1. Golden (Blonde) Ticket
I don't know when the shift occurred, but the nanny stopped acting as a passive target of my well-mannered lechery and instead started flirting shamelessly with me. I guessed maybe she escalated because she was frustrated with not getting the puppy dog reactions from me that she got from her various fans at gas stations, playgrounds, restaurants, or basically anywhere there were males with a body somewhere above room temperature.
Or females, to be fair, because I'm extremely liberal-minded about such things; perhaps also because, while most women's reactions to the Swedish au pair dressing like a slutty princess were scornful and vile, a couple of her girlfriends thought it was great fun to tease and molest her body even in the company of others. I've never masturbated about any other concept as fervently and often as I did over the faux-lesbian imagery of Kendra from South Africa (she probably had a last name) sliding her hands over the satiny ass of Sleeping Beauty's daring pink miniskirt. Sometimes the mini was blue, not pink; given the looks on Kendra's face, I suspected that sometimes the playing was earnest, not "faux". Certainly it seemed real when I stroked myself off about it in the restroom at work.
But I'm getting
way
ahead of myself. Let's back up...
My engineering firm has a code of conduct that can generally be summed up as, "Don't just avoid conflict of interest. Avoid even the
appearance
of conflict of interest." A good policy, and I applied it to the au pair process.
I made sure Lucille had all the power of selection, though in order to prove I wasn't completely disinterested in the well-being of my children I demanded final veto. I wanted to make sure I could stop anything stupid from happening, but I thought it was definitely the better part of valor to keep accusations of "You chose her because she was pretty!" to a minimum.
Especially when it turned out she was.
She was, in fact, not just pretty, but disturbingly hot. I've clearly not been twenty in a long time, but did the girls of my generation wear their skirts that short back then? I'm not complaining, mind you; anyone who knows me more than casually is aware that I'm a leg-man. I just don't remember this much eye-candy being commonplace when I was a boy. She was a platinum blonde and I prefer brunettes, so at least I had that going for me, but still... Glad I had nothing to do with hiring her. "Conflict of interest" ought to be stamped across her chest.
Though that would, of course, ruin the view.
The kids loved her from the moment they met her, and it's not hard to see why. Her English was heavily accented with Swedish cadences, but the words she uttered were sweet as pie to them. To the point where I wondered whether she was going to be able to discipline them effectively, actually. However, I need not have worried: Viveka was unyielding when necessary, and all the Brussels sprouts got eaten in a timely fashion. She was a good fit for our family.
Lucille worked from home as a database administrator for small businesses; there were a lot of companies out there that didn't have the expertise to maintain the systems they needed, but couldn't afford to keep a DBA on staff full time. She filled that gap for them and made a decent living doing so. Best of all, she got a pleasant commute that extended from her bed to the home office twelve feet away—sometimes with a side trip to the coffee maker downstairs.
All of which had worked out great for about seven years, but as she got busier with work she sometimes had a rough time dedicating her full attention to the kids. My job allowed some flexibility, but it was still mostly a traditional 9 to 5, and I could, therefore offer little in the way of assisting her. It became difficult to strike a balance, and as she grew more and more frazzled I knew we needed a solution.
Hence, the au pair program. For a nominal finders' fee to the recruiting agency and a couple hundred bucks "allowance" a month for incidentals, a
nubile hottie
young, bright girl from another nation, eager to sample life in the States, would trade residence in our spare room for forty hours of child care per week. The rest of her time was her own, and she seemed to spend it sampling the party atmosphere of the college town nearby. It was win-win for everyone. Welcome to the family, Viveka Skoglund!
Lucille had originally wanted it to be a surprise for the kids, God knows why, so when discussing her imminent arrival in front of them she referred to the au pair as "VS". I insisted on expanding that out to "Victoria's Secret" until she shushed me, then chose "Veruca Salt" which she still frowned at but apparently found less offensive. Slightly. The kids were oblivious, though my eldest had read Roald Dahl and looked puzzled at our discussions.
All of this changed in the final days, when we waited outside the airport terminal with flowers and a box of gift cards for local stores, and the kids, now privy to their new "older sister's" arrival, greeted her with a big hug. Viveka looked surprised and happy as she leaned down to return the affection. She wore a knee-length red, flowing skirt and blouse, black belt, and strappy wedge shoes; aside from the footwear, which had fairly high heels, this must have been carefully calculated to give a demure first impression, as nothing in the rest of her wardrobe matched this outfit in terms of modesty. (But more on that later. Much more.)
Lucille gave her a lady's kiss on the cheek and assured her how happy we were to have her here, and I gave her the hand-shaking appropriate for a new employee, albeit a warm one as the relationship was to be fairly close. She smiled broadly at both my wife and I, and assured us that she was excited to be here.
Just
how
excited was something I had yet to discover.
2. Ausome Pair
We quickly settled into a routine, and I wondered aloud on a call home the first week whether things were meeting Lucille's expectations.
"How's Veruca working out so far?"
"
Viveka
is great. She watched the kids today while I got the household finances done, and then took them to the park while I took a bath. Do you know how long it's been since I got to take a bath? In the daytime? We're totally keeping her. She's way better than a husband."
