The Reawaening of Dr. Clar

Dr. Greg Clark had kept himself busy the past week and a half. Very busy. Since the shower and Mallory and...the confusion, he found that free time meant time thinking about it. About her lips, about her tongue, about how it felt when he thought it was his wife, Gina, and how it felt when he it knew it was Mallory. He didn't like the thoughts. Actually, he did like them. A lot. And he didn't like that. So he stayed busy. It was not a perfect system, but it worked.

At this moment, he was busy rearranging the recipe cards and cookbooks. It wasn't fun or glamorous, but then, that wasn't the point.

The front door opened with a low squeak and Greg looked up, expecting to see his wife coming with their two kids, Shelly and Martin. Instead, it was Mallory. Her hair was up in a French braid, her skin smooth and lightly tanned. She wore a cream tank top that clung to her upper body, making it clear how firm her stomach was and how perky her breasts were. She had paired it with a sexy, but understated black pleated skirt cut just above the knee. His eyes continued down her thin, shapely legs to a pair of black high heeled shoes that added at least four inches to her stature. Greg stared. He knew he was staring. He knew he shouldn't. And yet, he stared. She noticed him, smiled, and held his gaze.

Aware that this had gone on too long, the doctor forced himself to work his jaws.

"Umm," he squeaked, "Hey Mallory. I, uh I don't think we need you today."

"Oh, no. I'm not here to babysit," she paused, smirked at him, and cocked her hips to the left, letting him sweat it out before continuing, "Gina lets me hang her sometimes between classes."

"Oh, alright then," he mumbled, gathering up his little project. Mallory's very presence made the thoughts hard to shake and introduced new ones that were perhaps better described as fantasies. He made the decision to get away from her as soon as possible.

As he stood to leave the kitchen, she spoke to him, forcing him to stay lest he be rude.

"It's weird that you are home though. Aren't you usually at the office this time of day?" She asked this casually while sitting on the coach in the living room, not even looking at him as she searched the cushions for the remote. Greg felt himself relax a bit. She was obviously disinterested in him now. Maybe the shower encounter was like a sorority initiation thing or something. He still felt like a dirty older man, but at least she wasn't interested in a sequel.

"Usually, yeah. Twice a year though, I close the office to move old files to storage and destroy even older files. Today was one of those days and I finished quick. So I let myself go early."

"Benefits of being your own big boss, huh?"

"One of several, yes."

"So is it still cool if I stay here then?"

"Yeah, sure. No problem."

"Good because I need the break. Public speaking always takes it out of me."

"Oh, you had to make a presentation or something today? Is that why you are dressed so nice?"

"You think I'm dressed nice?" Mallory asked in return, eyebrow arches for a split second. She let the question hang in the air a few moments before rescuing the doc from having to respond. "Yeah, it was for my English class. We had to read a piece we wrote to the class."

"You think you did well?" Greg inquired, still blushing from her calling him on saying she was well-dressed.

"I think I did. I just took that age old advice about calming the nerves and didn't wear panties," she casually responded.

"Heh," he choked in shock, "You are funny. You are supposed to imagine the audience in their underwear, not take yours off."

"Oops," she giggled at an empty room as Greg was already scurrying to the master bedroom.

Joking or not, talk of Mallory not wearing panties under her pretty little skirt had gotten his mind racing. He felt much safer away in his room, away from her, if that was going to happen. It might not stop him from imagining her sliding out of that skirt in front of him, but at least he wouldn't be tempted to do something stupid.

"You know what I find funny?" Mallory declared as she pushed the door open and entered the bedroom. She had a gleam in her eye that froze Greg in place.

"Umm..." was all he could utter in response.

"I find it funny that a nice guy, a gentleman by all accounts, facefucks a younger woman, fills her mouth with his load, and never even brings it up to her for like 10 days after. I find that very funny."

She said all of this in a teasing matter-of-fact tone as she strode further into the room, growing closer to the paralyzed Greg.

"Well..." he began, trying to think of what to say, "I...I guess I just...didn't know how to bring it up. But you are right. I should have said something. So will you accept my belated apology?"

