tagErotic CouplingsThe Reawakening of Dr. Clark Ch. 19

The Reawakening of Dr. Clark Ch. 19

byThe_Maestro_Braddock©

Please note that this chapter is notably darker than most of this story with some violence comingled with sex and dirty talk that is markedly more degrading at times. As the writer, I feel it is "earned" and in line with where the characters are at this time, but I understand and respect others might be bothered by the content.

*

Gina found her husband Greg in the basement, moving boxes. He was sweaty and looked annoyed. She could not imagine what possessed him to be working on this task as it was so far down her list of things that mattered that she had more or less forgot about it.

He sensed her presence and shrugged at her quizzical look, "Got inspired. There's a lot of stuff here we don't need any more and the rest need to be sorted."

In reality, that was not true at all. Greg needed a distraction, any distraction and he had noticed all the junk down here when he was...doing the thing he was trying to distract himself from now.

"I really appreciate you'd even think of this," she complimented him, "But unfortunately I have to interrupt you."

He stopped, wiping the sweat off his brow with his arm. Gina took him in for a moment, noticing the way his cotton t-shirt matted against his pecs with sweat. She now doubly regretted having to do this to him.

She continued, "Mallory called and she's been drinking. She doesn't feel comfortable driving but does not want to stay at the person's house either. I feel like the drinking's not responsible, but we were in college too and we know what it was like. And calling us instead of staying somewhere she does not feel safe or driving home in her state is very responsible. So I don't want to tell her to just get a cab or something."

"But?"

"But I promised Shelly I'd read her a story tonight so I could brush her hair out at the same time. I was hoping you'd go?"

Internally, he sighed. This was something he'd been avoiding, but Gina was right. Not a good idea to put a drunk teen on the road.

"Makes sense. Let me go throw on a new shirt and I'll head out."

"You're the best, honey," she called after him as he clomped up the stairs.

Before he left, she caught him again and gave him a quick, deep kiss, "Thank you. Hurry home and I'll give you a reward."

"Ooo, intriguing," he whispered back.

Then she got serious, "But if it looks like she's really drunk, you should probably stay with her a bit and observe. Don't want her to get sick all by herself or have alcohol poisoning or something awful like that."

He nodded although staying with Mallory was the last thing he wanted.

As he drove, he couldn't help but to stray back to the conversation that he had had with Mallory almost three weeks before. He had sensed a change in their "play" and wanted to talk to her about the possibility of putting things on hold as it seemed both of them were developing feelings for each other beyond just wanting sex. She argued with him some but eventually confessed that he might be right and maybe they both needed some time to clear their heads.

Since then, however, she had been more provocative and risk-taking than before. Flashing her tits at him while Gina was in the same room. "Forgetting" underwear and uncrossing her legs in a short skirt. Hugging him far too long. Leaving messages of her breathing heavy and squealing in orgasm on his voicemail. The worst had been when Mallory had taunted Greg from the shadows while he had sex with his wife.

It had left him almost permanently aroused but also deeply angry. He really did care for her and had no interest in being mean to her, but he could not indulge in his infatuation any longer. To keep having sex with her when she felt something for him beyond lust was cruel, giving her false hope. The bottom line was that he had a family and could not throw that all away for a 19 year old babysitter. No matter how tight her body or raunchy her mind was.

So he had avoided her. And been doing reasonably well at it. Until this.

He pulled up at the house, a typical frat crash pad complete with Greek symbol banner and decaying porch, and beeped his horn lightly. A moment later, he saw Mallory emerge from the backyard. Despite the near freezing temperatures, she was very barely dressed. Her shirt, such as it was, was a triangular piece of gold metallic fabric held on her by chain link shoulder straps. As she turned to wave to a shouting someone in a second floor window, he noticed that it was backless except for a single chain that connected one side of the fabric to the other just below her shoulder blades. Despite their modest size, her breasts bounced pleasantly, hypnotically, with each step she took, unencumbered by a bra. The tip of the triangle ended just above her navel directing attention to sexy, sparkling belly button ring and lower.

