The Reawakening of Dr. Clark Ch. 16

Dr. Greg Clark dragged the hamper filled with hot, clean clothes up from the basement. Staying up later than Gina to get stuff done around the house was something he had started shortly after the birth of their first child. Gina was exhausted a lot and going to bed between 8 and 9 nearly every night. As such, it was hard for her to help out with chores around the house and hard for Greg to get them done if he didn't stay up. However, what could have been an annoyance he found he really enjoyed. The housework seemed to go faster without anyone around and it allowed him to do things like catch up on TV shows that he had taped or DVR'd when he was too busy with work or childcare to watch them. When the children grew some and Gina started to hit the sack more like 10 or 11, Greg continued to stay up later a few days a week to get things done and enjoy the silence of his home.

At the top of the stairs, he heard the clock chime out that midnight had arrived. He smiled to himself. "33, I have arrived," he thought, "Happy birthday to me."

It was a weird age. He still enjoyed birthdays and getting one year older didn't bother him. But 33 was just...devoid of meaning. Once you get past 21, it felt like only the 5's and 0's meant anything. Still...there would be presents and cake. So some good, certainly.

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he sat down to fold the laundry. Pulling it out, he found a text from Mallory waiting for him. It read, "Forgot to tell you I got a present for you. :) It's in the office. Go look and let me know if you like it. Hope you do!"

"See," he told himself, "It's started already."

He dashed off a quick response, "On my way. You didn't need to get me anything though."

"Don't worry, it cost me basically nothing," she wrote back.

Greg opened the door to the office and was surprised to find it glowing in a dull, diffuse orange. It took him a moment to realize the room was lined with candles. In the middle stood Mallory.

"Tada!" she announced in a forced whisper, spinning in a circle and twirling one hand above her head. He entered the room and quickly closed the door behind himself.

"How did you get in?"

She twirled a key in the air, "Your wife gave me a spare, remember?"

"I'm sure this is not what she had in mind when she did that."

She smirked and tossed him a wink saying, "Well, I won't tell if you don't."

"So...I heard there might be a present?" the doctor asked, heart picking up speed. He could guess what was she had planned what with the candles and all. Right away, his body made its interest clear. Still, he was worried. It was risky. This would be only the third time they had sex with Gina in the house. The first was all Mallory's doing; yes, it had happened inches from his wife in the same bed, but Mal had gotten him so worked up in his sleep he had no thoughts besides his carnal needs. The second was in the basement, the part farthest away from the master bedroom on the second floor, and his wife was in a Nyquil induced slumber upstairs. This time—with his brain still capable of processing information beyond "Look at those breasts" and "She's so wet"—doing this, especially with his wife that much closer made him hesitant to follow through.

"There is!" she confirmed with a giggle, "But first, what do you think of my outfit?"

She spun again and Greg made no effort to suppress his ogling. Maybe all she wanted to do was show him her body, he hoped. She was wearing wedge heels, a tight black pair of dress pants that he'd heard her describe as her club pants. They did a spectacular job showcasing her ass and the distinct lack of visible panty lines. The shirt was a tight black sweater that was shot through with the occasional track of silver thread—he interrupted his staring to process what he was seeing.

"Is that—," he began.

"Your wife's shirt?"

"Yeah, Gina's. I—,"

"Bought it for her, but she never wears it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah, I've heard you two talking about it. Seemed important to you."

"Not really...it's more a symbol I guess. I bought it for her, she said she liked it, but she never wears it and is always making lame excuses why. If she didn't like it, she should just say so."

"Also, it seems like you'd really like to see her in it..."

"Yeah...I think it'd look great on her."

"And still, she didn't do it, huh?"

"No. No she didn't."

"Story of her life, huh? She can't tell you how she really feels, like about a sweater or her fantasies and she can't meet you halfway. Instead she just lies, manipulates, ignores, and leaves you feeling lousy, huh? I mean, it's a sweater for Christ's sake. It's tight-ish, but it's not like it's got a cleavage v or something. Hell, I know she's got sweaters almost exactly like this that she wears."

"Which is what I was thinking when I bought it," he agreed before start to defend Gina, "but I don't know about all the other stuff you jus—"

Mallory cut him off, "How do you think it looks on me?"

"Good. Really, really good," he admitted. It hugged her body tightly, highlighting her small but high, firm breasts, her seemingly perma-hard nipples, and her thin, tight torso. He was actually surprised given the height and bust difference between his wife and his babysitter/mistress/fantasy fulfiller.

