The Reawaening of Dr. Clar

Greg awoke to the sound of pots and pans clattering downstairs and the scent of sausage twirling around his nostrils. He groaned and stretched in well rested bliss, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes back to alertness. Slowly his brain caught up to his state of awakeness and the problems with the situation began to filter in.

Quickly he ticked off a list of things that didn't make sense at that moment:

1.)He usually made breakfast if it was made in the house, Gina was a grapefruit and cup of coffee kind of woman

2.)The kids didn't like sausage so even if Gina did, for some reason, make breakfast she wouldn't cook up sausage nor would there be any in the house to cook.

3.)He went to bed on his own last night, after Gina and the kids went down to her in-laws for the long Thanksgiving weekend, with the idea that he'd drive down today after doing some office work and help prepare food for the feast the next day.

Reaching #3 was what finally cut through the post-waking haze. With an awkward bounce, he was off the bed and rocketing down the stairs, his anti-burglar baseball bat in hand. He was not aware of any home invaders who would pause to make you breakfast but you just never knew these days.

He ricocheted around the corner and nearly ran headlong into an apron wearing Mallory, hot pan in hand. He took a moment to notice the navy colored apron smock was emblazoned with the slogan "Hot Food, Hot Kitchen, Hot Chef."

"Hey Doc," she chirped, "got a baseball bat there, do you?"

"Umm...yeah...I—" he stuttered, embarrassed by his overreaction.

"You aren't planning to crack my skull open with that, are you?"

"No. No! Of course not...just thought that maybe—"

"There was a teenage girl making breakfast before she robbed you blind?"

He giggled a bit at his foolishness, "Something like that."

"Well, that wasn't my plan. So how about you ditch the stick and eat some eggs instead?"

"Okay...okay, yeah, sounds good."

He sat and she pushed a pile of scrambled eggs on his plate. Also on the table sat a platter of sausage and toast and a carafe of orange juice. As he poured himself a glass of orange juice, Greg glanced out the window. Noting the still dark state of the sky, he knit his eyebrows together in confusion and wondered aloud, "What the hell time is it?"

"Like 5:30 or so, I think," the babysitter estimated from behind the refrigerator door.

The doctor snorted in surprise, "What kind of college student wakes up at 5:30 on a Wednesday morning."

"Actually, I had to get up at more like 4:45."

"Riiiight. So why would yo—" Greg's statement became lodged in his throat as Mallory traipsed back to the stove. With her back to him, it was clear that she had on nothing on under her apron from the string of pearls around her neck all the way down to the pair of dark blue pair of stiletto heels.

"You okay, Doc?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Whatcha doing?"

"Uhhh...eating breakfast?"

"Oh, okay. I thought you might be staring at my small but undeniably pleasurably round ass," she replied, glancing over her shoulder with a wide smile.

"I can multitask," Greg shot back with a shrug.

She bounced her hips left and right before spinning around and returning to the table to eat with the doctor.

"Eat up," she urged, a mischievous smirk pushing dimples into her cheeks, "You're going to need your strength."

"For?"

"You can't guess?"

Greg shook his head and took a bite of eggs. A moment later he gagged and sputtered.

"Bad?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Terrible," he nodded, coughing, "Soooo salty."

"I was worried that might be the case," she confessed, "I don't really cook all that much."

"Well, it is the thought," the doctor excused her after a long gulp of orange juice. "I thank you for that. I can just grab a bowl of cereal and get to the office early though."

"That's not—"

"Honestly, it's fine. Thank you for the attempt and for the delightful eye candy."

She stood and held him in his chair by pressing on his shoulder. "Knock it off, silly," she instructed, "I grabbed bagels and cream cheese in case of an emergency just like this. No man of mine is going to have just cereal for breakfast today."

"Man of yours?" he asked, wide eyed. While his gaze was undeniably fixed on the pleasing rhythm of Mal's journey to the fridge and the incredible way her back looked with each step, the invocation of "man of mine" left him feeling uneasy. This was his birthday all over again.

"Yep. Go ahead and deny it," she invited me.

"Well, I'm married, for one."

"I know, I've met your wife. She's lovely. Boring, but lovely," she playfully dug at him as she began to carve up bagels and toss them into the toaster, "Cinnamon raisin or plain?"

