The Reawakening of Dr. Clark Ch. 05

Dr. Greg Clark sat at his desk, letting the individual in front of him respond to an interview question and willing himself to not yawn or blatantly check his watch. He was no fan of hiring people because of moments like this. The inevitability of turning away some qualified applicants along the way for things as simple as being as deadly boring as this guy or saying no to genuinely nice interesting people who did not quite have the necessary qualifications or skill set. Still, he was glad for the distraction.

It had been almost a month since the last time he and Mallory, his sexy, vexing teenage coed babysitter, had...well, fucked. He tried to label it something else, but no other label really stuck, really described what they had done. She had come in in that improbable kickball outfit with the half shirt, and short shorts, hair done up in pigtails. The outfit meant specifically to tease and titillate beyond all moral reasoning...and it had worked.

He had mauled her and allowed himself to be mauled. He had bent her over the couch, drove himself inside her doggy style, using her pigtails like handlebars at her suggestion and then covered her face with his wicked desire. Even when she pointed out to him how exposed they both were, how someone if they looked at the right time at the right angle could totally see them making a mockery of his wedding vows through the front bay window, he did not stop. In fact, he had to admit, it excited him even further causing his strokes to become harder, faster, and more erratic. In the moment he could not have been more satisfied with the experience.

In the moments that followed, however, the guilt crept in. The knowledge of how risky he had been and how little he had cared about that risk ate at him. He never imagined himself capable of cheating and certainly didn't think he'd be reckless when he did. Maybe, someday, at a business trip in a different state with a woman he didn't know who he gave a fake name to. Maybe... and it was a small maybe... maybe then. Not with his babysitter in his own home in a room that could possibly allow the neighbors to see him calling a teenager a slut and leaving bite marks on her shoulders. So he made a choice. He'd have to go cold turkey, get the drug that was Mallory's voracious sexual appetite, incredible body, and smutty mouth out of his system.

Work was the solution. So he dove into projects that he had viewed as long-term "eventually" goals while being sure to avoid all but the slightest of contact with Mallory and even then only when Gina was close by, if not literally in the same room. Without access, he reasoned, there would be not opportunity to fall off the wagon.

One of the maybe, someday projects was hiring an administrative assistant to check people in, schedule appointments, collect co-pays, and file insurance vouchers. He had figured for years that it was wish item but not one feasible due to economic commitments. However, in redoubling his work focus, he took a serious look at the money coming in, the expenses, and the customer base and realized that they were turning people away because of the amount of time he and his Physician's Assistant Pammy were spending doing things like filling out insurance paperwork. By giving that work to someone else and accepting more clients, they would actually make significantly more money they an assistant. Thus, after verifying that his PA was onboard, the doctor bought some ad space in a few papers and online and collected about 12 viable candidates and spread out the interviews over the course of 3 days. Here on day 3, Greg was awaiting the wrap-up of this interview before reaching his final candidate.

When this candidate, a Robert Greho finally stopped talking, Dr. Clark decided to forgo his last few questions and simply thank the man for his time and send him on his merry way. Once Greho left, Greg intercomed to Pammy, who was covering the waiting room, and told her to send in the final candidate in a minute or so. He then turned his chair around and pulled the candidate's resume off the stack of papers. He began to read it to himself to remind himself of the features. Good school, strong work history, interesting outside hobbies that suggested a well rounded person and thus the possibility of being to interact with people in a friendly, helpful manner. This Rachyl Limor had promise.

As Greg continued to review the resume, he heard the door open quietly and close with a click that sounded an awful lot like the lock being engaged. He did not pay the possibility much mind as he told the candidate to grab a seat without turning around or looking up from the paper. After a last second re-glancing, he turned wheeled his chair back around to start the interview.

"So..." he began before all sound was died in his throat.

Sitting across his desk was Mallory Rich, the babysitter. Her blond hair was impeccably wrapped into a bun on the top of her head, held together by two chopsticks. She wore a charcoal business suit that must have tailored to hug her body in the way it did. The hem on the skirt might appear conservative and appropriate from a distance, but any closer look quickly made it clear it was a bit higher than what was appropriate for interviews.