"I had to pin it up to get the right fit," she confessed, seemingly reading his mind. "I didn't think she'd mind since she never wears it and I didn't think you'd be mad because you love looking at me in tight shirts."

"I am sure you are right on both counts," he allowed, "Thanks for letting me see how sexy the shirt is when someone cares enough to wear it. That really is a nice gift."

"Uh, uh, uh," she tutted at him, drawing closer, "That's just the start."

"Mal, it's late and I stil—"

She laid her hands around the back of his neck and tugged him downward towards her. She kissed him, deep, firm, and insistent. The taste of her mouth on his tongue sparked a heady rush. Her scent, clean with just a hint of some kind of citrus fruit, dazzled him. He gave himself over to sensation, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Her slender hands moved down his back, then between them, fumbling with his belt.

"Do you... like the... candles?" she asked, speaking the words in between the gaps between kissing.

"Yes. Sets...the mood...nicely."

"Good...I...realized that...I never...treat you to any... romance," she giggled.

She finally got the belt undone with a jingle of metal on metal. With dramatic flair, she pulled it through the loops and tossed it on the floor in single fluid movement.

He pulled the sweater up exposing her abdomen. He continued lifting it upward, forgetting about the pins. He could hear the fabric give way some, no doubt the pins pulling holes in it as he reckless yanked it over her head. If he was going to worry about it, those anxieties were immediately swallowed when he glimpsed her body in the candlelight. Her belly ring, a long strand with a dark stone at the end, scattered the light across her lower abs. Her taut stomach quivered slightly as he dragged his fingertips across it. Her breasts rose and fell with her aroused breath. He slid his hand down her stomach, between her skin and her panties, doing his best to gently stroke the lips.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck," she moaned and her eyes narrowed to slits as he separated as he separated the labia and lightly stroked his fingers insider her.

"Wow, Mallory, you're so wet already," he marveled.

"I've just been sitting here in the room, waiting for midnight, imagining you taking your gift," she admitted, "That's bound to turn a girl on."

He pulled her in close once more as she began to work his zipper and kissed her hard. She whimpered with delight into his mouth.

"I know...this is...risky," she breathed, still trading kisses in between, "But I...couldn't stand...the idea of...her getting...first crack at you...on your birthday."

"Why?" he asked, staring into her eyes, "Jealousy?"

Regaining her composure, she confessed for the first time, "Maybe."

She pushed his pants to the ground and he stepped out of them. His cock, thick and hard, bulged obscenely in his grey boxer brief, a tell-tale spot of precum darkening them. She delicately traced it with her fingertips, her eyes fixated in rapt attention. She wasn't sure how long or fat he was, wasn't even sure if he was the biggest she had ever seen—although he was sure he was in the top 3 or 4 she'd been privileged to witness in real life. She just knew his was her favorite, the most perfect one, just as thick and as long as she needed.

Listening to his breath hitch and trip, she continued to barely caress him. Keeping her eyes on his dick, she began to explain her earlier comments further, "I was thinking about it last night and it was just...driving me crazy. I picture you two rolling around your bed. Getting naked. Maybe she would even toss you a perfunctory 45 seconds of head before putting on the condom and 'making love to you.' It turned me on, but it also pissed me off."

Greg felt confused and concerned by her tone. He tried to interrupt but she kept going.

"I just...it's not fair, you know?" as she spoke, she wrapped her hand around his cock through the underwear, "You deserve better. I deserve better. Instead, she gets off on this majestic piece of meat and you and I end up disappointed and unfulfilled."

She let go of him momentarily, slipping her hand into his boxer briefs, and then seizing him once more. "This should be my cock," she whispered, stroking him, "Can this be my cock, Doctor Clark?"

He only groaned in response.

"Oh, does my little hand feel good?" she giggled.

"Yessss."

"God, Doc, I can feel you getting even harder. Do I do that to you?"

"You know you do..."

"I must be such a naughty little girl to turn you on like that. A married man with two kids...it must take a pretty nasty slut to get that kind of man into this kind of state. Is that what I am? Am I your bad little girl? Your dirty little secret?"

"D—do you want to be?" Greg stuttered.

"Mmmm, more than anything," she admitted, kissing him deeply. She ran her fingertips over the top of his dick, spreading his precum over the head, and felt him shudder.

