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Summer in Tuscany

By: bloodsugarsxmagic



Authors note: This is the first chapter in a story about a young woman who spends the summer before her semester abroad in Florence at the villa of her father's friend. The primary theme of this chapter focuses on exhibitionism and voyeurism. Later chapters will delve into bondage, group sex and much more. It was co-written with the author Distractionary, and the story is told through alternating points of view. 

*

When Rachel Martin stepped off the plane in Tuscany, she felt she was in not just a different country, but a different world. The sunlight was so vivid, making everything, the sky, the water, the buildings, the grass, a color she had never seen before. It was frankly just as amazing as she had imagined, despite her friends telling her for months the trip could never live up to her expectations.

She hadn't stopped smiling for days, as she settled into her room at Jack Morrison's villa, as she toured the countryside, as she sipped espresso and wine in the nearby town. She hadn't stopped thanking her host for putting her up, either. A few months ago the idea of being able to afford to travel abroad, never mind get her parent's permission, had seemed implausible. Yet somehow it had all worked out. And here she was.

In the weeks before she had left, fantasies had taken root in her mind. Ones she'd pushed away, pretended she wasn't thinking about. But there was something in the Italian air, the sunlight, the looks in the eyes of the people that had unleashed them. At home she'd been a typical girl, she supposed, always wary of her parents' eyes watching over her shoulders. Here no one was watching, no one would tell her how she should behave. And no one, she couldn't help thinking over and over, would know a thing when she got back home about what she'd done in Italy.

She found herself lazing in bed on these Mediterranean mornings, stroking herself to a fevered state. Once, or twice, she played a little game from back in high school, using her own stockings to tie her thighs together. It wasn't much, but there was something about the way she couldn't move, the way her legs felt grinding against each other, that brought her to such an orgasm. It wasn't long before she had convinced herself to talk to some of the Italian boys in town, and not much longer than that before she agreed to bring one home with her. It was everything that she'd imagined; torrid love, accented moans, the rough stubble on his foreign face. He crept away before light, and Rachel lay content and smiling as the sun rose.

When Jack, sitting at his breakfast table, read the email on his phone from his old friend in the states asking if his daughter could spend a few weeks before the start of her semester abroad in Florence at Jack's villa, a sprawling 16th century estate north of Siena surrounded by olive tree groves and vineyards that he had purchased and renovated before such things were the subjects of popular books, he was annoyed. Jack, a near-extinct beast, a lifelong bachelor, enjoyed a certain kind of life that would be inhibited by the presence of a young American woman, and he imagined an unattractive, overweight, pimpled girl constantly texting and asking silly questions. Jack had no intention of being a babysitter. His friend assured him that his daughter Rachel was intelligent, athletic, well-mannered, and, Jack, wondering how much his old friend knew about his personal life, was surprised at how much emphasis his friend placed on his daughter's beauty. 

Before replying to his friend, he went to his office and quickly found Rachel's Facebook page -- why was he not surprised her photo albums were not privacy protected. He clicked through the album and smiled. That stirring, which he knew was not like the nanosecond it took him to get an erection in his teens, was coming around. Rachel's father's comment about his daughter was not mere paternal boasting. Jack took his time flipping through the albums, studying each picture. Rachel had long auburn hair, a pert nose, the obligatory perfect American teeth, blue eyes, he guessed around 5'7" tall, long lean legs, and from the side view, lovely round buttocks. But it was her breasts he stared at. Magnificent. Large and pert on her slender frame. He studied the albums and saw the progression. When you are a watcher like Jack, an admitted voyeur, you notice details in photographs and images. You can see the story.

In her earlier pictures, from the album dates she was probably around 16, she was obviously self-conscious about her growing breasts, covering them in baggy sweatshirts and sweaters. The most recent album, taken while at a beach, showed Rachel completely comfortable, perhaps--yes, definitely--flaunting her maturing body. He noticed the progression of her bikinis, their shrinking size. He focused on several pictures in the same white small bikini, the damp triangles barely covering her glorious tits. Jack's robe had fallen open, and he reached for the small tube of lotion he always kept nearby, and stroked his impressive erection until he ejaculated, imaging spraying her breasts.

The thought of having this lovely nymph around for the summer had kept his impressive cock tingling for the rest of the day. The surveillance equipment he was having installed that week for security purposes would need to be modified to include new cameras in the guest bedroom and bathroom. No, he thought, better to have it in every room. He replied to his friend, "Of course. I would love to have Rachel stay. I'm looking forward to it. When will she arrive?"

And so now, this morning, was it five days since she arrived? his cock stirred again as he saw Rachel enter the kitchen. "You really seem to be enjoying yourself here, aren't you Rachel." He grinned.

Rachel was caught halfway through a yawn when Jack spoke. She tried to stifle it, but failed, so stood for a moment in the kitchen door, hand over her mouth, squinting. When she was done she smiled apologetically. If there was a tone in his words, she missed it. Frankly, she hardly thought about her host, and as long as she was discreet, didn't think he would notice a thing she did.

"Oh, I'm having a great time, Mr. Morrison," she responded politely. He had told her to always help herself, so she went right to gathering up a breakfast. Somehow even that seemed more exotic, more amazing in the golden sun here. Rachel was dressed in a mid-thigh silk robe, which Jack might have been aware covered a pair of boxers and a tank top. She was unaware of his gaze as she gathered up an espresso cup and operated his machine, her back to him, leaving him to admire her quickly darkening thighs, the spill of her auburn curls down her back. "I hope I'm not being an inconvenience at all. I try to stay out of the way."

"You've been no trouble at all," he said, his eyes fixated on the arc of her buttocks underneath the silk robe. The view of her walking into the kitchen, her large firm tits barely concealed by the thin tank top and robe, made him reach inside his own robe pocket to check for his lotion. He'd already jacked off once that morning to the video taken from the camera in her bedroom. She'd been playing with her pussy the night before, and he watched the replay while teasing himself, trying to hold back as long as he could. At one point, he thought it must have been on accident, he thought he saw look directly into the camera. Could she have known it was there?

"What exactly did you do last night Rachel?" With her back still to him, he reached between his legs and squeezed his cock.

Rachel was looking the other way when he asked his question, and so she hoped he did not notice the look that first flashed over her face. It was a bit of panic and guilt, knowing indeed what she'd spent the night doing. She quickly brushed it away; there was no way he had any idea what she'd been up to her in own bedroom. It was a simple, innocent question, the kind any host would be expected to ask. With an innocent smile, she turned around, espresso in hand.

"Oh I just went into town for a bit. I'm trying to explore all the different restaurants and bars here. Is that what you'd call them, bars?" It sounded a bit sleazy when she put it that way. But at least Mr. Morrison didn't know anything about the Italian boy she'd spent the night flirting with. Or the way she'd thought about him all night in her bed, playing with herself. She'd tied her thighs together with a stocking and imagined that it was the dark eyed boy that had done it, imagined him holding her down on the bed with those strong arms. He'd let her feel his muscles at the bar last night, laughing as she praised how strong he was. That much she could get through in her halting Italian. "It's just lovely how vibrant the town is at night. It seems back home everything closes up at night. Here people were having so much fun."

"Sure you can call them bars. We do have a lot to offer. Are you making friends with any of the locals? I'm sure a beautiful young woman with a figure like yours is getting plenty of attention, yes?" Up to this point, he had been nothing but the innocent, harmless, gracious host. He'd intentionally never let his eyes linger on her body, never stood too near, had not so much as physically touched her once since she arrived. But he'd been getting reports from his friends about Rachel's activities.

It seems that she had indeed been very friendly with a number of young men in town, and had many admirers already of the older men as well. The sweet girl she presented herself as to him and probably to her parents was not as innocent as she looked. Now things would change.

"Yes, I looked for you last night, but it appeared you must have been tied up somewhere," he said, his tone flat and emotionless. As she sat down across from him at the small cafe table in the corner of the kitchen, he made sure she saw him glance down at her cleavage. With the bright morning light streaming through the windows, the thin tank top and sheer silk robe seemed to accentuate the voluptuousness of her tits, and he could see the outline of her nipples. "But it's easy to get wrapped up in having a good time here isn't it Rachel?"

That was a curious choice of wording, Rachel thought to herself. She didn't give any reaction to it, she didn't believe so anyway, as she sat down at Mr. Morrison's breakfast table, her breakfast table for the stay. She buttered her toast, all too aware of the way his eyes dipped down to her chest, hardly bothering to hide the fact. Tied up, wrapped up. She was sure it was just an unfortunate choice of phrases to use, but it had the unfortunate effect of reminding Rachel of the feel of her bound legs, her thighs rubbing against each other within the bonds of her stocking. The memory aroused her, the arousal stiffened her nipples, her stiff nipples drew Mr. Morrison's eyes, and--most distressingly--his bald gaze increased her arousal. Vague feelings of embarrassment floated through her mind as she shifted on the stool, wishing he wouldn't look, or wishing it wouldn't seem so pleasing to her when he did.

She couldn't think of a way to respond to his comments about her figure that wasn't going to make things even more awkward, so Rachel ignored them. Brushing some auburn locks away from her face, she took a bite of toast, giving herself some time to put together an answer. "You're right, it is easy to kind of lose track of everything," Rachel offered, though even that watered down answer seemed to drip with meaning. She cleared her throat, swallowing some more toast hurriedly. "I can get back home earlier if you'd like. I don't want to disrupt your evenings," she offered, unsure if that was the message behind all this. She wasn't exactly pleased at the idea--the whole idea of the trip was to get away from the watching eyes of her parents. She had no interest in replacing them with this fellow. But it seemed the only polite response, and Rachel had been raised to be very polite.

