Princess and the Chocolate Factory

I jumped back as silently as I could manage, sprinting down the hall and back to the kitchen, where I opened a box of trash bags and pretended to replace the ones I'd taken out to the curb. The girls had shyly emerged from their cloister, looking all the worse for wear. Kendra was in short, green cutoff shorts and a matching t-shirt, while our nanny was still Tinkerbell from last night. Her hair was sweaty, in dishabille; her clothes and the skin she was exposing were a glittery mess. As was Kendra. Her mouth had a barely perceptible ring of glitter around it. The wand was glistening, but with dampness, not tiny mica sparkles.

"Kendra spent the night last night," Veruca explained. "I'm sorry, it was late. I know I should have asked first."

"That's... okay. I'm fine with it. She can stay here any time she likes. Really."

"Thank you," Kendra replied, then waved and headed for the front door. Our au pair accompanied her, then hugged her. I think she would have done more, but Kendra cast a furtive glance in my direction and bailed. I made my way back to the staircase, smiling (not leering) at Veruca. She grinned back and flicked her wand at me. There wasn't enough "fairy dust" on there to qualify as "drops", but a light spray of vapor hit the side of my cheek and my nose left no doubt as to the source.

Well, some doubt: it could have been either one of them.

The kids had to wait another ten minutes. Fifteen minutes, tops. I woke Lucille up the best way I knew how—with happy thoughts.

8. Beauty and the Breasts

The shameless flirtation didn't seem to let up significantly even when Lucille was a room away, but at least Veruca showed some discretion in her actions when my wife was around. I began to simultaneously anticipate and dread the times I was home alone with the au pair. On the one hand, she was fodder for nasty fantasies that I took care of either with Rosie Palm and her Five Sisters or with Lucille's pussy. On the other, I didn't know what I was going to do if her teasing moved into overt seduction. I wanted to bang her in the worst way, but I truly had a great marriage and I didn't want it ruined by my stupidity. The nanny was a pretty young thing, but she was neither as smart nor, truly, as sexy as the woman I'd married.

One Thursday, I'd thought to get home early and pick up the kids for swim lessons. Usually Lucille did it, and when I'd get back from work the nanny would be lounging around as whatever fairy tale whore took her fancy that day. I was feeling especially horny today and didn't need the temptation.

It was not to be, however.

She sat on my chair in the office, my grandmother's ancient reading glasses perched on her nose and her skirt hiked up far enough to reveal the tops of the black hosiery, though not the pantiless expanse adjacent. Not yet, at least. She was paging, frustrated, through the big hardcover dictionary, apparently not finding what she was looking for.

"What does 'cuntlicker' mean?"

"Uh... hello to you, too."

"It is a good thing, right?"

"Yes—I mean, no! I mean, yes! It... depends on the context." What context? "Where are Lucille and the kids?"

"Dorian's feet have outgrown her flippers, again. They went to get new ones before class today."

"Right. Okay. Well, if you have any more questions—" ask someone else "—I'll be around."

"English is so strange," she went on, ignoring my statement. "You have many words for everything. It took me weeks here before I realized that my cunt was also my pussy. My twat, my slit, my..."

"Um... you go right ahead with that list. I have to use the rest room right now."

"That's not necessary," she replied, as if knowing what I planned to do there, damn her. "Please, sit, I have more... questions."

"Okay." I sat down on what I liked to call the "guest chair". It was cloth rather than leather and minimally adjustable; it was, to put it bluntly, Not My Chair. She was in that, the bitch. "What did you want to ask about?"

"Lesbians."

"Excuse me?"

"You seem fascinated with them. At least, you have a lot of pictures of them."

"Where... oh, you shouldn't be looking at that, Ver—Viveka. That's my work computer." Which should have been password protected, dammit. Did I forget to lock it?

"It looks like you get a lot of 'work' done here. You really like stockings a lot, too, don't you?"

"Yes, I—wait, never mind that. Is this what you wanted to ask about, my... ahem... picture collection?"

"No, that was just something I enjoyed. Did you see Kendra kiss me the other night when she left?"

How the hell had I missed that? "No, I didn't. I meant to talk to you about that. I just wanted you to know that I am fully in support of alternate, you know, sexualities, and think it's great that you found yourself this early in life. A lot of people—"

"I'm not a lesbian."

"Oh. Um..."

