The Man at Langley Manor

The identity of the man who purchased the mansion on the hill that rose above any landmarks for a mile around was a mystery to every resident of Langley Street, the street that led motorists and pedestrians alike to the private estate and the foot of its sweeping front drive. As much as rumor could provide, the new owner was a young man in his early twenties, obviously a man who had recently come into good fortune, either by his own merit or by luck. He had settled into the massive house a month before summer started, but had yet to be seen interacting with the community outside his walls. He kept himself locked away in the ornate building, and food and groceries were delivered to him by truck. Even those deliverymen, when stopped and queried by nosy neighbors, had nothing to say of the man. They dropped packages on his front step and, as directed, drove off before he would pick them up. Not a soul had seen or heard a breath from this new tenant of Langley Manor.

Sarah Johnson, a courageous and headstrong woman of barely eighteen years was overcome by curiosity about the man. Mysteries were few and far between in her vaguely backwater town, a city where the only mysteries were weather and the occasional petty crime. And yet here, in her own backyard, was a man who had moved into Langley Street with a considerable sum of money, and who hadn't left the building since. Word spread of the man in Langley Manor, and soon he became idle talk and speculation at her school. Boys joked that he was a murderer or a drug dealer, and girls joked equally harmlessly that he was a pimp who moved into town to legitimize his "work." Naturally, neither was right, but jokes and supposed tales and forged sightings of the man from Langley Manor flew thick in the air as a means of curing the tedium small cities breed.

Sarah grew bold. When she finally left school for summer, overheating in near hundred-degree weather, she decided to dedicate her summer to finding out more about the man. Technically, they were next-door neighbors, although his door had to be reached by three hundred meters of paved, private road that stretched up a steep hill. Still, she was determined.

In early June, Sarah stepped out of her modest house, her toes curling slightly to dig into the soft, green grass. The bright summer sun made her orange hair glow, her fiery hair contrasting strongly with her pale body. She kept herself very healthy; she was a runner and looked the part and then some. Her toughened feet, rooted in her lawn, connected to strong calves and even stronger thighs, smooth, pale skin joining them all seamlessly as if she were carved from stone. Her ass was even stronger, perfectly shaped, soft enough to slap and squeeze, and hard enough to grab roughly. Her upper body too was perfect; her breasts strained against her bra, slightly too large for their encasement but supple and firm, pressed together by her too-small bra to make tight, deep cleavage between her soft tits. Her arms were delicate and, while not weak, were runners' arms–designed for balance, not for strength or force. Her lips were thick and soft, parted slightly as she breathed in the dry air, her green eyes darting back and forth dilated from the prospect and excited fear of her pursuit that day.

She reached behind her and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. The motion pushed her breasts against her bra, straining the material, and she smiled smugly when a boy walking past glanced over and visibly swallowed, walking with a slight limp in an attempt to hide what must have already become a full erection. Sarah loved the effect she had on men, how she could seduce them and control them so easily. She enjoyed the control she had over men, but had always felt that there was something off about it, something missing....

She shrugged, brushing off the thought, tits bouncing generously after she dropped her shoulders. She laced up running shoes and took off up the private drive to Langley Manor.

She didn't know what she would find, or even if she would find anything. The deliveries had slowed to a complete stop a few days before, and gossip was that the man must have taken a vacation or taken leave of his him for some purpose, because how else could he sustain himself without food?

Sarah came up to the front door, flushed and already sweating from the heat. She rang the door once, twice, and three times, but received no response. She frowned. Surely that was a foolish move; of course someone would have tried it already. She stood before the great house, biting her lip in concentration. Of course, the backyard!

She jogged around the house and leapt the fence dividing what might be generously called the hill's wilderness habitat and the man's property. Sarah edged carefully around the tall wooden fence, looking for a broken knot to peer through. There it was, clear as day. Sarah knelt down, leveling her eye with the hole, peering into the man's backyard.

What she saw nearly knocked her back onto her ass.

