Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire) Read online

The slow, steady blink of Sonia’s stunned eyes, the way her head swiveled lazily, taking in the home’s opulence, and the thoroughbred standing inches away…

  Sonia’s, “Houston, we have a problem!” stupor gave Rory the smirks.

  Tantalized and throttled, the oversexed, job-desperate MBA weighed the risk/reward ratio and the high probability of impending fellatio. “So, Sonia… St. Scalding Fuck wants to know… ’How does this all make you feel?’ Uhhh… Mr. St. Megaloaded, sir… Off the top of my head it makes me feel like I oughta run for my car and high-tail it to the closest sanitarium! This place is NUCKING FUTS!”

  Sonia pressed her palms before her face in a prayer fold. Her eyes darted back and forth between the oh-so-kissable boss and his foyer fit for a king… and his queen… and the castle’s orgies…

  “Good grief, Sonia! What have you gotten yourself into? This guy just told you you’re going to have sex all day every day. You’re going to hold the keys to the STD kingdom. And if by chance – WHOOPSIE! – you ever ‘accidentally’ get pregnant, you’re going to get stuck carrying the kid.

  “OH YEAH! AND you you’re going to have a creepy detective taking secret pictures of you no matter where you go so St. Pervsalot can make sure you’re not fucking someone he doesn’t approve of.

  “’How does this make me feel?’ It makes me feel like someone laced my morning Joe with LSD, THAT’S how it makes me feel! It makes me feel like you have Timothy Leary’s number in your Rolodex!

  The boss had patience. As Sonia’s mind churned, he gave her space. Rory pulled a day planner from his inside jacket pocket and scanned upcoming appointments.

  “Okay, Sonia… Slow down. Think this through… I mean… Think about it… There has to be an up-side, right? Think about it… You like sex. I mean… You REALLY like sex. And you haven’t had sex in months. Not with anyone but yourself, that is. And this guy is practically guaranteeing he’s going to make you scream a couple of times a week.

  “Okay… The whole girl/girl thing sounds like something he picked up reading Penthouse Forum… I mean… It could be fun, but…

  “Wait a minute! What are you saying? ICK! You’re not a lesbo! Forget the pussy! Focus on the man meat!

  “Okay… Man meat… You get to create a kingdom full of Chippendale servant boys. Yeah… That could be fun. You could have buffed-up gardeners and groundskeepers running around with their shirts off all the time… That could be seriously sweet.

  “You’re in charge of screening for the diseases. You get to pick the staff. You get to run the whole place without anybodies interference. You get to fuck the boss…”

  Sonia’s eyes narrowed. She tilted her head slightly, peeking at the boss.

  “Hmmm… You get to fuck the boss…”

  Leering and licking her lips, Sonia eyed Rory up and down.

  “…You get to have wild sex with your totally hot, totally loaded, BOSS…”

  Upon returning his day planner to his jacket, Rory looked back to the candidate. He caught Sonia’s leering gaze. He blushed.

  Sonia smiled and tapped her lips with her left index finger, thinking… Pondering… Plotting.

  “Hmmm… Sonia, dear… If you take this job you’ll get to have sex with your stupid rich, mega-hot boss who owns his own mansion, his own company, and has God-only-knows how much money in the bank…”

  “Uhhh… Mr. St. Cloud, let me get this straight… If you hire me, I will personally manage the screening process. I will personally meet and clear every adult – every family member, every staff member, every staff member’s family member, and every guest –– and I will personally approve everyone’s fitness to fuck like bunnies, including you?”

  Rory smiled back. “Yes, Miss Nichols, you will personally supervise our ‘Cleared for Sex’ list.”

  Sonia beamed, attempting to understate her glee with an artificially muted, disinterested tone. She flipped her hand with queenly aloofness. “Well… To answer your question directly, sir… I think I’m feeling pretty damned good about life right about now. You may continue.”

  Rory chuckled and continued his lofty spiel, though Sonia didn’t pay much attention after hearing the phrase, “Cleared for Sex List.”

  “Sonia, dear, you’ve died and gone to nymphomaniac heaven. You get to draw a paycheck for your trouble. Ahhh… Life is good…”

  “…And I am proud to say we have had no infections or unwanted pregnancies in the history of this house or our family…”

  “Not a bad track record, I suppose… For a high society brothel.”

