"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 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.