Yes, the watcher sees. The watcher notices when nipples swell, even the slightest increase in size. The watcher notices body language, a shift in the hips, the impact the smallest leg movement under a table might have on the upper body. The watcher notices the most subtle change in breathing, like the way Rachel's increase in heart rate was affecting hers now. This discussion of her body, the hint that he might know what she's been up to at night, made her uncomfortable, but, he knew, that discomfort, that unsettled feeling, was arousing her too.

"Oh, no, no" Jack said with a warm smile. "Mia bella...just the opposite. I feel like I've been an inattentive host. I haven't seen enough of you." He waited half a beat for the entendre to strike. "I'd like to see more of you Rachel." A flick of his eyes to her chest. "And perhaps have you meet some of my friends. I'm sure they'd love to meet such an intelligent, beautiful young American woman. In fact, tonight I'm having a few friends over for a small cocktail party by the pool. It should be a beautiful Tuscan evening, and I'd like for you to be there. I've even taken the liberty of buying you a dress for the occasion. I hope you don't think I'm too forward, but I had the housekeeper Isabella get your measurements from the clothes in your closet. The new dress is hanging there now." In his mind he was already picturing the way the very short black cocktail dress, just a size too small, and a few inches too short, would show off her beautiful body. Being a good girl he knew she couldn't refuse to wear a gift her host had purchased for her.

Jack had something else in mind too. Every afternoon Rachel would sunbathe by the pool. The cameras by the pool showed him that she typically sunbathed topless for at least a brief while, and had once even sunbathed completely nude. He thought about her freckled skin and the way her breasts looked as she rubbed her lotion on them. Tonight, as a treat for his guests, he wanted to present them with a gift: an uninhibited view of Rachel's perfect tits.

His plan was simple. Late in the afternoon, he would have Isabella serve Rachel the same lemonade she did every afternoon, but this one would have a little something extra in it, a little something to make Rachel's afternoon nap last longer than usual, just another hour or two longer. His guests would have arrived by then, and would be able to openly admired Rachel's nude or at least topless body.

"How does that sound Rachel? Will you able to join us? You would be an honored guest," he raised his small espresso cup to hers as if to clink cups, "I can't wait to see how you look in that dress." He watched the deep chasm of her cleavage form as she reflexively raised her cup toward his.

Rachel's eyes narrowed slightly, trying to discern whether the innuendos she was catching in his speech were intentional. But Rachel, for all her bluster and excitement about her trip was naive to the world. This distinguished older man, she hardly could imagine him as having a sexual thought in his head. And certainly had no reason to think he had seen anything he shouldn't have. Rachel passed it off as a side effect of her aroused body. She was hearing things, imagining them where they weren't. Somehow the trip, the country, was putting her in quite a state. She needed to find some way to sate herself, and not walk around in a semi-sexual stupor.

If his words, his gaze, hadn't been enough, a worldly woman certainly would have understood what was underway when Jack told her about the dress he had for her, measured secretly to fit her body. But Rachel was not a worldly woman, she was indeed the natural prey of men like Jack. Easily swayed, and blinded by compliments, and too polite and insecure in her place in the world to give voice to her quiet concerns. "Sure, that would be lovely. Thank you, Mr. Morrison." It was a bit strange to let a man dress her like that, but Rachel quietly submitted to that gentle pressure, this thumb coming lightly to rest on top of her.

She finished her breakfast and stood up, unconsciously aware now of his gaze, and moving with the sensual grace of the watched woman. She slid from the stool and padded across the kitchen. "Thank you again. I'll see you this evening!" she told him before skittering back to her room. Once there she immediately went to the foreign dress in her closet, laying it out and gazing at it. But that was something for later, and Rachel soon forgot it, going about her normal routine. 

She showered, enjoying the luxurious bathroom with Italian marble, and Italian sun streaming in through the high windows. She tried on the dress, frowning at the poor fit, but not feeling it appropriate to say anything. Instead she slipped on her bikini and robe and spent the rest of the morning laying on her bed reading and writing letters to friends back home. She felt quite a special creature indeed writing to them from Europe, like some character from a book.

Later, after lunch she moved her activity outside, next to the sparkling pool. For a while she sat staring at it and simply being, thinking about last night, thinking about the men at the bar, thinking about the strange things Mr. Morrison had said to her. Then Rachel prepared herself for some tanning, spreading her skin with the expensive lotion she had bought in the town, loving the smell and feel of it on her skin. She would go home a bronze goddess, she thought to herself smiling. Glancing around, she made sure no one was looking before she removed her top, laying back and letting the sun kiss her ever-darkening breasts. Feeling like a true European, she didn't even flinch when the housekeeper approached her, handing her a delicious lemonade before scurrying back into the house. Rachel could feel the nipples crinkling at the hot touch of the sun's rays, and she closed her eyes and thought some more, her arousal seeping through her body as sleep came too, the two mixing and leaving her to sleep fevered dreams of Italian skin and Italian sunlight.

He chose his guest list carefully. If all went according to plan there would be other nights like this, but for this first time with this young woman, this lovely creature with the most impressive breasts he'd ever seen, he selected three friends. Giancarlo owned a neighboring vineyard and was Jack's tennis double's partner. He was in his early fifties with jet black wavy hair, a strong nose and chin, and a trim, fit body from years of hands on involvement in his business, from tennis, and from skiing in the Dolomites every year. He and Jack had shared many things over the years, the way close friends do, including more than a handful of women.

Geoffrey was a Brit expat, a former soldier who in his second career made millions as a stockbroker and now lived full-time in his villa a few miles away. He had short-cropped hair, a hard but handsome look with thick arms and an athletic grace. Monique summered in Tuscany. Jack met her at a fashion show in Milan 10 years ago as she was winding up her career on the catwalk, and she had made a successful transition into the business side of the fashion industry. Her sexual appetite was well known in certain circles, and she was equally enthusiastic about both sexes. Unlike some models, Monique was also stunning without any makeup. Her dress this particular evening, a casual but somehow sophisticated sundress that made her look almost girlish, accentuated her own impressive breasts.

Jack had told them all he had a surprise for them in the form of a very special guest. He met them all in the foyer, and ensured cocktails had been poured for them in the kitchen. At five minutes to seven he had checked to ensure Rachel was still sleeping near the pool. He'd been genuinely concerned about her burning her fair skin, and at one point late in the afternoon asked Isabella to cover her with a thin sheet to protect her from the sun. His prize. Now she lie sleeping on her back, the sheet - tented at her tits - still covering her from neck to toe, as if a work of art to be revealed. And that was exactly what Jack planned to do.


Summer in Tuscany Ch. 02



Jack slept well, and the following morning at breakfast while sipping his cappuccino he was replaying the evening before and felt himself growing hard again. When Isabella arrived, wearing her trim crisp uniform, he was already erect and stroking himself slowly, the waistband of his soft cotton gym shorts he slept in bunched at the base of his shaft. Isabella saw him stroking, and gave him a smirk and a "you naughty boy" smile.

Isabella was a young widow whose children grown and moved up north to Milan. To his knowledge she had no man in her life, which surprised him. She was very pretty, dark brown hair, deep brown eyes. He had known about her, seen her in town while her husband was still alive. The husband had left her with little money, and when Jack had heard about it, he offered her a job at the villa. He was upfront with her about his lifestyle. He'd been looking for someone he could trust, who would be accepting and could help around the house. He paid her extremely well, and she was appreciative.

She had seen him masturbating around the house many times and hadn't said a word, even when she occasionally saw the group of people naked in the living room or by the pool. He'd been surprised one morning sitting at the kitchen table when he was completely naked, stroking himself while watching a video on his laptop. Isabella had come in to wash the breakfast dishes, smiled at Jack as she went about her business, Jack admiring her surprisingly firm ass in her uniform.

When she was done with the dishes, she turned and faced him and asked in Italian if he needed help. He nodded, and as she walked toward him she undid the buttons on the front of her uniform, lifted her bra up and revealed to Jack her beautiful full tits capped by large dark areola and hard nipples. Womanly was the first word Jack thought of when he saw her breasts. 

She had walked up to Jack, grabbed her breasts for him to admire, and then kneeled between his legs, and took his big cock between her hands and began to suck him off. Since that day, there had been other encounters, hand jobs at first and then blow jobs before she finally allowed Jack to fuck her. She'd made it clear that it was just sex, and Jack was fine with that too - an unspoken agreement. She was willing and ready to help, and they'd gotten to the point where all he needed to do was give her a signal.

Jack returned her "naughty boy" smile and asked her if she would please quietly go into Rachel's room and clean up the small mess at the foot of her bed. Within a few minutes Isabella was back, smiling broadly, said the words this time, "Tu sei un bambino cattivo," and without hesitating, unbuttoned her uniform and pushed it off each shoulder until it was around her waist.

She unhooked her bra and placed it on the kitchen table. She knelt, cupped her breasts together and allowed Jack to fuck them. She had just managed to get her lips around the thick tip of his cock when Jack saw Rachel appear. His first thought was Ann Margaret in "Carnal Knowledge?" he tried to remember. Eyes half closed, sexy, auburn hair damp,, her gorgeous tits restrained only by the thinnest cotton of a sheer white tank top, wearing her little pajama shorts. A small groan at Isabella taking more of him in her mouth. "Good morning Rachel."

