Chapter One

 

There are few clocks in the guest rooms. Time was almost an irrelevancy on the island. That was one of the charms of staying here, how the place seemed to be outside the hustle and bustle, the stress and pressures of the world outside. Isola Sabbia, which translated to something like the Island of Sand, was off the coast of Italy, and almost in a world of its own.

It was a tiny island, but big enough for four dozen separate little bungalow residences for the hotel's guests. There was a small rise in the center, a hill, but not much of one. It helped hide the bungalows from each other, for they were located along the water's edge.

The cost of staying in one was astronomical. This was not a place for the regular holiday crowd. This was a place where the well-heeled came to de-stress and relax and forget about the world for a few days or weeks.

The 'hotel' itself, was on the rise in the center. It was where I'd come to work, after being hired by Don Angelo, who had met me working in a Four Seasons Hotel in London. He had seemed charming, and flirty, and rich. What wasn't to like? The chance to come and live in Italy for a few months or maybe a year?

The pictures of the bungalows were fabulous! God, they were and are beautiful and luxurious! They're right on the water, with wraparound decks and glass floors that look down into the blue water below.

No one has to clean them of course, nor cook their own food or do their own laundry. The rich don't do stuff like that. That's taken care of up on the hill by people like me. You know, regular people. Not that I do laundry. I'm a guest facilitator, one of the people who interacts with the guests.

That means I'll bring them food or drinks or whatever else they want, answer questions, take orders and deal with problems that come up. Most of the guests, wherever they are from, can speak English, which was why Don Angelo wanted people who could speak English. I also speak French and Spanish, though, which was another reason he hired me.

I don't kid myself that my looks weren't part of the deal, though. My looks are always part of the deal. That's something you get used to. Whether you like it or not is beside the point. Men will hire me for my looks, sometimes even if I'm not as good a candidate as someone else.

That doesn't make me feel good, of course, but I try not to let it bother me. It is one of the benefits I get which helps counteract the bad side of being ... attractive. The bad side is how people, mostly I mean men, will look at me everywhere I go, like hungry dogs staring at meat.

And they'll chat you up all the time, intruding into your personal space, whether you're buying groceries or just going to or from work. They see you, they want you, and the more forward (and less well-mannered) will just interrupt whatever you're doing to try and get your number.

Sometimes a polite shake of the head is enough. Sometimes it's not. I've had men trot along next to me along the pavement for blocks trying to convince me to give them my name, phone number or address! Like, go the fuck away already!

And sometimes, no matter how polite you are, these men don't take rejection well, and will cast loud, obscene and insulting insults your way, as if outraged that you didn't find their presentation sufficiently of interest to grant them an extended visit.

I must be a 'dyke' or a 'man hater', and definitely I was a 'bitch', and, seemingly out of step with that sort of thing, I was also certainly a 'whore' and a 'slut'. It is tiresome, sometimes embarrassing, sometimes frightening.

That being said, I don't feel sorry for myself for being born beautiful, or with nice hair or a great body. I like being appreciated, like the way some men look at me, the polite ones, like being appreciated, and have always been welcomed by both men and women, at least in part, because people seem to like attractive people.

Don't ask me why! I never had any problem making lots of girlfriends, and I sure have never had any problem finding a boyfriend. Though finding one which is worth keeping is another story.

My name is Hannah, by the way, and I'm from northwest London.

***

"You're kidding!"

Carmela was not kidding. She glared at me as I stood there holding up the bathing suit. I'd just gotten there, and she'd just shown me to the little room where I'd be sleeping while I worked there. There were a number of blue and red bikinis in the drawer, which they'd ordered, in my size. Blue and red were the colors the hotel used.

The bikinis were tiny! The backs were G-strings, not even thongs!

"Thees hees Eetalia, Eenglish Ghirl," she said with a sniff. "If you are shy ghirl you should just going back home!"

Carmela was short and slim and thirty-something and Not A Nice Person. She had a square face with beady eyes and was in charge of the half dozen female employees, most, like me, young and temporary. Her English was poor to middling, and she looked at me and everything else suspiciously.

I had been looking forward to the new job with a great deal of anticipation for some time. The train ride to Italy had been delightful, and then I'd reached the coast, and taken the boat for the trip out to the island. Everything had gone perfectly, and the island was gorgeous, and then...