"I am... what do you call it... bisexual?"

"Ah, some do call it that, yes."

"But mostly I like men." She stood up, her dress falling about her upper thighs, concealing them and the stocking welts from view. Thankfully.

"Congratulations?"

"I like you." Whoa. Not where I thought this was going.

"I like you, too. You're a great member of the family." She kneeled down in front of me next to the chair. Her blouse was pulled down by the shift of her position. There may have been a hint of areole—not that I was looking. My cock had, as so often happens when I'm wearing dress slacks, pressed itself into a rigid staff whose head peeped out of my boxers above the beltline and under my shirt. The friction against the glans was uncomfortable to say the least. Which made it all the more disturbing when Veruca untucked my shirt. She seemed about to go for the top button of my pants when she noticed I was... exposed.

"Mmmmm. I do not think we're using that word the same way. Where is the theosaurus?"

"Thesaurus." That was the shock talking. It had a lot to say as she unzipped me and kissed her way down my boxers, stroking the head of my cock between her tits.

"Whatever. I think 'like' is the wrong word in English." My hard-on pulsed as withdrew her bosom, replacing one tantalizing sensation with another as she applied her red lips to my balls.

I stood up. The whole me, not just the stand-y parts. "Veruca, stop."

"That's not my name." She came for me again, crouching, trying to rub me with her tits again.

"No, right," I pulled my pants closed, but didn't dare attempt the zipper right now. "Viveka, don't. I know I may have given you the wrong impression, and for that I'm sorry."

"'Impression'? I don't understand. You 'like' me, right? Or is it 'desire'? So many words for the same things."

"No, it's definitely not that."

"I think you aren't telling me the truth." She glanced down.

"Oh, that old thing? It does that, from time to time. Pay no attention to him."

"'Him'? I didn't think English had gendered nouns. I feel sure we learned that in our school. Mmmmm... is that the Beast?"

"No! Look, can we stop with the grammar lesson, please? I'm trying to tell you that I didn't mean to lead you on."

"Oh, you didn't. My complaint is that you have been ignoring my body English."

"You play pinball?"

"What?"

"Body English. It's what you do when you move the machine so the ball is nudged in the direction you want it to... that's not what you meant, is it?"

"No. It's not. What is 'pinball'? I need the theosaurus again."

Fucking kids today. Of course she'd never heard of pinball. I'm so old. It dawned on me what she meant, though. "Body language?"

"Yes! You have been ignoring it of mine."

I was picking it up loud and clear right now. "Look, I have some stuff to do, now. Important stuff. I should—" not work in the library, not with her in there... "—get the tires rotated. And the wiper blades replaced. I always need a new air filter."

"I'll come with you."

No doubt. "No, this is something I think I should do myself. But I'll see you later."

I didn't run. It was a kind of casual jog, made more challenging by the fact that my pants weren't buttoned and he was bobbing up and down in a manner I'm sure looked quite comical from outside of my frame of reference.

It was bobbing. No gendered nouns. Fuck.

9. My Lady is a Tramp

It was time to tell Lucille about this escalation. I'd mentioned the Kendra incident to her (though I'd neglected the part about the wand) and she'd smirked and said, "Good for her! I'm sure she needs a little action. At least she won't get knocked up." Always classy, ladies and gentlemen: my wife.

This had been, however, something else entirely. I had steeled myself for the conversation all afternoon, and then when the kids had been put to bed and the au pair had left with Kendra to go to a party or a bar or to get it on in the back seat of a car... okay, this wasn't the time to get into that. When we were alone, reading in bed, I brought it up.

"Honey," I began, tentatively. "With that big project ending for me at work, I can probably get my organization to let me work from home a day or so a week."

"That's awesome!" she replied, not even looking up from her novel. "The kids will love having you here more. Oh, and me too."

"Cool. I'll ask on Monday. But I was wondering... at that point, we don't really need an au pair, right? I mean, we did okay when you were working from home and taking care of the kids, and with me taking on more of the burden, you could still—"

"Wait, what? You're talking about getting rid of Viveka?"

"No, not 'getting rid of'... Back when we started, the agency said they could re-place her with another family if needed."

"That's true, but she's only got five months left out of her year. That's not really a good amount of time to... Where is this coming from, anyway?"

"I told you, I can get one day a week—"

"You always could have, probably. Why are you trying to deprive me of au pair-y goodness? I love my daily baths."

