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.