tried to latch the door behind myself.

When I turned around, Sophie had pulled her dress up and off. It was folded haphazardly behind her, ready to be used as a pillow. I took her in inch-by-inch. She wore a lineless, pink lace bra that matched the blush tone of her dress. Her nipples were hard through it, edged on by the soft night breeze that blew around us.

She breathed in and it was shaky. I took out the little gold chain from my bag. One soft beginner nipple clamp hung from either end. Her eyes widened. "I was expecting a strap-on."

I shrugged. "I've already got a collection of those back at home. Thought this might be a bit more stimulating on short notice. But I promise I'll rail you later if that's what you want."

Sophie nodded eagerly. I leaned down and took her left nipple in my mouth. I closed my eyes, savoring the salt of her skin. I'd only had her buttoned up and perfectly prepared, deodorant covering her natural scent. As I left her first nipple, I replaced my mouth with one of the clamps. As she gasped loud, I pressed my lips to her right nipple.

My other hand covered her already moaning mouth. I bit her nipple, just a little, just to feel her mouth part under my fingers. I spread her lips further, pressing my middle two fingers between her teeth. She instinctively sucked on them and it was my turn to shiver as her eyes rolled backward with anticipation.

I sat back a bit, taking in the sight of her. I took the chain in my free hand and tugged it lightly to gauge her reaction. She arched her back. Sensitive to a fault. I could tell just how badly she needed to get off. This wasn't the time to tease any more than I already had.

Her bare pussy was spread for me, wetnes catching the warm yellow light of the streetlamps as she ground the air in want. I took my wet fingers from her mouth, gave her a harsh 'be quiet' look, and dove in between her folds. She tasted raw, bitter, sweet, fruity. All at once. I sighed into her, the nipple clamps' chain in one of my hands. I kept it loose for a moment, but, as I slid my fingers into her, I tugged on it another time.

She moaned -- loud.

I pulled back and looked around the bed of the truck. No luck. So I reached down and undid my belt, memorizing that perfect scared-but-thrilled look that took over all of her features. Gingerly, I lifted her head and pressed my belt to her lips, giving her the choice. "This should help you be a good girl and stay quiet."

She spread her lips and bit down on the leather. I buckled it behind her head, just tight enough to keep her gagged. I could tell right away she'd never done anything like this, so I kissed her on the forehead, both cheeks, and then whispered in her ear, "Just tap me if you want it off."

She nodded and I got the sense she wouldn't be tapping.

I turned back to her inviting cunt, slipping my fingers inside first so I could watch her face a moment longer. I curled my two middle fingers inside, right against the spongy part of her walls, and used my thumb on my other hand to encircle her clit over and over. I kept the pace strong and slow and steady. Her eyes went from pinched shut to wide open and she writhed on the tarp, begging me for more. Her chest flushed deep enough to be visible in the limited light. I bent down and lapped slowly at her clit.

Immediately, she ground against my tongue like a desperate little slut. Usually I liked to control a girl as I went down on her, but something about Sophie's borderline feral need to cum made me hornier than anything else could. I reached my own hand down and unbuttoned my jeans, slipping my free hand onto my clit. When Sophie realized what I was doing, her thrusting was frantic and needy.

I shivered as she came against my tongue, heightening the speed and intensity of my own masturbation. Her taste turned silky and mild. She tried to pull away from me as her orgasm peaked and shattered, but I stopped touching myself to hold her tight to me. I eased up on her clit but kept massaging inside of her. Her wetness spilled out onto my fingers and mouth and I grinned into her pussy. Tiny, whimpering moans came out of her mouth around the belt while I refused to let her pleasure subside. I returned my hand to my cunt, the thought of our tastes mixing on my hand turning me on.

Then.

She reached up one of her hands, grabbed a handful of my hair, and pulled back. She sat up on her knees and yanked my hand away from my own pussy, pushing me onto my back and replacing it with her own in one fluid motion. She put me to shame with the confidence of her movements.

Her sudden confidence shocked me, honestly, but I didn't mind. Especially not as she undid her makeshift gag and shook out her rugged, curly, sex-shaken hair, staring down at me like a lamb who just learned to be a wolf. I would've been proud if I could think of anything but her hand between my legs.

Sophie practically ripped my top open -- one of the buttons sprang away from its string -- and ravenously wrapped her lips around my nipple. My skin bristled from the suddenness and the sensation. She rubbed around my soaked clit in firm circles, just like I'd taught her. Blood rushed through every millimeter of my body, heightening each breath and touch up to eleven.

When she bit my nipple just hard enough, I gasped in a breath and felt a new flood of wetness from myself. Suddenly it was easy to let go. She slipped two fingers inside of me and used her other thumb to continue the methodical, urging motion on my clit.

Trying to hold back a very loud, very real moan, I could only whisper out, "Christ, Soph."

She chuckled at me around my nipple -- mischievous, sweet, sultry -- and that was it. Faster than I ever had with a partner, my cunt clamped down around her fingers and my head threw itself back. I stared up at the city sky and it looked like fireworks instead of flickers.