Not fighting his eyes natural trajectory, he found her lower half was hardly better covered than the top. A grey and black striped micro-mini gave way to miles of toned teen leg that ended in a pair of sky high stiletto heels. She may have been drunk but she appeared to have no problem negotiating her shoes, strolling with hip swiveling purpose to his car. Greg groaned. This is exactly what he did not want to see when he picked her up. Why couldn't she just be falling down drunk in a pair of jeans and a soft comfortable sweatshirt? What kind of point was the universe trying to make to have this waiting for him instead?

Mallory opened the car door with a flourish and bent at the waist to peer in. The shirt drooped downward, giving a tantalizing glimpse of deep cleavage. He could only imagine the view anyone walking by and seeing her from behind might be privy to.

"What's up, Doc?" she cracked, smirking, "Long time no see."

He plastered a fake grin on his face thinking, "No need to be rude or uncivil. It's not her fault you're a dirty old man who goes rock hard at the sight of his babysitter."

In truth, it was kind of her fault and he knew that. But he was trying to be as pleasant and nonjudgmental as possible.

"Hey Mallory. Welcome to your safe ride."

"Why thank you sir," she responded cheesily. Up close, he could tell she had been drinking. Her syllables were just a touch too drawn out and her cheeks had that buzzed flush to them. This was not, however, a DRUNK girl. This was a "drink some water and wait an hour and you'll be fine" girl. Again, he pushed down his feelings of anger and annoyance. It would've been preferable for her to just wait an hour but if she really wanted to leave at that moment, then she had made the right choice.

He began to roll forward and after a few moments started to feel okay again. Yes, he admitted, he couldn't stop his eyes from glancing at Mallory's bare legs or his mind from pondering the physics of her shirt. And yes, the smell of the mouthwash she had evidently gargled with reminded him of the first girl who ever went down on him. But it was quiet and he felt safe. He started to think this was not going to be the big deal he had psyched himself up about. Then she began to speak.

"Wow, Greg, you're really sweaty."

"Yeah, sorry," he said sheepishly.

"Mmm," she purred, "Don't be. I like a man who's got a little sweat on him. Especially if it's mine."

"Yes, well..." he began and just trailed off, having nothing really to say to that.

She continued, either oblivious or disinterested in his discomfort, "Sooooooooooo, what were you up to? Working out."

"Just moving boxes, actually."

"Where?"

"In the cellar," he tried to stop himself from finishing the sentence but failed. He cringed with what he knew was coming next.

"Where in the basement?"

"Oh, you know, back there, the storage area I guess you'd call it."

"Well, I wouldn't call it that..."

"Ok...well, some might—"

"I call it Lex Luthor's sex dungeon."

"Anyway, that's where—"

"You remember? Because that's where you had me—"

"I was moving—"

"chained up. Where you just took advantage of me in my—"

"the boxes."

"tiny, tight Supergirl costume."

The car fell silent for a moment.

"Do you remember that?"

"Yes, Mal, I remember. It was...it was amazing, okay? But we agreed, no more of this. Do you remember that?"

"Well, I remember agreeing to a break. Not "no more ever". And I certainly did not agree to not harmlessly reminisce."

"It's not harmless."

"Oh, it's not?" she said, raising her eyebrows and shifting towards him in her seat, "Does it lead a certain stable family man down a naughty, naughty road?"

"Knock it off, Mallory, I'm serious."

"So am I. I seriously want to know."

"Fine, although we both know you already know. Yes, it turns me on to remember that and many other nights. Okay?"

"Do you want to tell me about them?"

"Mallory..." he sighed in resigned exasperation.

"No, really Doc. Since we stopped...fooling around, I've been crawling up the walls. You can ask Brenda. I've been. Wearing. Her. Out. And she's not even around this weekend. So if you could just tell me what you remember while I touch myself it would mean SO much to me."

"I really can't do that, Mallory. Besides, we are here," he turned off the engine and pointed to her apartment.

"That's fine. This is a pretty dark street. How about I just climb up on your lap for a quickie?"

She began to shift in her seat without waiting for his response.

"No, Mal," he replied definitively.

"Come on," she breathed hot in his ear, "Don't you want to find out what my panties look like under this skirt...or if I even have any?"

"Stop."

"God, Doc, I need that cock! Tell me you haven't thought of fucking me everyday since we stopped."

Her hand strayed across his lap until he grabbed it angrily and almost tossed it away.

"Enough!" he spat out.

"Fine! Damn it!" she blew up, "You're so fucking...I don't even understand you. Do you want to be miserable? There's no medals for not enjoying life, you know!"