  “So yes, Sonia. I can see you doing the math. We are quite ‘active’.”

  “Let me just verify this for the record, sir… What you’re saying is… This place is one huge, non-stop orgy factory, everybody gets into the act, and if you hire me, I’m the new Madam in town?”

  Rory paused to ponder the implications of Sonia’s question.

  “Well… Yes… No… And yes. Please keep in mind that some people do not ‘get into the act’.”

  “Care to elaborate, sir…?”

  “You see, Miss Nichols, everyone at Staffordshire protects the children. I intend to have a family someday. Most of the estate staff will also live here on the grounds with their families. None of us will want our children adversely impacted by adult encounters. So the public areas of the house and estate are made 100% child safe 100% of the time. Our children are never exposed to adult playtimes…”

  The left corner of Sonia’s mouth curled upward in bemused disbelief. “Oh c’mon, St. Scrumptious! You run an orgy factory and you think the kiddies aren’t smart enough to figure out the screams? Riiiiight.”

  “…Appropriately loving, physical displays of affection such as lounging together in public areas are encouraged. After all, we are not ashamed of our affection for one another. But aggressive foreplay and open intercourse are not permitted when underage children are present.”

  As Sonia mulled the incongruity of a swinging lifestyle remaining a secret directly under the noses of always-curious children, Rory pontificated.

  “You see, Miss Nichols, we choose to educate our children in the beauty and responsibility of sexuality as soon as they reach puberty…”

  “Dear God… Will I have to listen to this crap if I take the job? Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Get back to the orgies, St. Bellicose.”

  “…We do not leave sex education to the schools or to other outsiders. We maintain an open and candid dialog about sex with our children…”

  Sonia nodded attentively, hearing only, “Yada, Yada, Yada…” “Scripted stuff, St. Sweetlips… Would make a great platform plank at the DNC. I’m still waiting for the juicy stuff, Horny Boy.”

  “…Some of our guests find this hypocritical, but we expect abstinence of our children until they reach maturity. We also instruct them in the importance of using protection once they become sexually active…”

  “Abstinence? Really? You honestly think these kids aren’t going to get busy until they’re out of college? Really? Forget hypocritical. Try NAÏVE!”

  “…Once our children move away, we must trust we have done our best to educate them about their sexuality. We must let them make their own choices, even if that means letting them make their own mistakes…”

  Rory gestured around the foyer, pointing to the balcony above and the guest rooms beyond. “Every intimate encounter at Staffordshire takes place in sound-insulated rooms…”

  “Okay, St. Windbag. All I wanted to know was if I was the new Orgy Coordinator. Enough with the ‘protecting the children’ bit. ORGY! ORGY! ORGY! Where’s the stuff about the ORGIES?”

  Rory leaned toward Sonia and elbowed her. “…After all, some of us can become quite vocal…”

  Sonia feigned attentiveness. “You get loud around here, do you?”

  “Miss Nichols, this estate is not surrounded by acres of open space simply for the view.”

  An image flashed through Sonia’s juvenile mind, of a woman and man sta
nding on an outdoor balcony, actively engaged in free-standing coitus. The woman screamed, “Oh! Yes! Fuck me!” through a megaphone.

  “In every other way, though, we take great pains to ensure that our children are raised in as normal and loving an environment as possible.”

  “YEAH RIGHT! ‘Normal’ and ‘loving…’ For an ORGY FACTORY!”

  Sonia’s boredom with inanities regarding “abstinence” and “educating kids” and “blah, blah, blah” crushed her attention span. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but… When do you tell your children about the ‘fun stuff’” Sonia air-quoted, “that goes on around here? You know…”

  Sonia made an “O” with the thumb and index finger of her left hand, took the index finger of her right, and slipped it in and out of the “O.”

  “Well, Miss Nichols, we only inform our offspring of our more active lifestyle choices after they graduate high school, after they are mature enough to fully understand the implications of our ‘fun stuff’,” Rory air-quoted.

  “But otherwise… I think it is a fair assessment to say…”

  “C’mon, baby… you want to say it. JUST SAY IT!”

  “…We really do enjoy a good orgy…”

  “YES!” Sonia fist pumped.

