Need A Little Company (MF, cheat, Fdom, oral, piv, preg, viol)

[HeatAndChills]

Author's Note:

Need A Little Company is a story that explores several themes, but chief among them is the idea of someone ordinary being passionately taken as a sexual partner by a woman well out of their league. I think everyone has that fantasy of not merely sleeping with the sexiest person they know - but having that person seduce them aggressively, like they will go crazy if they can't fuck us. This story tries to explore that fantasy.

There is also a heavy element of using sex for solace, as the characters go through a fair bit of emotional trauma. It also deals with the ideas of being used, sexually; the war between the indignity of it and the raw pleasure, and the way temptation can topple us from our moral high ground.

This is a fanfiction stemming from the movie Cabin Fever, but in truth, it is only really based on a particularly hot sex scene towards the end. The movie's plot is addressed, but what I've really sought to recapture is the wild sexual chemistry that flared up in that all-too-brief scene. I've added a prologue that sums up the movie, which I hope will make the story easier to read.

Be warned: Cabin Fever is a horror movie, and the story makes mentions of some of the gory, traumatic things that occurred within it.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Cabin Fever, or any of the characters in it. Cabin Fever and its characters belong to its creators. I do not make money from the publishing of this story.

Prologue

It’s fall break, 2002. Five friends, Bert, Jeff, Karen, Marcy and Paul make the long drive down to the serene woods of North Carolina where they’ve rented a small, isolated cabin in which to spend their week of freedom.

They’re an eclectic bunch.

Jeff and his girlfriend, Marcy are beyond a doubt the “lookers” of the group. Two pretty people who have found each other and become a couple, as pretty people tend to do. They come across as friendly and accommodating enough, but, scratch away at their surface and you would soon discover their natural shallowness.  If you were to sit and watch them for any length of time, you would soon realize that the constant, affectionate groping of one another is the defining characteristic of their relationship. It wouldn’t take a seasoned detective to realize that these two share a very active sex life.

Bert relishes the persona he projects as a dim-witted goofball. He has a zest for life, he loves to have fun and doesn’t care who he pisses off along the way. Yet despite his carefree exterior, he has an uncanny ability to remain level-headed, even clever, in a real crisis. If you met him on a typical day, you wouldn't place too much confidence in him. But on the day when everything goes to hell, you would see him taking the initiative to do what needed to be done and see it through without complaint.

Karen’s short stature and youthful, cheery face make her the kind of girl people call “cute.” Yet she is not naive. She is more sensible than most people are at her age, yet she has somehow managed to earn her emotional maturity without becoming disillusioned with the world. A keen amateur photographer, she follows her dreams without ever letting life’s little setbacks spoil her optimistic outlook.

Paul is the nice guy who finished last. A childhood friend of Karen’s, who has secretly been enamoured with her from the very beginning. They’ve always been quite close, but much to Paul’s frustration, never in the romantic sense. However, Paul is hoping that this getaway will bring them together and be the beginning of a lifelong, intimate relationship with her. Like Karen, Paul is the kind of guy girls would typically describe as “cute”; he isn’t ruggedly handsome, but he certainly has a boyishly good-looking quality about him.

The group are at first delighted with their quaint rustic cabin and its picturesque surroundings, but their fun comes to a grinding halt on their first night, when a severely ill hobo comes knocking on their door. His face is pockmarked with bleeding sores, his breathing is labored and sickly. He pleads with the group to call for a doctor, but they can’t as there is no phone reception.

The encounter quickly turns violent and the group are forced to kill the hobo in self-defense, but not before Jeff’s pickup truck is crippled in the scuffle.

The following day is filled with tension and silent bitterness as some of the group walk out on foot in search of a means of contacting the authorities, while others stay behind to try and repair the broken truck. Relationships are strained to their breaking point as each member of the group deals with the awful thing they had to do, as well as the knowledge that they had all been exposed to whatever terrible disease the stranger had. As if their situation wasn’t be enough, the group also have to contend with a large, aggressive dog roaming the woods. They had met the dog, named “Dr. Mambo”, and his master earlier in their vacation. But now his master is missing and without someone to reign him in, Dr.Mambo presents a very real danger to the group.

As their second day comes to an end, their worst fear is realized: Karen develops a large, bleeding wound just like the ones they had seen on the hobo earlier: she has been infected. Panicking, the group evict Karen from the cabin and quarantine her in a small tool shed nearby, in the hope that they can avoid the same fate. Fear and suspicion grows between the remaining four who are healthy, and they all try to distance themselves from one another, not willing to risk catching the disease from someone who isn’t showing symptoms yet.

Early the following morning, Bert manages to get the truck working again. The group prepares to leave, but Karen becomes violently ill just as she is preparing to get into the truck: it’s clear that she’s in no condition to travel. An argument ensues and Bert drives off alone in anger, unwilling to wait any longer to get back to civilization.

Jeff storms off into the woods and forbids Marcy from following him. She has been tending to Karen and thus exposed herself to Karen’s infected blood. Jeff scathingly berates her for this compassion, which he considers foolish, and leaves Marcy to her fate. As far as he is concerned, his best chance is to put as much distance between himself and the others as possible.

Marcy, heartbroken, screams out at her now-ex boyfriend as he flees, “ASSHOLE!”

In the wake of the conflict, Paul and Marcy lift Karen on to a mattress and carry her back to the small tool shed she’d been quarantined in, as they don’t have anywhere else to put her.

They return to the cabin. It’s just them now: the last two healthy people around. They are trapped in the middle of nowhere, facing the very real prospect that they will soon succumb to the same gruesome illness that is killing their dear friend, Karen.

Paul joins Marcy in her and Jeff’s bedroom. She is stilling on the bed, staring out the window into the woods.

“We’re all gonna get it,” she tells him with resignation, “We’re all gonna get sick. Jeff’s in the woods, getting drunk.” She is too broken to speak about her cowardly ex with the bitterness he probably deserves.

“No. Bert’s gonna get help. Karen will be fine, I promise,” Paul tries to assure her.

“It’s like being on a plane when you know it’s gonna crash. Everybody around you is yelling and screaming ‘We’re going down! We’re going down!’” Marcy rambles. “And all you really want to do is grab the person next to you and fuck the shit out of them, ‘cause you know you’re gonna be dead soon anyway.”

At first, her words seem absurd, mere gibberish that’s come from an attempt to express her inexpressible fear. But then she turns to look Paul in the eye and with her stern gaze, he knows she means business.

A mad frenzy of flying clothes, passionate kisses and strategic fondling ensues. It happens with a disorienting swiftness. But soon enough, they are both buck naked and Paul is fully erect. Wasting no time, Marcy positions herself on top of him and pins him down to the mattress as she begins grinding away as if there is no tomorrow.

“You don’t use condoms?” Paul asks her nervously, as her hot snatch heaves rapidly to and fro upon his excited rod.

“Don’t worry, I’m healthy,” Marcy briskly counters. She clearly couldn’t care less about the known risks of unsafe sex. She just wants this to happen. She *needs* this to happen. A condom would be a disruption, and seeing as she’s in full control of the situation right now, a disruption is just what Marcy doesn’t need.

She rides away at him like an animal, her fit, voluptuous 21-year-old body heaving gloriously over her seduced prey in what may well be its final dance.

In his excitement, Paul reaches up and grabs Marcy’s back so tightly that it stings her. But Marcy powers through the pain without complaint.

She flings her head back with a gasp as she cums, the frenzy of the encounter rolling back on her in the strength of her climax. Her shuddering body collapses on to Paul and he holds her tightly in an ensnaring embrace as his semen explodes into her inviting sex.

In the aftermath, Marcy makes her way into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. By chance, she notices something in the bathroom mirror: red marks on her back where Paul had grabbed her. Marks that look just a little too angry to be the product of some tight squeezing. Marks that look suspiciously similar to the early stages of the disease that Karen has.

The atmosphere has become uncomfortably quiet in the cabin – even more so than before. Both Marcy and Paul are immediately regretting the one-night-stand. As she sits on her bed once more, Marcy spies Paul walking past the doorway.

“Jeez, Paul, you really did a number on my back!” she complains, perhaps for no other reason than to assure herself that the sores are nothing more than a sex injury.

“I’m gonna go find Jeff and then we’re gonna walk out of here,” he tells her coldly.

“But what about Bert?” Marcy retorts.

“I can’t wait for him any longer, I *have* to get out of here,” Paul insists, conspicuously avoid eye contact with her.

“Paul, what about Karen? Paul??” Marcy cries out the doorway anxiously. He is gone. She is alone.

Marcy draws herself a warm bath. It’s all she can think of to give herself some comfort in this dark hour of shame and danger. No sooner has she settled in to the warm water when the tears start pouring. Marcy is a weeping wreck; a terrified little girl trapped in a real-life nightmare she can’t escape, with no hero to come to her rescue and chase her monsters away.

She picks up a can of shaving cream and a razor and begins to shave her legs. She wants to feel pretty. It might seem absurd to be concerned with such a trivial thing, but anything she can do to make herself feel a little better is most welcome. But without warning, her razor scratches open a large, sickly wound on her calf. There can be no more doubt; she is infected, too.

Panicking, Marcy throws on a bathrobe and runs outside, hoping to find some help. But before she can get too far, she encounters the mad Dr. Mambo. She tries to make it back to the safety of Karen’s toolshed, but the dog is too fast for her. It pounces with a bloodthirsty growl. Marcy screams.


But what if that isn’t what actually happened?

CHAPTER 1

Marcy cried out in terror as she sprang up from the cold, firm mattress. Her entire body was aquiver, her breath ragged as her eyes darted all around the rustic bedroom.

 She had just had the most awful nightmare. A mad dog had been chasing her through the woods. Before she was able to get to safety, it had pounced. The last thing she saw was that mouth full of sharp teeth lunging at her, before she awoke in the serenity of the cabin.

 It took her a moment to get her bearings; to sort the dream from reality. Then she remembered the bath she'd taken, in which she'd opened a huge, diseased wound in her leg while shaving it. Frantically, Marcy flipped on to her back and threw the off-white bed sheet off of the lower half of her body. She almost wept when she discovered that her calves were clean. She checked every inch of the skin for any blemish or rash, but it was all as flawless as ever.

 All the same, she was far from being safe, as she soon remembered. The disease *was* real, and considering her exposure to it, she probably was infected. Quarantined in a small shed nearby, her best friend, Karen, was dying from it.

 The dog from her nightmare was also real, roaming the surrounding forest, primed to lash out at anyone it didn't like the smell of. It just hadn't mauled her - yet.

 Marcy must've dozed off just after having sex with Paul; not surprisingly. She'd been so restless the previous night that she barely got three hours of broken sleep and her fling with Paul had been one exhausting fuck. She'd held nothing back; taking him with a series of rapid, powerful thrusts until well after her thighs were screaming for rest. She pushed herself to make it a damn good screw, because she knew it was probably gonna be her last.

 Her lover was nowhere to be seen. He must've slipped away while she was dozing. Marcy wondered how far he had wandered. Was he still in the cabin? Had he gone out to the shed to check on Karen? Or had he gone off into the forest?

 Looking out the bedroom window, Marcy saw a bush rustling.

 "It might be the dog," she thought to herself. She shivered as she remembered what it had done to her in her nightmare.

 She turned away from the window, afraid of having her fear confirmed. With a sorrowful sigh, she climbed out of the bed. She didn't bother to put any clothes on. The air was a little brisk but she just couldn't be bothered.

 She left the bedroom and visited the nearby bathroom. Part of her mind was still muddled between the nightmare and reality. She remembered finding nasty red marks on her back where Paul had squeezed her while they were going at it, but she couldn't remember whether or not it was real. These were the first symptoms of her sickness and by the end of her nightmare, they'd become rotten pits.

 Anxiously, she turned her back to the bathroom mirror to examine it. She could barely believe it, but there were no suspect marks back there at all. It was a relief, but even with the rot in her back cast away with all the other horrors of her nightmare, her situation was no less dire.

 Forlorn, she left the bathroom with no clear destination in mind. As she stepped out into the hallway, she noticed Paul for the first time. Wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, he was sitting silently at the small table across from the kitchenette, staring out the window and seemingly lost in thought.

 In her nightmare, she'd caught Paul trying to sneak out of the cabin. She confronted him, but she wasn't able to stop him from leaving. That was where it all started to go wrong. She was left all alone and vulnerable. Her body quickly decayed afterwards and with no-one around to help her, she was easily caught and killed by the mad dog.

 Now, it all seemed almost like a warning. If Paul abandoned her like her boyfriend Jeff had, she'd be too vulnerable. They'd be much stronger sticking together; watching each other's back. But judging by the way Paul's gaze was fixed out that window, Marcy got the sense that Paul had different ideas.

 Was he staring at the dusty trail leading back to civilization, all those miles away? Perhaps figuring that it would be better to try making the long trek on foot, rather than wasting away in a cabin, waiting for help that mightn't even be coming?

 Or was he staring at the weathered old tool shed where Karen layed at death's door? Paul loved Karen, Marcy was well aware. He had since they were kids. He'd always been too coy to make a move on her, though. Marcy had easily charmed Paul's manly urges earlier. But now that his passion had run its course, was he filled with regret for what they'd done? Regret for 'cheating' on the girl he loved, while she lay dying no less?

 Either way, whatever he was thinking wasn't good. Not for Marcy.

 She needed to keep him here where he could protect her, before he sucked up the will to get up and leave her to her doom. She knew just how to do it, too: she'd seduce him again. There would be no way of reasoning with him to stick around. Nothing she could say would be compelling enough to accomplish that. But Marcy had more sexiness in one of her long, athletic legs than most women have in their entire bodies. She was pretty in almost an exotic sense. Her breasts were large, natural and astonishingly pert for their size. Her ass was firm and shapely and between them her slender waist completed a perfect hourglass figure. She was a wet dream come to life for a guy like Paul, and she damn well knew it. Once she got him hard again, he'd *need* to be with her.

 Marcy stepped out into the main living area of the cabin. With a subtle, "Hmmm..." she caught Paul's attention. Even though he was clearly making a conscious stand to try to ignore her - to try not to acknowledge his mistake, he couldn't help but gawk at her naked glory for a second.

 "Hey," Marcy greeted in an oddly casual voice.

 Noticeably avoiding eye contact, Paul opened his mouth as if to respond but had nothing to say to her. Without a word, he turned his head to gaze back out the window.

 Unfazed, Marcy strolled calmly over towards the table and sat down on the seat beside him. Her arms were straight by her sides, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wanted to make sure Paul had an unobstructed view of her ample tits as they were by far her main selling point. Now, she was grateful for the bite in the air as the chill actually tightened her skin and made them look even firmer.

 She matched his gaze, staring out the window rather than at him so as not to seem pushy. He was already reluctant. If she came on too strong she might drive him away.

 "That was... that was good," Marcy remarked with an air of pleasant surprise. "Better than I expected. I came pretty hard. I passed out," she remarked with a light chuckle. "Honestly, I didn't think you had it in you."

 *That* caught Paul's full attention. He instantly turned to her with a look of shock. No man could ever shrug off a jibe at his sexual ability. Paul's reaction was practically a reflex action. Marcy all but had Paul in the palm of her hand now. His male ego wouldn't allow him to back down from any opportunity she offered to prove himself.

 "Oh, no offense," Marcy clarified after a taunting pause, pretending as if she'd only just noticed the sharp look of offence in Paul's eyes. "It's just that I've always gotten the impression that you weren't... very experienced," she shrugged.

 He broke eye contact and his gaze sunk in shame, all but confirming that his list of sexual conquests was woefully short. Marcy was tapping her tented fingers together and the motion caught his eye, drawing his gaze right on to her crotch - the silken valley that had caught his gushing seed only minutes earlier.

 "That's okay," she casually brushed off his silent confession. "I had a good time. You're certainly big enough," she complimented. Truthfully, she had been pleasantly surprised by Paul's size. He filled her very well, which was probably why she'd been able to get off so easily on him. "...It was real exciting. And I liked your energy."

 Marcy's compliments seemed to disturb him even more than her light jibes to his manliness. He turned to look out the window again, making a clear effort to ignore her.

 "Hey Paul?" Marcy eventually said, ending an increasingly awkward silence. With an exasperated huff he turned to face her once more. "What do you say we quit fucking around and just do it again?" she asked in a dead-serious tone.

