BabySitter and the Mistletoe

One of the reasons that I enjoy the Christmas/New Year period is that it's profitable, baby-sitter wise. There're a lot of calls for sitting jobs, and being temporarily out of work I'm quite willing to put my hand up and earn some extra cash. It's also good training for me. I'm studying to be a teacher, and the more experience I get controlling little monsters the better I'll become.

I've just turned eighteen, and when school starts next year I'll be attending a primary school as a student-teacher, getting a month's on the job experience. I'm looking forward to the resumption of school, which is more than the kids I sit are doing.

I've found that you need to be wary when sitting. Some of the fathers seem to have odd ideas as to what a baby-sitter's duties are. As far as I'm concerned, they entail looking after the kid's requirements; not the father's. It pays to dress demurely in some places I have to go.

The Pender place is one where I have to keep a wary eye on the husband. His name's Raoul. He's French, and full of himself as the great French lover. Fortunately, Miranda, his wife, keeps a tight rein on him. He might go for a quick grope, or try to sneak a kiss, but Miranda always seems to be around. I'm never quite sure if she's protecting me from him or him from me. She's a honey, so it's flattering to think she might be jealous of me.

I had a job there just before Christmas, sitting all afternoon until quite late at night. When I rolled up Raoul opened the door and, as soon as I stepped inside, he grabbed me and kissed me.

I pushed him firmly away, quite surprised that Miranda hadn't intervened. She looked at me and shrugged.

"Mistletoe," she said, pointing above my head. "It is Christmas so I thought I could allow a little leeway for tradition."

Fair enough, I guess, and I'll admit that Raoul does kiss quite nicely, but I'd be keeping my eye out for any more mistletoe lying around. From what I could see there was a small twig over almost every doorway. I spent the next half-hour making sure Raoul wasn't around before I walked through a doorway.

Eventually Raoul and Miranda left and I settled down to keeping an eye on the kids. They were easy enough to handle and, come the appropriate times, I fed them, bathed them, and tucked them into bed. Then I settled down on the couch to watch some TV.

Mind you, I learn fast in some situations. Before I settled down to watch TV I checked to see what decorations were scattered around. There was the usual tinsel and such, and an odd looking wreath dangling above the couch. It looked homemade and I took a closer look at it. It appeared to be made out of roseleaves, and there were even a few rosehips intertwined. Not mistletoe, which was what I was concerned with.

I watched TV. I got bored. I fell asleep.

I woke up to find Raoul kissing me, and kissing me hard. I was even unconsciously responding and kissing him back before I woke up enough to work out what was going on. Then I tried to push him away.

"Raoul," I protested, pushing hard against him.

He broke the kiss long enough to say, "Mistletoe," pointing up at the wreath, and then kept on kissing me.

I broke away long enough to appeal to Miranda, who was looking at us, seeming amused.

"Miranda, that's not mistletoe," I said.

"Um, actually it is," she said. "It's French mistletoe. Raoul had a relative send it over. Apparently the French have a slightly different tradition where kissing under the mistletoe is concerned. Raoul believes in following it."

If it involved kissing, of course Raoul would approve. He pulled away from me a little. "Oui," he said. "La Belle France has some interesting traditions." Then he bent to continue kissing me.

I got a hell of a shock when he started kissing me again. I don't know how it happened, but my shirt was undone and my bra was loose. Raoul must have undone them when I was still asleep. This time, when he bent to kiss me, he ignored my mouth, latching onto my breasts like a leech.

Now I've had men try to get their paws on my breasts before this. Name me a woman of eighteen who hasn't. I've always tended to fend them off, while enjoying the byplay and the occasional brush of hand against breast. This, however, was the first time my breasts had been bare in front of a man, and it was definitely the first time any man had started kissing them.

"Miranda! Raoul!" I protested.

"It's just the French tradition," said Miranda. "It won't hurt you."

Raoul didn't say anything. He just kept on kissing my breasts. If you can call it kissing, when he was gently biting them, sucking on them, running his tongue over them, his teeth and tongue plaguing my nipples, encouraging them to stand tall. All I could do was feebly protest and push at him.

Between us, I found the whole thing quite exciting. I was getting quite aroused by having Raoul make love to my breasts, because that's what he was doing. With Miranda there, it wasn't as though he was going to go too far, even if I did think he'd already stepped over the line.

It turned out that he hadn't really stepped over the line by kissing my breasts. I found that out when he stopped kissing them. I was still pushing at him, trying to make him go away. I may not have been pushing too hard, but I was pushing, so when he lifted his head away from my breasts and winked at me I was relieved. (Maybe a little disappointed, but only a little.)

