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Often he felt guilty after he’d come.She was his sister.She was cute!He couldn’t help himself. He could not stop. And every week or two he’d sneak her phone to see if there were any new pictures for him to grab. Most were of her posing in panties and bra, and to him these were almost as stimulating as the topless shots. He was deeply familiar with all her intimate apparel, and not just from these stolen images; for it was not her private pictures alone he filched. No; he had spent hours exploring her underwear drawer. Each item of her underwear, each pair of panties, each soft bra, had been his plaything. He had just recently found a new kink, replicating the pictures she took in the bathroom mirror, striking the same poses she had taken while wearing the same panties, the same bra. He loved the feel of her panties over his cock, loved to see the stiff outline of his penis under the fabric.It wasn’t just her underwear he had a passion for, either; those sexy trousers she’d been. This should not have happened.” This was only a momentary pause, though. He gave a little laugh, bounced off my lap, gave me a saucy look, and ran down to the pool and dove in.Embarrassed and chagrined, ashamed of myself, I rose from the chair, scattering the sketches on the stone floor and stumbled back into the villa. En route I passed Lorenzo, who was standing in the doorway into the villa. He smiled a benign smile at me as I passed him. I have no idea how long he had been standing there. But, then, Lorenzo had had a distraction of his own. He was naked, dripping cock in his hand, and crouched at his side, an arm around Lorenzo’s leg, dribbles of cum on his face, knelt one of the fourteen-year-old villa houseboys, Ettore.“Are you ready to take Ettore and Tasso to your bed now, Clay?” Lorenzo asked in my wake. I didn’t answer. I just kept walking. I should never have confided my plight in fleeing from New York to Lorenzo.When I came back moments later to retrieve my sketches, I saw.
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