"Ouch."
"Oh, you have your uses. Don't worry, I'm keeping you, too. For now."
"Be still my heart."
"And don't let her hear you make fun of her name. Last thing I need is for her to decide we're big meanies and flit off back to Sweden. I'm holding you personally responsible, if that happens."
"I'll watch my step."
"You'd better, mister!" she said between chuckles. "When are you coming home tonight?"
"Not too late. Five-thirty meeting, shouldn't go more than half an hour."
"Clearly your definition of 'not too late' is out of sync with the rest of mankind's, but you can't possibly rain on my parade today, so I will accept your tarditude with dignity and await your return, dear."
"Tarditude?"
"Good bye, dear."
She was definitely in a good mood if she was inventing words.
I was in a good mood lately, too. The au pair's arrival had relaxed Lucille sufficiently that the nookie was more forthcoming than usual, and she was even taking the initiative from time to time. Three days in I came home to her dressed improbably fancy for the home office, in a pencil skirt and glasses—she knew what the hot businesswoman look did to me—with innuendo dripping from every comment. She followed through on her delightful teasing, too; once the nanny-girl had taken care of the kids' nighttime routine and gone into her room to Instägråm or Fåssbök or whatever it is that young Swedes away from home do on the internet, Lucille grabbed me by my loosened tie and dragged me into the living room.
She pushed me at the sofa with a snarl and then crawled up me with her shoes still on. I smelled her lip gloss and her shampoo as she kissed me hard and pressed herself against the outline of my cock in my slacks. "Mmmm," she commented, "someone's happy to see me."
"Always," I murmured, "Especially when you dress up so sexy."
She giggled. "Why, sir, I don't know what you mean. These are my normal work clothes. Entirely appropriate for the office, don't cha know."
"You have an awesome pair of legs, baby. Come here," I insisted, flipping her over onto her back and hiking her skirt up to her hips. "Ha. I thought so."
"Hmmm?" All innocence.
"You forgot your panties."
"Darn. That happens sometimes, you know."
"Very bad. Unprofessional."
"You cad! Are you implying I'm a 'professional'?"
"You're certainly skilled enough to be. Let me see if I have any cash on me..." She grabbed the hand that was mockingly on its way to my wallet and re-routed it under her skirt. "Hmmm... Feels professional. I'll have to taste to be sure."
"Oh, if you mus—grrrrrrrr..."
She couldn't keep up her end of the conversation once I started doing
that
to her, and obviously my mouth was too busy to continue. It was just as well: when I eat pussy, it takes me to another place where higher thought processes just don't exist. There's nothing like using my tongue to make a lady lose control, and Lucille tended to let filthy language loose when I did so. Tonight was no exception. Her flavor coated the inside of my mouth as I plunged my tongue deep into her as a tease; she hissed something about "your fucking tongue" and, gently but firmly, guided the back of my head toward where she wanted me, needed me. I surrounded her clit with my lips, and she pressed her cunt against my upper jaw, trying to keep the little button sealed and warm in my mouth. She panted and squirmed as I used the back of my tongue to lightly dance back and forth across her most sensitive nerve, contrasting with the ever increasing pressure she was exerting with her hands and mound, crushing my head to her pussy like she wanted me all the way inside her. With all the forces at play, something had to give, and that something was the wall separating her from orgasm. She emitted a cry that sounded to me like, "My cunt... my fucking cunt!" and then lapsed into sobbing and frantic hip-motions that kept me challenged to stay attached. I knew from experience that if I didn't let up she'd climax a few times more, so I pressed her thighs down with all of my upper body strength and forced her to come again for me.
Her breath hitched as she came down from the high and she flinched away from me when I lathered around her pussy with slow, even strokes. Too sensitive, now, I could tell, so I kissed her nether lips farewell and brought myself up her body to kiss the others.
She tasted herself on me and lazily drawled, "My brain is gone now. You're not allowed to do that to me any time I am supposed to think in, like, the next day and a half. Except on Sundays."
"I'm sure."
"No, really. I wouldn't joke about—"
I had already removed my pants and boxers, and now cut her off with a tender yet insistent thrust into her.
"Shhhhh..." I admonished. "Just lie back and take it. Take me."
She did. Her thighs raised at right angles to the couch, she accepted me with a low moan. I'm not overly huge, but the angle and my over-excitement ensured that my hard length exceeded her depth by a bit. "Oh, God," she whispered. "So deep." She locked her high-heeled pumps around my waist at the ankles as I took care of my cock's needs by pounding into her repeatedly. Something inside me knew I should be gentler, that she was spent and would be sore if I didn't hold back somewhat, but that something wasn't in charge right now, and the smell of her on my upper lips and chin killed any restraint I might have offered. For her part, she grinned up at me, enjoying my loss of control, and if I was crashing uncontrollably up against the limits within her when I came to my own orgasm, she bore it and even reveled in it, pulling me into her by the flex of her legs. I kissed her once more, then collapsed atop her.
"Wow."
"Yeah. Wow."
"Au pairs rule."
"If I would have known this was the reward, I'd have hired two."