 "Look, Marcy..." Paul began to protest. Again he was distracted by the motions of her fingers, which were now gently stroking her bush back and forth, all the way down to her clit.

 "We can sit here in silence because neither one of us wants to talk about what's happened. We can go off into separate corners, try to ignore each other and just go nuts worrying by ourselves. Or we can have sex and enjoy each other's company," Marcy reasoned. "Well, I know which one's the obvious choice and I don't want to waste any more time acting like I don't."

 Paul was still reluctant, but Marcy's reasoning gave him a moment of pause.

 "Your little friend doesn't seem to think it's such a bad idea," Marcy noted, eyeing off the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans.

 Paul grimaced, betraying the tense internal conflict within. His common sense told him to get up and leave. But his cock wanted her.

 With calm, sensual grace, Marcy leaned over and finished the battle with a single, soft kiss upon his lips. This was precisely how she'd gotten him on board for their earlier indiscretion: just one or two inviting kisses from her warm lips and Paul's hormones were in control, making sex inevitable. This time, it was even easier, because she'd already been teasing him for some time with the sight of her naked body.

 She kissed him again and again as Paul sank back into the seat with surrender. The kisses were soft, yet serious; like the way a chaste 1950s high school girl would've kissed her beau. Each one filled Paul with ten times more anticipation than it did pleasure.

 Marcy's hand found the tent in his jeans and carefully caressed it, making it rapidly grow to the limits of what the denim could contain.

 Life returned to the limp arm that hung by Paul's side. It rose to explore the curvature of her waist and briefly grasp the yielding flesh of her right buttock before it dropped beyond his reach.

 Marcy kneeled before Paul and tended to the brass button and zip of his jeans. His erect member immediately sprang from the opening, as if it had been suffocating inside and desperate for release. With a couple of quick, assertive tugs to the beltline, Marcy pulled the jeans off of Paul's thighs, allowing them to drop easily past his knees.

 Then she wrapped her experienced fingers around his cock and began to work it, treating the sensitive organ with all the tenderness it deserved. But her hand had barely massaged Paul's manhood three times before it left him and her mouth took its place. Marcy simultaneously lapped his exposed cockhead from base to tip with her tongue while her lips enveloped it and sealed around the shaft.

 "Jeez... Oh shit!" Paul gasped as Marcy's attentions made him shudder in seemingly random bursts of excitement. Between his legs all he could see was her comely mane of long brown hair, bouncing up and down in a rhythmic cycle of maddening quick thrusts and deliciously slow ones. Beyond, he had a clear view right down her smooth, tanned back, ending with the shapely twin bulges of her ass.

 As she sucked him off, Marcy was vigorously rubbing her snatch, relishing the thought of Paul's impressive rod filling the lusty void inside her.

 Once Marcy was satisfied that Paul's cock couldn't get any harder, she removed her mouth and began teasingly kissing her way up his body as she rose from the floor. She engaged him once again in some kisses on the mouth as she straddled his lap and pressed her hips against him, sandwiching his erection between their bodies. This time the kisses were open-mouthed and far more passionate. Her wetness dripped on to his balls as her mons writhed against his cock, teasing them both with the prospect of plunging it deep into her hot fissure. Then she raised her hips and guided his shaft with her hand as she descended. He was inside her.

 As Marcy gently rocked her hips back and forth, Paul buried his face in her superb rack. Her boobs yielded against his face like fresh pizza dough. Oh, how he'd wanted Marcy's tits ever since their previous fuck; wanted to hold them, wanted to play with them, wanted to taste them, wanted to know them as intimately as could be.

 His blood had dropped to his crotch like a ton of bricks when Marcy had first removed her bra in front of him. Her sexy proportions had always been apparent, but nothing could've prepared him for the actual sight of her incredible tits. They were like nothing he'd ever seen in porn. Each was a generous handful and then some. He'd seen larger boobs, but none that even came close in terms of pertness. Despite their size, they had barely any crease on their underside; sitting proudly upon her chest like marble sculptures. Even though Marcy had a definite vain side to her personality, Paul had quickly learned that those mouth-watering love pillows weren't the work of a cosmetic surgeon; they were 100% woman.

 Yet he'd barely gotten a few seconds to acquaint himself with those sweet mounds earlier. A brief fondle was all he got before Marcy had him pinned down on the bed. He was forced to watch longingly as they jiggled and shook mere inches from his face, while she rode him to their mutual orgasm.

 Now... now was his chance to finally enjoy these tits. Nuzzling became kissing and kissing eventually became suckling. He adored her right breast with his mouth, while exploring the left with his hand. Marcy, who had been stroking Paul's hair, held his head to her bosom with growing insistence, as her nipples grew hard and her breasts tingled with arousal. Her gyrations intensified in response, while she stimulated her clit manually for maximum pleasure.

 The solid hunk of man-meat inside her was a sheer delight as it shifted within; stroking her, parting her, probing her most erogenous place over and over. Making her feel alive.

 Paul's titty-play grew more primal. He kissed/suckled her with more and more ambitious mouthfuls. He began softly scratching the surface of her breast with his teeth and flicking her erect nipple with his tongue, much to Marcy's pleasure. Even the hot breath he snorted upon her breast excited her a little.

 His timid exploration of her other tit had evolved into a firm massage. The erection of her nipple seemed to make it a point of interest for Paul's fingers and they spent a lot of time touching and rubbing it.

 The hand that had been holding the small of her back for support slipped down on to her butt and guided her coital motions with a tight grasp.

 Marcy's back-and-forth gyrations soon became a lively cycle of up-and-down thrusts. Her teasing assault upon her own clit became almost manic as she raced to beat Paul to the immanent climax. Her panting became precipitous moans.

 In the last moments of their carnal heaves, Paul's lips slipped from Marcy's boob and he nuzzled into it once more, moaning uncontrollably.

 Then, in an instant, he pulled her hips down and pinned them there with an unshakable grasp. His own hips bucked upwards to force his shaft in as deep as possible. His loins pounded viciously as Marcy's womanhood was flooded with Paul's sperm. The shockwaves went right through him, robbing him of his strength until he thought he would black out.

 "Shit, shit, shit..." Marcy whimpered as she hurried to find sweet release before Paul's throbbing organ began to soften. Taking no time to savor the pre-emptive tingle, she kept masturbating until her pussy spasmed, hard. Paul's hot load was still in full flow.

 "Oh fuck, yeah. Oh fuck, yeah," she softly panted, as the ecstasy washed through her like a drug in her bloodstream. It was a perfect instant, with no disease or killer dog, no grief or guilt from selfish indulgence. No sense of time - no future full of awful likelihoods or consequences of bad choices. Just the blissful insanity of hot sex. Her body was like a knot tightened around the most wonderful thing conceivable: rock-hard maleness; and there was no world beyond that coital union.

 But all too quickly the climax burnt itself out and suddenly the disease was in her world again, as was the killer dog and the unsettling emptiness and quiet of the cabin. Yet she was also aware of the warm body beneath her, who, like herself, was numbed with post-coital contentment. She didn't feel as lonely as she had before. Marcy rested her heavy head on Paul's shoulder. With what little strength they could muster, Paul's arms rose to embrace her and hold her close.

 They rested there together, with Paul's flaccid cock still inside Marcy's quivering sex and caught their breath in near silence.

 Many minutes later, Marcy left Paul's embrace and he made no attempt to keep her. She slid down on to the floorboards. Gently parting his legs with her hands she leaned in and slowly cleaned his wet dick with her mouth. For a brief moment their eyes met as Paul gazed down at her with an incredulous stare. He couldn't believe the treatment he was receiving.

 She licked and sucked every inch of Paul's cock until she'd removed every trace of their mixed fluids. Then she cleaned it again, and again, and again. Paul simply relaxed and lazily stroked her hair as the last shreds of his will to resist left him for good.

 Marcy began to tenderly fondle his scrotum with her hand as she continued fellating him. Had her mouth not been full, she would've smiled at her victory. She may have been kneeling before him, but that didn't matter because she was also the one who had him by the balls.

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 2

Marcy was patient. She had nowhere better to be, after all. Besides, sucking Paul's dick wasn't exactly an unpleasant use of her time. Marcy loved cock; simple as that. She loved having it push through her labia when it was all moist and open, loved feeling it pounding away inside her. But she also enjoyed playing with it with her hands and mouth.

 She didn't make any particular effort to arouse him. She knew the little fella would wake up in his own time. She simply ran her lips all around the spent member as slowly as could be, basically giving it a neverending French kiss. Periodically, she'd take the head into her mouth and made a point of probing his urethra with the tip of her tongue.

 Eventually, Marcy noticed that Paul's cock was growing. When it began to stiffen, she finished the leisurely oral massage and gave him a proper blowjob. At a far more serious tempo, she drew the length of his swelling organ in and out of her mouth, while never letting the head escape her lips.

 But once he was at full attention, Marcy promptly quit the blowjob and stood up. Paul glared at her with confusion.

 She grabbed his erect maleness firmly and pulled on it as hard as she could without hurting him. Paul had no choice but to get up and follow her hand.

 "Come on," she instructed in a matter-of-fact tone. "It isn't comfortable here. I want to go back to the bedroom."

 True enough, Marcy led Paul back to the scene of their first coital foray. Her grasp upon his rod didn't loosen at all, leaving him with no choice but to follow her. Although, their brief trip gave Paul a chance to watch Marcy's cute butt in motion, which was stimulating, to say the least.

 When they stood at the side of the disrupted bed, Marcy gently pushed Paul on to the mattress. He looked up at her longingly. By now there was nothing left of him beyond his primal craving for the embrace of her hot pussy. Marcy had broken his will - smothered all his worries about their peril, about his beloved Karen, with two D-cup pillows of the most supple feminine flesh. He was resigned to staying in the cabin with Marcy, awaiting his fate, whatever it would be, in a decadent cocktail of semen, vaginal fluid and sweat.

 She climbed on top of him and almost immediately plunged her slick womanhood on to his rigid meat. They began to writhe together and quickly developed a rhythm that maximized the sensation of Paul penetrating her. They wrapped their arms around each other and held tight, hungry for the many sensual pleasures of the other's body.

 Being their third fuck inside an hour, neither of Paul nor Marcy had the energy for a rerun of their last round in this bed. Yet their resolve to enjoy themselves burned hotter than ever before.

 Paul grabbed Marcy's ass and squeezed harder and harder until it started to hurt her. Yet even then it was far more of a turn on for her than a turn off.

 Her head was slumped over his left shoulder; all her energy was concentrated in her frisky hips. Every time Paul thrust into her, Marcy moaned quietly into his ear, making him want her more and more.

 Their faces were so close together, yet they hesitated to kiss. Some part of them still remembered that their relationship was nothing more than polite; that sleeping together was wrong, even though it felt so good. But that lingering reluctance could never last in air so thick with the odors of their throbbing sexuality. Paul wavered first. He began mouthing her shoulder, delighting in the taste of her perfect skin. Then he moved up to the side of her neck, drawing a hearty, "Oh Yeah!" from Marcy with his hungry kisses. Eventually, their lips snapped upon one another, like a fish lunging upon that all-too-convenient bated hook that teases its senses until it can't take it anymore. Their tongues went wild, playing with each other, exploring each other's mouth.

 Paul rolled over on top of Marcy and she didn't have the strength to resist. The springs of the quaint old bed began to squeak loudly as he powerfully humped her pelvis into its mattress. He raised his head, his breath heavy and ominous as he lost himself in the sublime caresses of Marcy's womanhood.

 "Wait," Marcy suddenly protested. Paul didn't react.

 "Wait, Paul!" she insisted in a louder voice. She held his belly back just firmly enough to impede his thrusts and get his attention. "Are you about to cum?"

 Paul simply looked down at her with guilty look in his eye. He was still thrusting back and forth, still sampling her delights, but very gently as if he hoped she wouldn't notice him taking the liberty.

 "Jeez, Paul, don't be so selfish!" Marcy sternly chided him. "Give me a chance to get there, too!"

 As an afterthought, she pushed him off of her more forcefully and Paul grudgingly backed off, removing his ardent maleness from her hot opening.

 "Lay down," Marcy commanded in a contrastingly warm tone, patting the mattress right beside her invitingly. Paul did as he was told, taking the intermission to reach over and fondle one of her incredible boobs. Marcy didn't resist.

 She rolled over on to her side, turning her back to him and giving him another great view of her tight little ass. Once her tit slipped out of his grasp, his hand ventured south to caress one of those enticing buttocks and the sexy, long thigh beneath it. Marcy backed her hips up so that her ass was almost touching him.

 "It's better this way," she explained, knowing that the different angle would give the most erogenous parts of her pussy the best contact with Paul's cock. She reached between her legs and found the virile shaft that she knew was waiting for her. Her loins were buzzing with excitement, aching for that prize to fill them once more; to ravage them with its merciless pounding. Yet Marcy kept her cool, guiding it calmly to her slit, and then shifting her hips just enough to take his cockhead inside.

 "Okay, fuck me!" Marcy said in a voice that was both slutty and sweet all at once. "But don't rush!" she added in a far more serious tone.

 Paul hardly needed the former instruction, but the latter came as a sobering reminder. With his hand now firmly locked upon her hip to hold her steady, he began to thrust against her, gently, then with added vigor. He increased his pace at an almost imperceptible rate, watching for any cue of disapproval from Marcy. Eventually he plateaued at a pace that was immensely pleasurable, but also didn't feel like it would push him towards a quick orgasm. If he wanted to be more energetic, his fear of having Marcy pull away from him again kept those urges in check.

 Her moans of arousal were music to Paul's ears. Like a metal detector, the louder those chimes sounded, the closer he knew he was to striking the mother lode. "Mmm... Oh yeah..." she sighed. "Is it good for you?" She asked him mindlessly. Was it ever!

 His other hand slipped beneath her and latched on to her right breast; that ample bundle of warm, supple flesh that filled his entire grasp with its splendor. He kneaded and massaged it; made love to it with his hand. He enjoyed it almost as much as Marcy's snatch. He pulled her entire torso closer to him, wanting every single part of her perfect body more and more with each passing second. He buried his face into her long brown hair and drank in its odor. That subtle lingering scent of shampoo, or maybe even perfume consumed yet another of his senses. In every way, he was fully immersed in feminine sexuality. It was heaven.

 While Paul's firm cock constantly probed her tender flesh, Marcy rubbed her clit with firm, circular strokes. Her nether regions were brewing with excitement. Her body felt so hot, it was like she had been in a sauna for the past hour. She was gonna get her money's worth out of this screw, no doubt about it.

 Suddenly, she felt Paul's fingers encroaching on to her mons. They assertively continued southward, pushing her own fingers out of the way. Without words, Paul told her that he wanted to take over her masturbation; he wanted to be the one to make her cum. It surprised Marcy, but also excited her more than a little. Grudgingly, her fingers surrendered her nub to him.

 Now completely at Paul's mercy, completely ensnared in his lusty embrace, Marcy moaned and writhed her way to ecstasy. Paul's stimulation of her clit was instantly firmer and more rapid than the caresses she'd left it with. It was an immensely pleasurable shock to her system.

 His thrusts had become quite vigorous. The sensations within resounded through her body like she was a church bell being rung over and over by his hard clapper.

 "Oooooooooooooooh..." Marcy moaned with rapidly growing volume as she careened into the home stretch. Within a few moments, she came, very loudly.

 "Ah! Ah! Ah!" she yelped, as Paul continued to pound her seizing cunt. Heeding her earlier warning, Paul had been restraining himself, not knowing how close Marcy had truly been to climax. He had enough resistance to be able to torture her with a continuing series of deep penetrations, perhaps even a dozen, while she was well into a powerful orgasm.

 But the squeeze of her tight corridor inevitably broke him. He finished masturbating her; using the hand on her crotch to hold her loins in place while he pressed himself into her butt and angled his hips to maximize his penetration. He continued to gyrate, if only mildly, as he spilled his wild oats into Marcy's lithe young belly.

 The trembling and writhing waned into virtual motionlessness. The primal cries and grunts faded into heavy panting; and eventually even that gave way to an eerie silence. Within minutes the room was deathly still. The two illicit lovers still locked in their carnal embrace, their exhausted sexes still joined. The only signs of life between them came from Paul's hands: one ever so tenderly cradling the voluptuous breast it had found earlier, the other slowly tracing the crease between her crotch and left thigh.