  The boss leaned toward Sonia, pressed his mouth to her ear, and introduced his next line with a tantalizing insertion of tongue.

  “As often as two or three times a month.”

  Sonia’s mouth gaped. “WHOA, SON!” She threw her palm up in front of Rory’s face. “I said, WHOA, son!”

  Rory leaned back, grinning like a smug frat boy.

  “Okay, Sonia! Get OVER the risks, baby! After all… What’s the harm in a nice, broad spectrum antibiotic or unplanned pregnancy among friends?”

  “Remember, Sonia, you may back out of this visit at any time, but you must also remember that this conversation and all of our activities here today must remain strictly confidential.”

  “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Two or three times A MONTH? That… is… so… fucking… HOT!!!” she shouted. Sonia’s soprano echoed throughout the vacant foyer and adjacent rooms.

  The reality of an “oopsie” paid Sonia a return visit, furrowing her brow.

  “But… Orgies can be risky. I really don’t want to get an STD.”

  “Uhhh… Mr. St. Cloud… You’re sure nobody gets infected…?”

  “Of course there are no guarantees, Miss Nichols, but we believe the health and emotional benefits of daily intercourse are well worth the risk. We take every reasonable precaution. And it will be your personal responsibility to see that our precautions are observed. The quality of your work will determine everyone’s risk, including your own.”

  Sonia glanced back and forth between the future boss and the foyer.

  A 40,000 square foot, ultra-romantic orgy factory. Check.

  A super-hot boss who liked to fuck the help. Check.

  $10k just for showing up for the orgy factory tour. Check.

  “Oh fuck it. Just do it, stupid! You’re in the middle of a stinking recession and the handsome prince just handed you a glass stiletto. Take it!”

  “Well okay, then,” Sonia deadpanned. “I’m sold.”

  “Now, Miss Nichols… Do you have any other questions before I take you on the tour and fill in a few more blanks?”

  “Yeah… I can think of a blank or two I’d like you to fill in…”

  “Just two. First, we never talked salary.”

  “$85,000 a year to start including a 1500 square foot, fully furnished, two bedroom apartment here at the estate and full access to all the estate’s amenities.”

  Sonia’s face went pale, her jaw fell open.

  “Not enough, Miss Nichols?”

  “No, no… That will be quite fine, sir. Does that come with medical and dental?” she quipped.

  “Why yes it does, dear. What was your other question?”

  “Do I have to keep calling you Mr. St. Cloud or can I just call you Rory.”

  A look of unexpected sadness filled Rory’s face. “That is one aspect of our relationship, Miss Nichols that we must never forget. Sadly, it, too, is a part of the stipulations of this house. When in the public areas of the home, the owners and their family members are ‘Sir,’ or ‘Ma’am,’ or Mr., Mrs., Ms., or Miss. Staff is called by Mr., Mrs., Ms., and Miss. or by their first name. So when we are in public or around other staff, you must call me, ‘Mr. St. Cloud,’ or, ‘sir.” I will always call you either Sonia or Miss Nichols, but, more likely, simply by your first name.”

  The Cheshire Cat grinned again. “There is, however, one notable exception to the rule about not using my first name. I suspect you will figure out that exception when we reach the appropriate point in our relationship.”

  Sonia pursed her lips. The word “when” was not lost on her.

  “Shit! Then I guess that means I need to clean up my mouth, too?”

  “Not necessarily. As long as we are in a private conversation or in a secure area of the estate you may be as profane as you wish. I personally find a woman who uses profanity… Quite provocative. But when we are in public or with unscreened visitors, we must maintain professional decorum.”

  Nodding her smiling agreement, Sonia urged the negotiation onward. “Fair enough. Clean mouth in public, potty mouth in private. I can handle that. So, should we take that tour now? I’m dying to know more about this place.”

  “Yes, Miss Nichols. Where would you like to begin?”

  Sonia cracked her knuckles. “Well, sir, how about someplace the contract was specifically designed to protect?”

  Fourteen

  Rory toured Sonia throughout the mansion and the surrounding compound for more than two hours, skipping over several rooms during the tour, noting somewhat cryptically, “If you are offered this position, you will have access to this room…” Sonia used her imagination, fantasizing about what probably went on behind those dead-bolted doors.