"Cinnamon raisin. But you do get that I do love her and that this is just a...a thing... a...vacation from goo—"

Mallory rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically, "Yes, yes, I get it Doc. RE-Lax! I'm just having a little fun. I'm not really laying claim to you, okay? I just like the sound of 'man of mine.' It's fine. Besides, you can't tell me that you wouldn't like waking up to me in nothing but a tiny apron, heels, and pearls all the time."

"Alright, sure. I am just—"

"You are just being zero fun. Now enjoy your breakfast so I can enjoy you soon."

He quietly accepted his bagel quietly, feeling weirdly chagrined.

"Thank you," he mumbled, "And thanks for the offer. But I have to go to the office for some paperwork and then drive down to Gina's parents for tonight."

"Or you could put off the paperwork since who's going to know otherwise and still make it down to her parents in time," Mallory suggested, licking a spot of cream cheese off the corner of her mouth.

"Or I could just do what I said I was going to do," he shot back.

"Sure, whatever," the coed shrugged, "We'll see."

Greg's eyes, despite his best intentions, drifted from her eyes towards the loose opening at the top of her apron. Before he could sneak a peek downward though, he focused on the pearls again. His face screwing up a bit in confusion he asked, "Do you really own pearls?"

She fingered them lightly and smirked, "No, I had to borrow some of Gina's. I'll return them later. You can feel free to give me a pearl necklace whenever you'd like though."

Mallory began to spread cream cheese on another bagel half and added with raised eyebrow, "That's a double entendre, in case that wasn't clear. Although, if you also want to ply me with the...less sticky variety of pearl necklace, I certainly wouldn't turn it down."

Despite being the elder in the room, Greg blushed and glanced away. He loved and hated how easily she got to him. He tried to remember if there was a time when he and Gina would delight and dare each other with blatant entendres and dirty phrases. There were moments but they seemed very far away right now and paled in comparison to Mallory's unrestrained naughtiness.

He cleared his throat and began to lay the groundwork for his exit, "Thanks so much for bagels. And the attempt at eggs. It was very sweet of you."

Mallory saw through the compliment immediately. "But?" she shot back, smirk dancing across her lips.

"Buuuut," he drew it out, forming his next thought, "As mentioned, I have to go to the office and do paperwork and then drive down to the in-laws to help with tomorrow's orgy of turkey and stuffing."

"Orgy, huh? Can I come? And cum?"

He sighed heavily in response and shook his head, refusing to engage, "So, again, thanks. I'm going to go shower and head out. Feel free to find your clothes again and head out. Don't worry about cleaning up, I can take care of that."

"No, no," she waved him off, "It's my mess, I'm happy to clean up."

Mal leaned over the table, lightly brushing her lips over his cheek. Without conscious choice, he inhaled her scent and sighed contently. His sense memory lit up and he suddenly intensely craved her. Her taste. The sound of her gasp as he slid deep inside her. The feeling of her skin against his, warm, soft, and smooth. The way she settled against and into him, post-coitus.

"Not good, not good!" he "shouted" in his own mind, suppressing the tangle of feelings that rose, of lust and fondness and, terrifyingly, perhaps something more.

She bent over to lift the plates from the table, her apron dipping downwards. Greg foggily settled his gaze on the exposed flesh, her small firm breasts topped by rose colored nipples. She paused long enough to allow him a long stare, aware of it but not acknowledging. Then, she sashayed away, sure to put as much hip sway into her walk as she could before becoming a cartoon.

Greg's mouth went dry, his heartbeat perked up, half anxious half excited. It was the heartbeat of a man about to make yet another bad choice, albeit one that he'd enjoy.

The doctor followed behind her, eyes sweeping up and down her exposed body. The way the belt of the apron, tied with a huge bow, rested upon her ass...the sight of her calves elevated by her high heels...the still slightly visible tan lines. Almost trembling, he rested his hands on her shoulders and leaned over to kiss her neck.

"But Doc," the babysitter whispered, "I thought you had paperwork to do at the office?"

He kissed her neck again, more open mouthed this time with a brief stroke of tongue. Mal moaned enthusiastically in reply, her head drifting back.

"I thought you said you didn't care," the not very good Doc replied.

"I very much don't. But you know me, always trying to play by the rules," she sighed.

"Liar," Greg chuckled, "Naughty women like you don't give a damn about rules."

He slid his hands under the apron, caressing the skin of her stomach, and then upward to cup her breasts. They felt incredible in his hands, perfectly warm, the nipples exquisitely hard against first his palms then between his fingers.