 Marcy's neat little crop of pubic hair was like the Turin shroud for a guy like him: a profound sight to gaze upon, but something he'd never dare dream of ever touching. Yet against all natural laws, here he was, with those holy strands coursing across his fingers over and over again. It was, in its own way, a religious experience - a way of holding on to the heaven she'd taken him to minutes earlier.

 He may never have had a crush on Marcy; never pined away for her as he watched her pressing against some other guy. But realistically, to look at Marcy was to want her. He might never have thought about it, but deep down, part of him had wanted to blow his load inside her amazing body since the first time they'd met.

 Laying there upon that disarrayed old bed, her most intimate areas locked in the clutches of her lover, exhausted and satisfied. Maybe Marcy drifted off to sleep, maybe she didn't. It wasn't clear how much time had passed, but the next thing she was aware of was a noise that sounded like a diesel engine. It was so distant that at first she thought it was just a dream and the fact that it disappeared only a couple of seconds later seemed to suggest that she had indeed imagined it.

 But then she heard another noise: it sounded like a vehicle door slamming. This time, she was definitely wide awake. Soon after, she heard the sound of a man's voice.

 Instantly, Marcy lifted her head off the pillow and listened intently.

 "Paul," she whispered. "Did you hear that?"

 She turned her head to look at him. She could tell from the way his head was raised that he had also heard the noises.

 Another car door slammed and there was more talking. Marcy could judge the distance now: it was no more than 50 yards away.

 "Oh my god!" she muttered as she suddenly sprang to life and scrambled frantically out of Paul's clingy embrace before he even had the chance to release her himself. She jumped out of the bed and tore out into the living room with Paul following close behind. The flashes of red light intermittently illuminating the living area made it clear that somebody had come.

 "Oh my god!" Marcy repeated with a sense of astonishment, as she gazed out the cabin's front window to see an ambulance parked just beyond the tool shed.

 "Shit!" Paul muttered, standing just behind her. "Bert did it! He got help!"

 Marcy's sense of relief was short lived, for all too quickly the realization of what she had done over the past couple hours sunk in. The cheating; the selfishness of abandoning her best friend, Karen, to a dark and lonely fate; the simultaneous betrayal, by seducing the guy Karen had feelings for; the trashiness of pouncing on some other guy mere minutes after her boyfriend turned his back on her, not to mention the trashiness of fucking a guy simply because he was the only guy available; the sheer depravity of forcing herself on Paul, who sincerely tried to resist her, to stay true to his principles, at least at first. Not to mention the real risk that she had passed the killer disease to Paul, or perhaps vice-versa, because she was too impetuous to go fetch a condom.

 It was like a bad joke, how everything seemed to turn on a dime. When there was no hope; when their love-bed was also to be their death-bed, nothing they did seemed wrong. But now... now that they were saved, now that there would be a tomorrow, a next week, a next year... now that she would have to live with the knowledge of how she'd behaved, the sleaziness of it all became all too apparent.

 She could feel the remnants of her transgressions all across her body. Her right breast and mons still tingled from the post-coital fondling Paul had been giving them mere seconds ago. Her back, especially her ass was warm from where he had been pressed up against her. She could even feel his heavy deposit of semen clinging to the walls of her sex. She felt it because she knew it was in there. Like Eve who ate of the forbidden fruit, Marcy had realized how naked she was and suddenly felt so deeply ashamed.

 "Oh, fuck!" she cursed, as she spied the two paramedics marching briskly towards the cabin. In a panic, she covered her exposed breasts and crotch with her hands, whirled around and charged back to the bedroom, almost pushing Paul over in the process. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! They can't see me like this!"

 No more eager than Marcy to be caught with his pants down, Paul briskly marched over to the kitchen table to fetch the jeans that she'd tenaciously removed from him earlier.

 "Paul, you fucking better be getting dressed!" Marcy barked at him as loud as she dared. Paul simply rolled his eyes and scowled in silence, resisting the temptation to curse back at her.

 "Here! Put this on!" she ordered, as she chucked his sweater out into the living room. It landed on the couch.

 Hastily buttoning and zipping his jeans as he went, Paul dashed back into the living room area and grabbed the sweater. Just as he began putting it on, a loud urgent knocking rapped on the rickety front door. His heart was racing as he pulled the top down over his head and body.

 Without waiting for any kind of 'ready' signal from Marcy, Paul stepped over to the door and opened it to greet their saviors: a tall male paramedic with a thick goatee and his middle-aged female colleague. Just then, Marcy briskly padded back into the room, dressed once more in the tight mauve sweater and jeans she'd been wearing earlier in the morning. Her arms were folded tightly against her bust to try to hide the fact that she hadn't had time to put her bra back on.

 "We got a report that a woman here was seriously ill?" The male paramedic declared in a no-nonsense tone.

 "Uh, yeah... She's down here. C'mon!" Paul responded, stepping past the man and breaking into a jog as he led them to the shed where Karen laid, waiting for their medicines.

 Just like that, the affair was over. Passionate, forbidden, unbridled: it had begun in an instant, and been quashed just as swiftly. 'Normal' life had resumed, though it now offered a real hope of overcoming their peril, which they hadn't had beforehand. Yet even though they were able to behave as if nothing had happened, the knowledge of what they had shared alone in that cabin, with all its bitter shame and sweet ecstasy, was burned permanently into both of their minds.

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 3

Author's Note: This chapter is just plot bridge with no sex. Sorry.

The tears streamed silently down Marcy's cheeks as the glossy black casket descended into the earth. While members of Karen's immediate family broke down in grief, Marcy maintained a stoic dignity.

 A stereo set up near the grave played a heartwrenching female folk band rendition of "Too-ra Loo-ra", a song that Karen's maternal grandfather apparently used to lull her off to sleep with when she was very young.

 It was a tragic outcome to a long, painful battle against the horrible disease she'd contracted in those backwater woods. After more than two weeks in intensive care on a course of aggressive antibiotics, Karen finally seemed like she was on the mend. But within a week her condition began to deteriorate rapidly once more. Within 36 hours of the disease's resurgence she had lapsed into a coma. Within another 12, she was gone.

 Everyone else had mercifully been spared the brunt of the contagion. Bert had begun to show lesions and weeping sores by the time he'd found help. But even he had received treatment early enough to prevent the virus from doing serious organ damage. He'd been discharged from hospital two weeks ago, having lost a frightening amount of weight.

 Marcy, Paul and Jeff were all started on the antibiotic medication immediately after they were rescued. Marcy's bloodwork later revealed that she, too, had been infected. But seeing as she never developed symptoms, it seemed all but certain that her infection had been cured before it had a chance to do any damage. She had no idea whether Paul or Jeff had tested positive. She hadn't seen or spoken to any of the group since they were rescued. Until today.

 One by one, those closest to Karen stepped up to the edge of the grave and tossed a white rose onto the coffin. Marcy dabbed her moist eyes and cheeks with a small, white handkerchief as her turn approached. She stood up and walked over to the officiator, who was holding a basket full of the flowers.

 "Thank you," Marcy softly acknowledged, as she collected a rose.

 Pausing for a moment by the grave side, Marcy sighed. Her fingers absently stroked the stem of the rose, hesitating to commit that all too final gesture of casting it into the cold, dark hole for eternity.

 "I'm sorry," she whispered to the memory of her departed friend, perhaps even her ghost, before finally letting the rose slip from her fingers.

 Even if they'd overheard her, nobody would've understood what she really meant. Nobody except Paul.

 Marcy turned and made her way down the aisle, vacating the grave side for the next mourner who wished to pay tribute: Ella, another of Karen's college friends. Behind the seats other attendees were beginning to gather in clusters, but Marcy drifted into an open area some distance away from any of them. Now that the funeral was all but over, she needed some time to gather her thoughts; to process the surprising impact the service had had upon her.

 An hour ago, life had seemed so simple. For all its grief and regret, it was nonetheless simple.

 She had made up her mind that she would have an abortion. It would be a quick, simple solution, and then she could put this whole awful ordeal behind her once and for all and try to get on with her life.

 But then when she saw the coffin, when Karen's death became real to her - suddenly things didn't seem so simple anymore.

 There was this part in the eulogy where the priest said, "Let us rejoyce for the life Karen led: a happy life surrounded by her loving family and friends." It really struck a chord with Marcy.

 When Karen first showed signs of the infection, all her friends, Marcy included, turned on her and banished her from their comfortable cabin to a lonely little toolshed. Instead of comforting Karen when she was at her worst, Marcy was elsewhere finding diversion in some casual sex.

 Throughout the funeral, the tragedy of it all resonated with Marcy. Such a bright young life cut short. Yet at the same time, there was the stirrings of a new life within her womb. A life spawned from the seed of Karen's would-be boyfriend, no less. Quite possibly, the child Marcy was carrying may well have been a child that Karen herself may have one day had with Paul, had she lived.

 There seemed to be a cosmic, perhaps even divine balance to it all: one life being made in that cabin at the same time another was slipping away just outside. Having to carry the child almost seemed like it was the due Marcy had to pay for her appallingly selfish behavior. She began to suspect that if she didn't play her designated part in this exchange, if she didn't bring this child in to the world, her conscience would never truly be clear.

 She still didn't want to have a baby. But now she felt like she *had* to see this pregnancy through.

 On top of everything else going on right now, this realization was the last thing she needed. Marcy was traumatized from her own brush with death, still tender from her breakup with Jeff and in mourning for her best friend. Looking forward to a fresh start was the only thing she had to keep her going. Now that it seemed her immediate future would be consumed with the burdens of pregnancy, it felt like her whole world had just come crashing down.

 She felt so alone right now. Nobody knew about the baby, nobody knew what she was going through. All she wanted was for somebody to hold her and tell her everything would be all right.

 Ordinarily, she would've turned to Karen or even Jeff for solace in such a crisis. But Karen was dead and Jeff wasn't welcome here. Word had gotten out about his cowardly escape from the cabin - how he ran away like a little girl, leaving Karen, Paul and Marcy to rot. Karen's family were apparently livid with him, as were most of the people grieving here today. Marcy asked herself whether she would even want Jeff's hollow comfort right now, considering how he abandoned her before. She even surprised herself when she realized the answer was, "yes." Things were *that* bad.

 Dabbing the steadily-flowing tears from her eyes with a handkerchief, Marcy raised her head for the first time since leaving the graveside and surveyed the cemetery landscape.

 A lot of familiar faces; a lot more unfamiliar ones. Across the throng of black-clothed mourners, she spied Paul standing with his parents and younger brother. Karen had long been a friend to not only Paul, but his whole family, so they had all attended together. The very sight of him made her squirm.

 He was the "old shame". It was bad enough that she had his child inside her. Seeing him again, today of all days, was about as uncomfortable a situation as could be. Of course, Marcy knew that Paul was sure to come to the funeral, but she still wasn't prepared to see him again. Yet, even with all the awkwardness between them, even with the way her stomach sank when she looked at him, Marcy had to admit to herself that she'd even welcome some comfort from Paul right now, were it an option.

 Part of her cursed her own foolishness for even thinking such a thing. "Getting some 'comfort' from Paul was how you got into this mess," she reminded herself. But another part of her couldn't help but admit that those last couple of hours in the cabin with Paul *were* actually quite pleasant, considering the circumstances. He was, by nature, a kind guy and even though he was clearly reluctant at first, he had shown her a great deal of tenderness during their brief affair.

 A fresh wave of tears spilled from Marcy's eyes. "I could sure use some of that tenderness now," she thought to herself. She recalled how, when Bert and Jeff had left them, Paul sought her out in her bedroom, with only the purest intentions of raising her spirits. She lamented how unlikely he was to make such an overture to her now.

 The more she dwelled on it, the more she managed to convince herself that she was wrong, that kindness like Paul's wasn't so easily turned off. Perhaps it was her knack for reading people, or perhaps her desperation was blinding her to reality, but Marcy suspected that there was compassion for her in Paul. It just needed to be coaxed out from behind the resentment.

 Almost all at once the gathered mourners began to migrate towards the cemetery parking lot. Karen's parents were hosting a reception back at their house. Marcy, like most of the out-of-towners, had been given a ride to the funeral from their motel by locals. Karen's next door neighbors had driven Marcy and Ella to the funeral. It was understood that they would likewise ferry the girls to the reception afterwards.

 Marcy met up with Trevor and Fay, the neighbors, beside their silver Volkswagon. Ella straggled for a few minutes, but nobody minded waiting. If nothing else, it gave the congestion in the parking lot a chance to clear.

 The drive to Karen's family home was understandably quiet. Marcy used the quiet time to figure out precisely how she could appeal to Paul's softer side. Her main obstacle, of course, would be the fact that Paul was probably determined to ignore her so he could just pretend their fling had never happened. She would need to grab his attention.

 The street was already crowded with parked cars on both sides by the time they arrived. Trevor pulled in to his own garage and together he, Fay, Ella and Marcy walked over to the two-story house next door.

 It was uncomfortably crowded the instant Marcy stepped through the front door. Crowded, but also disturbingly quiet for such a large gathering. For a while, Marcy was intimidated by the thought of putting her plan into action around so many people, but she soon decided that the crowds would only make Paul easier to coerce.

 She spent about fifteen to twenty minutes making the obligatory "Hello, how are you?"s and other solemn small talk to acquaintances and strangers alike, frequently keeping tabs on her quarry. It wouldn't be seemly for a friend as close as Paul to leave quickly, but all the same, Marcy didn't want to risk him suddenly disappearing. She spied him numerous times across crowded rooms, but not once did he look over at her. As she suspected would be the case, he was obviously trying to ignore her.

 Then she made her move. Paul had just finished a brief conversation with some other guy. The time was right.

 Calmly moving along a seemingly organic path through the room, she snuck up on him from behind his right shoulder. If he didn't see her coming, he couldn't try to escape.

 "Hi," she greeted with no false vulnerability in her voice. As hopeful as she was, Marcy was well aware that her chances of receiving any kindness from Paul weren't good.

 She made sure to stand so close to him that he couldn't possibly pretend he hadn't heard her, which isn't to say he didn't try for a second or two.

 "Hi," he curtly replied, turning to make eye contact if only for an instant. His polite manner only barely failed to mask the coldness he felt towards her.

 "How are you?" she asked.

 "Fine," he replied after a tense pause.

 "Good. That's good," Marcy said quietly, nodding to herself. "I never heard from you after we left the cabin. I was surprised you never called." Of course, in reality, Marcy had thanked god every day that had passed without a phone call from Paul. She'd hoped that he'd been savvy enough to recognize the no-strings-attached nature of their dalliance. But she knew that hooking up with nice-guy types like him always came with the risk that they'd try to turn a bit of fun into an unwanted romance.

 Paul twitched noticeably at the mention of him calling her.

 "Really?" he replied, revealing how much of an effort it was for him to remain composed with the quiver in his voice. Marcy could tell that he was utterly appalled by the suggestion that he was obligated to call her. That was good; it meant that Paul was off-balance now, which meant that her plan was working. From here on, her fragile appearance became an act, because in reality, she began to feel more confident and in control with every passing second.

 "Well, yeah," Marcy said. "After the way we took care of each other when things got really bad, I just assumed you'd want to check up on me."

 "Are you fucking kidding me?" Paul snarled at her in a whisper, turning to stare her seriously in the eye for the first time.

 "Oh, okay. So that's how it is, hmm?" Marcy replied with a quivering lower lip, giving the impression that she was mere seconds from a complete emotional breakdown. "I was good enough when you needed to feel good in the cabin, but now that you're finished with me..." she began, raising her voice more and more with each word until she was almost loud enough for her tirade to be heard by everyone around.

 "Shit!" Paul cringed in sheer disbelief, gesturing at her with his hands to "please shut up." Gazing at him with misty, doe-like eyes, she grudgingly obliged - for the moment. Looking around, he said to her, "Let's find somewhere we can talk." Peering through an archway that led into the house's dining area, he soon noticed a french door that seemed promising. "Alright, come with me," he ordered her in a hushed voice.

 Slowly and calmly so as not to draw attention to themselves, they navigated their way across the rooms, between the throng of mourners. After the first few steps Paul actually turned around to make sure Marcy was indeed following him. The risk of her flying off the handle and airing their dirty little secret, instead of talking her issues out with him in private clearly had him worried.

