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“Beware the Mistletoad,” my daughter laughed as she flew past me, on her way out to a Christmas party.
The “Mistletoad” was in part my invented word – inspired by John Irving’s recurring line in The World According to Garp, where the family motto was “beware the under toad” after one of the kids misheard the word “undertow”. If you know the story, the “under toad” had somber portends.
“Mistletoad” was also in part inspired because my daughter, at a tender age, viewed the idea of kissing strangers as threatening. Though she would not read Garp for many years, I though the term fit. Eventually, it became a private joke between us that survived all of her tomboy years, right up until now, when as a twenty year old, she had returned from university for the holidays.
Her mother and I were about to host our annual December 23rd “Holiday Kick-off” open house. That saved us inviting family the rest of the season, and by starting it at 8:00, we avoided an awkward sit down meal – instead, around midnight we would put out plum pudding and coffee to replace the eggnog and turkey cranberry skewers, sobering up the stragglers and still getting to bed at a decent hour.
Jennifer, my daughter, had other plans, preferring to catch up with high school chums instead of being embarrassed by her parents’ activities. I was stringing a sprig of mistletoe as she was leaving. As her unbuttoned wool coat swirled around her, I admired how her once spindly legs had evolved into toned shapely gams, evidencing her discovery of dance.
Her whole body had changed shape. Taking up the passion later in her teens saved her the risk of anorexia, but the exercise burned off excess fat, making her pert bosom stand proud above a flat tummy under her clingy white sweater dress. They seemed more perky than usual, and then I recalled that her Mom had taken her shopping that morning. No doubt, some well-engineered lingerie had been selected as an early present. I was shocked to feel blood surge to my cock as I wondered if some lucky young man was going to have the pleasure of unwrapping Jenny as his early Christmas gift.
I rushed to tie the decoration to the light fixture, about to say, “Jen, shall we test it to make sure it is safe,” when she flew out the door into the darkness.
My brain betrayed me by trying to picture what sort of lacy undergarments might be revealed. Before she vanished, my cock was fully hard. Just as well I had not kissed my daughter, because I might have been too excited to resist slipping her tongue, and who knows what my hands might have done.
I thought I might get a quick hand job, or even a blowjob, from Dina, my wife, who still was hot for me after more than two decades of marriage, but even before I got off the step ladder, the door bell rang. Without time to relieve my sexual excitement, I lingered behind the kitchen island, pretending to fuss with the “stuffing tarts” while Dina greeted the guests. The first arrivals, as always, were Mr. and Mrs. Cratched, he a dour long retired accountant, she a mainstay of the church ladies’ auxiliary. Just seeing them instantly solved my inflation issue.
The party improved from there. The usual mix of office mates, neighbours and relatives came, and some lingered while others left early. Although the eggnog was popular, I found myself stationed most of the evening in the kitchen, replenishing the punch bowl. The mistletoe was conveniently located right above. My wife started the kissing by planting her lips on mine, and grinding her hips against my groin, shaking her gym-worthy ass to the delight of most of the onlookers, and the disgust of the Cratcheds. That set the tone for the goings on, and I quickly got the impression that several of the women were competing to see who could get the biggest rise out of me.
Of course, I was not the only one kissing, nor even the only person Dina caught under the mistletoe. About 11:30, just as the lull hit that signalled time to switch the eggnog for coffee, when I turned back from the rented giant sized coffeemaker, I saw my wife kissing my office assistant, a sweet young thing named Raquel, who was not much older than Jennifer.
I found myself hardening as I compared Raquel’s voluptuous curves, busting out of a too tight short red halter dress, with my memory of Jen’s more conservative presentation. I had to give my head a shake to switch to appreciating how sexy my wife looked in her demure little black dress. There was plenty of time for me to do so, however, as Raquel’s hands sought out Dina’s waist, prolonging the kiss. Raquel’s fingers gripped my wife’s ass hard, pulling their bodies closer, as their tongues intertwined. Dina clearly was a willing player, lifting her arms and linking them behind Raquel’s neck, swivelling her hips to grind sensuously.
Finally, when I turned on the water to fill the coffee pot, they broke their embrace. I noticed how Raquel’s crimson lip gloss was now smeared on Dina’s teeth, though I was quickly distracted by the view of two pairs casino siteleri of diamond hard nipples pointing in my direction, threatening to pierce the fabric containing them.