Rachel had slept well herself. Last night, as she and Jack had both watched him cum on her bedroom floor, even while she was bringing herself to her own orgasm, it had felt as if something had shifted. The sexual tension which had driven her crazy, driven them both to that point, had not dissipated in that moment but it had changed shape. It was no longer a question of what Mr. Morrison wanted, or what were her boundaries. She had left her door open, he had come in. That boundary was gone now, they had erased it. The cameras she knew were watching her simply an extra now that he had watched her with his own eyes.

He would watch her again, she knew that much, and the idea excited her. The question now was simply what would he watch her do? He had left her the outfit and the vibrator she had used last night, and that seemed to set the stage for the future. He liked to control things, she thought, to create situations. he began to wonder if he had somehow arranged for that scene at the poolside, when she had woken surrounded by his friends.

Mr. Morrison would watch again, that was settled, but the question prime in Rachel's mind was if he would touch her. He clearly desired her, and she had expected him to throw himself on her last night as she sprawled naked before him. It certainly could not be some form of gallantry that stopped him, could it? The man had cum right there on her bedroom floor. But perhaps that was meant as some noble act of restraint in his Italian soul. She could not be sure. She only knew that as crazy, as truly insane as it was, she easily became aroused at the thought of the 60 year old man thrusting on top of her youthful body.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Rachel stepped out of the shower in the morning, barely wrapped in a white cotton towel. She stopped in surprise at the sight of a figure in her bedroom, briefly thinking that she had somehow summoned Jack to her with her thoughts. But no, it was Isabella, the dark, silent housekeeper. Rachel stuttered out a greeting in Italian, adjusting the towel to cover herself more modestly. In turn the housekeeper only smiled, a mysterious little smile, stood up from where she had been working and left the room.

Isabella was gone before Rachel realized what she had been doing with that cleaning bottle and rags. Rachel could see the wet streaks on the stone where Mr. Morrison's cum had landed. On the comforter too. Rachel blushed, wondering why she had left them there---well, knowing why she had but not wanting to admit it now that she had been caught. The housekeeper would certainly know, or suspect, what had happened between her and her host and for the first time Rachel felt some shame at what was happening.

The shame did not last though. The act of dressing for breakfast brought her mind back to Jack, and soon it was the idea of his eyes, if not his hands, on her that preoccupied Rachel's mind. She dressed herself in her typical breakfast attire, even though she had already showered, slipping on the familiar tanktop and shorts, wanting to watch Jack's eyes travel over here tan thighs, feel them on her rear when she turned around. Rachel took a deep breath and hurried to breakfast, walking through the kitchen door with her chin up and her heart pounding. 

She actually saw the bra before she saw anything else, looking at it in some confusion, lying on the kitchen table, wondering if it was some new gift from Jack. As her eyes shifted to him those thoughts disappeared. She hardly recognized Isabella at first, who always wore her neat uniform. Now it was hardly visible, her back bared to Rachel, her brown hands pressed to the sides of her breasts as she knelt between Jack's wide open legs. Jack was thrusting up and down obscenely, Isabella's dark head bent over him, the two locked in some perverted embrace.

Rachel gasped in shock, stopping and standing still. She was about to hurry backwards out of the room when Mr. Morrison spoke, seeming to demand some sort of response rather than pure flight. "I, I ..." she found she had nothing to say. Certainly not good morning. She actually felt tears welling, sickened at the sight of Jack, only hours after he had come to her, pleasing himself with this woman.

Jack noticed her shocked expression first, and then the shift in her weight as if she were ready to flee back to her bedroom. "Stay," he said, in a tone he thought sounded less like a demand than a plea, a friendly but firm plea reinforced by the smile in his eyes. In some ways the transition to this new phase of their relationship was more delicate than the initial one, and this morning was an important next step. He couldn't sound demanding, not yet, perhaps later depending on how much she would need and want it. But he could see the confusion in her eyes and her forehead, and he knew he needed to reassure her.

"Stay and watch," he said. Isabella took that as a cue, and with her free hand grabbed the hem of her skirt and lifted it up over her full, curved bottom that narrowed quickly to thin toned thighs, an offering for Rachel. "Get your coffee first if you'd like," he said, his smile expanding to the corners of his mouth. "I was telling Isabella how incredibly sexy you were last night Rachel." At that point Isabella took him even deeper into her mouth and he couldn't speak, her lips down his shaft. "How amazing you were, how beautiful you were." He looked in Rachel's eyes and down her body again, much like he did the night before after saying goodbye to his guests, like he knew he would many more times in the coming days and weeks, and the gesture had the same effect it did last night, as if his eyes on Rachel's breasts automatically made her nipples harden.

"And you look beautiful right now Rachel, very sexy. I love that tank top, I have since that first day you wore it for me. Your breasts are truly special, Rachel, firm and full. They're perfect." Jack also knew this next phase required moving beyond the nearly unspoken, wordless realm of sexual tension they'd been in up to this point, and into conversation.

"I'd love for you to stay and watch and enjoy yourself," he said, his voice soothing but confident. "I'd love to see you touch yourself again Rachel. Would you do that for me Rachel? Touch yourself for me this morning like you did last night? You know how I enjoyed that. Do you know what Isabella called me after she cleaned up after me this morning? 'un bambino cattivo' - a naughty boy. Yes, I'm a naughty boy. Have been for a very long time.

"How about you Rachel? Are you a naughty girl? Stay and watch and touch yourself for me Rachel. Like last night. You're so incredibly sexy So beautiful."

He pointed to a chair on the same side of the table that he had already pulled away and angled toward him. She hadn't left yet, he thought to himself, a good sign. Isabella slurped on his cock, tried to look at Rachel out of the corner of her eye and arched her back and spread her legs more. Jack wished he could see what Rachel was seeing because he was certain Isabella must be wet by now.

"Please," he said, as if using politeness were almost a last resort. "Stay Rachel. Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair again.

Jack's voice was determined enough, if not commanding, to stay Rachel's feet. She stood awkwardly, not knowing where to look, but having so readied herself for doing what he wanted her to do that she felt compelled to stay. She glanced over with a flush of embarrassment, seeing that Isabella, rather than rushing away ashamed had pulled up her skirt, revealing her full dark rear and the shadow of her pussy between.

Rachel found her eyes trailing up the curve of that spine to where the dark head worked away at Jack's crotch. Rachel found herself, despite herself, wondering at how the woman fit that giant cock in her mouth, wondering how much of it she could. There was no sign of struggle or effort from the housekeeper, only an intent effort that echoed the determination Rachel had felt performing for Mr. Morrison.

Rachel's eyes kept going up and found Jack's. They were boring into her--not just at her eyes, but up and down her body like the stroke of a strong hand. She hated herself for growing aroused, but loved it too, the now familiar tingle that shot through her abdomen and crinkled her nipples, quickened her breath. She barely heard his words, but she felt them, felt his voice like another stroke on every part he mentioned, his words making her breasts throb, her pussy hum. 

The message was clear: he still was interested in her, still lusted after her. But he was not ashamed of what he was doing. There was no discrepancy in his mind between wanting to see Rachel cum, and wanting her watch him cum with another.

"I, I don't think I should," Rachel stuttered, her eyes inevitably drawn down to the head that worked on Jack's sex, the sleek dark body that curled between his legs. Whether Rachel meant stay, or touch herself, wasn't clear. It wasn't clear she meant it, as she did stay. She in fact walked towards the chair he indicated. She could not get coffee, could not pretend that level of normalcy. But she could embrace to some extent his wickedness. After all, she told herself, it meant nothing to her what these two chose to do. There was no shame in watching what they put on display. If they displayed their perversion, it didn't make her perverted. She sat delicately on the chair, keenly aware of her stiff nipples, the warmth between her thighs, the wet sound of Isabella's work.

Rachel perched herself on the chair close enough for Jack to smell her clean skin and hair. What is it about a young woman freshly showered that he found so sexy? Her position on the chair, almost like an eager student at the front of the class--Jack wondered if she had worn a uniform to her school--her back slightly arched, her knees together, accentuated her breasts, her narrow waist and balanced hips. 

He hid his relief that she stayed. Her position suggested she was awaiting further instructions, as if her teacher, Jack, needed to give her an assignment. Jack leaned back in his chair to give Rachel a more open view of Isabella at work. See, class, and my star pupil Rachel, this is the proper way to give a blowjob. Notice the firm grip and steady hand work, complimented by the way Isabella is using her lips and tongue. See how she combines the consistent teasing of my tip with her ability to take me deep in her mouth and throat, while she uses her fingers at the base of my cock? 

And now the assignment. "Rachel," he said quietly, "touch your breasts for me like you did last night. Watch Isabella, she's very, very good at this." He saw Rachel's eyes shift down to Isabella, and he wondered if Rachel thought he was teaching her for her to perform this act on him, or if she thought he was doing this as life lesson for her, for her to please any man in the future. He was tempted this morning to go in that direction, to ask Rachel to take her place alongside Isabella on her knees, but it was too soon. "It's ok to touch yourself. I'd like you to."

Jack continued a steady slow thrust up into Isabella's mouth. He could now smell the scent of Isabella emanating from her open legs, a scent he knew would soon be mixed with Rachel's.