 Despite her sniffles and distraught appearance, Marcy was secretly delighted that Paul had taken her bait. It was a calculated, but dangerous strategy. She didn't want their sordid affair to become public any more than he did. On top of everything else, the scorn she'd face from her friends and family if they knew what she'd done while Karen laid dying would be too much to bear. Luckily, he had, as she'd hoped, cut her off before she'd said too much. All the same, her heart was pounding with fear. Or was it excitement?

 She'd managed to get Paul's attention and that was a victory of sorts. But she knew she was now headed for a fight, and she really, really wasn't in the mood for that right now. Still, she was confident that if she handled it just right, Paul would accept her and be there for her. It may not have made any sense, but with each passing minute of drifting through that maudlin funeral atmosphere she'd grown more and more desperate; desperate for someone to be there for her, even if it was just for a little while.

 Upon reaching the french door, they stepped out into the back yard. There were a couple other guests at the far end of the yard; too far to overhear a normal conversation. All the same, Paul led Marcy over toward a corner near the back fence, just to be safe. Now finally alone, they stood, a couple of yards apart, in tense silence. Eventually, Paul turned to Marcy and glared at her with a scowl of outrage on his face.

 "What?" Marcy asked, sounding offended by his attitude.

 "Are you fucking insane?" he asked in a calm voice.

 Marcy looked horrified.

 "We're at a fucking funeral, for crying out loud and you just start..." Paul said.

 "What the fuck was I supposed to do?" Marcy cut him off. "It's been a month, Paul, and I haven't heard anything from you. I didn't know if you were alive or dead. I... not a single fucking word?" she ranted in a hushed voice.

 At first, Paul just shook his head in disbelief.

 "I don't believe this. You can't be serious! Did you really think I would call you after... what happened in that cabin?" he asked.

 "Yes, Paul!" Marcy stated, firmly. "I did! That's what a considerate guy does after he sleeps with a woman; he calls her! *Especially* if he knows she's been exposed to a motherfucking flesh eating disease and he doesn't know if she's gonna live or die! He calls, to make sure she's okay, to let her know he cares about her. He doesn't just use her and then act like..."

 "Oh, that is bullshit! That is bullshit!" Paul angrily cut her off. "I used you? You were the one who fucking used *me*!" he insisted. "You came on to *me*!"

 "I used you?" Marcy repeated after a tense pause. Her eyes bore a look of shock, her lower lip was quivering. "Well, that's strange because the way I remember it, you were pretty fucking into it."

 Paul had no retort for that. He couldn't deny that he had succumbed to the temptations of Marcy's voluptuous body when they were presented to him. He couldn't deny that he displayed just as much raw passion in their sexual encounters as Marcy. Nor could he deny that, on a purely physical level, he'd found each of those encounters incredibly pleasurable.

 His face began to flicker between looks of anger and looks of shame like a light with bad wiring, while he staggered around in a meaningless pattern. It seemed like half of him just wanted to run away from this argument, while the other half wanted to slap Marcy for the confronting thoughts she was bringing up. Marcy herself looked to be on the verge of bawling her eyes out, yet at the same time was watching Paul keenly, waiting for him to lash out at her again.

 Eventually, he spoke in a calm voice.

 "You... You *have* to know that it was wrong, right? You have to know that coming on to me... that having sex, while Karen was outside *dying*, was fucking messed up, don't you?" he asked.

 Marcy looked at him incredulously.

 "Well of course I know it was messed up, Paul!" she replied. Now the tears began to flow thick and heavy. "What kind of bitch do you take me for? It's been eating me up alive what we were doing while Karen was out there sick. It was a stupid mistake! I don't know why it happened! But it did happen, and it was a mistake we made together!"

 The accusation in Paul's eyes faded as Marcy pointed these things out. He was the pot in this mess, he had no right to call the kettle black.

 "God, everything's just so messed up," Marcy continued, turning away from Paul and staring at the empty sky beyond the yard's back fence as she wiped her eyes. "All the questions, all the blood tests, the worry... and now Karen's dead," she said, choking up at the mention of Karen's name. "And all these people who want to talk about it and keep telling you that it's okay now. But it isn't! They don't know. None of them know. I can't tell anyone that we spent the last hour in the cabin having sex."

 She was starting to become incomprehensible at times because she was weeping so heavily.

 "I thought at least you would understand. But even you just want to treat me like a piece of shit!" Marcy told him.

 As much as she wanted to turn to see if that remark brought a twinge of guilt to Paul's face, she didn't. She knew that if it looked like she was pandering for sympathy, she was almost certain not to get it.

 "Oh, who am I kidding? I am shit!" she declared. "I'm sorry, Paul. Sorry... for everything."

 Whatever Marcy was holding back, she let loose now. Her entire body shook as she wept openly. She could feel herself beginning to slip into a terrifying emotional pit of guilt, grief and worry about the future, particularly regarding her pregnancy. She'd let virtually every bad thought that had been stocked up in her mind loose, using them as ammunition to win Paul's sympathies. But she was far from immune to the poignant reality of her own words; admitting her failings and vulnerabilities cut into her just as deeply as they did to Paul. She hadn't anticipated just how painful the argument was going to be.

At this point all she could do was silently pray that her gambit would pay off. Because it genuinely felt like she was about to have a nervous breakdown unless someone caught her, soon.

 A hand came to rest gently upon her shoulder as she wept. Suddenly, she didn't feel like she was sinking anymore; she was still in a very low place, but she was rising. Pressing her advantage, she spun around and buried her face in Paul's shoulder.

 "Oh god, Paul. I miss her so much!" she cried.

 Paul's arms tentatively encircled Marcy until she was wrapped in an awkwardly light embrace. It took several minutes, but ever so gradually, the loose embrace became a tight hug. She continued to weep for a long time, but her thoughts weren't for poor Karen, or her regrettable fling in the cabin, or even the fruit it had borne. Instead, she was privately reveling in the fact that she wasn't alone. Never mind the future, right here, right now, somebody was with her, supporting her; somebody cared about her. She wasn't all alone and as absurd as it may have seemed, that notion made her virtually forget all her troubles.. Sometimes it felt like the tears she were crying were actually tears of joy.

 Paul held her until she was almost completely cried out.

 Then suddenly, something unbelievable happened. At first, Marcy thought she was mistaken. But it soon became apparent that something was pressing into her through her skirt: a large bulge in Paul's pants that was growing longer by the second. Marcy gently backed away from him and looked downward to see Paul's formal pants tented to their limit.

 Perhaps it was the mental revisiting of their unbridled sexual encounters, or perhaps it was the sensation of once again being pressed against the warm body that had once given him so much pleasure. Marcy could only speculate as to why. But the fact was that Paul had a raging boner.

 "Oh my god..." Marcy said, with far more amusement than offence.

 Paul shuffled backwards gingerly, refusing to make eye contact with her. He put both his hands in his pants pockets and tried to use them to push the entire front of his pants forward, to conceal the distinct bulge.

 "Oh, uh... wow. I should... I should probably go," Marcy softly stammered, clearly flustered.

 "Yeah, ok," Paul replied, still refusing to look directly at her.

 "Can I... Do you want me to do anything?" Marcy asked, knowing it was a stupid question the instant she heard herself say it.

 "No. No, I think I'll just stay out her for a little while," Paul dismissed her, valiantly trying to disguise the fact that he was utterly mortified.

 "Okay," Marcy softly agreed. She took two steps back towards the house before pausing. "Thanks," she said to him, sincerely, staring at him for a couple of seconds even though he would not look at her.

 Paul walked over to the garden in the back corner of the yard, where he could keep his back to the house and guests, pretending to admire the plants while his manhood calmed down. Marcy returned to the house, trying to suppress the unseemly grin upon her face. When a girl feels down, it's always a real pick-me-up when a man compliments her appearance. And the brutal truth is that an erection is the most undeniably honest way a man can tell a woman that she's attractive.

 She left Paul feeling much, much better than she had when she'd awkwardly approached him only a few minutes earlier. It wasn't just the companionship, either. Marcy didn't feel helpless anymore. Turning Paul's bitterness into kindness was no small feat, but she managed to pull it off. Not to mention the powerful physiological effect she'd provoked without even trying. It gave her a sense of control that she'd thought she'd lost, and that felt good.

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 4

It was a small town, without much of a night life. With nothing better to do, pretty much all the young adult out-of-towners who attended the funeral arranged to meet that evening at a local restaurant, to have dinner together. Most of them were college friends of Karen's.

 Paul attended too, mainly at the urging of his parents, as most of the group were his friends as well.

 The lively atmosphere of the meal was a welcome change for everyone, having only hours earlier attended the depressing funeral and reception. Most of them had returned to their motel rooms to change into more casual outfits. There were many mentions of Karen, but instead of grieving for her, her friends were now mostly celebrating her life; recounting their charming stories of her warm friendship and laughing raucously at some of her more embarrassing mishaps that were suddenly fond memories.

 There were 23 people in all from the funeral gathered there and it was inevitable that the large table became mostly a disorganized rabble of several cross-table discussions happening all at once. Seats switched from being occupied, to unoccupied, to occupied by someone else often, as people moved around to join particular conversations.

 Marcy had changed from her appropriate black funeral dress into a light blue one-piece with a neckline that showed more than a hint of cleavage. She'd deliberately bought it one size small so that it would show her figure. She'd packed it for this trip even though she hadn't expected to ever use it, but being a fashionable woman, Marcy never allowed herself to be out of arm's reach of an outfit that flaunted her goods.

 Knowing that her tears would ruin her face, she'd worn very little make-up to the funeral. But for the dinner she'd applied a distinct level of eyeliner and a shade of lipstick that was just a little too red to be natural.

 Some might've said that her appearance was unusually provocative for a get-together of people who had just buried a dear friend. But nobody who knew Marcy, at least by reputation, would've given it a second thought.

 The truth was, Marcy hadn't just dressed sexy by force of habit; she'd come to this dinner with a plan.

 She spent much of that afternoon reflecting on her 'reconciliation' with Paul, especially his involuntary reaction to it. At first, it was just like a private joke that made her smirk. Then, thinking about his erection inevitably led to thinking about having sex with him. It didn't take her long to realize that it wasn't such an absurd train of thought.

 What was she gonna do tonight after dinner? Go back to her motel room? Spend the night all alone, perhaps watching some TV? Considering everything that was happening right now, and the events of the day, the odds were that she'd just end just thinking about things for hours on end, probably drive herself crazy and barely get any sleep. A night of casual sex seemed like just what the doctor ordered to keep her distracted. Anyway, Paul's display of sympathy notwithstanding, it had been a very rough day. The thought of having some fun seemed like a welcome change of pace.

 On the other side of the matter, Paul's erection at the funeral reception was unmistakable proof that, on a purely physical level at least, he wanted to do her. Marcy was willing to bet that ever since his 'little friend' had made a scene, he'd been fighting off dirty thoughts about her. She'd certainly given him plenty of material to work with in the cabin. She figured that it wouldn't take much of an effort to get him back into her bed.

 Making him look at her gorgeous body in a tight dress all night would only make her job easier.

 When the evening began to wind down, the checks had been paid and the first people started saying their goodbyes, Marcy took advantage of an empty chair beside Paul and casually made her way over to it. She sat down, turning her legs towards him so he'd get a good look at the last few inches of her smooth thighs and everything below.

 Rifling through her purse to disguise the fact she was speaking to him, she said in a deadpan tone, "I don't want to be alone tonight. It can either be you, or I can go to a bar and find some other guy."

 She meant every word. She was getting laid tonight, no question; she needed the distraction. Both Marcy and Paul knew that looking the way she did, it would take her all of five seconds to find a random guy who would be more than willing to oblige her. But with a random guy Marcy wouldn't know what she was getting. She could end up with some machismo guy who'd just pound away at her like a jackhammer, or dominate her like a cowboy taming a wild bronco. Getting fucked like that could be a lot of fun, but tonight what Marcy really wanted was 'company'. She knew that as a lover, Paul was good company. He was her first choice.

 She lifted her gaze, looking an astounded Paul in the eye just long enough to let him know that yes, she *was indeed* talking to him.

 With a huff of disgust, he turned away from her, the tension instantly visible in his body language.

 Marcy waited only a second for her proposal to sink in. When Paul didn't respond she told him, "Suit yourself," in a tone that sounded like she genuinely couldn't give a rat's ass one way or the other.

 She stood up to leave when Paul said, "Wait," cocking his head without actually turning all the way over to look at her.

 Marcy paused for a moment before slowly resuming her seat. She, likewise, avoided looking at him, her gaze instead fixed on a random point on the far wall directly in front of her. Though a quick peek through her peripheral vision spotted the look of deep conflict on Paul's face. She decided she would wait a couple of seconds for his battle between cock and conscience to be resolved before she would silently leave him again. She had no intention of undermining her influence by waiting too long for him to make up his mind. She liked the feeling of control that horny guys gave her; it was a big part of the thrill.

 "Alright," Paul agreed with a sense of defeat in his voice. He didn't look at her; he felt like he *couldn't* look at her, he was so ashamed.

 "Okay," Marcy quietly replied, once again in a deadpan voice that sounded like she could care less. "Wait here for 15 or 20 minutes after I leave. I don't want people to see us leaving together. I'm at the Sparrow's Nest motel. You know it?"

 Paul nodded softly.

 "Room 9. The door will be unlocked," Marcy concluded.

 With that, she stood up and made her cheery, girly goodbyes to all her friends before strolling confidently out the door.

 The following minutes were agony for Paul. The conflict inside continued well after he'd made his verbal agreement with Marcy. A continuous voice in his head kept screaming at him, "THIS IS WRONG, WRONG, WRONG AND YOU KNOW IT!" For a while, he leaned towards ditching Marcy and doing something, anything else with his night.

 But he really wanted to fuck her. At one point, the memory of her naked body leaning over him as she pinned him to the mattress, her full, supple breasts swaying wildly side to side as she gyrated, played through his mind like a dirty home movie that wouldn't stop. He began to get another boner and it took all his concentration to stifle it.

 In the end, morality had no hope. His blood was utterly saturated with testosterone from too many primal thoughts and too much convenience. He needed to blow his load or he'd go crazy.

 He'd been watching the time. 11 minutes after Marcy had left, Paul wandered over to a quiet corner of the restaurant where he could make a call in private. Officially committing himself to the low road, he phoned his parents to tell them that, "Me and some of the guys are going to go hit the bars. We'll probably be out pretty late, so don't wait up."

 He'd hoped that the call would eat up a bit of time, but it took less than 20 seconds and Paul quickly returned to his seat. By 14 minutes after Marcy's departure the stress was killing him. He went around briskly saying his goodbyes to everyone before leaving.

 Paul reasoned that Marcy probably caught a cab back to her motel. But being a local, Paul knew all the shortcuts that made a trip to the Sparrow's Nest motel a five minute walk.

 With every passing landmark, every passing cross-street, Paul became more and more anxious. By the time he was standing at the threshold of the Sparrow's Nest room #9's door, his heart sounded like a bass drum reverberating through his whole body.

 Despite the burning eagerness that drove him here so briskly, Paul hesitated outside Marcy's door for almost 2 minutes while he grappled one last time with his misgivings about what would surely happen once he stepped through that door.

 Eventually, he summoned up the resolve to rap lightly upon the door.

 "Marcy?" he called, quietly so as to avoid any other guests hearing. He didn't want to be spotted here.

 Several seconds passed with no response. He tried the knob. As promised, the door was unlocked. He timidly peered inside, terrified that he may have somehow gotten the room number wrong.

 The lights were on, but nobody was home. He stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him. He thought he could hear the sound of a shower coming from a door at the rear of the room. Cautiously, he proceeded.

 As he ventured forth, he spotted the distinctive light blue dress Marcy had been wearing on a bench, folded neatly beside a suitcase. This was definitely the right room. Near the dress was also a matching set of sheer black lacy bra and panties. Seeing Marcy's undergarments on display like that really hammered the point home for Paul: they were really gonna have sex again. His stomach sank, though whether it was from a sense of self-loathing, or simply the blood racing to his cock, he couldn't say.

 He continued on to the closed wooden door at the end of the room. He opened it. The bright florescent light of the bathroom was much harsher than the muted light of the motel room itself. The noise of the shower was quite clear now.