"Oh, baby...no I won't." Her taunting tone had grown stronger and she circled around Greg dragged her fingers across his shoulders and the back of her neck as she did so. "Don't be that guy. Don't apologize to a girl for giving her something she liked."

"I...I, well," he blundered.

"Especially when she knows that you," she cut him off, now standing in front of him, dragging her index finger down the center of his chest. She stood up on her tiptoes, pushing her chest into his and continued, whispering in his ear, "fucking loved it." Her tongue darted out at the end of the statement, licking the bottom of his lobe, causing him to exhale sharply.

"Shh," she instructed him, pressing a finger to his lips as he parted them to respond. "Don't even bother denying it. I could tell. You were...appreciative. Not just to have a hot teenage mouth wrapped around your dick, although you certainly did like that. But just to have that kind of attention. I could tell it had been awhile. And, I could tell that it was not just about a quick cum for you. You were certainly enjoying the journey as much as the arrival."

All Greg could think to say was "I didn't even know it was you."

"Until you did," she shot back, "And then you got even harder. Don't think I didn't notice."

By now, Mallory was standing in front of, so close their bodies just about touching but not quite, her arms lazily crossed behind his head. Greg had made no moves to get away from her since she entered the room, he was utterly rooted, utterly transfixed.

"You want to know a secret, Dr. Clark?" she asked in a way that told him that she already knew he did. He felt himself nod in response. It felt like someone else was in control of his body which, he supposed, was not that inaccurate.

"Well," she stage whispered, taking his hand and moving it down her body as she spoke, "I wasn't lying about not wearing panties." As she concluded, she forced his hand up her skirt against her pussy. He could tell it was bare, feeling impossibly smooth in his palm and on his fingertips. Briefly, he wondered how she could make it so smooth.

Then, he noticed she was wet, too. So very wet. All those earlier thoughts were chased right away. He felt lightheaded. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a photo of his wife on the dresser and found himself stunned that rather than diminish his desire for this 19 year old temptress, it increased it. There was guilt, to be certain, but it also turned him on to be doing to this in the room her and Gina shared.

"And maybe you are right, maybe I should imagine the audience in their underwear," she muttered, eyes locked on his, "But not wearing panties works for me. It makes me feel powerful. How does me not wearing panties make you feel?"

Greg could think of nothing to say that could dissipate this situation's momentum so he simply stood silent. After a moment, Mallory took it upon herself to answer her own question, sliding her hand into Greg's underwear.

"Ooo, so it makes you hard, does it, Doctor Clark? My wet, bald, teen pussy makes your married cock hard?"

Greg made one last ditch attempt to defused want increasingly felt inevitable. "You are right...I'm married. I shouldn't be doing anything like this."

The effort failed.

"You are right," she affirmed, "You shouldn't be doing this. You should be faithful to your lovely wife. You shouldn't let me jerk you off onto my thigh while you fingerbang me. Which is exactly why that's what's going to happen, isn't it?"

Again, he could think of nothing to say that would not make things worse (or, perhaps, better) and so he stayed silent. Mallory began to stroke him in earnest and asked again, "That's what's going to happen, isn't it, Doctor Clark?"

For some reason, her constant use of "Doctor Clark" got to him even more than her very talented handjob was. The combination of the two undeniably cracked him and found himself confessing in a strained yet triumphant sounding whisper, "Oh god, yes."

Mallory moaned in return, smiling wildly. She slowly, deliberately lifted her right leg up, first thrusting her knee as high as she could, then extending the leg out from there, placing her calf and shoe on his bed. She willed his eyes to look up the length of the leg and teasingly hiked her skirt up, exposing most of her right thigh. Then she went to work on him, undoing his belt, dropping his pants and rolling down his boxer briefs to let more of his cock reach for freedom.

"Mmmmmmm," she moaned again approvingly, "very nice."

She stroked him slowly, staring at her hand around him, almost as if studying. She absentmindedly let her mouth open ever so slightly and let her tongue slide across her upper lip. She muttered to no one in particular, with a sort of reverence, "Makes my hand look so small."

After a moment, she readjusted her focus once again and met Greg's eyes.

