Three days later

Antonio was gone over the weekend. At first, Dylan worried she was right... that it was all a dream and the naked Italian angel wasn't real, let alone willing to disrobe for a girl like her.

By Monday, Dylan saw Antonio's car in the driveway, but a check of his room (and bathroom) showed he wasn't in. As much as she wanted to say she was just worried for the young master of the house... In truth, she wanted to enjoy his naked body some more. But could you blame her? A shy girl from California, seeing her first real life naked man, and he's a human Adonis her own age who's given her full reign over his nude, angelic body without anything in return... How could she not be a tad eager to take advantage of her sudden and strange privilege?

Her cleaning of the right wing's second floor (A.K.A. the guest wing that Antonio was staying in) complete by 2pm, she headed to the first floor's left wing, which was dedicated to the rooms and living facilities of each of the ten maids. It had a communal bathroom, a small kitchen, and even a recreation room for the ten live-in maids to make meals, shower, relax, and do their business, along with a room for each of them to sleep and live in. That included Dylan, despite her treatment at the hands of the others. Well, except Martina, she was a sweetheart, and the Head Maid seemed to like her despite giving her this more revealing uniform.

Dylan popped her head into the maids' kitchen, finding Giorgia and Chiara munching on a plate of homemade mashed potato fritters that she figured Giorgia had made. All of the maids were required to be good cooks, but even Dylan, a culinary arts student, had to admit that Giorgia was the closest to being as good as the Head Maid. Both Giorgia and Chiara were native-born Italians just a bit older, taller, thinner, and smaller-breasted than Dylan. Giorgia had tan skin and a black bob down to her chin, while Chiara was a shade darker in complexion and had her pixie cut bleached white. Both wore maid uniforms identical to Martina's... and thus far more modest and curve-hiding than Dylan's own. The girls were staring up at a TV suspended in a corner of the kitchen's ceiling, watching a soccer match. Or, football as the Italians called it. And they would happily scold and belittle the Californian girl if she mistakenly called it "soccer" while in the proud nation of Italy...

"Uh, excuse me?" she asked the two senior maids from the kitchen doorway, her voice a tiny squeak.

They both turned to look at their little blonde junior, Chiara looking particularly annoyed upon seeing it was Dylan. "What," she said, the tone in her voice intentionally rude and lacking in the upturn at the end that would indicate it being a question.

"Have you seen Anto-, uh, the young master?" Dylan asked.

Chiara rolled her eyes and turned back to the TV, idly grabbing another fritter from the plate. This clearly wasn't worth her time. Giorgia, meanwhile, stretched her arms above her head, giving a shudder at the apex of her stretch. "Why? Do you need him, America?"

"Not really, I was just wondering where he was," Dylan meekly responded, turning to leave the kitchen's archway.

"Hold it!"

She froze. Obediently, she turned and stepped into the kitchen, hands clasped demurely at her waist even though this caused her arms to squeeze her breasts into an even obscener cleavage. It didn't take long for the other maids to train her into this response... They apparently liked the way her cleavage looked when she did this. The sight of the shy American sexualizing herself like this gave them a sense of perverse power and a nicely deep cleavage they could never hope to achieve to look at while they talked to her, standing at attention like an obedient puppy...

"Why do you need the young master, America?" Giorgia asked. Chiara looked away from the TV, a renewed spark of interest in tormenting the natural blonde from California.

"I-I was just looking to ask him a question about cleaning his room..." Dylan replied, nervously staring at the floor past her breasts.

"You're a bad liar, for an American," Giorgia said, smirking and crossing her arms under her generous (but nowhere near Dylan's level) bust. "Care to try again?"

Dylan was already starting to feel her face heat up in shame and anxiety... She had to think of something, fast.