The Mailboy's Unexpected Submissive

Pépé and Mamie

- Jules' POV -

Ripley and I both stopped at the voice that hadn't come from either one of us, my body locking up like I had been doused in freezing water and my muscles couldn't work from the frigid temperature that it left behind.

There was no way in hell I was turning around and showing even more of myself to whoever this person was, not to mention I was already red and growing a darker shade by the second.

Ripley, however, did just that from the way I could feel him moving around behind and inside of me. The movement made his impaled dick brush against my prostate making my eyes flutter and bite down hard on my bottom lip to contain the pleasured moan that wanted desperately to escape.

"Pépé, Mamie, qu'est-ce que tu fais ici? Je ne savais pas que tu venais."
(Gramps, Gran, what are you doing here? I didn't know you were coming.)

No.

Please let me have misheard him. Please let me have become more Americanized and I forgot a few French words. Please, anything but what he said.

They can't be his grandparents. They just can't be!

Ripley's grandparents, who not only raised him but mean the world to him, just walked in on the two of us having sex!

"À première vue, nous ne savions pas que vous et votre ami l'étiez non plus," the male I now knew to be his grandfather said with humor in his voice.
(By the looks of things, we didn't know you and your friend here were either.)

"Ha ha. Très drôle, Pépé. Accepteriez-vous de nous accorder une minute pour nous habiller?"
(Ha ha. Very funny, Gramps. Would you mind giving us a minute to get dressed?)

"Quoi? Vous ne voulez pas finir?" His grandmother asked teasingly making me blush darker as I buried my face into the couch cushions.
(What? You don't want to finish?)

"Mamie, pourriez-vous s'il vous plaît arrêter d'embarrasser mon petit ami plus qu'il ne l'est déjà?" Ripley asked in what sounded like mock exasperation, a hint of amusement hidden behind his words.
(Gran, would you please stop embarrassing my boyfriend even more than he already is?)

"Détendez-vous, ce n'est pas comme s'il pouvait nous comprendre," his grandfather said with a slight chuckle.
(Relax, it isn't as if he can understand us.)

"Oui. Oui il peut. Il est français," Ripley said.
(Yes. Yes, he can. He is French.)

"Bien sûr qu'il l'est. Quoi? Comme dix pour cent français?" His grandfather snorted out.
(Sure he is. What? Like ten percent French?)

I knew that now was the time to reveal myself, well, my French self and not anything else. Not like it matters much considering I'm pretty much fully revealed to them anyway.

"Je-je suis en fait cent pour cent français, monsieur. Mes racines familiales ont commencé en France et elles le sont restées," I admitted shyly.
(I-I'm actually one-hundred percent French, sir. My family roots started in France and they have remained so.)

It felt like all of the oxygen in the room disappeared, any kind of sound going right along with it. I was holding my breath as I kept myself buried within the confines of Ripley's couch.

"Eh bien... nous vous donnerons à tous les deux un peu de temps pour vous redresser," his grandmother said, and then I heard their footsteps retreating.
(Well...we will give you both some time to right yourselves.)

Nothing was said or done by myself or Ripley for a few minutes before he broke out into loud laughter.

"Well that was certainly the funniest thing I've ever experienced to date," he chuckled as he undid the necktie that had been securing my hands behind my back, and slid out of me making me groan.