Well, I thought, staring at the two tiny pieces of fabric. It was Italy. I mean, lots of girls went topless when they came south to the beaches. But this was, Carmela had just informed me, to be my daily 'uniform' while I worked there!

I protested. I went to Gianni, who was the day manager, and he just shrugged. That was the uniform, and all the 'girls' wore it, and that was that. My alternative was to leave, but of course, if I did I'd have to pay them back for the cost of the ticket. That was in the contract I'd signed, he pointed out unsympathetically.

And, of course, I'd have to pay my own way home, where I'd now be unemployed! I agonized over the decision, then put on the bikini and agonized some more! The cups covered barely less than half my breasts! I had to check the little label to assure myself it was the right size!

They covered my nipples, then stretched sideways for several inches, but the fabric ended just after starting to curve around the sides of each breast. That left, in essence, the sides of my breasts bare, along with the inner half of each!

The bottom was... very, very short. It consisted of a string which sat very low on my hips, and a tiny piece of fabric, little more than a narrow inverted triangle down the front, which started perhaps an inch above the top of my sex!

It slid in between my legs where, just past my sex, it turned into a finger wide strip running up between my buttocks to the rear of the string around my waist. I'd never worn anything half so revealing in public! I didn't even own lingerie this revealing!

My breasts are full and heavy. Granted, I work out a lot, and I'm barely nineteen, so they don't sag much at all. That's pretty good given their size. But I've always had a love-hate relationship with them. Sometimes I feel smug and coy at the attention they get, but most of the time I get irritated at men staring at them, and do my best not to emphasize them.

It's not like I'm huge, but I'm a slender girl, and my breasts are - not small. They're full and round and C cups. I looked like... a nymphet in the tiny bikini! It was a quality top, and it supported the girls okay, but I'd still be very visibly wobbling wherever I went, and that meant men were going to be staring at them even more wherever I went.

As for the bikini bottom. Well, if I had any hair at all down there I'd have to shave it off, that was for sure. I'd never seen a bikini bottom so tiny! Wearing this all the time, was going to practically be like walking around naked!

But it's Italy, I told myself, the land of lazy sun and heat and water. Lots of girls go topless and quite a few go naked. Of course, that's at the beach, not while working in a hotel! Yes, I'd be trotting about from bungalow to bungalow, out in the sun a lot, but I'd also be in the house on the hill dealing with customers there.

I decided I would just have to try it. There wasn't any real alternative. And the other girls would be wearing the same sort of thing, right?

So, terrifically self-conscious, I left my little room and made my way down the narrow hall of the staff section, then down the tiled back stairs, and down another little hall. Then, bracing myself, cringing mentally, I pushed open the door and stepped out into the main hall.

Of course, everyone looked at me as I walked by, especially the men! I was wearing nothing but the two little scraps of fabric and the blocky, high heeled sandals they'd given me. My breasts felt practically naked! My bottom actually was naked!

I headed over to the desk, where I saw another girl dressed in the same suit smiling at a guest as she leaned over and showed him a map. She was blonde and big breasted and her breasts were just so... out there! I was sure he was staring at them not the map!

The blonde finished up with the middle aged customer, who looked at me, dropped his eyes, and smiled. I smiled feebly back and he turned away.

"Got to improve your smile," the blonde said with a big smile.

I flushed a bit. "Pardon?"

"I'm Ashley. And Carmela will slap your bare ass if she catches you failing to smile at the customers."

I stared at her in surprise. Surely she didn't mean that literally?! Then again, maybe she did!

"Uhm, okay."

"You'll get used to the suit very quickly," she said with a little smirk. "We all do."

"It's ... tiny!" I exclaimed.

She nodded. "Yep. We're eye candy, just like the hotel, just like the water and beaches, and blue sky. Everything has to be beautiful and appealing to the eye, the ear and the taste. That's what Luis says anyway."

"They might as well make us go naked!" I blurted.

"Don't give them ideas," she replied with a laugh. "Just remember to smile a lot and be friendly, no matter what anyone says or does. Carmela has a very fast hand and a very old fashioned idea about how to make sure girls behave."

"She slaps my ass I'll slap hers," I said darkly.

Ashley laughed. "I'd love to see that! But that would be the end of you, dear. She's a tough bird."