"Now coat my thigh while you make me cum," she ordered. The doctor's mind finally, completely, and totally shut down and he did as he was told, dipping his fingers inside her, coating them in her desire then dragging them out once more and gently, but insistently, massaging her clit. Mallory, meanwhile, maintained her position, leg splayed out, thigh deliciously on display, hand working Greg's shaft with seeming ease. And she talked to him, maintaining a tone somehow flirty, mocking, accusatory, and conquering all at once.

"Mmm, I bet you wish I'd hike up my skirt just a little more, show you everything. Show you how smooth my pussy not only feels but looks. And I want to. Yeah, I do. So fucking bad. And I will. But not today. Because you didn't even thank me for sucking your cock. So maybe when you get back into my good graces...maybe then..." Mallory trailed off, teasingly.

Moments later it was, "I knew you'd love my legs. Especially with the heels, hmm? Yeah, I thought so. Gina doesn't wear heels, does she? Not even to bed for you, huh? I know because I looked through your closets one night after the kids went to sleep. No stilettos, no wedges, no platforms, no sexy boots. It's almost like she wanted you to let a teenage girl make you cum in your bedroom in the middle of the day."

And later still, "Oh fuck. You are so hard. God...I am going to love fucking you. And you know we are going to fuck, don't you? Don't pretend like this sort of thing isn't going to happen all the time. I am so in love with your dick and you...you are hooked, I can tell. I am going to make sure you get everything Gina has been too selfish to offer you whenever you want it wherever you want—"

Before she could finish that thought, though, she suddenly gasped in a huge gulp of air. She swayed, clutching Greg's shoulder to stay upright, eyes rolling skyward. The gasp was punctuated by a shouted, "Oh shit!"

Fearing he had hurt her in some way, he began to draw his hand back from underneath her skirt and help her. She clutched his wrist and hissed, "Don't you dare! Don't stop."

Her own handwork became erratic and a light sweat covered her body. She moaned without performance, her eyes taking on a fixed glazed quality. When Greg attempted to alter his rhythm, she admonished him through gritted teeth, "No! I can feel your wedding ring on my clit and I neeeeed it. So bad! Keep it right on there!"

And so he did. And so she came, first with a series of quiet gasps and then increasingly louder and more vulgar, culminating in a tirade:

"Is this the ring you promised forever to Gina with?"

Greg could barely whisper, "Yes."

"The ring on my clit right now?"

"...yes."

"The ring covered in my cum as you get me off again and again."

"I...yes. Yes it is."

"God. I love it. It feeeels so goooooood. You love violating your vows, don't you?"

"That's not—"

"Love using that sacred symbol to make some teen slut cum while your wife is at work and your kids are at school and daycare?"

"Stop...stop say—"

"It's okay, Doc. Fuck, it's so much more than okay. I love it too! And it will be our secret. Our. Little. Dirty. Secret. YES!"

Mallory came again then, bodily visible convulsing. Every part of her looked tightened, taut, as if straining towards the ecstasy. Chasing it. Her hand tightened on his cock, jerking him roughly, mindlessly. It was all too much for Greg and he quickly let himself go too, groaning as cords of pearl liquid jetted out of him onto Mallory's extended thigh.

She gasped and giggled simultaneously. As her eyes opened once more they seemed fiery, like an athlete upon donning their gold medal.

"You are going to be so much fun," she informed Greg as she released him and let him fall backwards onto his bed. His head was simultaneously gauzy and cleared...it reminded him of how he felt in college after a night of drinking, that sense of elation and being utterly spent clashing at once.

Mallory straddled his chest, and grabbed his left hand, lifting it to her lips. She licked and sucked each of his digits clean, sighing, "Can't let the wife catch you with wet fingers, can we?"

As he propped his head up to watch her, she revisited his ring finger and lewdly wrapped her tongue around his wedding band. She moaned in delight, "I taste even better off gold!"

Then, gracefully, she dismounted him and came to rest standing next to the bed. As she smoothed out her skirt and began to leave the room she glanced over her shoulder and pronounced, "Now don't keep me waiting for a thank you again. I can't imagine how I'll punish you if you do."

And she was gone. But not for long.