Status: Part 5 (Patreon)

“Over there, please. Thank you. Give me a kiss, I’m headed out.” Erin said, gesturing her son-turned-gardener over with a wave of her hand and an outstretched neck.

It was clear to Kyle that his mother’s face was caked in makeup, giving her a glowing complexion that looked almost too smooth to be real. He leaned over and gave her a tiny peck on the cheek to placate her and went back to organizing the new sunroom she insisted be put in. As a kid he’d always been lectured about the value of hard work but never really saw her do any of it herself. It was always him doing the manual labor and household cleanup while she fussed about how she was the sole provider for their family and how hard she had to work to maintain that when really she’d been receiving money from her grandparents until they died and left her a sizeable inheritance. Then when he was 13 she married Gideon Ashford, a billionaire with a large house and virtually no interest in him outside of manual labor and his mother’s unwillingness to send him to military school. Since then Erin (now testing out the name Arabella in social gatherings due to her belief that “Erin” sounded too blue collar for a woman of her status) had become significantly more distant from him. She and Gideon had allowed him to stay in the servant’s house while he worked for his parents, but were livid with him for managing to convince Gideon’s adoptive daughter to go out with him when she came to live with them.

(1)

Erin had already walked out of the door when Gideon had come down the stairs, flashing his signature ring in the light.

“Say Carl, can I talk to you for a minute?” He said with a tone that indicated he was about to give a lecture.

Carl brushed off a spell of dizziness and dusted himself off. “Uhh, sure. What’s going on, sir?”

Gideon marched over confidently with a soft, but stern look on his face.

“Look. I’m going to level with you here. I think you’re a good worker. I think you have what it takes to really make some positive changes around here and frankly I wouldn’t mind if you took old Felipe’s position when he retires….”

Gideon paused as if deep in thought, tilting his head downward for a moment. When he raised it again his tone and demeanor had changed, becoming more serious and fiery.

“What I *don’t* appreciate is you chasing after my wife and daughter.” He said directly.

Carl’s heart began to race.

“Uhh…Sir? I don’t really know-“

“Oh don’t give me that shit. I know damn well that you’ve been flirting with Lucille on a daily basis. Tell me, how old are you, Carl?” Gideon demanded professionally.

Carl gulped past a knot in his throat. He’d been caught and he knew it.

“I’m uh. I’m 29 years old, sir.” He admitted shakily.

“29. Twenty-nine years old. Hell, in a few months you’ll be 30! See Carl, the problem here isn’t JUST your status. It’s not JUST your income. It’s the fact that you’re hitting on my daughter who is a full nine years younger than you. So let’s see…half of 29 is….let’s call it 15. We’ll round up. Then we add 7, and that makes the minimum acceptable dating range for someone your age 22 years old, and frankly Carl, I’d still be skeezed out by you if you were dating a girl THAT young. 26? 25? Hell, even 24? No problem. But my baby girl isn’t even old enough to DRINK yet and you’re putting the moves on her. Not to mention the little cheek kisses and hugs you give my wife who is 6 years in the other direction. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, Carl. And that’s not something I like when I’m thinking about who I employ and allow to live on my property.

Do you understand what I’m saying Carl?” Gideon said, the predicted lecture indeed coming to the surface while the flashing of his ring gave Carl a splitting headache.

“Yes sir.” Carl said succinctly, terrified of losing his job and home. Finding a new job wouldn’t be difficult. Finding a new place to live rent-free would be.

Gideon tightened his tie and began walking towards the door where “Arabella” was scowling at him to hurry up.

“Good. Well, I’m glad we could come to this understanding and if there are no more issues, you’ll be up for a promotion soon. Otherwise….You’ll need to begin looking for new living arrangements.”

With a thrust of his hand, Gideon gave Carl a stiff handshake and nodded his head.

“Excellent. I’ll be back in the evening. Please make sure that the sunroom is finished by the end of the day. And uhh…behave yourself, will you?”

Carl grumbled to himself throughout the rest of the miserable morning. While the other servants were tasked with dusting or mopping or just doing the dishes, Carl’s job was to clean the entire soon-to-be sunroom of contents, then walk across the estate to pick up one heavy ass pot of plants and dirt, carry them by hand BACK across the estate grounds, and then set them down again in another location. He was of course expressly forbidden by Mr. Ashford to use a handcart because according to him, the lady of the house didn’t want the integrity of the authentic Native American clay pottery to be compromised by the excessive jostling and vibrating of the cart. Carl knew full well that there was nothing special about the pots and that this was all just a punishment for making googly eyes at the Ashford women, but was still doomed to agree lest he lose the only housing he could get on his wages. So for as much as he despised it, Carl spent the entirety of his morning walking back and forth carrying pots.