There was a man who lived here indeed, but not just any man. He was in every sense of the word a man. He stood six feet tall, sported messy brown hair, and was bent to his work. Sarah had a difficult time concentrating on his work–which she eventually recognized as gardening–because the man was completely and utterly naked. He didn't wear a scrap of clothing, not even shoes, and his body...Sarah caught herself in a combination gasp and sigh watching him work. His arms rippled with powerful muscle, flexing and pulling as he dug a long shovel into the dirt. His skin seemed to strain at every movement, stretched thin over boulders of muscle. His stomach and chest was just as carefully tuned and refined, hard abs underlining heavy pecs and bracketed by deep obliques. His legs were just as strong, lines standing out as he lifted each shovelful, every muscle swelling and bunching at the work. And his...his....

Sarah's mouth opened wide on pure instinct, and in the back of her mind she still recognized it might not be wide enough. She barely noticed a growing stain in the joint of her short shorts, her lust clearly visible. The hot sun beat on her back and she thought in a haze that it was much too nice a day for clothes, and so reached back and unclipped her bra, letting it fall to the ground next to her, her breasts springing free, nipples hard and pointing straight toward the object of her lust. Her hand dove into her partially unzipped shorts–when had she done that? –and worked furiously at her soaked, throbbing clit.

His cock, even while working in the garden, was both massive and hard. It was, by her guess, eight inches long, and god knows how thick. Sarah's mind assaulted her with a slew of images: her on her knees before him, laying his heavy cock across her face, bobbing forward to work half of it into her mouth, gagging with pleasure as he grabbed her hair and forced his long shaft all the way down her convulsing, resisting throat....

Sarah had closed her eyes, her fingers dragging soft moans and cries out of her, her hips and round ass thrusting forward desperately, hoping to be met with the man's throbbing member, but met only by her frustratingly tiny fingers. As she was about to cum, fingers soaked and breathing ragged, punctuated only by moans, she opened her eyes to the hole and saw the man only from his waist down, cock swinging between his legs, strong muscles pulsing and smoothly moving...toward her?

Sarah cursed herself for being so loud and quickly stood, wrestling her shirt over her head and running off, remembering only seconds later that she left her bra sitting at the hole, but realizing too that it would be too late to run back and grab it, and doing so would risk her being seen by the man.

She ran the short distance home braless, panting both from adrenaline and arousal, and let herself in, immediately withdrawing for a shower, where the running water would clean her sweat and muffle her moaning, shuddering orgasm, her mind replacing her hands with the man's calloused fingers.

Sarah did not brave another expedition to the Langley Manor for a week. Exactly one week after she had seen the man, a flier was posted on every light pole on Langley Street that the man was looking for a housekeeper for the season. She had to stifle a moan when she looked at the poster. A personal maid for that man was fuel to her already overactive imagination, and it provided her with images of slutty maid costumes, bending at the waist in front of the nude man to pick up his clothing, him ordering her to climb into bed and clean him instead of his house....

Sarah shook her head. What was this, wanting a man to order me around? I'm the one in control here, always. Men fall at my feet and beg for me to fuck them. I don't want one to order me around and cater to his disgusting whims.

Even so, Sarah found herself finishing the questionnaire, informal application, and portrait and depositing the three together in a self-addressed envelope in the Langley Manor mailbox.

Another week after, she received return mail that read:

Dear Sarah Johnson,

I would be delighted to make your acquaintance and ascertain whether you will be the right candidate for the job. I would like to give you a brief tour of the house, discuss employment, and your potential responsibilities and work hours, as well as any questions you may have regarding the job.

Thank you for your interest, and until next time–

Frederick Langley

So that explains that, Sarah mused, tapping her foot. The man was the heir to a fairly wealthy local family. She looked farther down the page, where he had listed the visit date. It was tomorrow. She almost gasped, but controlled her breathing even though her heart could not slow. She went to town to get a haircut and organized nice, but alluring clothing. That night, she stared at the ceiling, restlessly turning back and forth, the man's body, muscles, and cock teasing her whenever she closed her eyes.