That's when I found out what crossing the line really involved. Raoul sort of shuffled down the couch a bit, then flipped up my skirt and his head was pressed between my thighs. I could feel his tongue probing against my slit, pushing hard against my panties, wetting them. And they weren't just getting wet from his actions.

I squealed and bucked and protested, looking frantically over at Miranda.

"Raoul says that the French tradition involves kissing the girl all the way down," she said. "Don't worry. It won't hurt you."

Maybe it wouldn't hurt me, but it sure came as a hell of a shock to have a man's mouth kissing me there. I was just consoling myself with the thought that I at least had my panties on, when I didn't. Raoul just casually hooked his fingers over them and pulled them down, his tongue now actually dipping between my lips, probing into my slit.

I was wriggling and making weird sounds, not sure how to address this problem. Raoul's hands were clasped firmly upon my hips and he was busy kissing and tasting me. His tongue seemed to be everywhere down there, probing and tasting, while all I could do was wiggle about.

Now a woman knows that the area around her clitoris is sensitive and when stimulated, don't you know it. It's even possibly I might have stimulated myself there a couple of times, just to see what it was like. Nothing I'd done had prepared me for having my clitoris stimulated by a man's tongue.

I knew damn well that Raoul was doing it deliberately, building on my arousal without so much as a 'if you don't mind'. I minded. Let me tell you, I minded. I almost bounced off the couch the first time his tongue touched down in that area and it didn't get any easier with repetition, of which there was too damn much. I was almost bouncing off the couch, the walls, and the ceiling, and Raoul just kept on arousing me, while Miranda looked on with interest. I couldn't believe that she could be so matter of fact about Raoul chewing on me like that.

I was gasping and yammering, trying to protest, but unable to form a coherent sentence. How do you say, "Please stop," when something brushes against your clitoris while you're still trying to form the words? I sure couldn't. All I could do was clutch at Raoul and pray that he'd stop it PDQ.

He didn't actually stop it. Instead he just kept on going, arousing me until I lost control. He was deliberately pushing me to have an orgasm and there was nothing I could do about it. Except have it. After one sweep of his tongue I just climaxed, jerking helplessly under him as I was wracked with waves of feelings just washing through me.

I was left lying there on the couch, trembling and dazed, while Raoul stood up. I was kind of aware that he'd moved off me, just as I was kind of aware that his hands had replaced his mouth and were idly playing with my mound, his fingers slipping between my lips and spreading them.

I came fully to with a scream when I felt a sudden sharp pain down below. My eyes popped wide and I was staring at my pussy where, to my horrified surprise, Raoul's cock was half buried inside me. Even as I watched it pushed further in. And I wasn't just seeing it. I could feel that thing. It was in my passage and seemed to be stretching me all out of shape. It felt long and fat and awfully hard, and it was just charging into me.

I opened my mouth to protest, most vehemently, but to my surprise Miranda got in first.

"Don't look so surprised," she said. "What did you think would happen after you led him on the way you did?"

Led him on? She had to be joking. He'd jumped me and she had just watched. I wanted to protest but at that moment Raoul gave a really firm push and I could see (and feel) the rest of cock plunge into me.

So what do you say when a man is using the French Mistletoe tradition to ravish you in front of his wife? I don't know about you, but I couldn't think of anything to say. What was really holding my attention was a whacking great cock rammed up me just as far as it could go. That I was well aware of, and I was wondering what it was going to do to me.

Raoul must have seen the trepidation in my eyes.

"Relax, little one," he said. "The only pain was at the start when you weren't aware of what was happening. Now it will just be pleasure. Just move with me and all will be fine."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one getting the unexpected Christmas surprise. But even as he was telling me that I could feel him slowly pulling back along my passage, my flesh clinging to him as he moved. He was almost all the way out when he stopped and reversed direction. Now I felt him pushing all the way back into me, moving quite smartly, and he was right; there wasn't any pain, just this unfamiliar, but pleasurable, feeling.

At first I just lay there, feeling him moving in and out of me, the pleasure slowly building, seeming just that little bit more intense with every thrust of his cock. After a while I found myself responding to his movements. I was pushing up to meet him, happily taking his cock in as deep as possible and trying for deeper.

And it felt good. Moving with him seemed to make it even better. It was odd, but even as I was appreciating the pleasure I found myself wanting something even more.

