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..."
