The Reawakening of Dr. Clark Ch. 22

"Nobody should be alone on Christmas Eve, Doc," she offered with a tiny smirk.

"I'm quite—I'm quite fine thank you," Greg asserted, suddenly feeling far more boozed up then he had a moment before.

"Mmm...I agree," she teased, her smirk breaking into a full smile.

Greg sighed and shook his head. Sounding tired and a bit sad, he told her, "You should be at home with your family."

"They're already in bed, dreaming and snoring. Besides, they have each other. You're here all alone, in the dark, and that's just not right."

"How did you—," he began before the answer dawned on him, "Oh...Gina."

"Yup. Just cause a certain man of the house is being stubborn doesn't mean that the lady forgets to be nice too. She told me all about the big Christmas Eve plans and how she was visiting her parents in the afternoon and then they'd all come back here together and your parents would be here and wow! Wouldn't that be a great night for the perfect family with the perfect family man," as she detailed this, she couldn't help but let a sarcastic quality creep into her voice as she mention "perfect."

"With the snow, I thought that might happen. Safety first!" she continued with a bit of dramatic aplomb, "Looks like I was right."

Mallory wisely failed to mention how she could have known that Greg came back early, ahead of the storm and he was too stunned too raise that question.

"And I just know how you love the holidays, Doc. How...festive you can get. It'd be a shame to let all the energy go to waste, wouldn't you say?"

The more she spoke, letting teases and digs and innuendo festooned bon mots drip from her lips, the more her confidence rose. It was like a driver retaking the wheel after a car accident. Hesitant and ill at ease at first, increasingly returning to old habits the more the accident faded into memory. Mallory had quickly reached the stage of one handed driving. Not fully confident in her old prowess but certainly well on her way.

The babysitter finally let the blanket slip from her shoulders and pool at her feet. She mock curtsied, giving the doctor a peek at the tiny pair of red panties beneath, "So, lord of the manor, on this late Christmas Eve, nearly Christmas morning, this elf is gladly here to serve whatever Christmas wishes your filthy mind can conjure up."

Greg dumbly replied, "You shouldn't be wearing...that around in—in this kind of weather."

"You don't like it then?" she pouted. "Is it too small? Too short? Too tight? Does it make me look too much like a little slut?"

Between the loneliness of being along on Christmas Eve and the scotch in his veins, Greg's resolve was already weak. Her words went right into his head, tripping neurons and neural transmitters, releasing memories and desires. He swallowed hard and tried to put together a plan of rejection.

Keeping her eyes on him in the dim light, Mallory let her fingers on her right hand "walk" down her body from, from her neck, across her bare shoulders, over her cold and arousal raised nipple, down her exposed stomach, smoothing her skirt. When she reached the hem of the tiny garment, she let her hand drift out, fingers finding and wrapping around the glass of scotch, dripping with cooling condensation.

"Have you been drinking, Dr. Clark?" she asked as she brought the glass upward, "Don't you remember your advice to me about alcohol? You weren't being a hypocrite then, were you?"

She took a long sip, enjoying the feel of the liquid burning a path down her throat before heating her belly. Sure he was watching, the babysitter made sure to languidly lick off a small droplet left perched on the rim on the glass.

"Mmmm," she moaned and returned the glass to its resting spot.

With her left hand, she slipped her fingers just below the fur of the tube top. Greg licked his lips and held his breath, unconsciously leaning forward.

"Oh look," she cooed, moving towards him as she spun a sprig of green in her hand, "Mistletoe."

"Mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it," Greg lamely quoted Batman Returns.

As he heard the words escape from his lips, he cracked, giggling and running his hand over his bald pate.

"God, I'm sorry. That was so lame. I'm just...I've been drinking and you're here and you look...god you look so damn good. And I'm nervous. And I...want things but I can't keep being this—"

"It's okay," she whisper to him, running her nails gently down his lightly stubbled cheek, "Just follow the tradition."

She raised the mistletoe above their head and leaned into him, their lips brushing gently then opening into a deep brief kiss.

"Do I taste like scotch?" she whispered, her voice light and airy, her confidence oddly shaken by the moment and by Greg's stream of consciousness confession.

"You taste like you," he whispered back, placing his hands gently on her for the first time since she arrived, "Now, please, go home."

"I don't want to," she told him, lips still almost touching his, "And you don't want me to."

"No," he confessed, "I don't. Which is why you really have to go."

"Or what?"

"Or else I might...lose control."

She kissed him again in reply. He didn't fight her.

Biting his ear, she pleaded, "Lose control. Use me. Fuck me. Hurt me. I don't care. I just need you again. I need to feel you."

"I can't," he haltingly replied, "I don't want to hurt you. Last time—"

Mallory felt her mask of wanton harlot slip a bit at the invocation of their last encounter. She remembered the bruises, the taste of blood, the anger. More than anything, she remembered the regret and look of fleeting but utter shame on the doctor's face as he ran from her apartment.

