Clarissa & The Doctor Ch. 2

Michael's real life rarely touched his home life, especially where women were concerned. He'd only ever brought one girl home to meet his parents, and that had been the one he'd thought he was going to marry. She'd dumped Michael two months before the wedding for an English engineer. An engineer, for Christ's sake. The fact that the guy'd been English had annoyed Michael even more. She'd kept the ring, too, leaving Michael with a ten-grand hole in his pocket. Jesus, Michael thought; amazing. Three years down the road and it still frosts me.

He looked up irritably, still mad at the English homewrecker, when Clarissa walked into the bedroom. She wore a big green towel around her body and another, wrapped turban-like, around her head. Michael had always wondered how girls did the head-towel thing. It seemed to be a uniquely gender-based talent. He'd secretly tried it himself once, just to see if it was possible for a guy to do it. He'd tried for twenty minutes with bad results. Maybe you needed more hair.

"What the hell took you so long?" Michael snapped. "You better not have gotten yourself off in there."

Clarissa blushed, and Michael's mood lifted instantly. He loved making her blush.

She smiled, a small, girlish twitch of her lips. "Certainly not. Not without your permission. I mean, I assume that's the rule." She giggled nervously.

"Ditch the towels," Michael ordered.

Clarissa divested herself.

Michael looked her up and down, thoroughly enjoying the view. Her skin was smooth and creamy, glowing from the heat of the shower. Her damp hair hung in gentle ringlets over her full, round breasts. And there were those awesome, rosy nipples, peeking perkily, hardening in the cool air. Michaels' eyes traveled slowly downward, taking in the beauty of her little belly, the sweet swell of her hips. Nice little box, too: dark hair, trimmed closely, her labia clearly visible. Nice on the inside, too: good and tight. Yeah, she was some treat. Michael licked his lips.

Clarissa stood still, arms at her sides, trembling slightly under Michael's scrutiny. Oh, my, her heart was starting to pound again. It was the way he looked at her. Like he might look at a piece of recently-purchased art. That remarkable attitude of unquestionable ownership. Her breathing quickened. The blood rushed to her crotch, swelling her cunt.

Michael felt his cock stir. He grinned. Dinner could wait a little longer. "Come here, " he said, hoarsely. He swung himself around and sat on the side of the bed, legs apart.

Clarissa walked slowly around the bed and stood in front of Michael, waiting.

"Get on your knees," Michael said.

Clarissa knelt between Michael's parted thighs, looking up at him.

Michael placed his hands on Clarissa's head, guiding her soft lips to the head of his cock.

"Let's see some technique, honey," Michael grinned.

Clarissa opened her mouth, extending her tongue. She licked tentatively at first, almost shyly, lapping, tasting.

Slowly, she closed her lips over the tip of Michael's cock, gently running her tongue around the head in tiny circles.

She took him further into her mouth, now, sucking, stroking. Her nimble tongue darted playfully along the supersensitive underside of Michael's cock, working him, teasing him.

She moaned, her mouth stuffed with his prick.

Damn, Michael thought, elated. Whaddaya know. She loves this.

Clarissa took all of him now, far down her throat, swallowing him whole. Michael felt her throat muscles, warm and tight, engulf his dick. Up and down she went, stroking, sucking, licking. Her tongue tickled Michael's glans. He groaned.

She reached up and cradled Michael's balls in one hand, running the tips of her fingers over his scrotum in feathery trails.

Taking her mouth from his cock, Clarissa concentrated her oral efforts on Michael's balls, sucking them gently into her mouth, making the most of her surprisingly skilled little tongue. Her hand continued to jerk his prick, moving smoothly, expertly, up and down his stiff shaft, fingers moving over the head, making Michael's organ deliciously slick with saliva and pre-come.

Fuck, she was good.

She lifted her head

"You want to come in my mouth?" she asked, softly.

Michael could only moan.

Now she really went to town, fastening her lips to his prick, eating him up as if her life depended on it.

Michael felt a spark in his belly. Slow, spreading warmth. Wouldn't be long, now.

"Don't stop," he gasped, snapping his hips.

She giggled, speeding up.

Michael was sure his heart would burst. Oh, Christ, this was it. He dug his hands into her hair, tensing his gut. His cock jerked, hard, spurting thick, hot semen down Clarissa's pretty throat.