Sarah walked up to the door confident and poised on her assigned day. She rang the doorbell once and stepped back slightly, admiring herself in the window's reflection. She had dressed in a black summer dress, tight around her breasts and ass to accentuate them, the hem cut off slightly higher on her thigh than appropriate. When she stepped too long, the hem would ride up and reveal the supple, tempting first inch of the bottom curve of her ass. She knew the dress did this, and almost giggled when she imagined her seduction of this man, as helpless to her delicious body as any wide-eyed boy at her school. She tugged a few times on the neckline of her dress, pulling her tits up simultaneously so the dress became less of a cocktail-type affair and became borderline whorish. Her nipples, hard already, rested merely an inch below the neckline, her breasts barely contained. And the black, Sarah thought idly, worked wonders to contrast her pale skin and orange hair, both glowing in the bright daylight.

So when the door opened and Sarah pouted her lips slightly, showing off her full lips, her body buckling slightly to accentuate her curves, she was almost shocked into propriety by the old, grey-haired man who opened the door. Sarah stuttered for a moment before greeting the man who seemed to be a butler, and followed him inside.

The tour was indeed brief, and the butler discussed the terms of her employment. She was to work cleaning the house every day of the week, and the cleaning work was to be paid as a wage of fifteen dollars per hour. She had no specified hours and could create her own schedule, but the minimum was two hours every day. All this was explained as the butler led her from extravagant room to extravagant room, each lush and filled with velvet, mahogany, and silk.

The tour neared its end and the butler had led Sarah to the parlor. He turned to her, bowing slightly.

"Miss Johnson I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, I have received a buzz from Master Langley that he is in need of assistance. Please make yourself comfortable here until my return, when we will finish the tour. I assure you this delay will be short."

Sarah nodded politely and set her small bag down, sitting carefully in a plush suede chair, enjoying the soft fabric rubbing against her ass as she sat down. She looked around the room casually, eyes lighting on tall bookshelves and a stereotypical globe, all the tones dark and wooden and earthy. All except–

Her bra. There it was, draped over the armrest of a couch as if it were simply discarded or left behind. There was no doubt that it was hers; there was even a couple grass straws still stuck to the clasp. Sarah's heart raced. He knew. There was no way he didn't know it was her bra. Unless maybe he hadn't seen it yet? Maybe the butler had brought it in?

No that wasn't possible; as she had fled she had seen him walking toward her. He must have looked over the fence and found the bra, decided to hold onto it. What if he had set up the maid employment as a ruse to catch her, to make her come back to the house?

Sarah was breathing hard, and felt both panicked and felt the stirrings of arousal. She stood and walked over to the bra, picking it up in her hand. It would be easy to stuff it into her handbag and walk out, leave the Manor, her identity known but having escaped. She moved to put the bra in her bag, unzipping it, but before she could finish, she glanced up and saw him in the doorway.

He leaned against it casually, mouth turned up at a corner in a mocking, amused smile, eyes laughing and taunting her, arms crossed in front of a tight shirt, biceps and forearms flexing as he did so.

"Is that your bra, Miss Sarah Johnson? Is that why you're taking it from my house?"

Sarah stumbled on her words, mouth moving briefly before language escaped her, trying to find a response but instead only able to focus on her quickly ramping arousal. Being discovered and called out was turning her on even though she was embarrassed. She crossed her legs, hoping her pussy hadn't already soaked her thighs.

"Well, if it is, I suppose you shouldn't leave it out places where it'll be found. That's awfully disorderly for someone who wants so badly to be my maid. And you do want to be my maid, very badly, don't you?"

Sarah swallowed and managed a small "Yes, of course."

He smiled more broadly now, like a hunter catching a rabbit in a snare, his eyes predatory and roving over her body as she shifted uncomfortably, feeling his gaze tearing her clothes away, a tiny voice in the back of her mind screaming "Yes, please tear off my dress."

Sarah breathed loudly and composed herself.

"I believe I was to continue the tour then?"

"Not with stolen property, no, unless you are certain that is yours."