 Paul tried to peek inside, kind of like he wanted to know what he was in for before he gave away his position. But it was no good; the shower was clearly on the hinge-side of the door, he'd never be able to see anything without actually stepping in to the bathroom.

 So he did just that. Gingerly stepping through the door, he turned to discover that the shower barrier and swinging door were both single panes of clear glass. Inside, her body entwined in dozens of small streams of flowing water, was a statuesque vision of pure female perfection. A thick curtain of dark, saturated hair hung heavy down to the small of her back. Her ass had a certain cuteness to it. It was short, but had a very voluptuous bulge. Her cheeks, well-defined by underside creases looked as yielding and fit as could be.

 Her back was turned to him, but he knew it had to be Marcy. Only one woman in a thousand would have a body as fine as hers.

 Paul watched her for a while without making a sound, his member rising rapidly in surges that synchronized with his pounding heart. The inhibitions that had tormented him up till now were discarded and forgotten. There was no right or wrong in this place, this was the jungle, the animal kingdom, there was only the rule of nature.

 Marcy tilted her head up, letting the water pour over her face. She lifted her arms to pull her hair back, giving Paul a wonderful display of sideboob.

 She must've caught Paul in her peripheral vision, because she turned her head to look at him. As they stared at each other in silence, Marcy lowered her arms and clasped her hands together just in front of her chin. It was a gesture so innocuous; Paul didn't even realize it was a masterstroke of seduction. Then slowly she turned.

 Her rotating hips exchanged her superb ass with the sight of her inviting bush cupped between the v-shaped boundaries of her sex. The flowing water had drawn the petite, but thick crop into a single short tendril.

 Her forearms were clenched firmly against her chest, strategically covering both her nipples and causing her naturally large tits to swell as she squeezed them into her ribs. Their suppleness was unmistakable and incredible. It wasn't simply by chance that this was the view Paul got. Marcy wanted to tease him with her girls.

 She maintained an unbroken gaze with him, her lips pouting as if she was offended that he hadn't already pounced upon her. Paul stared right back, his mouth agape, his breath heavy, his eyes taking in every perfect curve and contour of her body. He seemed lost in a daze, as if the spectacle was too surreal to be true.

 Very slowly, Marcy let her arms drop allowing her ample bosom to return to their natural pert state. She revealed her nipples, both completely relaxed by the warm water of the shower. They were larger and a much paler shade of pink than when Paul had seen them in the cool cabin. They looked like sweet candy that had been painted onto those scrumptious mounds, just begging to be tasted.

 Placing her hands on her hips and pivoting them ever so slightly, to draw attention to her crotch, Marcy continued to pout, with a doe-like gaze that was practically begging Paul to show her how goddamn fuckable he thought she was.

 With manic speed, Paul undressed; removing his shoes & socks, his watch, his shirt and finally releasing his confined maleness by pulling down his trousers and briefs all at once. Now fully naked, his virile lance protruding from him at a harsh 90-degree angle, Paul stepped over to the shower. He opened the door, stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

 Their eyes were locked, gazing upon each other through the steamy shower spray. Paul shuffled slightly until he was standing toe-to-toe with Marcy. The tip of his cock brushed lightly through her bush and even across the ticklish skin of her mons.

 Their breath was ragged, excited, becoming more and more so with each passing second.

 In an instant, and seemingly simultaneously, they lunged upon each other. They plunged into a wild open-mouthed kiss and pressed their crotches together, turning Paul's erection completely upright and mashing it between their thrusting bodies.

 Paul reached down and grabbed one of those gorgeous buttocks Marcy had teased him with earlier greeting it with a harsh squeeze, then beginning to rhythmically knead it a few seconds later.

 After several passionate kisses Marcy broke away and panted in burning arousal as Paul hungrily kissed the side of her neck. He backed her into the wall, where her lithe crotch couldn't escape the full force of his gyrations. He ground against her over and over like a man possessed, until his mind was able to reign in his body enough to engineer the penetration it so desperately craved. He lifted Marcy by the butt so that she could only touch the ground by tip-toe. Simultaneously he lowered his hips and withdrew them from her body, just enough to allow his penis to drop down into the space between her legs.

 He teased himself, and Marcy as well, by flexing his crotch muscles, causing his shaft to press firmly against her opening. His cock marinated in her feminine juices as it shifted slightly back and forth with the rocking of his hips.

 Paul quit kissing her and they stared at each other for a brief moment. Their chests were heaving. Hot breath billowed from both of their mouths, which hung agape. Marcy's eyes burned with a single, emphatic message: "FUCK ME!"

 Paul reached down and guided his member into Marcy's hot snatch. He pushed into her, moaning at the sublime sensation of her flesh utterly enveloping him. Marcy turned her face to heaven, closed her eyes and grinned with clenched teeth as she savoured the sensation of being filled. This was her first fuck since the cabin; quite a fast for a self-confessed nympho like herself. Life had just been too heavy, too full of worry for her to just take some time out to find a boy to fool around with.

 They kissed again as Paul began thrusting, even hungrier than before. Marcy wrapped her arms around Paul and held him tightly, clenching his hair with one of her hands as she held him in their prolonged kiss.

 Paul kept her pinned against the cool, tiled wall of the shower as he continued to thrust, faster and more forcefully into her eager womanhood. Wanting even deeper penetration, Marcy absently lifted her thigh and tried to hook it around Paul's body. It was difficult though, as there was virtually no traction under the shower. Paul curled his hand under her thigh to hold it up.

 The kiss broke off as their activity grew wilder, but it was difficult to maintain that position in a slippery shower and they had to pause a couple of times while they regained their balance. Paul took these lulls as chances to actually fondle Marcy's wonderful butt, rather than use it as a handle to secure her pelvis. The pauses gave them, among other things, a brief moment to cool down a little and before the carnal bucking had resumed, so had the passionate kiss.

 By the third round, both their bodies were throbbing with arousal. Their last kiss was much weaker and shorter than any of the others. Their lips seemed to drift apart without either of them noticing. Paul grunted with each exertion of his hips. Marcy whimpered softly and bit her lip as his rigid lance tormented her erogenous depths mercilessly.

 The fingers of Paul's left hand were dug deep into the yielding flesh of her buttock, the fingers of his left were dug firmly into her smooth thigh.

 He penetrated her vigorously, until he could resist the caress of her womanhood no more and emptied his thick load into her sweet womb. Marcy moaned as her body trembled with the sweet sensations of orgasm.

 Paul pressed himself firmly against her crotch as he came, then relented into a brief series of very slow gyrations as the last drops of his semen bubbled into her.

 Marcy could feel him losing his grip on her thigh and was able to take the weight and lower it gently.

 They stood there in silence for a couple minutes, their breath ragged. If the shower spray wasn't splashing over them they would've been covered in beads of sweat. Paul, exhausted, basically collapsed, resting most of his weight against the wall with his free arm. His other hand released its aggressive grasp upon Marcy's behind and began rhythmically massaging it.

 After a few moments, his cock slipped from her nether regions, its purpose served.

 When they had both regained some measure of composure, Marcy pushed Paul off of her and stepped into the full shower stream, breathing out a deep breath like a woman who had just enjoyed an invigorating session at the gym. Paul, whose heart was still pounding, rolled around so his back was to the wall, supporting most of his weight.

 "Not bad," Marcy teased with a frustrating air of indifference. Paul knew he should've been beyond taking her little jibes personally, but he wasn't.

 "I'm done with the shower. You can stay and wash up," she told him, in a way that made it sound much more like an order than a suggestion.

 He pried his eyes open to watch her fine behind as it slipped out of the shower.

 Paul picked up the small motel-sized cake of soap and began to lather his body up while Marcy briskly dried herself, giving Paul some unforgettable looks at her breasts hanging free as she bent over, and jiggling like crazy as she vigorously rubbed various parts of her body with her towel. Of course the cruel irony was that Paul was too spent to get very excited about the spectacle. But he filed those images away in his memory bank, knowing that he would be fully prepared to given them their due appreciation in good time.

Before long, Marcy was wrapping the towel around her sopping hair and grabbing one of the plush white bathrobes hanging from a hook near the door. Without another word, or even so much as a sideways glance, she paced out of the bathroom.

 Paul snorted in contempt as soon as the door had closed. He truly hated this part of their... whatever the hell this was. The way that the sex itself was so incredibly hot and the immediate aftermath was so unbelievably cold. Though in a weird way, it also made him want to have sex with her even more.

 It wasn't that Paul had ever wanted a relationship with Marcy, because he hadn't, not in a million years. But he did have needs that their little trysts weren't fulfilling: like the need for tenderness, the need for a sense of deeper intimacy. Hell, even just the need to feel like he was actually liked, not just handy. He couldn't help feeling like Marcy was cheating him out of these things and resenting her for it.

 He'd gotten a taste of what he craved back in the cabin. After the third time they'd had sex, when Marcy was too tired, and perhaps too emotionally broken, to play the stuck up bitch, they simply spooned together for the longest time, his arms wrapped around her tightly, his hands gently caressing her wonderful body, enjoying it in the unique way that a man can only truly experience when he is spent. They never spoke, nor even looked at each other. But even so, for that brief moment he felt a sense of tenderness from Marcy. It just felt like she really appreciated him being there and holding her, not just the fact that he had fucked her. Even though it he realized it was so, so wrong the instant that the paramedics pulled up to the cabin, in that brief moment, when he thought it was his last day on earth, Paul felt content laying in that naked embrace with Marcy.

 He strongly suspected that the cold, aloof slut persona that Marcy presented was just an act she put on for some reason. Deep down, she probably had a lot of genuine warmth to offer, and was in want of a little emotional closeness, herself. That being the case, Paul hoped she would offer him some of that tenderness before the night was out. He liked his chances. He got the impression it would be a long night, and the more sex they had, the harder it would be for her to keep acting distant towards him.

 He still couldn't believe he was having these thoughts about *Marcy*, but the man had needs. Especially considering what his past month had been like. But he wasn't going to think about any of that now. There was no regret, guilt or sorrow tonight. There was no world outside that motel room door. Tonight was just about enjoying the company of a young woman with a perfect body, and whatever may happen between two consenting adults.

 Paul took his time showering, as Marcy had more or less told him to. He was in no rush. The longer he took, the more "recharged" he would be when he stepped back out into the motel room. He wasn't sure what exactly was waiting for him out there, but he instinctively knew it would be mindblowing.

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 5

There were no spare bathrobes in the bathroom. Either there was only one available because Marcy had booked the room for one, or more likely, there was another in the wardrobe outside and she simply hadn’t bothered to bring it in to the bathroom.

Paul wrapped a towel around his waist. He wasn’t sure why exactly; he was sure that he’d be completely bare again before too long. But something about stepping out into the motel room nude felt a bit too presumptuous.

Hesitating a moment with his hand on the door handle, Paul sighed, and stepped out of the bathroom trying wear the most casual expression he possibly could.

He tried to be cool, but the second he saw Marcy, he paused for an instant. He knew she’d hardly be fully clothed, but the sight of her lying on the double bed, her bathrobe wide open, revealing everything, was still a shock to his system.

Paul hoped she didn’t notice his reaction.

Her hair was still wrapped up in a twisted towel standing upright upon her head. The television was on, playing a commercial break at a moderate volume.

It took Marcy a second to notice him. Considering the banality of what she was watching, Paul couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. But it also occurred to him that she might’ve just been playing hard-to-get as part of one of her mind games.

“Hey,” she suddenly greeted him with a sweet voice and warm grin.

“Hey,” Paul repeated, still trying to act casual.

“Come over here,” Marcy invited him warmly, waving him over with clumsy motions of her left foot.

Paul smirked as he strutted over towards the bed, the idea of climbing on top of her and taking her missionary-style making his heart race.

Marcy spread her legs apart, exposing her slit to him. It was funny to think that he’d visited that nondescript little orifice no less than four times by now but this was the first time he’d ever really seen it. As a matter of fact, this was the first pussy he’d ever seen in real life.

Like every other part of Marcy’s body, it was a tantalizing sight. Even though she had a neatly-trimmed bush on her mons, her labia was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. It was parted slightly, revealing the flawless pink tone of her inner lips, their surface glimmering from her juices.

Paul placed a hand upon his towel, about to release it and let it drop to the floor, revealing his own sex.

“I want you to lick my pussy,” Marcy told him with a smile.

Paul hesitated, unable to hide his shock.

“Fair’s fair, Paul,” Marcy reacted, her expression instantly turning serious. “I went down on you before. It’s your turn to repay the favor,” she told him, acting as if she was talking about something as benign as a $10 loan.

Paul sighed. This wasn’t what he, not to mention his raging hormones, wanted. But he couldn’t argue with her logic. He looked her in the eye. Marcy established her dominance with the raising of a single eyebrow. If he wanted an argument, she would oblige.

Trying to feign an enthusiastic smile Paul crawled on to the mattress and lowered himself down between her legs. He paused for a moment while he psyched himself up, Marcy’s vulva only inches from his face. He could feel the warmth radiating from it; its scent saturated his nostrils.

Like any guy, Paul had spent a heck of a lot of time fantasizing about sex during his life. He’d thought a lot about playing with boobs, fingerfucking, thrusting furiously away with a hot babe wrapped around him; but eating one out was an act he hadn’t thought much about at all. He was actually a little grossed out by the idea; in no small part because essentially he’d be licking his own jism, which would’ve still been inside Marcy. He worried that the taste of her cunt might make him gag.

“Come on,” Marcy said, in a once again sweet voice, as she wiggled her hips teasingly. “I won’t bite,” she joked.

Paul poked his tongue out. Half way, and then with a bit of resolve, all the way. He made a timid, brisk lick that barely skimmed her inner lips. Marcy didn’t even seem to notice it. He paused for a moment while he evaluated the brief experience. The contact had been so glancing that his tongue hadn’t even registered any taste.

Cautiously, he went in for another pass, this time extending his tongue deeper into the gap.

Then he licked her again, then a fourth time, a fifth, a sixth... each time a little braver than the last; venturing deeper into her labia, brushing through it with slower and slower strokes. When he was able to discern the unfamiliar bittersweet taste, he didn’t particularly care for it, but he was immensely glad that it didn’t disgust him. It did wonders for his confidence.

Marcy simply lay back watching him.  She decided to give Paul, who was obviously an absolute amateur at this, time to acclimatise to the new experience. She simmered away on the subtle stimulation he was giving her, while anticipating the pleasure she was about to have once she’d taken him to school.

Paul persisted until his tongue was probing her as deep as it could go, wiggling around inside for a second or so before retreating to begin the cycle all over again. Going down on Marcy was starting to agree with him. He was able to liken the sensation of parting her flesh with his tongue to the feeling he got doing likewise with his cock. He was a little concerned, though, that Marcy hadn’t really reacted to it yet.

“Hey Paul?” she eventually said. “How ‘bout working on my clit?” she hinted, reaching down to massage the sensitive nub for a couple of seconds.

Paul studied her clit for a second, figuring out just how he was going to come at it. When Marcy removed her fingers, Paul leaned in and gave her an 'ice cream' lick from back to front that briefly brushed over her clit. His second attempt was more accurate, giving it a decent stroking and the third attempt, even more so.

He settled in to a pattern of faster licks for a little while before changing things up a bit, coming at her nub from different angles.

Marcy sank into the mattress and sighed, her mouth curled up in a quivering grin. The stimulation Paul offered made her entire body feel alive. In many ways, Paul's inexperience made for an enjoyable experience as his experimental approach toward the tasks provided some unexpected sensations.

Her chest began to heave and her pulse began to race. The mindless little moans she began to make were music to Paul’s ears.

He watched with awe as she reached in to slowly massage her yielding tits. His blood became saturated with primal hormones as she played with them. It felt like a tease. Deep down, Paul knew that she was doing it for her own gratification, but it felt like a tease. In that moment, he loved and hated her all at once. He knew if he made any attempt to take her now, she would almost certainly balk and reject him. He would have to restrain himself for the time being.

“Mmm! Flutter! Flutter on it, Paul,” Marcy instructed in a lusty sigh.

Paul did as he was told, eager to give Marcy her satisfaction so that he would be free to tend to his own needs. He began quickly flicking her erogenous clit with his tongue. He pushed himself to do it even faster, but he was unable to maintain his most brisk pace for long without slowing for a rest.