"It's just..." Here it went. "Lucille, she's started coming on to me."

Lucille laughed. "Oh, really?"

I reddened. "Yes, really. I'm not that old, you know." And I sure play a mean pinball. "Some women find me attractive."

"Certainly I'll agree with that. I do, for one. But a little party girl like that? Sweetie, I think you're sexy as hell, especially with that distinguished touch of gray at the edge of your beard..."

"Blond!"

"... but I think you're mistaking mild flirtation for attempted seduction."

"Mild flirtation? She almost gave me a titty-fuck the other day."

"She what?!"

"There was an unabridged dictionary, and she was wearing these glasses, and... There were tits, and attempted fuckage."

"'Splain, please."

I gave her the edited version—the one which included neither the subsequent masturbation nor the vigorous testicle-washing to remove the lipstick residue.

"So... she rubbed up against you while you were sitting in the library."

"If by 'rubbing' you mean damned near climbing into my lap and trying to lose my cock in her cleavage, yes."

"Dear, I know your ego gets a terrific boost from wanting to believe that, but I'm struggling to. Please don't be offended."

"You don't believe me? What do I need, a photo?"

"That might help." She tittered.

So many women had paranoia about their men screwing another woman. I was here telling her that the nanny was trying to seduce me, and she was in complete disbelief. I didn't know whether to be insulted or disturbed by her naïveté. "You're not taking me seriously."

"No, I'm really, really not."

"Dammit, Lucille, she's trying to fuck me. I'm not imagining things."

"Okay, fine." She bit the insides of her cheeks in a failed attempt to keep from smiling. "Tell you what, Charles, I'll have a talk with her about her behavior around you. I'll ask about the incident you mentioned and make it clear that she should be more careful in her provocative actions, out of respect for me and... for the Beast." All attempts at prevention of laughter were abandoned, now.

"Fuck! Lucille!"

"No, I will talk to her, honest."

"Do you think she'll admit it? To you?"

"You never know. We have a very close relationship. You should hear the things she's told me about her sex life."

"That's absolute bullsh— wait, what kinds of things?"

"Hey, nice try at derailing me, as usual."

Dammit. "Fine. Talk to her, for all the good it's going to do. I'll start carrying around a fucking tape recorder like an FBI informant. Then you'll believe me."

"I believe you, now. I just think your cock is playing tricks on your brain."

"My cock's influence on my brain is... neither here nor there."

"Nonsense. It's right there." She slid her hands under the covers to begin stroking me, then used her other hand to begin touching herself. "Even though it should be right here."

"Lucille, now is not the time."

"Charles, if you're so horny that you're fantasizing about being seduced by the nanny, now is definitely the time."

"It wasn't 'fantasizing'. It was totally—"

"Shhhhh... Look, if you're that obsessed with breasts right now, I have a nice pair right here. Well used, but still functional."

"They're very nice."

"Nice? Boy, you sure know how to sweep a girl back onto her feet."

"I meant," I said, lowering my head to one nipple, "that I like them a lot."

"Better."

"Yes, I like them better."

"No, that's not what I meant. Jesus, shut up about the fucking nanny's tits, okay?"

"Mmmmmkay," I replied around a mouthful of mammary flesh.

"You're forgiven, but you need to use your mouth for something other than talking, now, all right?"

I couldn't resist an opening like that. Or, less metaphorically, an opening about two feet lower, under the covers. Lucille put her damp fingers in my mouth, then pushed my head down to where they'd come from.

She moaned as my tongue entered her, and she was God-awful wet. Wetter than the few moments' fingering she'd self-administered should have warranted. I think I need to read whatever she was reading. I was immersed in her and loved it, and the mewling she let out implied she enjoyed it nearly as much. She always insisted I couldn't enjoy eating her out as much as she enjoyed it, but she was wrong. Had to be. Because I was close to coming just from licking her, and when she insisted on moving into a sixty-nine position so she could have my cock in her mouth when she came, she barely even got a chance at one stroke before her taste pushed me over the edge and I erupted down her throat. It must not have upset her too much, though, since she responded by thrusting up against my chin and holding there... pausing, grinding, then repeating until she emitted a squeal and thrust her clit against my lips over and over until I lost track of how many times she came.