He set his jaw tight and stared forward.

"Okay," she said with a slight pout, regaining control, "Do you want to come up for a bit at least?"

"Mal..."

"Alright! I get it. Thanks for picking me up though. I really appreciate it." With that she leaned over and hugged him. He cringed in fear but found it was just a friendly thank you hug and so he returned and added a pat on the back.

"Next time, drink less," he offered, letting himself soften, a slight smile letting her know he was just giving her a hard time.

She smiled back and saluted as she left the car, "Aye-aye, sir!"

He forced himself not to stare at her naked legs or her swaying ass as she walked away. He breathed in and out deeply, calming himself. He allowed himself a smile. On the whole, it had not been so bad. Yes, she was still damn hot and yes, she still knew just what buttons to press. But he had said no, he had stuck to that, and besides a bit of teasing, she had largely respected that. Maybe the worst had passed.

Calm and collected again, he nodded and reached for the ignition. No keys. He could've sworn he had left them in the ignition. He patted the pockets of his pants, then his outer coat, and finally the inside. Nothing. He checked the floor around his feet and there were no keys either. He sighed heavily and prepared to repeat the process when his phone buzzed. He snagged it off the dash and found a two word text from Mallory: "missing something?"

"You've gotta be kidding me," he mumbled to himself, jumping out of the car and slamming the door. He could fee his anger rising, his heart beating quicker. Repeatedly, he told himself "Just remain calm," as he climbed the stairs to her apartment. It was making little difference.

He knocked, harder than he intended, and heard his babysitter invite him in with a sing-song tone. He was almost shouting the moment he was inside, "Mallory! This is ridiculous! I've got to get—"

He found her in her bedroom, leaning against her headboard. She spun his keyring on one finger and smirked. "Looking for these?" she teased in a voice dripping with false innocence.

"Yes," he grumbled and darted forward, reaching for the keys. She dodged him, spinning to another side of the room.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she warned, hands in front of her. He tried not to notice how the positioning of her arms thrust her breasts together and forward.

"We must be careful. This is my personal space," Mallory continued, drawing an invisible box on the floor, "You must not enter here without permission. That would be very...bad of you, Gregory."

He ignored her tone of mock admonishment and focused on the task at hand, demanding, "Just give me back my keys, okay?"

"And which keys would those be?"

He darted towards her again and she dodged once more.

"Uh-uh-uh," she rebuked him, wagging a finger in his face, the keyring resting around it, "That's not very polite. So which keys are you looking for?"

"The ones you have!"

"These?" she questioned, snagging her set of keys off her nightstand table and offering them towards him.

"No," he barked angrily, and knocked those keys out of her hand. Again, she sidestepped him as his grasping hands sought out his own set of keys.

"Oh...these then?" she asked, innocently, holding his keys out in front of him.

He snapped back, "Yes. Those fucking keys. Which you knew from the start. Now give them to me so I can get the hell out of here."

"What's the rush?" she asked, practically prancing around the room. Greg felt his eyes drift to her ass as she turned around. He dragged them away only to catch her catching him checking her out. She smirked defiantly.

"I have to get back to my wife," he replied.

Mallory's eyes flashed angry just for a moment before she revived the teasing, smoldering smirk she had been sporting for most of the conversation.

"Well, I'm not sure I like your tone, sir." With that, she pulled her skirt and her underwear away from her body and seemingly dropped the keys down into the gap.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Waiting for you to learn some manners," she responded cheekily, "Until then I keep your keys...unless you are going to come get them yourself?"

Greg stood indecisively for a moment. He was frustrated, annoyed, and, if he was honest, a little bit intimidated. She was so confident, so in control. It was her apartment, her turf, if you will. She was beautiful and smart and sexy and she was playing all three notes to perfection right now. He didn't want to play into her hands. But, he could hardly stand here all night waiting for her to give in. Finally, sick of how easily she seemed to get what she wanted out of him, he decided to call her bluff. He ran forward with a snarl. This time, as she attempted to get away, he snagged the back of her skirt and pulled/threw her into the corner of the room. He placed his body between himself and her freedom. He thrust his hand down her skirt, trying to ignore the heat and his body's immediate visceral reaction to the way her skin felt to the touch.

"What are you doing?!" she gasped.