"Shh," she soothed, "Don't think about it, Greg. I—we—neither of us were in our right minds that night. We're not those people."

She kissed him again, gently at first, then harder, with hunger and heat. His hands clutched her to him and she could feel him growing harder against her. The sensation left her moaning and blushing with desire. Greg, with great reluctance, eventually pushed her away.

"No. No...stop."

"It's Christmas," she said, locking eyes with him, "You're alone with me, there's a crackling fire, you're a little drunk and it's Christmas. Just be here with me now and worry about the rest later. Let me be your Christmas present."

He still hesitated, the conflict between selfish indulgence and socially normed morality playing across his face.

"Dr. Clark," the coed said, trying another tactic, "Do you see what I'm wearing?"

"Yes."

"Do you like it?"

"I...I do."

"What do you like about it?"

"It's very...jolly?" he joked.

She ignored the attempt, keeping the tension thick, "What else?"

"The skirt," he offered, his voice taking on a thicker, slower quality.

"Why?"

"It's very short. And tight. And I know underneath—"

"Yes?"

"I know underneath you very tiny, very sexy underwear on."

"You're right. They're so tiny. And just soaked. Do you want to feel?"

"...yes."

Mallory took the married father of two's hand and guided it under her skirt. Her eyes rolled upwards as she felt his still cool fingers push the silky fabric more firmly against her sex.

"Do you feel?" she cooed.

"Uh-huh."

"My hot, tight, bare teen pussy is under there. You know what it wants?"

"What?"

"Same thing I want. You. Inside. Fucking me. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, but—"

"Quiet," she interrupted him, "It's rude to not appreciate a gift that someone has spent so long preparing to give you."

They kissed again, this time Greg moving first, one hand deep in her hair, the other still cupping her panty covered mound. Her fingers gracefully found and undid his belt, dropping it to the floor with a metallic clatter of belt buckle on hardwood.

"Are you going to open your present then?" she hissed as she pushed her hips forward, his fingers finding her clit through the barrier of her panties.

Greg nodded, eyes cloudy with lust. With interminable slowness, he slipped his fingers out from underneath her skirt, leaving Mallory whimpering. Then, he moved his hands to her top and began to pull it upward, struggling to be gentle with the tight, non-cooperative fabric.

"Stop being gentle," the teen growled at him playfully, "You don't slip your present out the paper do you?"

"No."

"No," she reiterated for emphasis, "You tear that paper away."

"But—"

"Open your present...your little naughty Christmas elf is getting soooo hot under here."

That little bit of a push was all the encouragement Greg needed and soon the soft green elf costume was lying in ribbons at his babysitter's feet. She stood before him in nothing but her tiny panties, her thigh highs, and her elf boots.

He mumbled something inaudibly to himself.

"What?" Mallory questioned, cocking her head and stepping closer.

"I want you," he confessed, louder this time.

"Mmm...," she moaned lightly in approval, "Of course you do."

Gina tossed and turned in her parents' house, her mind fixated on what the teen was doing to her husband right now at Gina's own request. She reached for her phone and texted Mallory, "Are you there yet?" unsure which answer she really wanted.

Moments passed without a response.

Gina sent another, "I've changed my mind. Not on Christmas Eve...I don't feel good about it. Please don't go over there. Our agreement still stands. Just not tonight."

Still nothing.

With a heavy sigh, Gina flopped back into bed. What was she doing?

Mallory locked her green boots behind Greg's neck as he slid his cock deep inside her. She gasped sharply as he bottomed out, unconsciously clawing at her own breasts. Although it had only been a few weeks, she had missed this like an addict misses that first hit. And the sensation of falling off the wagon was just as potent.

The doctor had wanted to take his time, to extend foreplay, to go down on her, but she wanted none of it. "I need this," she pleaded, "Just fuck me, Doc. Please. I just need to feel full. I want to remember how it feels to your teen slut again."

Greg was powerless against an invitation worded like that. And so he gave in.

Wordlessly, only the sound of their heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire breaking the silence, they yielded to their lust. Greg felt the impossibly wet heat of his babysitter's cunt and fell to the easy adulterer he had tried so hard to avoid relapsing into for a month. Giving up on his morality felt exquisite.

As they gained their rhythm, Mallory allowed herself to begin to vocalize, speaking the dirty words she knew his lust fed on.

"You know you needed this," she half taunted, "You need me to feel good. On top of me, fucking my cunt...taking what belongs to you. You needed this, didn't you? You don't get what you need from her."

Greg only licked his lips and thrust harder in reply.

She continued, "I needed this, too. I can't stop fucking you. No one, nothing, makes me cum like you do, Doctor Clark, sir. Please don't ever deny me your dick again. Please don't take your cock away from me. I'll do anything."