(2)

Carl had finished moving the pots around noon but still had his other chores to attend to. Despite the heat of the day and the breadth of work that still lay before him, he was still a little excited to be out on the lawn once the afternoon warmth kicked in. He’d timed mowing the expanse of the lawn just perfectly in order to have to walk the lawnmower back to the shed just in time to see “Her.”

Every other day at exactly 1:00 PM, Lucille Ashford would slink her flawless, shimmering body out into the garden with a chair to sun herself. Today was no different, and as Carl walked by, he caught a generous view of Lucille rubbing cocoa butter all over her skin. She smiled seductively upon seeing him and began running her hand through her hair, fluffing it and adding just a touch of rejuvenating oil to her brown mane. As usual, she wore a pair of tight shorts that exposed plenty of sleek, golden-tanned leg with a simple blue bra with white polka-dots that did next to nothing to conceal her enormous breasts. Lucille grabbed the bottle of oil and squirted several pumps onto her fat, jiggling tits and rubbed her hands over them as sensually as possible, clearly enjoying the attention she was getting from her biggest fan.

(3)

Carl looked up from the sexy young girl and glanced over at the house, catching the briefest look at Mrs. Ashford watching from the window. She turned away the moment she made eye contact, but Carl knew for certain that she’d seen him and wasn’t excited to find out what that was going to mean for him later.

Carl finished up the rest of his chores as quickly and efficiently as he could, dreading the eventual summons to the main house he was certain was coming. He was pacing a hole in the floor when the call finally came. Mrs. Ashford’s name lit up on his phone and when he answered, the order was simple.

“Carl. I need you to come to the main house, please. I’ll be in my reading room.”

With heavy feet, Carl trudged past the grinning staff and made his way to the reading room where Arabella Ashford was waiting. Her appearance however was far from what he’d expected to see. The lady of the house was usually elegantly dressed in some sort of flirtatious but classy outfit, but now she sat before him in tight jeans and an ocean blue bra wreathed in gold trimmings.

“So what do you think?” She asked seductively, her thick black hair falling over her plastic-surgery enhanced face just enough.

“Do I wear it as well as she does?” She asked, planting a slender hand onto her waist and twisting herself around as if showing herself off to him.

Carl felt his mouth go dry as her fingers sunk into her skin, creating just the tiniest roll of supple flesh under them.

(4)

“Uhm. Ma’am?” He asked timidly.

“Lucille. She may not be my own flesh and blood but I’d say we look just alike. Of course, I’ve never been one to share my spotlight with someone who hasn’t earned what they’ve been blessed with. I had to work for this body. She didn’t. So now I’m asking you what you think. Who looks better? Me….or Lucille?”

Arabella shifted her weight and lifted her hands to her chest, adjusting her own overfull bra to show more skin than it already did. Even the slight undulations of her toned abs under the soft layer of fluff at her waist were entrancing. Lucille may have been the thinner of the two, but Arabella was a bit more sensual and intentional with her movements and the way she presented herself. One was naturally slim while the other worked daily to mold her body to her specifications on top of her own natural beauty, and for everything else that fell short, she'd either gotten or was planning to get plastic surgery to fix. Lucille was beautiful and she knew it, but Arabella was beautiful and she *meant* it.
She stood up and did a slow, hypnotic dance for the beguiled gardener, twisting her hips and running her hands along her waist, chest, and hips. The poor man had no idea what to do. She was clearly putting on a display, but was it a real grab for his attention? Did she actually want his input, or was this some sort of trap to get him to say the wrong thing? Naturally, he couldn't be bold enough to say that Lucille was the one who caught his eye far more even if it was true, but what would happen to him if he told the lady of the house that he was eyefucking her to her face? Was Mr. Ashford just around the corner listening?
Carl was at a complete loss.

Arabella stopped moving and glowered at him demandingly. "Well, I'm waiting. It's practically the same outfit. So who wins?"

“That…That would be…uhm. You, ma’am.” Carl said nervously.

Arabella grinned wickedly.

“Damn straight." She boasted. "And don’t you forget it. Now get back to work. I need those flowers you brought in fertilized and Felipe tells me we’re out. You’ll need to run to the hardware store and get a few bags. And from now on, I think it'll behoove you to focus your attention more on the REAL lady of the house. Who know? You might just be rewarded for your efforts.”

She got up and threw on a shawl before exiting the room, lingering at the door with her back turned.

“Uh. Yes ma’am!” Carl said.

Arabella raised a single finger and nodded, signaling that he had given the correct answer before leaving.

"Good boy."