Rachel's nipples in the thin tank top struck him as art. Yes, he appreciated the beauty of the Tuscan landscape, but his preferred landscape was women's bodies, and Rachel's was to him simply exquisite. Did she know this yet about herself? He wished he had a professional photographer in the kitchen to take her picture, and consoled himself with the fact that the high definition camera in the corner of the kitchen would at least capture this moment.

Rachel feels her pride at war with her arousal. She wants to do what Jack wants, as it's the same thing her body wants. It is undoubtedly exciting to sit her and watch as Isabella so expertly blows Mr. Morrison's cock, to listen the sound of her wet mouth and watch her hands tease his iron shaft. It is, funnily enough, not the perversion of the moment that bothers her and makes her hesitate. This is in fact no different than what happened last night, she reasons, the two of them watching each other as they reach their own orgasms. But the fact is that Rachel walked in the kitchen this morning expecting to have Jack flatter her with attention, flirtation, perhaps even more. Instead she found him having another sate his desires. She knew she would not stoop to sharing him with Isabella, she had more pride than that. But to be so harshly replaced, so flagrantly reminded that he did not intend to take her himself, it was a sting.

His words, though, were not demeaning, and Rachel began to ponder, perhaps for the first time truly, what Jack's motivation was in this. He had had every opportunity to take advantage of Rachel, and he had not. Had not ever touched her with more than his eyes. It was only appropriate, Rachel had to admit, for a man his age and with his association with her father. He was perhaps more aware of that situation than she, and determined to follow some sort of principle in leaving the young woman alone. His intention was instead a sort of noble mutual pleasure.

With the ease to her indignation, Rachel found her hands moving without thought, the idea of pleasuring herself under Mr. Morrison's gaze becoming more natural with every passing day. She squeezed her full breasts through her tank top, rubbing the cotton against them, as she watched Isabella's dark breasts, and the way the woman would raise and rub them against the base of Jack's cock. She rubbed the cloth against her nipples, squeezed her breast in one hand and then the other, until a hand drifted down to her freckled thighs, parting them and rubbing herself against her shorts.

Soon she had left decorum aside, watching the pornographic event happening right before her with one hand inside of her panties, her middle finger frigging at herself eagerly. She realized that Mr. Morrison did not feel he could touch her, and so he had staged the closest they could come to it. She could not suck on the cock of her older host, but she could sit inches away while an able mouth did. She dipped her fingers inside of herself, feeling certain now that Jack thought of her mouth on his cock as he looked at her, coming as close to the invisible line between them as he could.

"I want you to cum on her breasts," Rachel told him, suddenly looking up to meet his eyes. It is what she would do for him, she knew, knowing how he loved the sight of her breasts. "I want to watch you coat them."

Something had changed from the point at which Rachel had sat down. For a few seconds her mind was clearly elsewhere, and then she was back. Even through the occasional tunnel vision Jack sometimes experienced during intense periods of arousal, he could tell by the way Rachel's eyes came back into focus some decision had been made, and though she appeared distracted for perhaps only seconds, he knew somewhere in his gut that for her it was profound, more than a simple Clash-like stay-or-go decision.

But once it had been decided, her hands had gone to work, and her legs had spread and Jack watched her play with her breasts and then spread her thighs and start to finger herself. Her bottom lip had separated from her top, and Jack's eyes were drawn there, thinking about what her mouth would taste like right now, how it would look with his cock filling it, her blue eyes looking up at him. Yes, he had avoided touching her other than the brief greeting the previous night, and he would hold out a while longer. He had planned all along to do much more than that, but it would be at her insistence.

He knew his moral compass wasn't particularly strong, never considered himself a highly principled person, and both admired and reviled those who were. His principles were malleable, adjustable, flexible, adaptable from situation to situation, from week to week or minute by minute. In Rachel's' case, as of this morning, as of this moment sitting in his chair, his guideline was this: he would continue taking the game to new levels and would avoid touching Rachel until she touched him first, at which point in his mind they simply crossed another threshold, nothing more or less. Until then, the teasing would continue through a series of not at all unpleasant situations.

He saw her eyes leap up from his cock to meet his own, and he could tell another decision had been made. The tone in her voice alone almost made him cum, its timbre resonating with sex. And her actual words, her request, brought him that much closer, and the Rachel of last night was back, each moment like this unpeeling her defenses and exposing her core. "I would love to," he said, and he could tell the request had affected Isabella too, because she was gripping him harder and pumping faster. 




Summer in Tuscany Ch. 02



"And I will cum all over her breasts. As soon as you lick your fingers for me."

It was so strange, almost as if it were only the two of them in the room, yet Rachel was keenly aware of Isabella too, her dark fingers, her dark lips both working at Jack's cock in a way that Rachel half-wished she was doing, half-glad she wasn't. But now that Rachel had entered into Mr. Morrison's little game she didn't mind at all what thoughts were running through the housekeeper's mind, what message might be in her eyes, that she was even there. Any hesitation about her was gone.

She didn't balk at his request. It wasn't really any more lurid than hers, was it? And somehow deep down Rachel knew that he would want these sort of things of her. Mr. Morrison was not going to let them dwell in some Penthouse letter realm of sparkly fantasies. He was going to push her to where it was uncomfortable, edgy and inappropriate. And besides, a little discomfort would be worth it because Rachel really wanted to see the dark-skinned woman's breasts dripping with his seed. She could already imagine the droplets running down those firm curves, wrapping around pulled by their gravity.

Giving Jack a bit more than he had even asked for, Rachel pulled her panties and shorts to one side so that he could see her red bush, the dark puffed lips below it glistening. She dipped her finger in and out several more times like a dip stick and then slid it out slowly, holding it gleaming in the light. Alternating her gaze between Mr. Morrison's eyes, and Isabelle's mouth, Rachel raised her finger to her mouth and pushed it between her puckered lips, in imitation of Jack's cock. Pumping it several times, her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, tasting her bitter arousal and shuddering.

The morning sun caught the juice on Rachel's finger making it look, in Jack's mind, like some magic wand or sex sword. He hadn't expected her to provide such an open view of her pussy. That she acquiesced in the first place had brought him that much closer, and the way she wantonly pulled away her panties and boy shorts brought him right to the edge, requiring all the discipline he could muster to wait until her finger was in her mouth, which was a challenge given Isabella's persistent rhythm with her hands and lips and tongue.

When Rachel looked directly at him and split her lips with her moistened finger, Jack felt it begin. When she pumped it in and out, the line had been crossed and Jack felt himself begin to erupt.

"Ora," he said to Isabella. Her English was good enough, he knew, that she understood the counter requests between Jack and Rachel, that she would know what to do, but he also knew she liked her hair pulled, so with his left hand tangled in hair he pushed her head, tilted it back until he heard the quiet pop of his cock escaping from her mouth.

She kept her hand on the base of his cock and aimed the tip toward her breasts. Maybe the Rachel he stared at now had been there all along, was in fact the same smiling jet-lagged girl he had only so recently met, but it didn't feel like it. Here now, staring into her blue eyes that darkened with sex, was a sexual animal. Like the night before the intensity of her eyes pierced him, and like the night before he signaled her with his own eyes to look between his legs at that precise moment he began to explode.

With one arm Isabella cradled her breasts, pulling them together to receive Jack, while with the other she kept pumping. He felt himself blink more than a beat and tried to keep his eyes open through the intense pleasure he was feeling because he wanted to see every drop land on her breasts. The first burst had landed dead center, and the others followed, splattering Isabella's full, olive skinned breasts with his spunk. He groaned as he emptied himself completely, smiling. "Oh Rachel ... Isabella."

Rachel squeaked, only dimly realizing seconds later that she had bit down on her own finger, hard enough to leave a throbbing mark that she would discover there some time later. Right now all that existed was the look in Mr. Morrison's eyes, the look of his unbelievably thick cock seeming to bounce in the open air to its own throbbing, and the look of dark eyed excitement on Isabella as she pointed the cock, so wet with her own saliva, at her chest.

Rachel felt her pussy quiver, so excited she could nearly cum without touching it. It wasn't from her own finger, though that had helped. No, curiously it was from watching the two of them, from being made to watch the two of them, from them wanting her to watch the two of them. There was some excitement in that which required no touch of skin at all. 

There were other senses at play. The wet sound of Isabella's fist on Jack's thick cock. The smell of sweat, and then spunk, mixing with her own scent of arousal as Jack soundlessly came, his cock head seeming to swell and then explode as a thick stream of his cum shot out. There was the sight of thick white cum dripping down Isabella's curved, dark skin. Rachel wasn't sure that it could look as enticing on her own freckled chest. The contrast of white on black, the full soft breasts jiggling as Isabella jerked her arm, pumping Jack dry. 

Rachel realized that her mouth was open and she was panting, though nothing was happening to her, nothing was being done to her. She was only a watcher. She flinched a little as they first moved, realizing she was half-expecting Jack to turn and pounce on her. Her arousal was obvious, her nipples as stiff as wood. Her mind whirled in confusion. He was thinking of cumming on her, she was sure of it, just as sure as she was thinking of him as well. But would she let him? Did she truly want him to touch her? There was no answer in her brain, only confusion, but also a clear understanding of her utter vulnerability at this moment As wrong as it was--as grotesque really, if she could think about it as she would have once, as her friends would--she would not stop him right in this moment. Her breath stalled in her lungs, the moment in the bright Italian morning stretching out forever it seemed, as she waited for his touch to come ...

