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."