We were rocking relatively slowly and gently at that stage. I guess my slight frustration must have shown on my face, because Raoul started moving faster. Naturally enough, I had to move faster to keep up with him. Now he was driving in hard and we were giving a most energetic performance. I was half gasping, half sobbing with need, as we came together, out speed and our pleasure building.

Maybe I'd already been primed for a quick climax, what with all the foreplay Raoul had done that had resulted in my earlier orgasm. Whatever the reason, it wasn't long before I could feel myself straining on the edge of another climax.

When Raoul started hitting me harder than ever I just yielded, letting my climax flood through me, quite content to be carried away into dreams. I was conscious that Raoul had disengaged, but I no longer cared. I just lay there, shuddering in contentment.

The next thing I became aware of was that Miranda was stripping off my clothes. Easy enough to do as Raoul had apparently undone all my buttons and zips and such. I was wondering why Miranda was stripping me off but it seemed too much effort to ask.

I found out soon enough. She coaxed me to my feet and then pushed me about. I just moved as told, feeling totally lethargic and spent, which is how I came to be bending naked over the end of the couch.

"This is just a little reminder that Raoul is my husband and you'll keep your hands off him in future," Miranda murmured, and her hand came down very firmly upon my bottom.

That woke me up. Did it ever. That woman had a very firm hand. I gave a yelp and tried to stand up, only to find that I was being held firmly in place and another spank was landing.

I tried to point out that it wasn't fair and it hadn't been my fault. She and Raoul were to blame. Miranda just laughed and kept on spanking my poor bottom, and it was smarting. I was protesting and trying to see where Raoul was but he didn't appear to be in the room. Meanwhile, Miranda was having a fine time and my bottom was turning all shades of painful red.

For a change I was pleased when Raoul stepped back into the room.

"That's enough, Miranda," he said, and she stopped.

Raoul stood next to me, his hand gently rubbing my smarting bottom.

"Now look what you've done," he said, his tone a reprimand for Miranda. "Now I'm going to have to console the poor woman."

That was OK by me. I could do with a bit of sympathy at that stage, someone to hold my hand and say, "There, there. It'll be all right."

Good thing I wasn't holding my breath waiting for that to happen. What did happen was that Raoul's hand slipped down from rubbing my bottom to closing over, and squeezing, my mound. The next thing I knew his cock was driving back into me, hard and fast. His arms reached around me and closed over my breasts, squeezing them.

Raoul then demonstrated that he'd been taking it nice and easy when he took me earlier. Now that I knew what to do he let me have it. His cock bombarded me, plunging in and out at a great rate. His hands squeezed and played with my breasts, rolling and pinching my nipples as he went. I, of course, now knew that I was supposed to move with him and my bottom was bobbing up and down at a great rate.

It dawned on me that I hadn't felt Raoul climax when he'd taken me earlier. He'd been saving it for this little effort, I just knew it. The spanking and the consolation was all part of his devious plan for ravishing me, and there was nothing I could do but be ravished. I was gasping and making little, 'uh, uh, uh," noises, all the pleasure I'd felt earlier surging back, flooding my loins.

I was really highly aroused, but I was also somewhat shocked to find that I was about to have a third climax. Not a bad effort for a first timer. Maybe there is something in what they say about French lovers.

Raoul had apparently built up a good head of steam with his earlier efforts, and now he was driving in hard, putting all his stored energy to good use. I could hear the slap, slap, slap, as his groin slapped against me, his testicles banging against my pussy. Then he gave a groan and unleashed the full force of his balls.

I promptly found out what had been missing from my earlier climaxes as his seed splashed vigorously into me. I gave a half scream and clamped down onto him, my climax smashing into me and driving me out of my tiny mind - again.

This time I was allowed to rather my wits without any help from unexpected ravishments or beatings. My clothes were neatly stacked next to me and I hurriedly scrambled into them. I could smell coffee and headed towards the kitchen, not knowing what I was going to do or say.

Miranda smiled when I came in and poured me a cup of coffee.

"The French have such interesting traditions, don't they?" she said. "I let Raoul follow that one because it's only once a year."

What did I say to that? Coward that I am, I said nothing. I collected my pay (which, admittedly, had a very nice bonus included in it) and went home. Then I jumped on the internet.

Raoul, I quickly discovered, was a liar. There's no such thing as French mistletoe. Any mistletoe in France is the same old stuff we have. That wreath probably was made from rose bush clippings, no matter what Raoul claimed. As for the French tradition, their tradition is just that you kiss under the mistletoe on New Year's Eve. (Point in hand - don't baby sit for Raoul and Miranda on New Year's Eve. Who knows what might happen?)