Underneath was a freshly starched white dress shirt that presented on first blush as a conservative. Again, though, a closer examination made the observer very aware that she had chosen to leave unbuttoned not one, not two, but rather four buttons on her shirt and had bra that pushed her small breasts to together and up to highlight them. The bra was red and rimmed with lace that could be just barely seen in the space where the shirt was left opened.

She had covered her legs in black tights that were in a tight fishnet pattern that, again, took a moment to notice. Additionally, the way she crossed her legs hinted that these were thigh high stockings, not standard issue interview wear. She pulled the outfit together with a pair of nearly four inch stiletto heels.

The total effect was an outfit that upon first glance looked to be acceptable interview wear but left Dr. Clark feeling vaguely, guiltily, aroused and compelled to look closer. As he did so, the tweaks became increasingly clear to him, leaving him feel even more drawn to stare and trapped in the room with this girl/woman who could not seem but help but unearth each of the dirty desires he had apparently been suppressing for years.

"This...isn't you!" he spat accusatorily at her while waving the resume. He was aware he was shouting and did not intend to, but felt powerless to stop.

"It's not?" she said coyly, snapping the resume out of his hands. She glanced over it for a moment and looked back up, a teasing smile crossing her lips, "Looks like you are right. Rachyl Limor seems to have quite the resume though. Too bad she couldn't make it, huh? What. Ever. Will. We. Do?"

"Look, this is not okay. I have to hire someone here and I don't have time to talk to 19 year olds who pretend to be people they are not for...I don't know...a little attention!"

"Well, maybe I wouldn't have to do this if a certain doctor was not avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you," he told her unconvincingly, "I've just been...very busy."

"Huh...busy? Just so suddenly?" she responded, a teasing lilting quality pulsing just underneath the words.

"...yes."

"I guess I'm finding it a little...HARD," she overemphasized the word and marked it with a not-so-subtle bite of her lip, "to believe that. You want to know what I think is happening?"

"Mallory, I really should get back to wor—"

"What work? There are no more candidates, you have no appointments the rest of the day. What have you got to do?"

Greg felt flush and rooted in his chair. He searched for his mind for some sort of excuse or explanation but it was like swimming through porridge. All his mind seemed to have the capacity for was mediating the warring factions of "Damn, look at those legs. Look at those perfect tits," and "You. Are. Married. You have a good wife and wonderful kids and a beautiful home. Don't throw it all away."

"I have..." he struggled with his words like he was straining to lift a heavy load, "...paperwork."

"Paperwork? That's the best you've got, Doc?" she needled him, adjusting the hem of her skirt just a bit higher without breaking eye contact.

"Mallory," he exhaled in frustration.

"Doctor Clark," she mockingly imitated.

"I do seriously have things to do."

"Aren't you going to let me tell you my theory on why you've been so 'busy' lately?" she asked, sure to make the air quotes when she reached the word busy.

Greg exhaled sharply then slumped his shoulders, "Will I be able to get back to work after that?"

"I'd say that is almost entirely up to you, Dr. Clark."

"Fine," he capitulated.

"Okay," she said, nearly bouncing in her seat. "So, I think you have this sexy, slutty little babysitter who keeps doing whatever she can to get a hold of your cock. I mean, it's like she just...neeeeeds it, you know. Anyway, this naughty girl has gotten to you on several occasions through trickery and seduction. You usually resist, but she just won't take no for an answer. And you are only human, after all, so eventually her hot mouth, her dirty, dirty language, her tiny tits, her tight, wet pussy, well, you get the idea...eventually it just gets to you and you break. And it feels sooooooooo good when you break. She always rewards you in exactly the way that you know, in the darkest parts of you that you try to keep reined in, you want to be rewarded. And God...when you cum, you cum harder than you have cum in years. Probably harder than your wife, your safe, boring, 'nice' wife, has ever made you cum."

She stood gracefully, sure to allow her skirt to ride even higher and confirm that, yes, those were thigh highs she was wearing. She began to saunter around his desk, dragging her fingers almost fetishistically across the wooden surface. She continued, "And given that, afterwards , even though you loved using this tiny, little coed and being used by her, you could write it off. She was aggressive, you might have given in, but what chance did you have, and so on. You were still a decent guy, a victim really. Of great, dirty sex, sure, but a victim nonetheless. But something...happened the last time you fucked her."

