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.