She swallowed all of it, muffled cries of pleasure escaping her busy lips. She continued to suck, milking him dry, getting every last drop, cleaning him thoroughly.

She disenaged her mouth, finally, and looked up at Michael, smiling prettily.

Damn.

"You're just full of surprises, Miss Blackwood," Michael said, shakily.

"I'm not completely innocent," she said, primly.

I'll say, Michael thought.

"Ready for dinner?" Michael asked, smiling. "I'd say you earned it."

***********************

Michael parked the car and got out. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for me. Somebody had trained him well, I thought, amused.

I waited while he hauled an auto cover out of the back seat and tossed it over the Mustang. He loved that car.

We walked into Michael's building and up two flights of stairs. The place was completely unremarkable. It could have been any apartment building, anywhere.

Michael unlocked his door, reached in, and flipped on a light. I followed him inside.

If Michael Hanlon's office had been a fender-bender; his apartment was a head-on collision. Piles of clothing and books and journals lay everywhere. Dirty dishes, empty beer bottles, old ATM receipts, and fast food wrappers covered what was once a coffee table. An overflowing ashtray the size of dinner plate held a place of honor in the middle of the table. I noticed two pathetic, dented metal wastebaskets in opposite corners of the room.. They looked like they hadn't been emptied in weeks. Michael had apparently decided that it was more convenient to leave trash on the floor by the cans.

Crumbs, loose change, and Mustang magazines littered the floor. A single living room chair was piled high with newspapers, junk mail, medical reference books, and Michael's briefcase and lab coat. The couch on the other side of the room, flanked by a couple of beat-up end tables, held more of the same. The place smelled of cigarette smoke and Michael's cologne.

I could only wonder about the kitchen and bathroom, and my imagination was running away with me.

Michael peeled off his jacket and pitched it into the chair. A Merck Manual and several computer gaming magazines, knocked loose by the jacket, slid to the floor. Michael stepped over them and walked to the couch. He swept a bunch of junk onto the rather crunchy carpet, clearing the cushions.

"Have a seat," he said.

I picked my way across the floor and sat down, mesmerized by the sheer proportion of the mess.

Michael shrugged resignedly. "Yeah, I know it's a landfill. Sorry. I fired the maid because she wouldn't fuck me. That's supposed to be funny, Clarissa. Feel free to react."

He turned and started toward the kitchen. "Want a drink?"

I did.

He disappeared around the corner. I looked once more around the room. A photo on the table to my left caught my eye. A rosy-cheeked, dark-haired boy, maybe sixteen, smiled confidently from inside the frame. He wore some sort of gray dress uniform, complete with brass buttons and braided epaulettes. His chest was plastered with medals. His white-gloved hands rested on a table in front of him, holding a sword. The photo had been shot from the waist up. Stiff, formal. The eyes were unmistakable.

I heard a refrigerator open, and Michael's muffled voice.

"I got two Budweisers and a Guinness. Mind if I take the Guinness?"

I didn't.

He came back out, a bottle in each hand.

Taking the beer, I pointed to the photo. "Nice picture."

Michael laughed ruefully, sitting down beside me. "High school. St. Xavier's."

"Cute outfit."

"Military school." Michael rolled his eyes. "Fucking crazy Jesuits. Maniac pro wrestlers of the Roman Catholic Church."

"That bad?"

Michael nodded. "On a good day any random steroidal priest might beat the crap out of you because your shoes aren't spit-shined. No girls, either. I think that was actually the worst part." He gulped beer and chuckled.

"Where is St. Xavier's?" I asked.

Michael smiled. "You mean, where am I from?"

I shrugged. "Just curious."

"Baltimore. Far from here."

"Any siblings?"

Michael raised one eyebrow. "You ask a lot of questions. I have four brothers. And you have now exceeded your query quota."

Michael put down his beer and pulled me roughly to him, crushing me against his chest.

He kissed me, hard, stabbing his tongue into my mouth. I felt myself heating up, felt a quickening in my gut. Yes, now. He put one hand behind my head, grabbing a handful of hair, pulling my head back. "Get naked," he whispered, releasing me, giving me a small push.