"Do you want me to just jerk you off right here and now? It's your birthday...I'll do that for you if you want."

He gritted his teeth and hissed before answering, "No."

"Good," she replied, batting her eyelashes, "Because I can be a lot more fun than that."

She released him and kissed him hard again. His hands tangled themselves in her blond locks while hers deftly began to unbutton his shirt. When it was open, she shoved him back into his desk chair and took a step away.

"Watch me," she instructed him as she began to sway her hips. Slowly, she removed her heels and her pants, leaving him in a dark green thong and tall thin black socks.

"Very nice," the doctor confessed.

"Just very nice?" she asked, eyebrows raising, "Something I can do improve the view?"

"Take off your panties," Greg requested.

"Ooooo, good idea." Mallory hooked a finger under each side of the small straps resting on her hips and began to slide them off at an agonizing pace. When she stood again, her smooth, hairless sex was exposed, lips puffing out ever so slightly.

The babysitter tossed them to him, explaining, "A souvenir."

Then she added, "Was this what you had in mind?"

"Yes."

"But I'm naked now."

"Yes."

"Ahh, I see. You wanted me naked?"

"Mmmhmm."

"You like to look at my pussy? My tiny teen cunt?"

"I...do. I shouldn't but...I do."

"Good. I think you should like it. I think I have pretty pussy, don't you?"

"Beautiful."

"So why shouldn't you like to look at it."

"For one, you're 14 years younger than me."

"And that makes it hotter."

"M—ma—maybe. But I should know better."

"Oh, you definitely should, Doc. And you do. And you still can't help yourself, can you?"

He didn't respond to the question, keeping himself on task, "For another, I'm married."

"To that boring woman upstairs."

"Still married."

She advanced on him.

"Yes, but it's me you want, isn't it?"

"I—yes. Often. But my wife is very attractive."

"Oh, I know. She's in fabulous shape, too, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"And you still can't stop fucking me, can you?"

He didn't respond.

"Do you think about me when you make love to her?"

"Sometimes..."

"Do you wish it was me you were inside?"

"I...I have."

"When you imagine that, that her hairy mess is actually my smooth cunt, that her mouth ooing and awing is really my mouth telling you wicked things, does it make you cum faster?"

"It...has."

"Mmm, I knew it."

She reached him and pulled his underwear off and tossed it away. She straddled him.

"Do you want this?"

"Please Mal..." he moaned.

She lowered herself onto him, taking in the sensation of it. The feeling of pressure, of her body opening to him, the experience of another pulse inside her.

"Gooooooooooood," she moaned, "So good. You know how to keep a girl satisfied, Doc, I'll tell you that."

He moved his hands over her body; touching every bit of it he could, savoring the feeling of her skin on his fingertips.

"Tell me more," she pressured him.

"About what?"

"Tell me: when you have sex with Gina, when you cum, do you tell her you love her?"

"Yes. Usually."

"When you do, are you still seeing my face, my body in your mind? Are still imagining the legs wrapped around your back are mine?"

"It...has...happened," he confessed.

"So, are you telling her you love her...or are you telling me?"

"Mal..."

"It's okay...you don't have to say it if you don't want. Just do something else for me?"

Having her perched on his dick filled his head with fog, but he tried to shake it off, to find some ability to concentrate. "Ok," he conceded.

"Let me hear what it sounds like?"

"What?"

"When you tell your boring old wife that you love her while you just got off on thinking of licking my tiny tits and yanking my hair while you pound me from behind."

"I don't think that that is a good idea." In fact, he knew it wasn't. But with each lift and fall she performed, every hip rotation, he could feel the battle being lost.

"Shh..." she whispered, putting a finger to his mouth. It was slick and tasted like her. He anxiously licked it clean. "Don't think."

And so, against his better judgment, he said it, "I love you."

"Uh," she grunted, grinding harder against him, "Again."

"I love you."

"Yes!" she gasped, "Once more."

"I love you."

"Fuuucccccccccccccck," she hissed, biting her lip and cumming. As she came back down to earth, she scolded him, "So bad Doc."

"I know."

"Telling a poor vulnerable teen you love her just so she'll fuck you? Lying to her?"

Then she added, "Unless you weren't lying."

