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.