Sarah clenched her teeth tightly and chose to stuff the bra into her bag, ignoring the rush of blood to her face as her pale skin tried desperately to match her hair. The man smirked, his eyes darkening, pushing himself to a standing position from his lean, turning from the door and walking out, saying as he went, "you can see yourself out." He disappeared, and all signs of life with him, leaving Sarah terribly alone and terribly aroused in the empty manor.

One more week later and Sarah received a letter that simply said:

Dear SJ,

You're hired.

FL

And yet her first week on the job was tedious and uneventful. The man and butler were nowhere to be seen, and neither made much mess at all. Sarah resigned herself at times to simply exploring the old house, wandering in and out of its dozen rooms, plucking books from bookshelves and examining their titles, bouncing around with curiosity and barely-contained boredom. But the pay was good and the work was easy, so she stayed on.

In her second week, Sarah began to notice things slightly out of place. Articles of clothing were laying about some days. Pants, shirts, underwear, shoes, and socks were strewn about the place with seemingly reckless abandon. As she collected the garments, she tried not to imagine the man wandering the house naked late at nights, pacing the wooden floors, cock swinging with each step...

Each week passed like this, uneventful but still with work to do, always keeping pace with the messy man of Langley Manor, until the first day of July. Sarah walked into the house and immediately found herself face-to-face with a mannequin sporting a uniform. A maid's uniform. A note was pinned to it that read:

"SJ–

Please wear this around the house when working. Proper servants should have proper uniforms. When you have finished working, place the uniform back on the stand before you leave.

FL"

She shrugged and slipped into the uniform, which was less form fitting and much longer than she had hoped for. Still, she wore it around the house with a certain pride knowing he had bought it for her. When she came in the next day, she put the uniform on again, but noticed it slightly tighter around the bust, and the skirt clung more tightly to her legs and ass, the hem cut slightly higher. It was as if the man of Langley manor had altered it overnight....

And day after day, the uniform grew tighter and more revealing, clinging more tightly to her curves. Soon enough a corset was added, pushing her breasts together and up so she had to strain to see over them. She would pass the house's grand mirrors and see herself grow into more of a sex object every day, a frilly dress giving way to a skirt that didn't even try to cover her ass, a modest neckline plunging deeper into her cleavage and exposing more and more of her breasts until the slightest jerk would pull the fabric down to expose her nipples. Sarah couldn't help but feel, as she watched herself slowly transform from a normal maid to a porn star servant, that the man was watching her in the house, enjoying her transformation into an object, a sex toy, his private entertainment. As she worked, she imagined him sitting somewhere hidden away, watching TV monitors of her cleaning, stroking his huge cock while his muscles bulged, his skin beading with sweat.

She found herself more often than not bending at the waist to pick up objects from the floor, letting the cool air expose her perfect ass. When cleaning the table and counters she would lean farther over them than necessary; as her uniform changed, she began to let her tits fall out of the dress, nipples and soft breasts pressing and gliding against the cool marble. One day, on a whim, she pulled out her breasts and played with them, taking a ten-minute break to tease her nipples and pull on them, fantasizing about the man's reaction somewhere else in the house. The very next day, she returned to the house and found her uniform altered again; any bodice or breast covering had been completely removed. Sarah stared at the uniform, knowing this was both an order and a test. She had been brave enough to expose herself yesterday, so he would make her commit to it every day. Sarah smiled with a blush and quickly donned her uniform, setting cheerily about to her work, perky breasts bouncing as she danced about the house.

In mid-July, she came to the house, excited and aroused as always, her daily highlights having long since become arriving at the Manor to work and exhibit her luscious body to a mysterious but gorgeous man, finding unexpected pleasure in knowing he was almost undoubtedly finding his own in the images of her naked form. She bounced in through the door and began undressing even before the door finished closing, ready to don her uniform, only to find a bare mannequin. Attached to it was a note that read only

"You know what to do."

Sarah stood still for a moment, unsure of herself. Her uniform was always here, altered and sexier than the day before, with no directions from the Master than those he had given her long ago. She crooked her head at her own thoughts. Master? Since when did I call him that?