She practically purred in response, pushing her ass back against him. "If I had run of the house all the time, I wouldn't have to interfere with your work schedule you know..."

"You still would."

"Mmm...of course...but less."

"I think Gina would notice you being here," he murmured in her ear, his hand easing slowly downward.

"She wouldn't if she wasn't around," Mallory whispered, "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Doctor Clark? Me here all the time, hot and ready whenever you wanted, no wife around to ruin the fun?"

Greg tensed in response, not liking the direction the conversation was heading. Where his fingers slid a moment later quickly convinced him to ignore the warning bells.

"God, you're so wet!" he exclaimed, the surprise causing him to raise his voice involuntarily.

"Do something about it," dared the coed, her hands reaching behind her, grasping and yanking at his pants, attempting to remove them.

Pulling his focus away from her smooth, hot, wet pussy for a moment, he managed to aid her in sending his pajama pants to the floor in a pile. Greg kicked them away without thought while pushing Mallory forward, bending her at the waist. Her elbows on the counter, she eased one leg further apart from the other. Greg spent a moment admiring the view before Mallory's anxious hands guided him deep into her needy sex.

He grunted as she urged, "God, yes, Doc, fuck me! You feel so good! Please....fuck me!"

One hand finding the cabinet for support, the other her clit, the adulterous doctor pushed into her with measured precision. Her cunt massaged his cock, her muscles flexing around him, pulling him deeper. Mindlessly, he gasped, "So wet...so tight."

"Love it, love it, fuuccckkk...so hard. No one, no one fucks me like you," Mal babbled, doing her best to rock back against his aggressive thrusts.

Greg could only concentrate on the pleasure, the heat, the smooth, the soft. His brain was entirely devoted to interpreting each pleasurable neuron spark and nothing else. His breath was ragged. Mallory wooed and cooed in equal measure, delighted to be the cause of and the vessel for his mind obliterating desire. Both of them were flush with lust and exertion, muscles straining, a light sheen of sweat clinging to their skin. They jabbered at one another in whispers, hisses, and groans, "fuck," "cock," "harder," "tight," "pussy," and so on flowing constantly. If either slipped a "love you" between the filth, neither seemed to notice.

Soon both Greg's hands encircled his children's babysitter's waist and he took complete control of her body. He impaled her quicker, harder, and deeper on his dick with each thrust. She yielded to him fully, letting her torso completely fall against the counter.

Tits mashed and slide against the marble, the cold of it seeping rapidly through the thin material of her smock. She felt her nipples crinkle, getting impossibly harder. She bit her lip as she came, hissing through the clenched teeth, "Fffffffffffffffffuck yes!"

She was rewarded by the sound of the doctor's hitched breath. He loved when she came. For all the other stuff that got him hard and out of his mind for her, she knew this was the one that tripped him up the most. Her orgasm.

Hands shaking and fumbling, she managed to undo the cord of the apron that tied behind her neck. She gulped air, struggling against her after tremors, to find her voice again.

"You gonna give me that necklace, Doc?!" she shouted out.

The doctor could only grunt back a confused, "What?" through the haze.

"You better give me what I want. I've earned a fucking pearl necklace and you better give it to me."

"So dirty...such a dirty girl," he groaned back at her, catching on.

"You gonna do it then, Doctor Clark? You going to give me a long string of pearls?"

"So close....got me so close," he groaned.

Mallory spun away from him and down her knees, her apron top flopping down away from her perky teen tits. She grabbed Greg's cock in both hands, her grip sliding easily over it, so slick from her dew.

"Come on now!" she ordered me, "Decorate me, you dirty pervert. Give me my necklace. I deserve everything she gets and more. Cum on me. On my neck and my tits...please."

Greg could do nothing to deny the request, a brief attempt to hold on to enjoy her small, soft hands, quickly evaporated and he was exploding all over where she pointed him. Thick, heavy ropes of pearl indecency violated her perfect skin. She thrust two fingers into her pussy, the heat of his cum so arousing to her.

The doctor dropped to his knees beside her, huffing slightly. She smiled at him, undoing the real necklace, noting it dripping with splatter.

She mock giggled, "Oops," and dragged her pink tongue over each individual white sphere, cleaning them of his essence.

"Thanks for the gift," she added, gesturing to her chest.

He nodded, tongue still thick in his mouth, head foggy.