Sated, Jack turned his eyes from the mess he had made on Isabella's breasts back to Rachel. She looked frozen, statue-like, her mouth open and her eyes full with a pleading what's-next look. Like the night before, he felt an expectation hanging in the air between them, and this desire to kiss her again so strong he felt an invisible hand pushing the back of his head toward her, but he resisted and pushed back. He guessed that she felt it only natural that he would now approach her in some way now that he'd had his pleasure. 

Not yet.

"Isabella," he said, "face Rachel and cum with her." Isabella gave him a sly grin, leaned toward him and put her palms on the floor to adjust her weight, providing Jack another perspective on her tits. He watched a few drops of his own cum slide off her breasts to the floor, and without hesitating Isabella stroked her finger across the limestone floor through it and brought it to her lips and tasted it.

She pushed her hands off the floor and spread her legs a little wider, kneeling, arched her back and thrust her cum-soaked tits toward Rachel. With one hand she started tugging on her brown nipple, and with the other, the one with remnants of Jack's cum on it, she started to rub her clit.

"Go on Rachel," Jack said in a soothing, quiet tone. "Cum with Isabella. Fuck your beautiful wet pussy. Doesn't Isabella have beautiful breasts? So full, like yours. Do you like looking at her breasts Rachel? Do you like seeing my cum on them? I think you like to watch, Rachel."

He was taking a chance, he knew, with this sudden dirty talk, but Rachel was in a bit of a trance, her nipples hard and her pussy leaking. 

"Go on, Rachel," he said again, now idly stroking his slick cock. "Cum for me."

The moment stretched and then snapped, and Rachel looked at Jack and Isabella with surprise and a slowly growing understanding. She had expected Jack to touch her, but of course he had confounded her once again. Each time she thought he knew what was happening he threw something new at her. The young woman looked at the housekeeper as she turned on the floor to face Rachel, her breasts swinging languidly, her skin still gleaming with Jack's cum.

She could hear Jack's voice as he began to urge Rachel on, talking dirtier than he ever had up to this point. But she hardly paid them any conscious thought. She heard what he wanted her to do, and as for the rest, she absorbed it like a touch, like something sensual that bypassed her cerebrum and entered her body instead. She faced Isabella herself, adjusting her own legs and knees and slipping a hand between her thighs. It should have been shocking but it was truly the most natural thing in the world right now. Why wouldn't she stroke her soft wet lips after watching such a sight? Why wouldn't she dip her finger into her own hot core while she watched Isabella tugging on a dark nipple? What was a more natural response than this?

Her thumb found her tight throbbing clit and circled it as her fingers began to plunge in and out. First one, then two, and of course she thought about Jack's fingers, about his cock, though her fingers could do nothing to evoke the sensation she was sure his thick shaft would produce. She dipped her fingers faster and faster, her thumb strumming her clit as she watched Isabella do the same. She had no desire for the woman, no interest in touching her, but it was thrilling to be watched, to watch and be watched, to let Jack lead her, both of them, and see where they ended up.

Rachel reached up and pawed at her breast through her top, Jack's words working subliminally on her. Her eyes closed halfway, staring out through hooded lids at Isabella, breathing hard through her nose. She had been almost ready to cum simply from watching, and it took very little to set her off on an unstoppable spiral to orgasm. She sat upright suddenly, her muscles going stiff and her fingers sinking sweetly inside. Her thumb ground down, then stroked, ground down, and then stroked and Rachel's hips bucked with a sudden exhalation, ragged, in and out, exhale again until she stomped her foot in a swift tremor and came.

Jack glanced at the old kitchen clock and made a mental note of the time. He would definitely watch this later on video, Rachel nearly tit-to-tit with Isabella as they both came. A wistful moment passed when he considered how forty years ago he would be ready to go again, even twenty years ago. But he countered that with the good fortune he had now, two beautiful women facing each other masturbating. He smiled at them. In the post orgasmic quiet he could hear the cicadas and their morning humming. Another glorious day in Tuscany, another opportunity for Rachel to sunbathe near the pool. Another idea for Rachel. 

At some point before the end of the summer he would encourage this further, this combination of Rachel and Isabella. For now he thought about the possibility of Rachel-by-the-pool redux. He thought her attitude, and her actions, had changed considerably since that first afternoon when she awoke by the pool naked and found his friends admiring her. He pictured that dreamy look on her face, the way her tight ass looked as she ran into the house, the way she masturbated later in her room with her eyes closed. After last night's episode, and this morning, he felt it was the appropriate time to try again. His intent was to keep her aroused nearly around the clock. 

So he watched as Rachel's breathing slowed, her eyes returning to focus. Little red splotches appeared on her chest, supplementing her freckles. He smiled at her. 

"That was a lovely way to start the morning wasn't it Rachel?" He intended to keep this conversation brief.

"It looks like another lovely afternoon to sunbathe by the pool for you, Rachel. I'm hosting today's doubles match. Perhaps we'll see more of you later," he said. He stood up facing Rachel, his still semi-erect cock swinging and slapping lightly against his thigh. He pulled his shorts up, nodded toward her, and walked to his room.



Summer in Tuscany



With cocktails in hand, he led his friends out to the pools edge. The sun was nearing the golden hour, and he smiled at his handsome friends and the way the sun at this angle lit up their faces. He positioned them around Rachel who, judging by the subtle movement in her arms, appeared to be coming out of her haze. She was still too out of it to feel the flourish with which Jack pulled back the sheet and revealed the exquisite form of Rachel. He smiled at their gasps, at the large round mounds of her breasts, the taut stomach, the small thin brown red reed of pubic hair, and the long thin legs.

They applauded quietly and congratulated him. "Amazing. Perfection. Incredible. Stunning." They continued their conversation almost as if Rachel weren't there, but Jack could see his guests looking appreciatively at Rachel. He saw Monique's nipples harden, and he saw Giancarlo and Geoffrey both touching their cocks through their pants on more than one occasion. "Tonight is only for looking?" Geoffrey asked.

"Yes, that's the plan. But let's see how the evening goes." The small circle of friends had been standing around Rachel enjoying their cocktails for nearly a half an hour before she began to stir. The slight change in the temperature due to the setting sun had tightened Rachel's nipples. At one point Geoffrey had reached down with his finger tip extended to touch them when Monique playfully slapped it away.

"Ah, yes, sleeping beauty awakes," he said as he saw her eyes start to open.

Rachel awoke from dreams of Italian sun and Italian skin, only to find the sun in her eyes, and a circle of Italian faces surrounding her. She blinked groggily, the strange transition making it harder than normal to distinguish dream from reality. There was something else too, a nagging numbness in her body trying to drag her back down to sleep. 

And so she stared blankly at first at the circle of faces. Rachel slowly began to realize that she was awake, that there were people here staring expectantly at her. And so she sat up, searching out Mr. Morrison's familiar face and smiling politely at all of them. A quick glance around confirmed that she was at the poolside, the last place she remembered being. The sun was low on the horizon though, and her grogginess told Rachel she had slept much longer than usual.

"I'm sorry, I must have really passed out," she stammered apologetically, her mind suddenly connecting the scene in front of her with the plans Mr. Morrison had told her about this morning. As she sat up, Rachel's breasts jiggled and swayed evocatively and she saw several pairs of eyes dart down to take them in. It was only then that Rachel fully realized her predicament.

First she only stared numbly down at her chest, her freckled breasts tan now with sunshine, her pink nipples large and thick. By the time she raised her head, Rachel's cheeks were as red as her hair, her hands flying to cover herself. Of course her hands could only cover so much, the rest of her breasts spilling out to either side. "Oh my God," she blurted out, her voice reverting to a Valley Girl twang in her alarm. She stared from one face to the next, horrified, but not able to miss the fact that they spelled out more interest than shock.

The first thing Jack thought of when he saw the glassy, glazy look in Rachel's eyes, the slow smile appearing across her perfect American teeth, was that this would be how she would look in the morning upon wakening if he'd slept next to her. The brief almost romantic warmth of the thought surprised him and for just a flash he felt a small pang of regret at the spiked lemonade. Those thoughts were overpowered by a different part of his brain that reacted to her breasts as she sat up, fixated on their briefest lateral movement, more of a flinch than a sway. A quick check of his friends faces confirmed they too were mesmerized, impressed, stricken, and he was pleased because collectively they had seen their excessive share of beautiful naked women.

Their expressions changed to detached amusement at the girl's plight, then back to lust as she unsuccessfully tried to cover her tits with her small hands. Their necks and eyes moved almost in unison over Rachel's body as she sat up, stood up, and first stumbled before steadying herself running away naked from the pool into the house. Jack thought for the first time that the almost sculpted perfection of her buttocks might match that of her breasts. Next to the chaise lounge her bikini was left behind, two small pieces of fabric. He made a mental note to himself that after his guests left he would retrieve the bikini and inhale her scent from the bottoms.

He realized that he might have been overly optimistic about the prospect of her returning shortly wearing the too small cocktail dress he bought for her. His guests good naturedly teased him, and he assured them there would be other opportunities. As the cocktails continued, they talked more about Rachel, the alcohol fueling discussions about possibilities and combinations and places and devious intentions. He was confident that Rachel's body would be in all of their minds later that evening, and the image of them all masturbating in their beds made him smile. He didn't tell them about the cameras. He didn't tell them that after they left he would settle in in front of his computer in the study, and have his own private show of Rachel in her bed room.