The variations in his speed sent tingles through Marcy’s body in surges. Her tits were so full of excitement that her hands couldn’t keep up. She kneaded them in and out to their limits and tweaked her nipples repeatedly. But she felt like all she wanted to do was push them up against a washing machine on its spin cycle and just let its raw power jitter them around like crazy.

Her soft whimpers turned into breathier, louder moans. She was starting to be loud enough for neighboring rooms to be able to hear her. But what little restraint she’d begun with had been discarded by now. She was horny and enjoying it; discarding all her concerns, including what her friends might think if they heard her getting laid right after Karen’s funeral, had been the whole point of this dalliance with Paul.

For his part, Paul didn’t care much about the noise either. All he could think about was how much he wanted to get his cock inside her hot snatch.

“Paul? Paul?” Marcy uttered, struggling to channel her breath into coherent words. “Paul!” she said clearly, finally catching Paul’s full attention.

“Well, don’t stop!” she ordered. Paul began rhythmically lapping her clit once again, but kept his eyes locked on hers, attentively awaiting his next instruction.

“You know what works real good? If you trace the alphabet on it with your tongue,” she told him with ragged breath. “Do that!”

Paul instantly obeyed, tracing the capital letter “A” over her erect nub, then “B” and so on. Marcy’s head dropped back on to the mattress like a rock. Her wanton song grew louder than ever. Her hips began to pivot up and down as she started arching her back, making it difficult for Paul to keep his tongue where it needed to be.

The spectacle before him was driving him insane: watching Marcy squeeze and mash those gorgeous jugs every which way imaginable.

When he got to “K” Marcy bit down on her lip and made a whine unlike any noise Paul had heard from her before. Within seconds it devolved into an emphatic growl of “Oh god, yeah!”

A sense of triumph washed over Paul as she vocalized her climax. Just to be safe (and perhaps to establish himself as a satisfying partner) Paul continued right up to the end of “N.” By this stage Marcy was totally lost in orgasm.

Paul sprang up and scrambled forwards, tearing the towel away from his loins and tossing it aside as he did so. His cock, fully erect and throbbing, pointed down towards its prize.  He wasted no time plunging it deep into her hot sex. She was absolutely saturated; every motion was like gliding on air. Yet she was tighter that Paul had ever felt before. It was heaven.

He began a vigorous cycle of thrusting immediately, fucking her with utter abandon while beneath him Marcy could do nothing more than moan at her own ecstasy. But such an intense frenzy could never be sustained. It took less than half a minute for the urges Paul had been supressing to find their release. He came deep inside her.

He had no idea he had so much to give. There were so many ejaculations, and Paul loved every last one of them. He felt his energy draining and pouring in to Marcy, until finally he felt like just a paper shell of a man who could’ve been blown over by a light breeze.

Paul collapsed gently on top of her, their asynchronous gasping raising and lowering his torso in irregular sequences. After a few seconds’ rest, he rolled off of her completely.

It had been a very quick fuck, but Paul didn’t mind one bit; the orgasm was phenomenal. As for Marcy? She’d gotten satisfaction before he even penetrated.

They laid there for a couple of minutes, side by side. Paul’s arm was pressed against the sleeve of Marcy’s bathrobe, but that was more a consequence of how he had landed rather than an attempt at intimacy by either of them.

Eventually, Marcy opened her eyes.

“Man, that was good,” she sighed.

She propped herself up a little and decided to remove her arms from the bathrobe sleeves, but couldn’t be bothered just yet to get off the bathrobe completely. She removed the towel around her hair, which had already been loosened by their coital activity, and chucked it on the floor nearby. Her hair was only lightly moist. She had the room’s heater set to a comfortable 78 degrees, so it probably wouldn’t take long to dry completely.

Marcy reached over to the nightstand where a pack of cigarettes and lighter were waiting beside a glass ashtray. She removed a cigarette and placed it between her fingers before offering the open end of the pack to Paul.

“Want one?” she asked.

Paul briefly considered saying “yes,” simply to seem cool, but quickly decided against it. He remembered watching his friend Drew take his first puff in high school, and the coughing fit that followed. There would be no way Paul could fake being a smoker.

“No, thanks,” he softly refused.

Marcy shrugged before returning the pack to the nightstand, placing the free cigarette between her lips and lighting up.

Before the cigarette had fully ignited she remembered she was pregnant. But she quickly dismissed the thought. Tonight was all about forgetting her worries and enjoying herself. For all intents and purposes she wasn’t pregnant at all. So if the baby couldn’t handle one little cigarette, that was its problem. Besides, she still didn’t know for sure whether she was keeping it or not.

She inhaled deeply, savouring the sensation of the soothing smoke filling her lungs, before expelling it through her nose in a smooth, protracted blow. With the smouldering cigarette propped erect between her fingertips, which were rested upon the top of her chest, just above her left breast, Marcy stared up at the ceiling and just enjoyed the ebbing sense of post-coital satisfaction. She didn’t notice Paul looking over at her, watching her intently.

“Feel free to raid the minibar, if you want,” Marcy told him before taking another puff. “I’m not going to cheapskate out on the booze.”

Paul nodded and climbed out of bed with an exhausted huff. He walked over to the miniature fridge, which was under the counter almost directly opposite the bed and crouched down as he perused its contents.

There was a modest assortment of spirits, but right now Paul’s throat was dry and he was in the mood for something her could really slam down, so he grabbed a beer. "Momma’s Secret Ale." At first Paul didn’t recognize the brand name at all, but then he recalled that he had heard of it once or twice. It was a microbrewery in a nearby county, if he recalled correctly. This would be the first time he tried it.

“Is that a beer?” Marcy asked, upon noticing Paul holding the bottle.

“Yep,” he replied.

“I think I saw a few in there. Could you get me one, too?” she asked.

Marcy was right. It looked like there were about four of these things in the fridge. Paul grabbed a second one and closed the door. Twisting the cap off as he walked, he stepped over to Marcy’s side and handed her the original beer that he’d retrieved.

“Thanks,” Marcy acknowledged him.

“Sure,” Paul responded.

He walked back around the bed to the other side, opening his own beer and taking a big swig as he went.

As he rounded the bed he pondered this unusual situation he momentarily found himself in: being able to look at a buck-naked Marcy and not be going wild with male urges. He’d even stared straight up her legs to her glistening pink pussy before and it wasn’t even the slightest bit distracted. She was still a lovely sight to behold, every last inch of her. But looking at her great body didn’t provoke any physical response in him right now. He appreciated the opportunity to admire her without hormones clouding the experience for him.

As he sat back down on the mattress beside her, Paul also considered how casual the atmosphere in the room had suddenly become. It wasn’t cosy, just casual. Like two friends who’d known each other for years, just sitting together, chilling out watching some formulaic crime show on TV, totally ambivalent to the fact they were both naked. The awkwardness and posturing between them had fallen by the wayside.

Paul hadn’t really known what to expect when he impulsively accepted Marcy’s invitation to join her here, though he understood that Marcy only wanted him as a distraction from the troubling events of the day. In truth, Paul was glad for some distraction himself.

Well now it seemed that Marcy’s plan had been fully realized. The score of negative thoughts that’d been constantly haunting Paul since the cabin simply weren’t on his mind right now. He was just a guy enjoying a beer in a nice warm motel room with a girl. Although she was incredibly hard to read, Paul got the impression that Marcy was experiencing the same sense of complete liberation herself.

He wondered if Marcy had truly believed that her little scheme would work as well as it had.

After taking another swig of his beer, Paul looked over and watched Marcy’s breasts rise and fall as she drew back on her cigarette and blew the smoke out through her puckered lips. Even in his hormonally sedate state they were a truly captivating sight. He loved the way they looked when she was laying on her back: the way they betrayed their suppleness by flattening somewhat and spilling out in all directions across her chest. Yet their defining trait was still the youthful firmness that by and large retained far more of their shape than it surrendered. He loved their perfect roundness and especially the way that the distinct curve on their underside accentuated it. He loved the way they responded so fluidly to her every sharp motion. He loved her cute little pink nipples that seemed unusually small for breasts so large, but were no less attractive because of it. They were tighter and darker than they’d been in the shower, but less so than what he’d seen in the cabin. They rose subtly from the surface of her tits; two petite little bumps protruding just erect enough to make themselves distinct.

Character flaws aside, there was no denying that Marcy was physically an A+++.

“Not bad,” Marcy remarked after taking a drink from her own beer. “Not great, but not bad.”

She looked the label over with curiosity and a subtle shade of distress washed over her face. Her breathing accelerated slightly.

“Yeah,” Paul agreed. “They’re local I think. Small-time operation,” he explained, taking yet another swig.

Marcy didn’t respond.

Paul looked over once again to stare unashamedly at her beautiful tits. He could swear that they were heaving slightly more rapidly than before and he just got the feeling that Marcy wasn’t a hundred percent at ease anymore.

“You okay?”  he asked.

“Fine,” Marcy replied in a dismissive, yet genial tone after briskly huffing out another lungful of smoke.

“You wanna talk about it?” Paul asked with a shrug.

“No,” Marcy replied in an eerily sweet voice. Then she let out an audible snort of frustration. “I don’t know,” she corrected herself in a far more believable tone of voice. “Do you?” she asked, actually making eye contact with him for the first time in ages.

“Well, yeah, if you want,” Paul replied, leaning on his side and matching her gaze intently.

Marcy grimaced and drank her beer as if to take the edge off what was to come.

“Fuck, I don’t know. It’s like ever since I got back all anyone wants to do is talk about it. I’ve talked about it. What more is there to talk about?” She ranted, more to herself than Paul. After a second, it dawned on her that there was actually an answer to that rhetorical question: their affair. The one thing so disturbing that neither of them would’ve dared open up about it to their own families.

Marcy’s eyes met with Paul’s and she knew he understood what she was thinking.

“Talking about it won’t fix anything,” she rationalized.

“I dunno. Maybe you’re right,” Paul half-heartedly agreed in a sombre tone.

Marcy got the impression that Paul wanted to vent, but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to go down that road. They were having fun, so why spoil it?

As they sat there together in the continuing silence Marcy realized that for the first, and probably only time, she was in a place where she could talk about their affair without any judgement, whatsoever. They were both naked, their vulnerabilities and flaws freely exposed to one another. Paul already knew her shameful secret, so he couldn’t possibly be shocked by it. With them both still high on post-coital endorphins, they could talk openly and calmly, without any dark emotions tainting the discussion. So if she did have anything she wanted to say about it, now was the time.

Marcy even surprised herself when it turned out that she did.

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 6

“It was a mistake,” Marcy stated. “I should’ve known better.”

She took a deep swig of her beer.

“Yeah,” Paul agreed in a half-hearted tone. “That’s what we’re supposed to say, isn’t it? So if we know it was a mistake, how come we’re here right now, in bed together, naked?” Marcy glanced at him with unreadable eyes. “I mean we’ve fucked twice tonight, we’re probably gonna fuck again, right?”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Marcy confirmed with deadpan honesty.

“It seems like we’re full of crap,” Paul continued.

Marcy consumed the last half-inch of her cigarette, letting the last of the soothing smoke linger inside for a second before rolling it out through her lips while she squished the butt into the ashtray. Paul took the opportunity to admire her ass while it was briefly visible to him.

“Yeah, but it’s different now,” she argued. “The damage's already been done.”

“Yeah, “ Paul replied with a bitter chuckle. “I guess things can’t get any more fucked up than they are, can they?” he asked in a pensive tone.

“Nope,” Marcy softly replied.

“Do you think about it much?” she asked after a brief silence.

“Yeah,” Paul admitted with a sigh. “At first, I tried not to, but after a while I just couldn’t stop myself from thinking about it. I keep trying to make some sense of it, but…” he trailed off. “You?” he turned the question back on Marcy, without even the slightest hint of accusation or judgement in his voice.

“Same,” she nodded. “I thought I could just forget about it and keep going, like it never happened. But it comes back to haunt you. It’s like a fucking horror movie monster – there’s no escaping it.” In truth, Marcy had been able to do a reasonable job of putting Paul out of her mind since their rescue. She’d had ample experience in blocking out regrettable one night stands. But that all fell apart the moment she began to suspect that his seed had taken root inside her. Coupled with the news of Karen’s death at the same time, Marcy found herself unable to suppress the thoughts of guilt and shame any longer.

She rolled on to her side and looked Paul straight in the eye as she continued, “Sometimes I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, and then when I do, I just look so miserable or pissed off and it really hurts. It feels like the woman on the other side wants to slap me for fucking up so bad; for what I’ve done to her.”

Paul reached out and placed his hand on Marcy’s side in a comforting gesture.

“You know, I really wish I could just go back and not do it. But I can’t. It’s just messed everything up,” Marcy remarked. Her anxieties were pouring out of her with such momentum that she found herself on the verge of revealing her pregnancy to Paul. But the level-headed part of her mind stepped in and censored her. The comfortable, judgement-free atmosphere in the room existed solely because the dirty laundry they were airing was no secret to either of them. If Marcy dropped a bombshell Paul wasn’t prepared for, it would surely spoil the entire night.

“I don’t know what the fuck to do,” she continued, veiling the true nature of her predicament with vague language. “I don’t have a fucking clue how to deal with any of this. I sure as hell can’t talk to anyone about it. God, the way they’d look at me if they knew what I’d… the crap they’d say about me behind my back. The only thing I can do is try to work it out myself. It’s such a headfuck,” she told him, a sense of melancholy slipping in to her voice as her detachment from the uncertain future ahead of her wore thin.

Paul caressed her body gently up and down in an instintive comforting gesture.

“It’ll get better…” he told her in a voice that betrayed his lack of confidence in those words. “…eventually. It has to, right?”

“Thanks,” Marcy replied in a soft, emotionally exhausted tone, that was nonetheless sincere. They stared at each other in silence for a while, a weak smile on Marcy’s face expressing her gratitude for Paul’s consolation.

"Do you think that this, tonight, is gonna be just as big a mess to deal with?" Paul asked her.

Marcy couldn't help but smirk at his ignorance. It's not like she could get any more knocked up.

"Well, like I said, I think the damage's already been done," she answered.

Paul seemed to take a measure of comfort from her words. Knowing that the emotional baggage he'd been carrying wouldn't be compounded by his choices tonight was a relief.

The heel of his hand brushed against the side of her breast as he absently caressed her.

Meeting his gaze, Marcy sighed softly as the silence between them grew. Like the entire evening, nothing about the silence was awkward. If anything, it was extremely soothing, offering her the opportunity to process everything that had been discussed at her own pace. There was something about the intimate contact that Paul gave her that added a measure of dependability to his words. Perhaps things would work out for the best.

“You really like those, don’t you?” she asked in a voice that was garnished with the slightest hint of pride. She gestured towards her tits with her eyes to eliminate any confusion about what she meant.

Paul raised his eyebrows. The question surprised him a little. He might’ve grazed Marcy’s boob a couple of times as he caressed her, but it wasn’t by design.

Lowering his gaze on to the flawless mounds, he shifted his entire hand on to the breast it had been skirting and tested its suppleness with a gentle squeeze.

“They are... pretty fucking impressive,” Paul replied with a smirk, in a tone of voice that somehow made it sound like he was understating his opinion.

Marcy smiled warmly, clearly pleased by his answer.

“Well, here,” she said as she simultaneously pushed herself closer to the back of the bed, propping herself up on her pillow and reached over to grab Paul by the back of the head. Gently, she pulled him closer until his face was only inches away from her boobs. “Go nuts!” she told him in a sweet voice.

Paul met her gaze for an instant, expressing at first disbelief then immense gratitude. Then his gaze shifted on to the awesome pillows of flesh themselves. His eyes widened, like a wild animal that had just spied its prey. He watched her puffy pink nipple as it danced fluidly before him in response to the kneading he was still giving the breast. Then he leaned forward, took the nipple in to his mouth and eagerly suckled upon her.

He suckled her intently for a good long time, lapping her nipple slowly with his tongue and tracing loops across the velvety skin of her areola. When he was done for the time being, he planted many slow, adoring kisses upon various other points of her breast, before turning his head to suckle upon its twin. He continued to massage her breast in rhythmic, circuitous motions. Without his face in the way his hand was free to play with the pliant mound however he pleased.