“Whoops,” Dina laughed, wiping some of Raquel’s slobber off her chin, “Beware the Mistletoad I guess.”
“Sorry I’m such a sloppy kisser,” Raquel added.
“Sam, you should have warned me about that,” Dina teased.
“But we’ve never kissed,” Raquel nervously explained, her cheeks blushing more from that idea than from the adventure of womanly kisses.
“Well, you’re still under the mistletoe, so Sam had better fix that while I finish getting the coffee and dessert out.”
I hesitated, not wanting to step clear around the island, which hid from both Raquel and my wife just how excited their kissing had made me. Dina was having none of that however, and grabbed my arm to tug me over to where the young guest awaited her treat. My wife’s eyes widening when she glanced down and saw my pants struggling to contain my engorged erection. She smiled sweetly, and tapped me on the ass as I stumbled toward my assistant.
“Maybe I’m the one who should be wary of the Mistletoad,” Dina whispered in my ear as Raquel’s moist tongue flicked out and wet her fat lower lip an inch from my chin.
Still uncertain about whether I should indulge my excitement at the risk of ruining a perfectly good working relationship, I bent my head down and timidly pressed my mouth against Raquel’s. She was having none of that though, throwing her arms behind me just like Dina had done to her. I also felt my wife’s hand press against the small of my back, urging my groin harder against Raquel.
My hardness was undeniable as I explored inside my young partner’s mouth, pushing the tip of my tongue beyond her teeth to probe the inside of each cheek. I realized as she rotated her hips against my hardness that I could feel her dampness through the fabric of her dress. Her full breasts massed tight against my torso, the nipples pressing hard against my flesh, obvious even with the fabric between us. Behind me, I heard Dina fuss with the coffee and plates, but sensed that her eyes were locked on the display in front of her.
“I don’t think the poor girl was able to fit a bra under that halter, darling,” Dina laughed, and then she shocked me even more than earlier, running a hand up between our bodies to fondle Raquel’s tit.
“Oh, I’m right, dear, here, see for yourself.”
My wife grabbed one of my hands and planted it on the flesh of a coworker barely older than our college aged daughter. Not only did she insist that I fondle Raquel, Dina slid my fingers inside the cleavage, under the fabric of the halter, and then curled my fingers forcefully around the bare mound. I felt the hard nubbin between two fingers and instinctively tweaked it. Raquel groaned and bit my lip, but did not step away. Instead, she ground her vulva against my cock, only a couple of layers of fabric standing in the way of us actually fucking.
I felt my wife’s boozy breath on my ear, and then she nibbled my lobe. I sensed her hands moving, feeling one caress my back and then my ass. I suspected the other was performing similar actions to Raquel, and wondered if this moment could last.
The spell was broken before long, when a very drunk cousin Oliver stumbled against the door frame as he navigated toward the coffee. The noise startled us, but also gave a warning before he entered the room, so we broke apart. Dina offered him a cup, and a cab. Good thing we insisted on everyone dropping their keys in a bowl at the start of the party.
I quickly wondered whether Raquel would need a cab, or might prefer to sleep over in the guest room, although of course Jennifer’s eventual return meant that any fantasy of resuming the exploration would be unfulfilled in any event. How Dina would have felt if something more had happened, I wondered.
Then I found myself contemplating how my daughter would have felt if she had walked into the kitchen instead of Oliver, and instead of a warning bump on the door frame, had seen her parents making out with her Dad’s assistant, barely older than herself. Would she be shocked, convinced that the “Mistletoad” had shattered her illusions of parental behaviour, or would she be turned on? That question lingered in my brain, puzzling me even more than the earlier anatomical reaction to Jen’s sensuality.
As Raquel and I separated, I noted Oliver’s eyes feasting on her obvious dishevelled excitement, and wondered whether he even glanced in my direction, where my cock was harder than it had been in a decade. Dina swiftly intervened and directed a cup of hot coffee into Oliver’s shaky paw. Raquel and I took advantage of the distraction to make ourselves presentable, just in time as the rest of our guests streamed into the kitchen soon after.
With everybody crowded around the island for pudding, more kisses under the mistletoe were inevitable. It seemed I ended up kissing more women canlı casino than any of the other guys, though only Oliver seemed to care, and in his case, it was a sense of being left out. Given his state, this was hardly surprising.