"Taking back what's mine," he grunted, feeling his way around the lacey contours of what he quickly realized was a thong.

"Good," she moaned, grabbing his wrist. She thrust her pelvis forward and despite no attempt to do so, he felt the slickness of her arousal on his fingertips.

"Show me who the boss is then," she ordered him, enjoying the irony.

"Where—where are they?" he stumbled, panic rising.

"Huh...are you sure they aren't down there? Maybe you should feel around some more." She smirked at him as she continued to undulate her hips lewdly, brushing her sex against his resisting hand over and over again.

"I'm not in the mood for this," he growled, surprised at how he seemed unable to free his hand from her panties due to a combination of the tightness of her skirt, the grip she had on his wrist, and, he had to admit, a reluctance on his own part. His libido was at war with his morality and Mallory always seemed to have a way to give his libido the edge.

"In the mood for what?" Mallory groaned as her clit caught against the cold metal of his watch band.

"For games," he replied through grit teeth, increasingly aware of a sort of moral panic that was descending on him, freezing him in place.

"Oh really?" the babysitter replied, eyebrows arching skeptically. She let go of his wrist with one hand and wrapped her fingers around his cock through his pants. Shamefully, he was aware that he was already half hard and that his member gave an involuntary jump as she grabbed hold. "You might say that," she whispered, placing her lips directly next to his ear, "but your body's telling me a very different story."

That was enough for him, his anger trumping his paralysis. With a sound halfway between a growl and a roar, he pulled himself away from her, shoving her into the wall again. Breathing heavily and bent slightly forward, he stared daggers at her.

Mallory just giggled, maddeningly, in response. She mocked him, "Great job, Doc. Still don't have any keys though, do you?"

He felt his anger grow. He was so sick of being the weak one. Tired of being the one shaking his finger and arguing against his own desires. Of course he wanted to stay and enjoy her bountiful pleasures. Of course he did. But it would not be a good idea for him, for her, or for anyone in his family. He wanted to be fun or strong or both, but instead she kept making him be neither.

"Just give me the damn keys, Mallory," he ordered her, eyes dark with his anger.

The babysitter saw it and liked it. She knew that there were many ways to get what she wanted—surprise, feigned innocence, seduction, appealing to a sense of righteous indignation, merciless teasing—and that the old bag of tricks had not been working. So, she was desperate. Getting him mad enough to take what he really wanted seemed to be the only shot she had left. She knew it was a Hail Mary of sorts and a pretty wild one at that. But, she figured aggressive sex shared a lot of chemical and bodily similarities with anger, so why not? Plus, she admitted to herself, the idea of rough sex with an out of his mind with lust and rage Doctor Greg Clark left her panties as soaked as they had ever been.

"Mmm," she moaned, filling her voice with every bit of sex kitten she could manage, "it sounds like you want something. And we know I want something. Perhaps there's a deal to be made here?"

As Greg watched her, fists clenched at his side, she seductively lay across her bed, torso propped up by pillows, and ran two fingertips along the top exposed portion of her right breast. She moaned lightly and licked her lips, never breaking eye contact with him. Not one to leave a job merely well done, she followed this up by gently, slowly, but clearly spreading her legs. As she debated whether or not she should allow her left hand to dip between her legs, he broke.

"You bitch!" he shouted without thought, cringing even as the words left his lips. Despite the feeling of embarrassment and shame rising in his cheeks, he pressed on, "No damn deal. They are my keys, just give them to me."

Greg leapt at her then, a move she easily rolled away from. She wanted him to catch her of course, but she needed him in such a lather that the lines between anger and lust would be completely erased.

"Goodness," she called to him over her shoulder as she sprang back off the bed, "what language for a married father of two young children to use! What kind of role model are you?"

The mention of his children made him even angrier. He said something to her but it was so garbled by anger and exertion that it only sounded like a caveman grunt. She only giggled in response, her small breasts bouncing invitingly in the gold halter top, her bare legs striding across the room away from him.

His thoughts alternated between, "Oh god, she's so damn hot. Maybe I'll just fuck her one more time. Just this last time," and "No! Fuck her! Manipulative homewrecker! Put her in her place, take the damn keys, and get the hell home!"

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byThe_Maestro_Braddock© 5 comments/ 28757 views/ 6 favorites

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