Mallory continued, tongue loosened in the afterglow, "Love when you get me messy...such a buttoned up man, but so horny he can't stop himself from drenching me."

She caught his eye and smiled wider. "So. Very. Inappropriate," she tsked, "Not the behavior of a family man and upstanding member of society."

Greg finally gathered himself enough to respond, offering a mumbled, almost embarrassed, "We all have hidden sides."

"Mmmhmm, and I do love yours."

She crawled and burrowed into him, resting her head on his still clothed chest. His heart, though slowing, still thumped loudly and rapidly through his skin against her ear. She breathed into their mutual post-sex scent, her fingers mostly unconsciously playing through and rubbing his cum into her skin. As their skin cooled, she burrowed a bit farther into him.

"Cold," she muttered.

"This floor is probably not the best to cuddle on naked."

"Mmm, bed then?" she asked hopefully.

"I was thinking showers."

"Shower?" she offered, dropping the plural.

"Nah, we have multiple bathrooms for just this sort of thing. Well...not this sort of thing. But the need for multiple showers to be taken at once... You understand what I mean."

Mallory giggled into Greg's chest at his befuddlement.

"Anyway, feel free to take the big one upstairs, I'll use the one off the master bedroom," he strongly suggested.

She acquiesced with an indifferent shrug, "Suit yourself."

Surprised—and perhaps a bit disappointed—at how easily she gave in, Greg padded off, clothes awkwardly clutched in hand, to his shower. He turned the faucet on high, the echo of water off the tiles helping to somewhat stall his racing thoughts. He waited until steam began to settle on the cabinet mirrors before stepping under the pelting drops and sighed with contentment at the simple pleasure of a strong stream of hot water thumping against his back.

The doctor's mind seemed clearer, finally. The shower was where he felt most at ease letting his thoughts come and go and he had processed many an event in the various stalls and tubs he had ducked under a head in. At that moment, his mind went to his current predicament, married, two kids. Happily married, in fact, until very recently when he was forced to re-acknowledge his less than vanilla sexual desires. Desires that he had, one could argue, successfully suppressed in the name of a stable home and maintaining a kind partnership marriage. It might have failed to fulfill him fully physically but he had been in denial about for so long, he didn't even notice it. The teen mistress who brought this to light seemed to boast a bottomless sexual appetite and a willingness to apparently do whatever he wanted. She was also his children's babysitter and most assuredly significantly more emotionally involved in this...thing they were doing even as she insisted otherwise.

And then there was him, wanting it both ways, the long-term marriage, seeing the kids without needing to schedule or call ahead, and the lascivious lady on the side to "exorcise" the fantasies Gina, his wife, would never even consider. That was selfish enough. And it successfully ignored the question of his feelings for Mallory. Was she just a dirty mind and mouth, atop an athletic body that demonstrated great enthusiasm for sin or did he, too, have a bit more emotional investment than he intended.

It didn't matter, Greg concluded to himself. If he liked her, loved her, or saw her as just a breathing sex toy, he was still committed to remaining married to Gina and to being the kind of father who lived with his kids, not who got every other weekend, half the holidays, and two weeks in the summer. The only feelings that did matter were Mallory's and the more he saw the more he realized he owed it to her to end things before she became too enamored of him (or her vision of him, anyway) and would be truly hurt by the "break-up."

As he completed the thought, the curtain slid open, bamboo rings clinking against the steel shower rod. Mallory entered, voice full of innocent enthusiasm, "Room for one more?"

"Umm," Greg managed before she wrestled back control once more.

"I know we said separate showers, but then I realized I'm the kind of naughty woman who doesn't give a damn about the rules," she teased, her voice taking on a breathy tone to match the lusty smirk on her face.

Greg's resolution to end things suddenly felt significantly less strong as he dragged his eyes up and down her naked, wet body. Mallory unselfconsciously picked up a bottle of body wash and squeezed a stream into her free hand and rubbed the blue puddle into her chest, sloughing away the doctor's dried cum.

"Goodness, Doc...you keep staring at me like that and I'm not sure I can be held responsible for my actions," she said, catching him. Only the heat induced flush hid the blushing he knew would otherwise be staining his cheeks.

"I...I just..."

"Love my naked body?" she giggled, "Yeah, I know. I bet you'd appreciate getting to see it more. Like mornings when you wake up? On the way out the door for work? Immediately when you get home from a long day at the office?"