Neither Dina nor Raquel smooched any other women under the mistletoe, though they got the lion’s share of activity whenever a guy ended up poised for action. With the effect of alcohol, there was some random pawing, but nothing that escalated to true making out like had occurred when it was just Dina, Raquel and I in the room.
As the last guests cleared out, I hoped that I might get more time with Raquel, but instead, Dina ushered her into a waiting cab. I watched from the front window as the two women embraced and kissed long enough that the cabbie must have gotten a swollen tip, and not just the cash Dina pressed into his fist. I know that my blood had rushed from my brain to my loins.
That meant that I barely noticed Dina return to the house, but the sound of the door closing broke the spell. I heard her enter the kitchen and followed, expecting to be enlisted in passion killing cleaning.
To my shock, instead of busying herself with dishes, I spied Dina standing squarely under the mistletoe, waiting for me, a grin on her face, her eyes still out of focus from smacking on my assistant. Once again, Raquel’s crimson lip gloss was smeared on Dina’s teeth.
“Well, darling, my turn under the Mistletoad.”
“Do I need to be wary?”
“Only if you think cleaning can’t wait until morning.”
She extended her arms toward me, urging me closer, so she remained in place.
“Well, tradition requires that I kiss you,” I said as her arms flowed down my back, and clenched my ass, drawing my body tight to hers.
Our lips met, and I tasted Raquel on my wife’s breath. I closed my eyes and imagined that it was my buxom assistant that I was kissing. I wondered if Dina also was thinking of Raquel in that moment. Suddenly, however, I realized that I no longer was thinking about Raquel, but that Jen’s face was the one I was picturing pressed against mine, and that it was my daughter whose groin was busily humping my thigh, and that it was Jen’s hand, not Raquel or Dina’s, that was stroking my heavy cock through my trousers.
Dina gripped me tightly and stepped back until the island prevented any further movement. My fingers dug deeply into her ass, and in a single motion, I hoisted her onto the marble counter-top, sending dishes clattering to the floor.
“Beware the Mistletoad,” Dina chuckled as we had to stop kissing while she leaned back.
Four hands swiftly moved. I pushed her hem up around her waist, her hips rising to permit me to expose her panties, which I noted quickly were a delicate black lace that matched her dress, and also that they were drenched, wetter than I had found her in ages. By the time I was that far along, Dina had exposed my cock by unzipping my pants and shoving them brusquely to the floor.
My fingers explored her exposed and swollen labia, running up and then down her cleft, nails teasing her engorged clit.
“Imagine it is sweet Raquel touching you,” I muttered.
“I don’t have to imagine,” Dina growled from deep in her belly. “She gave my clit a swift diddle as I poured her into the cab. I was so ready, darling, I’m afraid I came without you.”
Her fist pumped my shaft just twice, her nails caressing the tender flesh of my scrotum. Then, she dragged me closer, shifting her position so that our genitalia intersected right at the edge of the counter.
“So it’s okay if you close your eyes and imagine fucking Raquel,” she asserted before grunting as my swollen hardness pushed deep into her gash, buried to the hilt on the first stroke. “You don’t even have to blame it on the Mistletoad.”
I followed orders, except try as I might, I could not keep the image of Raquel’s curvy body and round face in my brain. Jen’s lithe figure and heart shaped visage kept nudging aside thoughts of Raquel. I braced my hands on the marble and thrust deep inside my wife, her cunt clenching around my member with each stroke. Eyes closed, I found my thoughts turning to wondering how much tighter Jennifer must be.
“Imagine these are Raquel’s big bountiful beautiful tits,” Dina alliterated, cupping her own mid-sized mounds in her palms, kneading them. Her nipples remained prominent. “Wouldn’t you love to play with those, to suck on them?”I know that I would…”
My shock must have been obvious on my face.
“…if I was you,” Dina teased, laughing.
To my further amazement, she then ripped open the bodice of her little black dress, exposing her chest, tits displayed in a black lace bra that matched the panties, and which I had never seen before. My brain returned to thoughts of that shopping trip Dina had taken with Jennifer, and just what they might have purchased. Were my daughter’s tender bits encased in lingerie that matched her mother, or something more youthful, kaçak casino but even more slutty? The possibilities made my cock pulsate inside Dina, who wriggled her hips in appreciation. She then grabbed my hands and guided them to her nipples.