He took a brief intermission from suckling and kissing her tits to press his face in to them, luxuriating in the way her warm feminine bounty yielded so graciously before him. Then he began the entire cycle all over, alternating between suckling upon her left breast, then her right.

Marcy felt something skim against her lower thigh. She peered down and was surprised to see his maleness protruding from his loins as stiff as a board. Clearly the experience was more exciting for him than she’d realized.

She gently ran her fingers through Paul’s hair as he delighted himself with her boobs. She couldn’t help but smile. Men’s obsession with breasts always amused her. She liked her girls; she was proud of their size and their perfect shape. They were a lovely aspect of her figure. But the male fascination with them, not just her own but every buxom woman’s chest, was absurd. All the same, she enjoyed the attention they earned her, at least most of the time. From the way Paul was floating between them at the moment, she was certain that they played no small part in luring some pleasant company to her bed on this dark day. So who was she to snark?

Marcy was actually surprised by how pleasurable the experience was for her. Paul knew what he was doing. A lot of guys who had been given an audience with her tits had virtually attacked them like berserker warriors: grabbing at them like they were trying to squeeze the fat through her ribs. Paul’s approach could best be described as adoration. Every gesture he made expressed a reverence for her boobs. He plated countless tender kisses upon their outer surfaces and treated her areolae like holy sites, patiently and fastidiously anointing them in his saliva with his tongue. His kneading grasp was firm, but also tempered. He took care not to abuse her precious breasts while he experienced all the unique tactile pleasures they offered.

The more attention he lavished upon them, the louder they hummed with carnal excitement.

“You like that?” Marcy asked Paul, already knowing the answer.

“Oh yeah!” Paul growled emphatically, tearing his lips away from her nipple for only the split second it took him to answer.

“Good,” Marcy responded. She continued to stroke his hair gently.

“I’m glad you decided to come tonight,” She told him a few seconds later. There was a sense of sincerity in her voice that was out of character for Marcy.

Paul took a break from kissing Marcy’s ample right breast and sighed thoughtfully. She felt the hot breath from his nostrils as it billowed through her cleavage like raging winds. He buried half his face in the soft bosom he’d just been adoring with his lips, while he slowly rubbed the other in a wide circular motion.

"Yeah, I guess... I guess I am, too,” Paul replied in an indecisive, yet relaxed voice. “Tonight was... well, it was gonna be pretty bad. But this is great,” he elaborated. He punctuated the sentiment by plunging his mouth over her left tit with a huge gulp and suckling on her more hungrily than ever.

Several seconds later, when he was finished he turned his head up to look at her face for the first time since she’d offered her voluptuous mounds to him.

“You feeling any better?” he asked with sincere concern.

“I ‘spose,” Marcy half-heartedly replied.

She could feel the change in the chemistry between them. Paul was still massaging her breast, but the gesture had lost all its intensity. His hand was simply idling upon her. She glanced down, unintentionally meeting Paul’s gaze. The deep sympathy she saw within made her uncomfortable.

Rather insistently, she pulled his head closer to her chest, hoping to resume the mutually-pleasurable attention he’d been giving it. Paul either took the hint, or simply succumbed to his deeper urges. Either way, his hand instantly became more engaged in its massage and he continued to kiss, but not suckle her heaving breast.

“I’m not upset,” Marcy clarified as she let the surging warmth in her chest dispel her tension like waves on a beach washing away lines scrawled in the sand. “I just can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do,” her mouth ran away without her.

“’Supposed to do’? What do you… You mean about the cabin? About what we did?” Paul asked gently. Once more he rested himself upon her right breast, trying to immerse himself in its seductive warmth. With his one free eye he watched its twin in tranquil delight as it swelled and rocked in response to his rhythmic kneading.

“Mmm, yeah,” Marcy quietly replied. She was too emotionally exhausted to deflect the truth with any real diligence. She was in a very vulnerable place right now, and she knew it. Her defences were down and if their conversation naturally drifted in that direction, Marcy felt like she would admit to being pregnant. She didn’t care either way.

“There’s nothing we *can* do about it. It happened. It can’t be undone. And it’s not like it’s one of those things that can be fixed,” Paul remarked.

The writhing of that velvety pink nipple became too much for him to resist and once more he pressed his lips around it and suckled her intently.

“Was it really that bad? We can’t make up for it?” Marcy asked serenely. “I hope not.”

Paul took his time to finish with her delicious breast before he considerately replied.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that... I guess what I mean was... I don’t think it’s something we... need to make up for,” he began; speaking in bursts that were interrupted by him padding slow kisses upon the surface of her tits.

“We didn’t hurt anyone. Nobody else knows about it, so it’s not like we’ve offended anybody. And Karen... “

The conversation suddenly turned serious enough for Paul to remove his lips completely from Marcy’s chest so he could focus on what he had to say. He paused for a second while he found the right words.

“What we did didn’t make anything worse. None of the bad shit that happened up there happened because we had sex. And it’s not like we were being negligent or anything; we’d done everything we could for her. It’s not like having sex... It’s not like things would’ve worked out any better if we never slept together,” Paul reasoned.
 
Marcy stared blankly out past Paul’s head, to the curtain-covered front window of the motel room.

“You really believe that?” she asked. Her mind was at a loss to pinpoint where Paul’s words laid on the scale between wisdom and bullshit.

Paul sighed.

“I think I *know* it’s true in my mind. But I’m still gonna feel like crap about it tomorrow,” he answered, nuzzling as deep as he could into Marcy’s cleavage.

“Yeah,” Marcy agreed with displeasure.

“I know. It feels like crap – all the guilt. We’re probably gonna feel like crap for a long time. But like I said, it’s not like we can do anything to make it better, ‘cause it doesn’t affect anybody else. The only people who got hurt by what we’ve done is us. If things are gonna get better, I think it’s just one of those things that we’ve just got to wait for time to fix.

"But I think if you start worrying about finding a way to make up for it, you’ll probably just drive yourself crazy worrying about something we can’t change, and it’ll never get any better,” Paul suggested.

For the first time in ages, Paul removed his hand from her boob. He gently caressed the side of her ribs in a comforting gesture, as he had done earlier.

Silence flooded the room for several seconds. While Paul basked blissfully in the warmth of Marcy’s voluptuous rack, Marcy’s mind raced as the complexity of her situation seemed to grow exponentially.

“It shouldn’t have happened. It was wrong,” she eventually repeated in a solemn tone. Despite the confidence she feigned in her voice, they were the words of a confused woman who needed to play devil’s advocate against Paul’s advice, in order to bring some clarity to the warring thoughts and feelings within her.

“I know,” Paul firmly agreed. “But none of it should have happened. That goddamn hermit shouldn’t have shown up on our front stoop and fucked up our vacation. We shouldn’t have had to kill him in self-defense. Karen shouldn’t have gotten sick. Jeff shouldn’t have run off. *Everything* was fucked up in that cabin, not just what we did.

“Us having sex was wrong. Hell, us being here together like this is wrong, and we both know it. But when you think about it: where we were then, where we are now... there’s nothing we can do that’s ‘right.’ You know what I mean?” he asked.

Marcy nodded gently.

“What are we supposed to do on a night like tonight? Go to a bar and drink until we pass out? Or sit around alone and just be hurting like crazy? I’d rather be here sucking on your amazing tits,” he told her with unabashed frankness.

He gave her right breast an open-mouthed kiss well above the nipple, gently tugging on the flesh by sucking it just a little. 

“I’m not proud of it,” he clarified, “hell, in 24 hours I’ll probably be kind of ashamed of it. But it’s not like I’d be any better off if I hadn’t come. We’re just making the best of a really shitty situation here. And maybe that’s all we did up in the cabin.”

Having said all he had to say on the matter, Paul returned to keenly suckling upon Marcy’s nipples, tending to the left one for a good long time before shifting his attention to the right one for the same lengthy duration.

Marcy simply continued to pet Paul’s hair affectionately as she enjoyed the sensations of him playing with her girls. It served as a wonderfully soothing backdrop for the serious thinking she needed to do.

Paul had left her mind reeling with his unexpected take on their affair in the cabin, and its bearing on her future. He obviously had no idea what impact it had had on her – no idea that it had left an offspring inside her. But despite his ignorance, his words had been both insightful and compelling.

Bad things had happened on that vacation. A lot of bad things. Seducing Paul and having sex with him was definitely one of them. Under any other circumstances it would just be another regret in her lively sexual history. She’d shake it off and move on. So why was she letting this insignificant little fling consume her?

Paul was right: Karen didn’t die because they had sex. It was the disease that killed her. Marcy had no hand in Karen’s death, so by no stretch of the imagination did she deserve to suffer for what had happened to her.

Marcy realized that burying her spritely 21-year old friend today had been a poignant reminder that life’s short. Too short to waste it agonizing over misplaced guilt. Too short to let one little mistake ruin her life if she was able to correct it.

She came to a decision: she would have the abortion.

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 7

Up until this moment, Marcy had considered this motel room a temporary sanctuary, where the problems and sorrows of her life couldn’t plague her. So she was surprised to actually feel the immense weight of the prospect of a full-term pregnancy lift from her shoulders. She felt wonderful.

She looked down at Paul with an ear-to-ear grin frozen on her face.

“I’m *really* glad you came tonight,” she reiterated at barely a whisper. Paul didn’t react; he probably didn’t hear her.

She looked past his shifting head and noticed that he was still sporting a furious erection. Marcy was surprised that in all this time of being aroused, he hadn’t made even the slightest advance towards her pussy. He was utterly preoccupied with her jugs.

“He must have a major breast fetish!” she thought to herself.

“Having fun?” Marcy asked him in a dry tone.

Paul responded only with hearty a moan that was muffled by the nipple in his mouth and the swelling breast a quarter inch from his nostrils. He sounded like he was drunk with pleasure.

“I think someone’s feeling a little left out,” Marcy noted, peering down once again at his impressive rod.

Noticing Marcy’s gaze, Paul pulled himself away from her boobs long enough to look down and acknowledge his excited maleness.

“He doesn’t mind watching,” Paul joked.

“You wanna fuck ‘em?” Marcy asked him in a warm voice.

“Seriously?” Paul asked her, wide-eyed in disbelief.

Marcy nodded softly.

“Fuck, yeah!” he replied.

“Okay,” Marcy agreed. Paul wasn’t to know, but Marcy felt immeasurable gratitude for his helpful counsel tonight, and she was very eager to express it.

She rolled away from him and sat up, while Paul repositioned himself so that he was laying on his back, with his head comfortably resting on a pillow. Marcy straddled his calves and Paul admired the view with a dumb grin as she gathered her boobs together and spit a couple of mouthfuls of saliva into her cleavage for lubrication. She jiggled them up and down against each other a little, trying to coat as much of their inside surfaces as possible.

When they were ready, she leaned over and positioned her chest directly over Paul’s crotch. Her jiggling mammaries playfully slapped his rod a couple of times as she got comfortable. Seconds later, she mashed her breasts together to form a tight crevice of supple feminine flesh, making sure that Paul’s manhood was caught right in the middle of it.

She began to shift her whole body back and forth to massage his shaft. Paul let his head sink in to the pillow and sighed loudly. Having Marcy’s tits in his mouth and rubbing against his face was sublime, but having them rub against his dick was a sensation like no other. They were perfect womanhood and now they were finally being tasted by the organ that had the most discerning appreciation of such things.

Paul opened his eyes and was met with a bedroom gaze from Marcy. He neither understood nor cared for the reasons behind this change in her attitude, he was simply grateful for it.

As enjoyable as Marcy’s performance was, the head of Paul’s dick spent most of its time peeking out beyond the top of her cleavage. Each time they passed it by, he could feel the very tip of his penis aching more and more to know the sweet softness of those pillows.

“Hey, let me poke right in to them. Just push it right in to the tit,” Paul requested.

Marcy obliged. She released her tight cleavage and tenderly held his cock upright with her hand. Then she slowly lowed her freely-hanging right boob on to his cockhead and let its flesh collapse around him.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s great,” Paul acknowledged.   

 Marcy moved so that Paul’s dick traced a firmly-pressed line from the right side of the boob all the way to the left.

“Jesus Christ! Oh my god, you’re incredible!” Paul loudly uttered as her boob flesh rolled over his cockhead.

With a satisfied smirk, Marcy guided his rod across her left breast in a similar fashion. She experimented a little in this vein, seeking out the fleshiest parts of her breasts with his tip, before resuming her cleavage-masturbation of his shaft. She didn’t want to over stimulate him. This time though, she took care to make sure his cockhead spent more time between her boobs.

Again, she switched it up by stroking his tip along her mounds.

“Have you done the nipples? I wanna try the nipples,” Paul requested.

Marcy silently obeyed, guiding his sex over to her left nipple and pressing it in deeply. Shifting her weight around in a subtle circular motion, she rolled her nipple and the surrounding areola back and forth against his sensitive tip. The sensation of that stiff nipple brushing against him sent shivers  through his body.

Marcy sought to tease him a little by stroking his dick around the underside of her left boob in a broad ‘smile-shaped’ course, before letting him probe her other nipple. But before she could finish the teasing manoeuvre he exploded in spectacular fashion.

Heavy spurts of pale cum blasted up into her cleavage, much of it hitting her square in the breastbone , or on the inner side of her right tit. Though the initial blast had largely struck the underside of the boob she’d been teasing him with. His maleness bucked like a metronome in time with each discharge.

Paul made a sound that could best be described as a strenuous growl. He grabbed the quilt beneath him and squeezed it with an iron grasp as Marcy’s prefect breasts brought him to the most powerful orgasm of his life.

“Oh… my… god!” Marcy chuckled in shock as she slowly drew away from his gushing organ. She could feel the hot, viscous kiss of Paul’s seed all over her chest.

“Oh! Oh fuck, Paul!” she said with a mild hint of disgust in her voice, as she sat up and surveyed the mess.

The last of Paul’s load drizzled weakly on to his belly, his spent cock twitching like it was having an epileptic fit.

“Shit! You could’ve warned me!”  Marcy chided him in a good-humored tone that betrayed her sore words. “You are so gonna pay for that!”

“Hmm, let me see,” Paul said in a half-asleep murmur. Somehow, he summoned the strength to pry his eyes open just enough to clearly make out the shapely naked sex goddess kneeling over him. She shot him a stern expression and gestured towards her chest with her hands. Marcy’s right breast with a huge splatter of his jizz upon it was truly a beautiful sight.

“Totally worth it,” Paul decided aloud. A broad grin of self-satisfaction washed over his face.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Marcy told him in a mock-threatening tone as she climbed off the bed. “I’m not kidding, Paul, you’re gonna pay me back for that!”

“Okay,” Paul agreed in an inattentive tone. He closed his eyes.

Marcy headed for the bathroom.

“Seriously, Paul, if you’re asleep when I come back, I *will* slap you,” she warned Paul. Though her tone was still playful, there was no doubt she was deadly serious about the last part.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” Paul assured her.

The bathroom light was already on when she entered. Probably because it was wired into the same switch as the fan, which Paul had probably left on to draw out the steam from their shower.

She took a small white hand towel from one of the towel racks and ran it under the sink, adjusting the faucets so that the water was comfortably warm. She wrung most of the water out of the towel before vigorously wiping it over the messiest areas of her bust.

She muttered quiet words of irritation as she cleaned herself. She hadn’t exactly begun the tittyfuck with a plan for where it would go, but she was shocked when it came to such an abrupt end. She had hoped that things would progress in a way that allowed her to get a little pleasure from the encounter. But alas, it was not to be. Getting covered in Paul’s cum wasn’t exactly a fun consolation prize, either.

She had to rinse the towel several times, but eventually she believed that she’d cleaned herself off. She gave her whole chest a brisk once-over to remove any lingering traces of semen that might remain. The last thing she wanted was to feel ‘sticky’ when the water dried.

After rinsing and wringing out the towel one final time, Marcy studied her breasts in the mirror, making sure there were no stray globs of cum that she’d missed. She admired them for a moment, moving her shoulders around to change their shape.

“You can’t blame the guy,” she thought proudly to herself. They were a very sexy pair; it was no wonder Paul couldn’t contain himself.

She took a step back and admired her body as a whole. A delighted smile grew on her face: a silent celebration of the fact that the enviable hourglass form she was gazing upon would remain this way for many, many years to come, now that she wouldn’t be having the baby.

With a sigh of relief, she turned and left the room, switching off the light/fan as she left.