We relaxed, and I crawled back up to the pillow end of the bed. She panted, kissed me, then dropped her head onto my chest. A contented "Night-night!" was to be her final statement of the evening, evidently.

"What kinds of things?" I asked again, in a whisper, as she snuggled into the crook of my arm.

"A lady never tells."

"You're no lady."

"You're right. But still none o' yo' bidness. Sleep, dear."

I growled and closed my eyes.

10. Entangled

I woke the following Wednesday night to find the room illuminated only by the residual LED lights from the DVD player and the blessed silence of a household at three a.m. I must have fallen asleep while we had watched Netflix and Lucille had left me on the couch when she went to bed. I couldn't tell what had awakened me, though the weight on my hips was a good guess. "What...?"

"Shhhh..." came the reply from above me as a finger descended to cross my lips. That was not Lucille's light mix of lotions and hair products I smelled. I tried to sit up.

"Tried" because my hands were restrained by something and wouldn't allow me to move. My ankles were similarly bound, and the au pair's mass on my torso completed my semi-immobilization. I could have tried to shake her off by pushing hard with my ass muscles, but... that might have been exactly what she wanted. "Hey! I—"

The rest of my exclamation was cut off as the girl moved her body up mine, to straddle my head and plant a wet, juicy slit on my mouth. I could breathe through my nose, though just barely, but my mouth was otherwise incapacitated. My cock was not. Extremely not.

"It's okay," she reassured me, softly. "I'll let you go when I'm done with you."

I shook my head and "mmmmphed" at the top of my lungs. She apparently took this as an invitation to continue.

"Come on, my prince, lick me. I know you want to." She leaned back and grabbed my cock through my pajama pants, simultaneously thrusting herself forward onto my lips, between them. And, ye gods and little fishes, I did want to, more than anything. I was steadfast, though, no matter how much Little Charles demanded I take her up on her offer.

"No? Why not?" She gyrated her hips, circling my mouth with her pussy, using my chin and lips and nose like a sex toy. Her smell and whatever taste was slipping inside my mouth was driving me crazy. I knew I had to escape or I would violate every marital vow I'd ever held sacred. "You're helpless. You have to do what I want."

My erection wasn't arguing with her, nor with her gentle stroking of it, but I really, really couldn't be in this predicament. Especially without a tape recorder. I yanked hard against my restraints and heard the tremendous clamor of the coffee table thudding over at the end of my arms.

"Shit!" she hissed, and jumped off me. "You've ruined everything!"

Says the girl who just coated my face in her cunt. I heard footsteps upstairs in the vicinity of my bedroom, and saw Veruca retreat to her own. My hands had slack now, and I started pulling myself free from their binding as the bedroom door opened and Lucille came to the head of the stair.

"Honey?" her sleepy voice called softly. "Are you all right?"

"Sorta."

"I heard a noise."

"Yeah, I knocked over the coffee table. I'm cleaning it up now."

"What? Come to bed."

"I will."

"Soon."

"Just a couple of minutes."

"Mmmkay. I'll be waiting."

I'd managed to extricate my hands and was now working on my ankles. Thankfully the fucking seductress-bitch was staying in her room, but I didn't want to test my luck. As soon as I got free I hit the light switch and started cleaning up. There had been a copper urn of potpourri or rose petals or some other chic décor on the table and it needed re-assembly once I righted the end-table. As I kneeled to clean it up, I saw the ties that had bound me to the table on the one side and the underside of the couch on the other. Long and blond, the wigs had been wound into passable twine before being knotted around my extremities. Rapunzel. I get it. You psychotic freaking slut.

I didn't want to have this discussion with a half-coherent Lucille tonight, but tomorrow morning I was resolved to get rid of the au pair. She knew me well, and my penchant for cunnilingus, and I wasn't sure her unwillingness to believe Veruca was trying to get me in her panties would extend to me smelling like used whore. My marriage was very healthy, and I didn't need the stress applied to it; I pride myself in having a lot of willpower, but sooner or later, God help me, I was going to slip and ravish the hell out of Mary Fucking Swedish Poppins in one of her guises. She had to go.

And I had to wash. If I went to bed with my face smelling like this all of my protests to the contrary would fall on deaf ears. Unfortunately, with her hot aroma permeating my nose I couldn't tell whether the bathroom sink's mild soap had completely eradicated her from my three-days' beard. There was only one way to be certain not to get busted, and it lie upstairs in the bedroom...