“Raquel’s tits felt great – I gave them a quick grope while she fingered me. Did you like them pressing against you?”
I could only nod my acknowledgement. Once again, Raquel’s assets flashed through my mind quickly, then I was on to thinking about how my daughter would look, how she might feel.
“I don’t know which excites me more,” Dina continued, her hips now bumping up faster. “The possibility of sucking them myself, or of watching you suck her before you fuck her…”
With that, Dina let out a scream and climaxed, her muscles contracting tightly around my cock as her juices flowed all over the marble. After all of the foreplay that had been interrupted earlier, it did not take much longer for my cock to swell and my balls draw taut to my groin in that familiar fashion of a building climax.
“Oh, yeah,” Dina screamed as she thrashed beneath me, “fuck me hard, fuck me like you want to fuck Raquel.”
That was all it took, well, except I was actually imagining fucking our daughter rather than my assistant, but what really mattered was that the combined efforts of my wife and my imagination made me explode, great gobs of goo gushing into her quivering quim. She thrust back hard at me as I continued fucking her until my aching ancient cock was fully spent.
Dina flopped her arms out wide, sending more dishes clattering to the floor, but she clearly did not care. Looking down, I saw how her eyes lacked focus. Her teeth were chewing on her lower lip, and she could not restrain a little girly giggle.
“I think we should invite Raquel over for a sweet Valentine’s treat, darling,” Dina finally had caught enough breath to say.
“Do you think you can wait that long?” I replied, easing my cock out of her labia, the soft “plop” suddenly loud in the room.
“Oh, I bet you wish she had passed out on the couch so you could wake her up right now to lick your cock clean.”
“That IS a lovely image,” I agreed, thinking how much I would rather have my daughter do the honours.
That thought gave me pause – only a few hours before, the idea of my daughter as a sexual presence had shocked me. Now I was ready to stand under the Mistletoad and have her kiss my cock?
I heard a soft snoring purr as Dina’s reply. She had fallen asleep — or passed out – right there on the kitchen island, my spunk leaking out of her cunt, her torn dress askew, and my assistant’s lip gloss still smeared on her cheek.
When I felt a soft feminine hand caress my cream coated cock, I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Shhhh…don’t wake Mommy up,” Jennifer whispered in my ear, her lips brushing against my lobe. Her tongue ran down my jaw line as I turned my face to look at her. Our lips met, almost by accident. Her tongue thrusting deep into my cheek however was no accident.
We stood there under the Mistletoad for a long count, just exchanging spit in a most unfamilial way. All the while, my daughter was slowly stroking my manhood, which shocked me more than a bit by refilling itself and becoming quite engorged.
Finally, we broke, gasping for breath, but Jen’s fist was still clenched tightly around my girth.
“Beware the Mistletoad,” she belly laughed, but then bit her lip to cut herself short, probably to avoid waking her mother. “I got home early, and thought I would come help with the clean up, only to see something that looked – and sounded – a lot more fun.”
“You weren’t meant to see that.”
“Or hear it, either I bet,” Jennifer laughed again as she shocked me further by dropping to her knees at my feet, still underneath the Mistletoad. “Another thing we should just blame on the Mistletoad?”
I noticed at that moment that my daughter was still holding my swollen shaft in her delicate fingers.
“Snarrrflle,” Dina snorted in her sleep, shifting position, her feet dangling less than a foot from where her daughter was holding the sperm producer which had sired the young woman.
I glanced at my wife, saw that she was still secure and safe on the counter-top, and appeared to be soundly sleeping – a normal state for Dina after a massive climax.
“Since Raquel isn’t here to kiss your cock under the Mistletoad, I guess that I have to,” Jennifer stated. She planted a delicate smack of lips right on the leaky spunk dripping slit of my helmet, and I thought that would be the end of the adventure. As I wondered whether to ask Jennifer to help carry her Mom up to bed, Jen relaxed her jaw, chin dropping, and swallowed me to my root without further ado.
My eyes felt like they were going to bust out of my skull – I was totally shocked that my daughter, who seemed so sweet and innocent, was not only taking in stride seeing me fucking her drunk mother, and fantasizing about sex with my assistant, but was willing to actively participate in continuing the fantasy. Yet, part of my brain was wanting me to tell Jen that I preferred the fact that it was her, not Raquel, who had grabbed my naked cock under the Mistletoad.
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