At this point, Mallory completed her rotation around the desk and arrived in front of Greg. Casually, she slid her skirt higher still and straddled him, sitting on his lap. Although he attempted to shift to hide what was now his nearly fully engorged erection, she felt it right away. She smirked and winked at him, casually dropping her hands on his shoulder. She gave him a quick, dry hump before resuming her speech.

"Maybe it was the way her back looked, muscle clenching and rippling, as you doggy fucked her senseless. Possibly it was the moan of pleasure and pain she let loose when you yanked on her pigtails. Perhaps it was the depraved perfect way she gazed at you in appreciation, face dripping with your seed. Whatever it might be though, there was a time, maybe it was just a moment, where you stopped trying to be a good husband. You admitted to yourself that you could stop but didn't want to. That you loved fucking this woman, this girl really, and were willing to do it regardless of the rules, of whatever commitments you had. You knew what you were risking and you decided that perfect shaved pussy was worth it. And now that you've crossed that line, you're scared. Because now, if you allow that bad, bad coed to fuck you, to suck your dick, to even just give you a handjob, you want it and you are responsible, not just a helpless sexed up victim. Am I on the right track?"

Greg said nothing, suddenly becoming fixated on a spot on the filing cabinet behind her. He avoided the penetrating, playful green eyed stare she leveled on him and pretended to be searching for something in his mind. Mallory allowed the silence to deepen around them without interruption, just staring at him with her head cocked, waiting for a response. The doctor attempted to will his betraying hardness down only to have it bob uncooperatively against Mallory's panty covered slit.

With a slight giggle, Mallory began to grind against him. Slowly, deliberately, she rotated her hips, pushing against his demanding member before torturingly taking the pressure away.

Teeth gritted, the sullied doctor grunted, "Stop."

Mallory showed no signs of hearing him and in fact seemed to ever so slightly increase the rate of her hip rotation.

"Stop," he admonished again, a bit louder.

She certainly must have heard him this time but paid his request no heed, undeniably pushing faster and harder against him.

"Stop!" he demanded this time, voice a harsh sharp burst of air, eyes finally meeting hers.

She held his angry look unbowed and whispered, voice dripping with confidence, "Make me."

Then, she tightened her arms around his neck, pulling him tight against her, burying his nose in the nape of her neck. Unable to resist, he breathed her in deeply. With a low moan, she doubled the friction, making his chair squeak.

It felt incredible. It made him feel powerless and like the world's most virile man all at once. He loved it and hated it. He loved her and hated her. A rapid, urgent burning consumed him, seeming literally to begin at his feet and travel upwards. It was a bolt of white, hot anger.

"STOP!" he roared, standing and taking her with him. Without any hint of gentleness, he tossed her on her back onto his desk.

If she was surprised or hurt by it, her face betrayed no sense of that. Instead, she half whispered- half moaned, "Wow," as she dragged her black painted fingernails slowly up her legs, first across the tights, then the bare flesh. "If you are sure you don't want this, do you mind if I just...address the need myself right now? I'm just so. Very. Wet." She asked this of him in a tiny voice, not unlike someone might ask for extra serving of dessert they know they shouldn't have. It only fed Greg's anger.

"If this is how she wants to behave," he thought darkly, "How she wants to act like she wants to be treated, fine! I'll give her exactly what she asking for."

Then this "nice guy," this kind, respectful man with a good job and an up-to-recently solid home life, stopped fighting against his darkness. For real this time. Not for just a moment, not for just a thrust. He let it consume him. He opened the Pandora's box that was the twisted kaleidoscope of his desires and admitted that he could cage them no longer.

He growled, guttural and animalistic, "Bitch! Fucking tease!" and set upon her.

She laughed in response, "Oh we both know that doesn't apply to me."

Then, he took his two powerful hands and grabbed ahold of the front of her shirt, tearing it asunder. Buttons popped this way and that.

Her laughing stopped. Then she began to purr, every bit the sex kitten. "You definitely owe me a shirt."

"Why can't I make her stop?" Greg screamed in his head. "Why can't I be in control?" Without thought, he punched the desk, next to her.