"Just tonight. Let's just...be here tonight," he whispered back, wanting only this moment, trying to push off thoughts of the future, of anything but these sensations in this place and this time.

"And the next night. And the next night. And the next night."

She paused to gulp air, "It's been a long time and I have some very, very dirty thoughts I need fucked right out of my brain, Doctor Clark."

"What...what dirty thoughts?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Oh, you'll see soon enough. Tonight though, I just need you to fuck me hard enough that I'm going to spend all Christmas day tomorrow sore and reminded of you."

He grabbed her legs and pushed them apart in the air, gripping her by the ankles. He slipped out of her as he adjusted his position, kneeling more upright. Quickly catching on, the coed pushed her ass upward and slipped a pillow underneath, tipping her pelvis upward. Allowing himself a smile, he paused with the head of his cock hovering just outside her slick spread lips.

"What are you waiting for, you pervert," she moaned in frustration, "Take what belongs to you. What you've been thinking about every day and night for weeks. Come on and fuck me yo—"

Her next word devolved into a sharp intake of breath as Greg gave her exactly what she wanted. Soon they were just panting and babbling back and forth in simple one to two word bursts.

"So hard."

"God!"

"Such a. Pretty. Pretty pussy."

"Deeper!"

"Oh fuck!"

"More!"

"So wet. So. Fucking. Good!"

"Can't. Won't. Not again. Need this. Need this."

"Close. God. So close. Mallory!"

"Tell. Tell me. I'm best. The best fuck. Ever had."

"Yes. God yes. Oh fuck!"

"Best?"

"Yes, Mal. God yes!"

"I'm. EEE! I'm...fuck. Gonna cum! Cum...cum with...please. Cum now!"

As the orgasm laced through her, producing a gargling scream and sending her into slow undulating spasms, Greg couldn't forestall his climax any longer.

"So sexy, Mal. Gonna cum for you," he proclaimed.

"Don't you fucking pull out," she hissed with sudden intensity, eyes clenched tightly, hands clasping her breasts so tightly, "I need to feel you...feel your filling me."

With a grunt, Greg lost all control, driving himself deep inside her one last time before his cock sprayed inside her, thick and hot.

As they tangled themselves up in one another, the loss of intensity leading to a rapidly encroaching feeling of cold, they playfully pawed at one another twisted into and out of each other's grasps until they were safely spooning inside the heavy, toasty sleeping bag.

"So..." Greg finally began, speaking the words since, "filling me" (or a nonsensical grunt, depending on one's opinion.)

"Yeah..." she whispered back, suddenly very much back to not feeling confident.

"This was...I've got a lot to think about here."

"Don't," she requested, "We both do such dumb things when we start thinking about this, analyzing it. You are attracted to a nineteen year old who watches your kids. I am attracted to a 30-something year old who's married with two kids. Our sex drives match up. What makes us hot seems to match up. Every time we fuck, we both cum as hard as we ever had. If you are thinking beyond that...no good will come of it."

"That's not realistic for me."

She sighed, "I know."

"But tonight though...I'm here. I'll wait til later to figure this out."

"Thank you."

"Mmm...no, thank you. I haven't cum like that since..."

"You fucked my mouth," she whispered, recalling that night.

"....yeah."

"Did it...did it feel good?"

"It...god, I'm sorry, Mallory, but it did."

"It's okay, Greg. Really. When I was fingering myself with your cum in my mouth, begging you, daring you to fuck me again...I came so hard I nearly lost my mind. We...weren't ourselves."

"I...yeah, I hope not."

"Trust me."

"Okay...okay."

They slipped into an uneasy sleep that soon deepened. Some time later, they had dozy spooning sex, quietly, just soft moans and gentle thrusts. Greg slipped free just as he came, a shot of pearl streaks across Mallory's stomach. She liked the feel of it, running her fingers through it as she slipped back to sleep.

When the power came back before five, Mallory bolted awake in response. She had set the alarm on her phone to five, making the decision that this one would be a freebie, something she wouldn't report back, but the power company had beat her to it. And after the night... she wasn't sure how anxious she was to report Greg at all.

She slipped out of the bag and the doctor's arms and stood, stretching. She could indeed feel that pleasant ache between her legs. She bent down and grabbed another piece of wood, resting it on the fire. It would take a little while, she reasoned, for the heat to warm things up.

She took a light jog to Shelly's room and removed a sweat shirt and wind pants from the top shelf, a change of clothes she had left there in case the kids got sick on her or what not. Dressed once more, she returned to the living room, gathered up the strips of her costume and her underwear. Pausing, she reconsidered, slipping them into his jeans pocket.

"Merry Christmas," she whispered.

She texted Gina back, assuring her that the storm was too much to even attempt. Satisfied at her double deception, she pranced out to the street, following the paperboy's footprints to mask her own. She knew this was not the last time she'd be telling Gina she failed when she had been very, very successful.