Before he could reply, she pushed two fingers into his mouth, dripping with her essence. He was powerless but to suck them clean. The taste made him dizzy with desire. He groaned. She smiled, tossed her hair back and began to propel herself up and down on him. At times, she'd nearly come all the way off, pause, and then drop back down hard. Others, she'd take him deep and grind herself into him, rotating her hips and contracting her muscles. She'd bend forward to kiss him, his neck, to lick, suck, and bite his nipples enjoying the sound of him yielding to the pleasure/pain it produced when she got rough with her teeth the way he liked it.

For the most part, he was content to let her take control, focusing instead on feeling every part of her with his hands and fingertips. He traced the strong sensual lines of her back up to her hair. He pulled on her blond mane, ever so slightly, and she cooed at the sensation. Then, his hands were on her breasts, where they spent far longer than he initially planned, caressing, stroking, rolling, and occasionally pinching. She let him know what she liked, whimpering, moaning, and whispering "yes."

Her stomach, her hips, her legs...he touched them anywhere and everywhere he could, feeling his heat, her smoothness, her softness, the contracting of muscles just beneath the surface, the sheen of perspiration developing.

Mallory let her mind go to mush. She reduced her entire focus to 3 simple goals: to fuck, to cum, to make Greg cum. That was all that mattered to her, all she cared about. The feel of his cock inside her, pulsating, thrusting, growing. Strong hands touching her flesh. His toned torso underneath her hands. The electric buzz every time her clit made contact with his skin. The sound of his breathing. The taste of his saliva and her essence on his tongue. The feeling of her honey flowing out of her sex over his lap and onto the chair. The glazed look of lust fulfilled in his eyes. The echo of him saying "I love you." She absorbed it all, swam in it. These things were what she wanted, all she wanted. To be but a slave to these feelings and desires seemed to her to be a fulfilling fate; an existence worthy of full embrace.

She pressed her forehead against his, sweat mixing with sweat. She locked eyes with him and would not look away. The intensity of her stare got to him and he moaned with overwhelming lust.

"You feel so good," he confessed. "Your skin. The fabric of your socks on my legs. God! Driving me crazy."

"I can feel it," she whispered back, still staring, "You are so hard inside me."

"You made me that way," he agreed, "You are soooooo fucking tight. Uh...uh...uh. And so wet. I can feel you dripping."

"I can't help it," she moaned, "I know my naughty doctor likes a wet little pussy. Wet. And bare. And tight. And sooooooo young."

He gasped with each draw out description of her sex before speaking in a low, halted pattern, "Fuck, Mal. You make me sound like such a pervert."

"You are such a pervert. You were a good man and I made you into a pervert. A teen fucking, adulterous pervert. Didn't I?"

"Yessssssssssss," he admitted.

She smiled, a tiny, secret smile. She loved when he admitted what he was now. Saw his depravity and did not deny it but rather got off on it. Him resistant was fun, him guiltily embracing his darkness was utopia for her.

She began to babble, whispering but fierce, at him, foreheads still together, "I want this. I want this. Want it all the time. God. God. Fuuuuuck. You feel so good. Best fucking cock. Perfect for me. Perfect."

A moment she started again, voice taking on what could best be described as a tone of horny desperation, "Don't stop. Pleeeeeeease, don't stop. I...I need this. I neeeeeeeeed it."

Had Greg not been buried to the hilt in her grasping, hot, steamy cunt he might have been better able to process his concern. Instead he could only let it slip away and focus on how good it felt to violate all his principles.

"I'm going to scream," she announced, "I want to so bad, Doctor Clark. I just want to scream out, you fuck me so good."

"D—don't," he tried to mount a better argument than that, but could not as his babysitter had also chosen that moment to drag her nails across his skin, something that nearly always made his eyes roll to the back of this head.

"Oh, I know, Doc, I know. It'd be so bad of me. But I just...FUCK...I need to so bad. Tell me not to. Order me to keep my mouth shut."

He tried his best to do so, groaning, "Don't you make too much noise. Be quiet now."

"God...I wish I could. But I don't want to and I know you don't want me to. You love when I get loud. You're going to have to stop me. Please. I'm out of control, Doc. Stop me from screaming."

The words poured out of her and she was vaguely aware of how she sounded: drunk and high at once, slurred and accelerated. And utterly desperate. Almost ill.

"I...I can't," Greg confessed below her. He was talking too quick for his mind to catch up and make better choices. He wanted to hear her scream. He loved her sounds.