She gasped, eyes growing wide before cooing, "Mmm, I knew you were in there somewhere. You gonna show me who's in charge now?"

Greg's head swam. He looked down at Mallory, her face flush in aroused triumph. Her wonderful breasts, small but just the right mix of firm, perky, and soft, rose and fell in the red push-up bra she knew he'd love, her stomach muscles almost pulsating, forcing him to take in the brand new star shaped piercing that highlighted her navel. Her skirt was more or less useless now, a tiny piece of bunched fabric serving only to cover the top of the tiny red thong she wore beneath it. The fishnet encased her legs from the thighs down, tapping into fetishes he was not aware he had in the first place. Somehow, at some point, she had undone his pants without his even knowing and his dick tented his boxer briefs accusingly. His rage started to dissipate, cooler heads beginning to prevail.

He half-turned and she saw he was coming back down. She had to stop herself from groaning in stifling frustration. What would it take to get this man to let go, to accept that he was driven by lusts that she could satisfy, wanted to satisfy, and that his wife would forever stop him from quenching. Instead, she chose a one word retort, a Hail Mary, to reignite his anger. "Coward," she stage whispered. Short, distinct, direct. She watched his entire body go rigid and almost vibrate, like a guitar string being pulled taut. Her last ditch blow had worked, she could tell in that instant. She bit her tongue to stop her from shouting a victorious whoop. "Finally," she thought, "Finally, I will fuck the man Doctor Greg Clark is at his core."

"You fucking cunt," he snarled at her.

Normally, Mallory would not be a fan of being called a cunt. A slut? Definitely. A whore? Maybe...okay, honestly, probably. And she was fine with calling her, well, cunt a "cunt." But herself? Not typically. However, coming from the good doctor, from this nice, usually gentle man? It just worked for her. She instantly felt herself go from moist to sodden, her nipples stiffen to almost painful levels against her bra.

He advanced on her swiftly, undressing with no attempt at seduction or guile. She watched as his broad chest, his strong arms and legs, his near six-pack and then, finally, his cock, were exposed to her. She unconsciously licked her lips in delight. Goddamn this was a good looking man.

When he reached her, he roughly grabbed her legs and spread them wider. She made no moves to resist him or to aid him, only laid on the desk watching through eyelids hooded with forbidden desire and cocky satisfaction. Still saying nothing, he pushed her soaked thong to the left, exposing her pussy. The slight change in temperature made her gasp. She was so ready for this.

He seemed to pause for a moment and she urged him on with a moan, "Take what's yours."

And so he did, driving himself into her to the hilt and grunted, "So tight."

"That's teen pussy for you," she taunted.

"Shut up!" he demanded of her with a grimace of pleasure distorting his face.

Mallory did as he asked, ceding still more control to him. He began to move inside in slow rotating thrusts which seemed to spark every nerve ending inside her. She felt his desire, his need in his rigidity, his fruitless attempts at self control in his not just jackhammering away at her from jump street.

After a moment, his eyes refocused on her and he demanded, "Do you have any idea what this could cost me?"

"What what could cost you?" she asked, playing dumb to see how he would define what they were doing.

"This...this affair!" he returned.

It was a simple word, not even dirty. But in his saying it, she knew it was now reality. This was no one-off thing, no quickly fizzled four event engagement. This was an affair, a hidden sexual tryst with legs. She arched her back, a joyful jolt of pleasure settling into her abdomen.

"Tell me..." she begged him.

"My marriage! My standing in the community! Time with my kids! My customer base! My friends! My sanity! My self-respect!" he yelled and thrust into her, quick, deep, and direct, with each one declaration. Mallory grasped the end of the desk in both hands to meet the force of his hips without being pushed right off the furniture.

"Yes," she agreed in a breathless murmur, "All of that. So why do it?"

"Because...because I need this," he admitted. "I need it so fucking bad. I have this...darkness inside me."

"I see it. I want it! Share the darkness with me. I can take it. Not like that boring shrew you call your wife."

The statement was designed to elicit a reaction in Greg and it did not disappoint. His neck when red with still further anger and he reproached, "You don't get to talk about her!"