The Things That Go On At Siesta Time

There were so many advantages to working for the big-shot English movie producer. She got paid very well indeed, more than any maid in her village—a secluded backwash on the island, far from the tourist resorts where good jobs were more plentiful. The family were only going to be in the villa for a few months of the year, but intended to pay the staff all year round. The villagers were always eager for the gossip about who came and went at the big house and—best of all—she had access to the lovely Lydia, the daughter of the house.

Lydia had turned nineteen that year. She was fair and lithe, so different than Greek girls. Sofia liked that difference. Lydia was also precocious, spoilt, and incredibly naive. She pouted and preened, wandering around the grounds of the villa half-undressed, exposing herself in skimpy bikinis or shorts that frayed up over the cheeks of her cute behind and halter tops that revealed the outline of her pert little breasts. Every man in the village lusted after the pretty English girl, and a chorus of wolf whistles followed her whenever she rode her bicycle around the local area. Lydia clearly loved that kind of attention, but Sofia didn't think the little madam was helping herself any. Sofia was a very practical woman. She could see that the attention made Lydia even hotter and more frustrated.

Her chaotic sexual chemistry swamped the entire household.
Sofia had watched as Lydia flirted outrageously with Stefanos and Nick, the grounds men. She lay on her sun lounger by the pool rubbing lotion into her bare limbs, flicking through trashy romance novels looking for the dirty parts. She'd pause and slip her shades down to inspect the men while they fished leaves out of the pool, eyeing their sleek muscled bodies at work. Those poor men were in a constant state of arousal with that little sex bomb on hand—so near and yet so far out of their reach. Sofia smiled to herself and smugly treasured the fact that she'd gotten the first taste of the lovely Lydia that sultry summer.

She had discovered quite by chance that Lydia responded to both idle caresses and outright groping. She brushed out her long blonde hair in the mornings and touched the soft skin of her neck and shoulders, stroking the flaxen strands down over her chest. Lydia gasped and whimpered, but didn't tell the maid to stop. Sofia murmured compliments, purring constantly and growling at the back of her throat whenever she made eye contact. When she helped her choose what to wear from the long walk-in wardrobe stuffed with clothes, Sofia got even bolder. She held things up against Lydia with cheeky hands, hands that molded the material in against her breasts and over her hips, both dexterous and suggestive. Lydia's body was programmed to respond.