If his instincts were correct, and they were usually were, which was why he had this villa, this lifestyle, these friends, though Rachel ran from his little cocktail party, she would think about her body on display in front of these beautiful people, and she would think it was actually not at all an unpleasant experience. She was surprised and embarrassed, yes, maybe even temporarily humiliated, but given the pictures he'd seen in her photo album, given her behavior in town, given her nonchalance about being topless, or wearing a thin robe and boxers and tank top to breakfast when she knew he would be there watching her, he guessed on reflection that she would think about how she had a very admiring audience. 

Once he realized she wasn't coming back, he almost hurried his guests away. He wanted to see her in bed room as soon as possible. After closing the door, and rejecting the whispered request of Monique - which, he thought, said something about his desire to watch Rachel -- he nearly ran back to the chaise lounge and gathered up Rachel's bikini, inhaling the faint scent of her pussy, feeling his cock swelling on his way to the study.

Rachel sat on her bed in her room in the villa for a long time, sitting in the dark. She realized as she sat there that her bathing suit was missing. It didn't make her feel any less humiliated to think of it laying on a lounge chair for all those old people to stare at. In her mind she kept seeing them, the circle of faces. She realized that though it had happened in an instant, she could conjure each face up in her mind and examine it, see the features and details she had missed in the heat of the moment. She kept thinking about how they must have stared as she leaped up, knowing how her chest, her rear, must have jiggled and bounced in front of them. She wondered whether they liked that. She wasn't quite sure, and she also wasn't sure which was worse, the idea that she'd humiliated and exposed herself in front of her host's cultured and well-to-do friends, or that she'd sat there while they stared greedily at her body with lustful thoughts.

No, Rachel wasn't sure which was worse, but she knew which one crawled into her brain and stayed there. She sat in her room all night, not daring to go out even when she heard the voices of the party Mr. Morrison had invited her to. She stayed in the room, dressing herself in the dress he had given her, and thought about them staring at her, imagining that their eyes were greedy, soaking up her young flesh. It was repulsive, the men so much older, and even a woman there too. But she found herself aroused anyway, aroused by the idea of those eyes all over her, watching her as she slept, staring at her breasts. She knew people stared at them, had ever since she had ripened to this size. She didn't mind the stares, enjoyed them in a small way. But this was different, imagining her breasts naked, their gazes openly lascivious. 

When the voices had disappeared and the villa was dark and quiet, Rachel took off the dress and hung it again in her closet. She climbed onto her bed, naked, and laid back, just as she had on the lounge chair. She closed her eyes, pretending she was there again, almost sure she could hear the breathing of the watchers as they gathered around her. Rachel's hand strayed down between her legs, and though she kept her eyes closed, she opened her thighs and stroked herself with her fingers, thrusting her hips up to them with each face she conjured. Even Mr. Morrison was staring, in her imagination, the old man staring at her nipples until they were swollen and hard. Rachel silently fucked her hand, her hips raising and lowering, her thumb strumming at her clit until she bit her lip in orgasm. She had no idea her host was watching, but she had imagined it just the same. Rolling over onto her side atop the sheets, she finally rested, satisfied.

Jack was in his running shorts and t-shirt at breakfast the next morning, the kind of shorts with only a soft nylon built in support. He rarely wore these kind of shorts anymore because he discovered the ample size of his cock was too much for the flimsy material, and if he was doing any serious running he wore compression shorts underneath regular gym shorts. That brought its own pleasure, the snug feeling encasing his cock. He'd watched Rachel the night before, and though she had the lights off when she played with herself, there was enough ambient light from the bright moon through the big window for him to see that unlike most nights, when she seemed to keep her eyes at least partly open, looking down between her legs, or at her fingertips teasing her nipples, or occasionally watching herself in the mirror, last night he noticed she kept her eyes completely closed the entire duration, even after her orgasm had subsided. Could she have been thinking of the cocktail party? Yes, he thought. Why else would she. Of course she would run away when waking up naked in front of a group of strangers - who wouldn't? But, as he suspected, and her late night session confirmed, she did it enjoy it.

"Ah, there you are Rachel. Good morning. I'm so sorry about yesterday evening." She was dressed in her usual tank top and boxer shorts, and he smiled to himself at how her boxers had almost no resemblance to his own boxers. Hers hugged her tight young buttocks and the fabric barely reached down to her thighs. For the first time since she'd been there, he noticed she wasn't wearing her robe. He'd been idly teasing his cock while reading the paper and enjoying his cappuccino in anticipation of her arrival, and now that she was here and he could see her lovely tits through the thin cotton tank top, he felt himself becoming fully erect, the nylon of his shorts doing nothing to restrain his thick cock. It was time she knew just how much he appreciated her beauty. He stood as she approached the table, and with his height he knew his cock and balls would be above the edge of the tabletop. He felt proud of his erection, the tip of his cock straining up against the elastic waistband, so long that it threatened to poke up above it. He knew she couldn't miss it. 

"I should explain to you Rachel that I did try to rouse you at one point, but you didn't move. I didn't want to frighten you or startle you by shaking you awake. And, just so you know, my friends were very, very complimentary about your beauty, and they have all seen plenty of beautiful women. Monique, in fact, was a model herself. When you didn't wake, I thought you must just need your rest. I do know that you're regularly up late pleasurin--" he stopped, deliberately pausing to ensure she was listening as he corrected himself, "enjoying yourself, and I thought you might have just needed to catch up on some sleep." He looked for a reaction in her eyes, in her body. "By the way, I hope you weren't alarmed by the dogs barking in the middle of the night. It was nothing. I want to assure you that I have a very sophisticated alarm system," he waited a beat. After last night, the way she played with her pussy in her bed, her eyes closed, realizing that he'd been right about her inner exhibitionist, he'd been thinking of a way to let her know without coming out directly and saying it, that he'd been watching her, wanted to watch her, loved watching her. He made up the incident with the dogs. He was urging her to notice his cock. "And on top of the alarm system, I have cameras everywhere, inside and outside of the house. It's very, very secure." Her eyes locked on his.

Rachel felt the difference in the atmosphere as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. Well, maybe she had felt it earlier, in truth. Why else had she walked out of her room less dressed than ever before. She felt it keenly, how much flesh was bared without her robes, when Mr. Morrison's eyes fell on her. She felt how loose and bare her breasts were beneath her tanktop, how it clung to their peaks, as his eyes hungrily passed over them. The hunger was clear now, or now she could admit to the hunger that had always been there. Somehow after last night, despite the words he said now, she knew he'd been watching her like this all along.

He stood, and whatever he said to dispel her humiliation was dwarfed, almost literally, by the bulge in his tiny shorts. Rachel stared at it, though she knew that was not polite. But she also knew Mr. Morrison wanted her to stare at it, just as he was staring at her. There were no more pretenses there. His bulge seemed to grow under her eyes, just as she knew her nipples were under his gaze. Her face was flushed, and she made no mention at all of what was right there apparent in her field of vision, but they both knew what she was seeing. Her eyes, wide as saucers, told what she thought about it.

"That's no problem, Mr. Morrison, it was my own fault for sleeping so deeply. I'm sorry to have missed your get-together. I guess I need to get more rest." It was the polite excuse to make, though Rachel hadn't felt all that tired. But it was an unfortunate comment to segue so disturbingly into the rest of her host's comments. Rachel gasped a little, just a tiny bit, covering it with a move to get her coffee. But the adrenaline had already hit her bloodstream and she felt her hand trembling a bit as she retrieved the demi-tasse. The intention of his words were very clear. Rachel's first thought was, he's only guessing at what I'm doing. He's a horny old man, and he loves to imagine what I do at night. But the rest of his comments drove that small bit of solace away. Cameras. That was what she heard, and what he wanted her to hear she was sure. There had been no dogs that Rachel had been aware of, but never mind. Cameras was the message.

But like the silent presence of his cock, the subtext went unmentioned. Rachel clumsily made her coffee, knowing for certain that he was watching her ass as she did so. How long had he watched her while she slept by the pool? How long had his friends? Were they like him? How much had he watched her in her bedroom. Rachel thought back to the nights she had spent here, how she had spent them. Had he seen it all? Her heart pounded at memories of masturbation. Her heart nearly stopped when she remembered how she had tied her legs together. Had he seen it all?

She was alarmed. But the danger here was unsure. It was quite clear that Mr. Morrisson was pleased, not horrified, at what he had seen. It was quite clear from the erection in his shorts how pleased he was. The question was how pleased was Rachel, and the answer was surprising. There was an element of fear, of course, for a young woman trapped here with this man. There was an element of disgust to think of this old man ogling her. There was an element of vulnerability and betrayal at the idea of being watched. But each one seemed only to add weight to the strange arousal Rachel was feeling, instead of dousing it.

"I'm glad to hear all that," she said finally in reply to his talk of alarm systems and cameras. It was not exactly encouraging him, but it didn't discourage him either, did it? "I know my father would feel so much happier to know I am safe here." Rachel met his eyes at that. She wanted to remind him of that, of what the ramifications might be if something were to happen to her. With that she drank her coffee and hurried back to her room. Today she would spend in town, away from his watchful eyes, but she would be thinking about them.

Jack stared at Rachel's ass as she walked out of the kitchen until she turned the corner, his erection twitching against the nylon. The intensity of that little encounter surprised him. She had definitely received the message and understood the implications of the cameras, and her response, her clear arousal, the barely visible tremor of her coffee, the hint of tightness in her voice, and yes, the plainly visible flush of her cheeks and her swollen nipples, confirmed that the game was now at a new level. 