I undressed, dropping my clothes to the floor.

Michael stood up and unbuttoned his jeans. He pushed down his pants and boxers, freeing his erection.

"On the couch. Hands and knees. Face in the cushions."

I postioned myself on the sofa, thighs apart, ass in the air. Michael knelt behind me. He inserted two fingers deep into my vagina. "You're sopping again, Clarissa," Michael murmured, stroking me gently. "Gonna be running down your legs, soon. You really are on a hair trigger, aren't you?"

I moaned and pushed back against his fingers, driving them deeper inside me, wanting, needing his cock.

"Please---" I gasped, squirming wildly. I spread my thighs further. "Give it to me---"

Michael withdrew his fingers, massaging my labia. "Okay," he said agreeably, and, grabbing my hips, shoved his cock into my throbbing cunt.

He moved in and out, quickly, no finesse this time, no build-up.

Just hot, hard, stabbing strokes.

It felt wonderful.

"You like my cock inside you?" Michael asked, breathlessly. He pumped methodically, ruthlessly.

"Oohhh---" I groaned, loving the slick, thick, warm feel of him. I arched my back, jamming myself back on his prick, wanting more. God, I could do this forever.

"You're such a nice little piece," Michael murmured, grinding his hips against my buttocks, imbedded to the hilt. He withdrew, bringing his cock almost all the way out of me, and thrust forward once more, stretching me, heating me. He snaked one hand around and pinched my right nipple, hard.

"And you're mine, aren't you?"

"Ahh---" was all I could manage, nodding wildly.

"Because if I ever fucking catch you with somebody else---"

( Somebody else?? Where had that come from? )

"No-no-no---" I cried, desperate to please him."Yours! I swear!"

He fucked me harder, almost angrily, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of my hips. I felt my belly tingle as my vaginal muscles contracted.

"Ooh---" I moaned, feeling orgasm building, expanding inside of me.

"Uh, uh," Michael warned. "Not til I say."

"Michael Joseph---" I gasped. I was sweating freely, panting. I could feel my cunt gripping Michael's prick like a vise, pulsating as he thrust. Soon. Please.

"Christ, you're tight," Michael marveled. "You got some great muscles. You ready, honey? I sure am."

"Please---" I whimpered, nearly insensate.

"Go ahead," Michael breathed, "knock yourself out."

I climaxed, my gut twisting, heart pounding. Sweet warmth, washing over me, blurring my eyes, numbing my brain. Don't stop-don't-stop-don't-stop---

"God, Clarissa---" Michael groaned. "You're sucking it out of me. I can feel you. Jesus---"

I felt Michael's cock spasm, felt hot semen hit the walls of my swollen cunt. Felt us coming together.

The waves subsided gradually, fading to gently rippling aftershocks.

Michael pulled out of me almost immediately, collapsing onto the couch, out of breath.

"Jeez," he sighed. "That was wicked. Goddamned if I can't get enough of you."

I got off of my knees, a bit stiffly, and sat down beside him.

Michael reached over and mussed my hair. "I'll split that last beer with you. Go get it, huh?"

I giggled. "You actually want me to go into that kitchen without a hazard suit?"

Michael turned to me, grinning. "You are so gonna pay for that crack," he laughed, and before I could dodge him, he pinned me to the couch, tickling me like only someone with four brothers could..

I'm very ticklish.

Michael was merciless. His hands were everywhere. I tried, uselessly, to fend him off. I twisted. I thrashed. I begged. I laughed so hard, my abdominal muscles bunched.

"S-stop---!" I finally managed to gasp.

"Say, 'I'm sorry for insulting your housekeeping skills, Doctor Hanlon'," Michael laughed.

"Fuck you!" I cried. I wasn't going to let him win this one.

Michael stopped, suddenly, and simply stared at me.

"What--?" I started, wondering if I'd gone too far.

He kissed me, crushing his mouth to mine, devouring my lips. His tongue danced madly with mine. It went on forever.

Michael stopped, finally, and drew back, smiling gently.

"I'll get the beer," he said.

* * * * *

Keep your eyes peeled for Part Three, dear readers, when Michael and Clarissa visit the City! Will they partake of a threesome...?

Nava Kirsch, copyright 2000