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.