The reference to her father amused him, but he certainly understood her reason, a sort of misdirection, a protective shield to distract him and possibly deflect whatever she thought his intentions might be. He was positive that she now knew of his open lust for her, and he could almost see her trying to sort of those feelings through her eyes, the mental flow chart and decision tree -- if this, then that -- but he reminded himself that he hadn't been aggressive, hadn't said anything that could be perceived as threatening or harmful, that he simply told her without telling her simply that he had been watching her and wanted to continue to watch her. Yes, he was blatant about his erection, but he saw her notice it, and she hadn't screamed or looked away. She looked right at it, for a second longer even than he had hoped for, and in that brief second he felt that his cock was unfettered, naked for her.

The image of the ribbed cotton against her breasts popped back into his head. What would tonight bring? She would know he'd be watching. Would she perform? That's how he thought of it now. Would she put on a show for him? Or would she cover up -- he had this image of her putting on a turtleneck and long pants and bringing her blankets and sheets up to her chin. That wouldn't happen. 

He remembered he had a few important calls to make later that morning, and his erection was nagging at him now for attention. If he didn't do something about it soon he would be distracted the entire day. He guessed he wouldn't see Rachel for the rest of the day. He reached in a nearby drawer for some lotion, and pushed down his running shorts to his thighs and freed his pulsating cock. Maybe Isabella or one of the other woman on the household staff would walk in on him. They'd certainly seen it before and knew that one reason their salaries were nearly double what they could make elsewhere was because their employer was a horny, kinky old man. The first day Isabella watched him while ostensibly dusting she had received an envelope at the end of the day with 100 euros in it, and her salary had increased.

It didn't take him long. He stroked slowly, then pumped while squeezing, imaging the confines of Rachel's tight young pussy, and at the last second he picked up the cappuccino cup and aimed, releasing his jism, listening to it splatter against the back of the cup. Release. He left the cup on the table for Isabella to find and deal with. Despite his orgasm, he couldn't put Rachel out of his mind the entire day, his swollen dick like a constant tapping on his shoulder, reminding him over and over again that Rachel would be home later. He planned an extra-long nap, guessing she would be in town that night late. He would wait up for her in the sitting room off the front entrance, the avuncular family friend concerned about his young beautiful ward.




Summer in Tuscany



Rachel spent the day attempting to forget about Mr. Morrison and his watchful eyes, his snug shorts, and his innuendos. She was not terribly successful at it, and so she spent the night attempting to obliterate the thoughts with drinks, dancing and flirting. Sexy young Italian men should have driven any thought of the lecherous old man from her mind. But it seemed the two coexisted now. When she danced sensually with a dark haired boy at the bar, she thought about what would happen if she took him home, and Mr. Morrison watched the two of them together. When the lush warm night and the flow of alcohol left Rachel's body hot and humming, she thought about him watching her masturbate in her bed. Even here in the bar when she shared one warm, wet kiss with a boy named Adrian, the thought of Mr. Morrison somehow watching made the kiss twice as hot.

Rachel walked home under the clear Italian stars, her steps weaving. She had to leave the moped behind, all too aware that she was not in a state to steer such a little rocket tonight. The cool night air, she hoped, would cool her desire, but all it did was stiffen her nipples under her silken party dress. Simply punching in the security code at the villa's game became a turn on, reminding her of all that Mr. Morrison had said that morning about his security system. Rachel found herself glancing around for the unseen cameras as she tripped through the courtyard and hallways, loud in that unintentional way of the uncoordinated drunk. She closed and locked her bedroom door. She might be crazy, but she wasn't stupid enough to think that Mr. Morrison had good intentions. She had seen the way he showed himself off to her that morning. He was not a normal man.

Or a small man. She did indeed think about him, his rude bulging crotch underneath his old man's stomach, those tiny shorts showing every curve. Rachel peed and washed the makeup and smoke from her face before stumbling into the bedroom in the light of the bathroom. She glanced around the room, casually, wondering where the cameras were, but not wanting to look. Instead she wanted to be watched. Rachel unbelted her dress and pulled it slowly over her head, very aware of how another inch of her body became revealed with every second. She slowly undid her demicup bra, her breasts spilling out though she had no idea if they were in the direction of the camera or away.

She had no idea, truthfully, if there was a camera. But she felt its presence either way as she bent and pushed her panties down to her feet. Feeling bold and lewd, she laid herself out on her bed, as if an exhibit, feeling her auburn hair spilled around her pillow. The cool night air spilled in through a window, along with the distant light of the courtyard, and played across her fair skin. Rachel looked down at the way her heavy breasts spilled to each side, wondering if Mr. Morrison liked that, remembering how she had laid in his view by the pool. She parted her lush thighs and cupped her mound, feeling its warmth as she rubbed her hand against the trim wire of her bush. Soon her hand was busy with the lips of her pussy, her knees pulled up and bent, her legs splayed. Her other hand rubbed her breast, caressed it, stroked her nipple until it was rock hard. Rachel's eyes were open and they were searching the room for some gleam of light, some dull reflection. The more she thought about the camera lens, about Mr. Morrison's watching eyes, and his bulging cock, the faster her hand worked. Rachel's body arched off of the bed, thrusting up to meet her hand hard, feeling the bounce of her ass on the mattress and imagining it was man above her which made her bounce so. Her teeth were a white gleam in the dark as she clenched them, riding through her orgasm as it wet her hand and the sheets. Her fingers inside her, Rachel convulsed on the bed thinking of the ugly form of Mr. Morrison pressing down on her, his thick cock splitting her as all his friends watched.

Rachel punching in the security code at the main gate triggered a buzzing in the cell phone of his robe pocket. Jack nearly jogged to his office and clicked on the oversize monitor. He could see Rachel walking unsteadily, and controlling the camera remotely he zoomed in and immediately noticed her nipples poking up against her dress, a sight he would never tire of seeing. Smart girl to leave the moped behind. He wondered what she had been doing up to that point in the evening, and made a mental note to look into putting cameras in the bar he knew she frequented. He pictured her flirting, pictured the men and the boys staring at her tits, pictured her kissing, pictured a strong hand trying to grope her breasts, pictured her hand sliding down a pair to jeans to a swollen crotch.

He twisted a knob that slowly turned up the light in the courtyard, the same ambient light that would filter into her room should she keep the lights off. He switched cameras so he could see her delicious ass walking toward the villa, and zoomed in on that too. He had reconsidered waiting by the door, concerned that his sudden presence might startle her and discourage her, worried that she might even feel threatened, and decided to let it play out like this. Switching cameras again to a front view, he thought he detected a sly grin, or perhaps it was an alcohol fueled grin, but with a closer look at her pretty face, he noticed her eyes darting side to side, occasionally upward, and he was certain that she was looking for cameras. Good. She was looking for the cameras, thinking about being watched. And her nipples were still erect. 

He slipped off of his shorts and freed his cock and started to squeeze it, feeling its weight as the blood rushed to it. Through the small camera over the sink he watched her lean forward and take off her makeup, and he angled it down so he could revel in her cleavage. He watched her hike her dress up to her waist and push her panties down, heard the sound of her peeing. He wasn't sure why, but the motion always turned him on, those few seconds when the panties slid down off a woman's buttocks, and her bare ass, the angle of legs and hips and buttocks and she began so squat, nothing exceptional as individual acts, but together a sequence that always stimulated him. It brought him to a full erection.

When she finally entered the bedroom and started to take off her dress, Jack dribbled his favorite lotion on to his cock, pleased that she left the bathroom light on. Again he thought he saw her eyes darting around looking for the cameras. Yes, she knows I'm watching and she wants me to watch her. Come on Rachel. Show me. As she lifted her dress, her thighs appeared, and the small white pale pubic triangle untouched by the sun, then her flat tummy, and her magnificent breasts. Did she linger in that position for an extra beat, her dress covering her face and her arms over her head? Yes, she was teasing him. He pushed the circle formed by his thumb and his index finger down the base of his thick cock, feeling the smoothness of his freshly shaven public mound, before squeezing and bringing it back up to the tip. He ground his buttocks into the base of the chair, and felt the small wooden mound he had requested when he had the chair built for him push up against his anus.

He watched her neck turn slightly and her head tilt as she grabbed the waistband of her panties, as if considering, he thought, which would offer him the best views. Yes, she knows, and wants to put on a show. What a good girl. He reached for the knob to turn up the lights more in the courtyard, certain that in her state she wouldn't notice how unusually bright the lights outside of her bedroom were. Unlike the previous night, she was keeping her eyes open, exploring the walls and the ceiling searching for the cameras, and the few times she did look directly into one it was a jolt to his cock. He turned the volume up on the microphone in the headboard, listening to her whimpers as she touched her pussy. He teased his balls, squeezed them and tugged them away from his body. When he adjusted the microphone in the low baseboard - he made sure her it wasn't high enough to block his view, he could her how wet her pussy was as she starting to finger herself. He would time his explosion with hers, pumping more quickly to the rhythm of her hips lifting off the bed. Who is she thinking of? Is she thinking of my cock? She certainly stared at my cock this morning in the kitchen, he thought. He convinced himself she was, and this new consideration, and the way she was teasing her breasts, her eyes still open as if virtually trying to look at him, brought him closer to the edge, and her moaning intensified, her hips rocking, her sweet cunt staring at him now, inviting him in. Pumping faster and faster, lifting his own hips to match hers, the wooden bulb stimulating his anus, brought his orgasm to the surface.