  The scope of the home was breathtaking. The quantity and size of the rooms left Sonia breathless. Three staircases led to the second floor, one at each end of the foyer and a third heading down from a back corridor into the kitchen/recreation area. At the end of the south wing sat a 120’ x 120’ formal ballroom with a soaring, chandelier-laced, gold accented ceiling and arched windows offering unimpeded sunlight from all directions. On the second floor Sonia counted 14 bedrooms, each with a private bath and all with walk-in closets. Certain bedrooms, such as the master suite, included several, larger walk-in closets that would serve as an apartment to most commoners. There were two kitchens, each at opposite ends of the house, one for the family, the other for guests.

  After visiting the main kitchen, Rory took Sonia down to the basement, to a long, straight hallway that stretched throughout the underbelly of the mansion. Many of the rooms were off-limits to Sonia as an applicant, only available to her upon agreement of employment. The few rooms Rory permitted her to enter included fantasy suites designed for adult play. A fantasy hotel pool. A fantasy doctor’s office. A fantasy drive-in movie theater complete with a vintage ’57 Chevy convertible.

  As Sonia quickly learned, at Staffordshire the word “play” always followed the word “fore.”

  At the end of the long, underground hall, a lone, vault-like black door remained sealed. A nearby pushbutton keypad required its own, unique code. When Sonia begged Rory for a hint of the room’s contents, all he would offer was…

  “That is a very special playroom for a very special person.”

  Rory took Sonia back to the main level, to the large indoor greenhouse and solarium. A winding, multi-level pathway with occasional wrought iron benches set a romantic, relaxing ambiance. At night, Rory explained, the trees lit up with thousands of twinkling lights, making it one of his favorite rooms in the main house. In a state of closely tended stasis, Sonia used her imagination to picture lush, green foliage, a wide assortment of colorful flowers, and a stocked aviary filled with exotic birds.

&n
bsp; Outside, they toured the eight-bay garage and four luxurious servants’ apartments above. Down by the lake, they visited several “cottages,” as Rory called them, 2500 square foot colonial style homes for married staff and their families. On the way back from the lake, they toured the 10-stall stable, with its two luxury apartments, and the nearby training facility complete with competition-grade jumping and dressage rings.

  As the last stop on their tour of Wonderland, Rory and Sonia visited the Olympic-sized indoor pool. Near the inner wall, an eight-person hot-tub sat drained and covered, awaiting the next generation of St. Clouds and their servants. Rory explained that as a matter of family tradition, every facility on the property was freely available to the staff and their families, encouraging the children of privilege and the children of their loyal servants to live and play side-by-side without distinction by class. If a servant was not on the clock, it was not unusual to find them lounging by the pool right next to the Master or Mistress of the estate, watching their children play together without a thought for social status.

  Sonia and Rory explored rooms and hallways and stories dating back nearly 120 years. Rory was not just an advertising executive of international repute. He was a historian, with a keen, detailed grasp of the home’s history, its many inhabitants, and it’s quiet, though pivotal, place in world events. Secret peace summits. Delicate, war-time treaty negotiations. Training spies during the first and second world wars.

  At the conclusion of the tour, the applicant and her prospective boss returned to the foyer and the right-side marble staircase. Sonia seductively climbed five steps and turned, leaning against the banister. She scanned the space, tracing the view up, down, and around several times. The romance of the grand home intoxicated her.

  Sonia tired of waiting for the boss to make the first move. The grand spectacle of the visit was all a formality. He probably had his mind made up before she arrived. She was also going to get seriously fucked. Randy Rory probably put Rambunctious Regina up to suggesting the stockings.

  No time like the present.

  Locking eyes with the boss, Sonia took a wide stance on the step, gripping the banister for balance. She crouched slowly and rose, on the first descent keeping her knees together, wiggling her legs back and forth like a pole-dancing pro. On the second descent, she spread her legs wide. Sonia repeated the motion several times — closed then open, closed then open — doing a seductive dance to a pulsing soundtrack in her mind. Her skirt inched upward with each downward shimmy. Finally lowering herself to sit, Sonia spread her legs wide and exposed herself to The Master, giving him a clear view up her skirt. Sonia’s black satin panties shimmered in the shadows. A little “provocative” profanity seemed in order.