It wasn't the first time he ejaculated with enough force to spray the monitor in front of him, but what surprised him was the sound of his voice groaning at a level that only when he stopped made him realize that it could have sounded like a shout. His office wasn't that far from Rachel's bedroom, and though the walls were certainly thick in the villa, he looked at his open office door and wondered if his orgasm had reverberated down the hall to her ears.

Rachel was so lost in her fantasies that she thought at first the sound had come from there, the dirty theater of her mind. But if so, the deep masculine cry would have come from above her, wouldn't it, where she was imagining a man thrusting her to orgasm. But this cry came from across the room, through the wall or through the door. As Rachel's legs shook and her body quivered through the downward spiral of her orgasm she stared across the room at the spot she imagined the cry coming from. A cry of passion.

It could be no coincidence that it happened then, at the visible peak of her performance. It was confirmed, if Rachel had had any doubt, that he was watching. And more than that, what he was doing while he was watching. Rachel could not help but imaging Mr. Morrison's cock, set free from those shorts she had seen it in this morning, bulging and throbbing. She imagined his old wrinkled hand wrapped around that tight flesh, and she imagined it twitching, the cock head darkening as she shot a load of cum at the sight of her. She knew it would be a big load, there was no doubt that a thick cock like that must produce quite a mess. 

The new thoughts, the knowing that Mr. Morrison sat with a cum soaked cock several rooms away sent Rachel's orgasm into a second cycle. She flipped over on the bed, her bare ass popping up and down into the air as she humped against her hand beneath her. Grinding the heel of her hand against her clit, she rode her arousal to a new, long, slow height, making her orgasm last forever, it seemed, knowing that Mr. Morrison would be watching this too.

After looking at the open door and hearing the brief echo fade, Jack turned back to the monitor, afraid that the unrestrained sound of his pleasure would startle Rachel. He watched her head tilt toward her own door trying to identify the location of the sound, the motion putting her face in a shadow away from the courtyard light, stymying his attempt to read her expression.

He realized he was holding his breath waiting for her next move. His erection in his hand, coated in his hot cum now turning to room temperature, still throbbed. As she flipped over onto her stomach, he worried that she was ending the game, that the realization of precisely what he was up to, jacking off while watching her from just down the hall, finally was hitting her and that perhaps the alcohol was wearing off and that she was crawling back into bed to cover herself up and sleep. No. The opposite. He exhaled, delighted that she had rolled over onto her stomach to continue playing with her pussy. 

When she would lift her buttocks up off the bed, she'd bring them out of the dark into the light from the courtyard, which exaggerated the motion and the curvature of her exquisite ass. Jack remembered a time in his youth when he could have cum immediately again, but now he was content to watch her slow thrusting toward her orgasm, his hand still squeezing his cock to maintain his erection. He would watch this part of the night again later, or in the morning, and cum again. He grinned, this little turn of events surpassing his expectations. Rachel liked knowing he came. 

If it had not been for the alcohol she had imbibed, Rachel wasn't sure she would have fallen asleep that night, but she did, behind the locked door of her bedroom. As if that offered any privacy. When she woke, began her day, she was aware of how any movement, any moment could be seen by him, if he so wished. Or so she imagined. She had yet to find one of the cameras, and Rachel had no way of guessing how many there might be. Where they might be. She stepped through the day in a constant state of feeling watched. It was not as disturbing as it should have been, she was aware.

Rachel avoided Mr. Morrison in the morning, she did not run into him until that afternoon as she hurried out of the villa for another day and evening in town. They said nothing untoward, nothing hinting at what had happened, or at least what she had imagined had happened. She kept it quiet partly for that reason, not sure enough that she was right. Or so she told herself, but the tension in the air between them spoke to a different reality. Talk was casual though, small, and Rachel left to spend the evening in town.

If she had thought herself electrified and invigorated by the Italian countryside when she first arrived, that was nothing to this evening. She felt a gnawing need in herself, felt a vivacity she'd never felt in her life. Rachel laughed, flirted, she danced and drank, thinking at various times that she was in love with half the young men in the small city near Mr. Morrison's villa. She did not feel like the young woman who had left the States to come here, taught to tease and flirt and laugh but little more. No, last night had triggered something inside of her and she could feel it like an avalanche. There was no question as the night ended and she sat in the lap of a dark haired youth as the bars slowly closed what she wanted. They stumbled out into the night air, which seemed nearly as humid as the bar, arms wound around each other. He spoke halting English and she spoke halting Italian and somehow they made it clear what they both wanted.

An invitation back to her place came much quicker than it should have, Rachel was aware, for someone depending on the hosting of her father's friend. But she was too lost in the rush of events to give much credence to that thought, and instead she was clinging to Renzo's waist on the back of his moped as he took them most of the way to Morrison's villa. She had him stop out of earshot of the place, and walked him in, shushing him as she keyed her way in the gate and tiptoed across the courtyard, carrying her heels. He laughed and feigned tossing her in the pool, but they made their way inside and she led him into her bedroom. Or rather, the bedroom Mr. Morrison had provided for her.

When Jack woke the following morning, while still in bed he took his laptop from his night stand and found the scene of Rachel on her stomach. He'd dreamt about her. Like most dreams it wasn't a straightforward narrative, and instead lurched from image to image. He couldn't recall many words being spoken, and some of the images he remembered were a jumble of extremes: Rachel on a bed naked on her hands and knees with four men standing around her playing with themselves; Rachel standing in the middle of a room naked, her arms extended over her head, her wrists bound and attached to a chain in the ceiling; Rachel riding a horse topless with jeans, her large breasts bouncing to the canter. In the dream Jack was listening to Howard Hughes describe how he had designed the underwire bra for Jane Russell's wonderful breasts because he was so concerned about them sagging over time and Jack in return was asking Howard what he should do to preserve Rachel's tits, and then he was suddenly riding behind her on the horse, trying to holding her breasts still, whispering to her to not ride too aggressively. "Your tits, your tits," he remembered saying. The last image was Rachel in the front seat of his old Alpha Romeo Spyder convertible, a kerchief holding her hair, smiling warmly at him as she leaned back and pointed her bare breasts up to the Tuscan sun.

He smiled to himself and found the part of the video where she must have heard him and then rolled onto her stomach. He stroked his cock hard and fast and then paused the video and his hand to take the vibrator out of the nightstand drawer. He lubed his anus and the tip of the small straight vibrator, spread his legs and eased the tip in. Once he found his prostate, he pressed play on the video and started to fuck his ass slowly. With his other hand he kept up a light stroking, and came when she did, the pressure on his prostate propelling his cum up onto his chest.

After his run, he had waited eagerly for Rachel at breakfast, feeling like a nervous teenager, wondering what she would be wearing, wondering if she would somehow acknowledge the night before, if she would flirt and smile and tease and perhaps even walk right up to him and put her arms around his neck and crush her breasts against his chest and kiss him. Jesus, he thought, is that what he wanted? 

It was an hour before the doubt had started to creep in. Was the game over? A voyeuristic one night stand? Maybe she was too embarrassed to see him. Disappointed, he finally began his day and tried to put her out of his mind, but during his doubles match with Giancarlo he kept picturing Rachel in a short tennis skirt, and he made a note to ask her if she played. If she didn't, perhaps he could teach her, or arrange a lesson for her on the court at the villa where he could watch her. When he did finally see her though, nearly bumping into her in the front hallway as he returned from his tennis match and she apparently heading out for the afternoon, there was a brief awkward conversation, but awkward in a good way, he thought, an unmistakable tension.

He was relieved and thrilled. The game was on. Swagger replaced doubt. He was shooting pool by himself after dinner when the cellphone perched on the end of the table buzzed. Rachel was home. 

Rachel wasn't so drunk to think that the two of them had really moved silently through the house, though she was certainly drunk enough that she ran into her share of end tables and trash cans on the way. Renzo hushed her, and then she hushed him when he walked into a corner, too busy with his hands on her to look where he was going. The two of them fell giggling into the bedroom, where she turned and closed the door with a ludicrous amount of quiet care.

Smiling, with her finger on her lips, Rachel turned back to Renzo. The dark haired boy was watching her with heated eyes, not even looking at the room he had found himself in. He had been trying all night to end up with Rachel. Many of the town boys had been trying all week to be the one who caught the beautiful foreigner. But like many tourists she had seemed to be all tease, and no substance. They liked to come here and act free and flirtatious, but they did not mean it. It was only an act to titillate themselves before their return home to their routine. Rachel had seemed the same, with her fiery hair and her easy smile, but a space around her no one could enter.

But tonight had been different, and Renzo in the easy egoism of youth thought he must be the cause. He had been charming. He was indeed handsome. She had not been able to resist him. And she certainly didn't now. He hardly made a step towards her and she was back into his arms, her warm mouth all over his, almost faster than he could keep up with. He kissed her back hungrily, his hands roaming down the back of her party dress, spending just enough time on her waist and sides before he went for his target, cupping her ass in both hands. He had brushed along the curve of it earlier, but never gripped it like this, and he loved how firm it was, no flabby assed whore, but tight and full. His hands worked it over, squeezing and releasing and Rachel moaned into his mouth. It seemed to trigger the next phase of things for her, because she broke her mouth from his and began pulling him to the bed, neither letting go of the other, but stumbling along until they both tipped sideways onto the mattress.