She found Paul just were she had left him, laying on the bed with his eyes closed. He looked like he was asleep and for a moment Marcy thought she would have to make good on her earlier threat. Much to her relief, he opened his eyes and stared at her as she came closer to the bed. Considering how beneficial his company had been tonight, she hated the idea of having to slap him. But nonetheless, tonight was all about cutting loose and having fun, not about giving some guy a free ride.

“Here,” she said, tossing him the moist towel which she had brought with her out of the bathroom. “You can clean yourself up.”

Paul wiped away the small pool of semen on his belly, then proceeded to gently clean the length of his penis, which was now almost completely flaccid.

When he was finished he looked around for somewhere convenient to leave the towel.

“Just toss it anywhere,” Marcy offered as she climbed back on to the foot end of the bed.

With a shrug, Paul lightly discarded the towel on to the floor beside him.

Marcy sat on the far corner of the bed to Paul, her legs spread wide before him.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” she told him.

Without any further prompting, Paul sat up and crawled over to her. He laid down on his belly, with his face right up against her glistening sex.

Marcy gazed down at him with a smile of anticipation. For her, this was the culmination of the arousal Paul had stirred up when he first began suckling on her breasts.

Her breath grew deeper and her smile broadened as Paul began stroking her clit with his tongue.

He remembered all her guidance from before, leaving Marcy free to simply enjoy the ride without having to captain the ship. Paul was savvy enough to keep changing up his tactics. He employed the 'alphabet trick' as before, but only for four or five letters at a time before switching to a brisk flutter or a quick set of laps spiralling out across her clit.

Occasionally he would substitute his lively tongue with a passionate kiss to her erogenous bud, massaging it on all sides simultaneously with his writhing lips. During one such kiss, he experimented by applying a little suction. He took the sharp little peep she made at that moment as a sign of encouragement.

Eventually Marcy's heart was pounding like a drum. What began as a desire was now a need in her searing hot loins. Paul's efforts hadn't waned in the slightest since the first caress of his tongue and, assuming he didn't bail out prematurely, Marcy was content that he would bring her to a marvelous climax.

She laid back, her shoulders and head hanging out beyond the edge of the mattress. As Paul continued teasing her, she tilted her head right back and stared at her upside-down view of the room. The incomprehensible sight, the weird inner ear sensation and the erratic activity upon her privates made for a surreal experience.

Marcy made a series of sharp sighs as she surrendered herself to the pleasure brewing in her crotch. Then in an instant the escape she sought shot through her with a vengeance. She silently lurched upwards. Then she began to fill the air with a series of breathy moans that betrayed the wonderful madness of her experience.

Paul relished the spectacle before him and maintained his assault upon Marcy’s nub without any hesitation.  In a way, he drew satisfaction from the knowledge that he had given Marcy such pleasure. But more than that, he was excited by the power he now held over her. Marcy: the cool, indifferent manipulator, who had effortlessly made him a puppet of her own convenience with her physical wiles, was completely helpless.

Her arms began to shudder manically across the mattress like an animal in its death throes. Her thighs suddenly jolted into a vice-like stance around his head, but seemed to lack the strength to apply any real pressure upon him. Gazing forward, Paul was treated to the sight of Marcy’s prominent bosom rising and falling at an industrious pace. Her breaths became audibly shallower and her moans of satisfaction transitioned seamlessly into agonized whimpers and then eventually, loud wild cries. Marcy’s reaction was so intense that part of Paul wondered if she would actually break if subjected to much more of this. But even that thought didn’t give him pause. He could’ve happily teased her clit until judgement day; the harder she came, the more he enjoyed it.

Suddenly, her cries became uneven and Paul thought for a moment that some of the noises she was making almost bore a semblance to words.

“N... No,” he though he heard her utter. “No! No!” came a far more coherent protest a moment later.

One of her quivering arms leapt into action, collapsing at first on to her belly during a paralysing surge of orgasm, before managing to make it on to Paul’s forehead. With what little strength and control she could muster, she tried to push him away from her pussy.

“Sop! Stop! Stop!” she desperately gasped.

Paul backed away an inch. For a moment he considdered ignoring her pleas, as watching Marcy in this state was just too much fun. But ultimately his sense of decency won and he decided to leave her be. While he couldn’t fully empathize with what he’d just witnessed, he felt that there was some degree of agony mixed in with the ecstasy that had consumed her, and that continuing to inflict those sensations upon her for his own gratification may have been more sinister than one would assume.

All the same, he was quite pleased with the amount of fun that he’d had. He hadn’t even noticed until now just how much his own heart was racing.

Still excited, still hungry for her, Paul dove back upon her crotch but this time mouthed her neat bush of dark brown hair. He bared his teeth, coursing them across the hairs, before planting a slow kiss upon the mound they covered.

He crawled forward, planting long adoring kisses upon her mons, belly and ribs, advancing no more than two inches from the site of his last kiss. For Paul, the journey was so idyllic and sensual  it felt like a dream. Had he not been so committed to his self-imposed pledge to just enjoy himself tonight, he would’ve lamented that these few hours they had together were far too short a time to properly acquaint himself with such a gorgeous body.

Eventually, his meticulous pilgrimage reached the summit of Marcy’s right breast . Once again, he indulged his insatiable lust for her tits by suckling upon her intently. Though Paul had taken his time getting there, Marcy’s chest was still heaving in the aftermath of the powerful set of orgasms he had given her. In every other regard, she was absolutely limp.

Many minutes passed before Marcy’s breathing completely relaxed. Many more minutes past before she showed some stirrings of life. She raised her right arm and gently brushed Paul’s hair for a moment. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Paul?” she said at barely more than a whisper.

“Hmm?” Paul mumbled with a mouth full of boob. It took him a few seconds before he could bring himself to pull himself away from the supple treasure and give Marcy his full attention.

“I want to go to bed,” she told him, sounding utterly exhausted.

With a forlorn look, Paul climbed off of her and even gave her a hand up. Marcy gathered up the white robe and towel she’d worn out of the bathroom and briskly folded them.

“Could you get the light?” she asked Paul, nodding towards a switch right beside the door.

Paul obliged, climbing off the bed and heading toward the door while Marcy took the bath wear articles and placed them on the counter opposite the bed. Along the way, Paul retrieved the hand towel they’d used to mop up his spunk and, after switching off the main ceiling light, walked over and placed it atop the other articles of dirty laundry.

The room was now only illuminated by the intermittent bluish-white glow of the television. Marcy pulled back the bed cover and quilt, rearranged her pillow, then crawled into the bed. She laid propped up, her tits exposed, while she watched Paul wander around the far side of the bed to take his place beside her.

Paul peered over at her as nonchalantly as he could, taking one final look at those breathtaking bulges before they disappeared beneath the bedsheets for the night; and almost certainly the rest of his life.

As he pulled back the covers and slid into the bed, Paul found himself in an awkward predicament for the first time since this all-too-casual meeting began. Where exactly in the bed was he meant to sleep? Despite the numerous sex acts they engaged in together, the idea of cuddling up to Marcy to go to sleep didn’t feel right to Paul. They weren’t close and there was certainly no romance between them. The fucking had felt disturbingly natural to him, but cozying up to her in a non-sexual way just wasn’t who he was ; it wasn’t who *they* were.

On the other hand leaving too much distance could come off as being cold, which he didn’t want either.

He anxiously settled on a position that was about halfway between Marcy and the edge of the bed. There was significant distance still between them, but if Marcy didn’t like that, it would be nothing for her to slide over to meet him. Essentially he left the ball in her court.

Once Paul seemed settled, Marcy leaned over toward the nightstand, but then stopped as a thought occurred to her.

“You don’t want the TV, do you?” she asked him. She made a genuine effort to seem impartial, but Paul could tell that she would’ve found the sound of it nattering away to be a nuisance.

“No,” he answered plainly.  In truth, he hadn’t been following the shows that had been on and wasn’t even familiar with the one on at the moment.

Marcy grabbed the remote from the nightstand beside her and, after studying it in the dim light for a second, found the power button and turned the TV off. Instantly the room descended into pitch blackness and utter silence, broken only momentarily by the sound of the solid remote and nightstand connecting.

There were a few audible exhales, the shuffling of linen and the creak of a bedspring as both illicit lovers made themselves comfortable.

Paul sighed deeply in disappointment. He felt tired, but he wasn’t entirely done for the evening. Sucking on her tit for those many minutes had put him back in the mood for her womanly pleasures. Unfortunately, he got the distinct impression that Marcy was spent for the night.

Reminding himself of the “no rules; just do what you feel like” spirit of the evening, Paul decided to make a move on her. If she pushed him away, that would be the end of it.

But before he got the chance, Marcy was on top of him.

As her seductive warmth smothered the entire left side of his body, he felt her lips brushing hesitantly around the side of his face. It wasn’t like they were being shy - more like they were testing, trying to navigate his face exclusively by feel. Eventually, they found Paul’s lips and locked tightly upon them. Her tongue ventured confidently into his mouth and coaxed his own to join it in a spirited game of tag.

He felt a tender but determined hand on the side of his face, guiding him to turn toward her. It left him soon after, but he soon felt it again, this time coursing across his belly, heading south.

Before long, her fingers had reached his maleness. They snaked around his shaft and then reversed direction, giving it a firm rub. But it was only a brief stop-over on their way to their ultimate destination. She reached behind his cock and closed her grasp gently around his balls. Slowly, carefully, she drew her fingers back and forth over them, the way one might stroke a beloved pet. She did her best to make sure her wrist brushed against his cock as it moved. She knew it wouldn’t be very good stimulation for him, but it would be better than nothing.

As he began to grow erect, Marcy abandoned his balls to masturbate him for a little while. Paul hummed approvingly into their kiss as her skilful hand roused his member into readiness. Then she returned to his balls, though for a briefer length of time than before. Her grasp was firmer this time, though it was far from being painful. Before leaving his tender manberries, she made a point of tracing her fingertips all over their surface with a feather touch. The tickling sensation made him shiver with delight.

Marcy could feel his manhood, hard, thick and throbbing against her wrist. Again, she enveloped it’s base with her fingers, but this time she steered it towards her slit. Slowly but smoothly, she plunged herself onto him. Both lovers moaned as she brought their sexes together, until his was all but entirely consumed by hers.

She hooked her left leg around Paul’s thigh as they began to gently rock their hips back and forth. Paul slipped a hand on to her butt and dug his fingers deep into her yielding cheek, revelling in its magnificent suppleness while simultaneously controlling her movements.

Their pelvic thrusts barely built up any momentum. Their open-mouth kiss virtually never broke. They were both tired from their previous sexual forays and the stresses of the day. Neither of them was after an earth-shaking, bed-breaking frenzy. Yet despite their lack of energy, both were completely invested in the activity.

Marcy knew she’d almost certainly never reach orgasm with the mild motions, but she really enjoyed herself nonetheless. Being filled by Paul’s shaft, feeling it shifting rhythmically inside of her was a significantly pleasurable sensation in itself, but it also offered a sense of closeness that was most welcome. Here she had a trustworthy friend; a kind, comforting shoulder, intimately joined with her, part of him pushed deep inside her own body. His keen embrace and reciprocation of her kiss hammered home that feeling all the more. Her plan to block out the pain of Karen’s funeral with some good, sexual company had been a resounding success!

The repetitive, writhing screw lasted many, many minutes, yet at no point did it become tiresome for either of them. But even with such a patient pace Paul’s manhood could not withstand the luscious caress of Marcy’s slick flesh forever. With a tense grunt, his grasp upon her posterior became very insistent and her pinned her hips tightly against him. Buried as deeply as he could go, Paul joyfully poured his sperm into the heavenly embrace of Marcy’s pussy.

Marcy felt the interest subsiding in Paul’s kiss and instantly knew what had happened. Despite the lack of reciprocation, she tried to carry on the kiss by herself as she was enjoying it. Before long she had to settle for affectionately sucking on his lip and then passionately kissing his cheek as his lips eventually drifted away from her. Once she gave that away a few seconds later, their coital activity was over and they were still.

Paul rolled on to his back, lifting Marcy right on top of him as he did so. When Marcy felt him beginning to move, she tightened her leg around Paul’s and grabbed his hip to make sure he didn’t pull out as he moved

 She liked having his cock inside her. She wanted to keep it there, for just a little while longer.

Paul’s embrace around her upper body tightened, ever so slightly, but his grasp upon her ass loosened and became a weary massage. As Marcy’s head settled upon a comfortable spot next to his on the pillow, a contented sigh escaped through his nose.

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 8

Fair Warning: This chapter features a fair amount of gore blended into its sex scene. This chapter adds some trauma to the narrative for the purposes of plot/character development. That being said, I've tried to incorporate this necessary trauma in the sexiest way possible.

If you just want to get back to the purely hot stuff, feel free to skip ahead to the next chapter.


The endless banality of the grey, thick forest was disturbed only by the sounds of its foreign intruders. The constant scrape of a mattress being dragged along the ground served as a backing for two pairs of sneakers marching through the brown, leafy undergrowth, out of sync with one another. It was like music being played by a trio with no souls.

Sometimes when Marcy looked back at the mattress she was pulling all she could see upon it was death. It was hard to articulate what death looked like exactly, except that it was bloody and ugly, but she just knew that the thing she was looking at was death. Even though her mind kept assuring her that it was Karen.

Other times when she looked back, Marcy saw the bubbly blonde freshman she’d met on her first week of college. A beautiful broad grin shining upon her face, excited about all the new experiences she was about to have, without a worry in the world.

Surrounding them, at a distance of about 100 yards, a darkness consumed the forest.  It wasn’t like a shadow cast by a cloud. This darkness twitched and swirled as if everything out there was completely covered in a layer of black insects.

Marcy recognized this darkness as well. It too was death, for death came in many forms.

With a casual glance, it looked as if the boundary between the darkness and the forest remained constant. But when she really looked, Marcy could tell that the darkness was getting closer, one inch at a time. It was patient in its advance. It had no need to chase her because there was nowhere she could go to escape it - she was surrounded.

By the same token, Marcy felt no compulsion to run or scream because she knew it would do her no good. So she simply continued toting the heavy load of someone too frail to flee from the darkness without her help.

The lone contrast in her macabre surroundings was Paul. He stood opposite her, his hands latched firmly upon the other corner of the mattress. The sleeves of his dark blue sweater bulged handsomely where his biceps swelled from the effort of carrying his childhood crush. He was like a virile bull the way his legs powered tirelessly on; the way the hot, heavy breath snorted from his nostrils. It gave Marcy a precious sense of comfort to have this sturdy specimen of masculine strength by her side in this awful time.

Every now and then, she’d look ahead to their destination: the shabby little log cabin at the top of the hill. The incline before her seemed insurmountable: it felt like they were trying to climb Mount Everest.

She would look ahead to her destination only briefly, before turning her gaze to other aspects of her surroundings. But each time she checked to see how much farther they needed to carry Karen, it seemed like they’d barely made any progress at all.

Then Marcy finally realized what the problem was. Her legs were moving at a normal rate, but her actual forward movement was as if she were trying to run in a swimming pool.

Nonetheless, she carried on in this fashion for several minutes, refusing to let the futility of the task deter her from doing ‘what she was supposed to do’.

Then, for no particular reason, she decided that it was all ridiculous. There was no point trying to carry Karen away from the darkness. Death was already inside her. There was nothing in the cabin that could save her.

Marcy dropped her burden without a word, leaving Karen to be consumed by the darkness where she lay. She continued on ahead. Without even looking back, Marcy knew that Paul would likewise drop the mattress and follow her, because she wanted him to. She didn’t know how or why, but at this time, Marcy had control over him. She could feel his unwavering gaze upon her butt as she walked. It was like he was some kind of mindless thrall in a trance.

Before she knew it, Marcy was back at the cabin. She turned the knob of the flimsy door, which had been nailed together from uneven planks, and stepped inside.

It was a pitiful little sanctuary, with only one room. Fortunately for Marcy, it was the only room she needed to find a little comfort in these final couple of hours.

The bed, an antiquated piece made of cast iron, was pressed flush against the back wall and centered beneath a small window. It was a mess; the blood-red floral quilt had been tossed to one side and the sheets and pillows were all rumpled. Appropriate, Marcy thought, considering how the world around the cabin was crumbling to pieces. Why should the inside be any different?

All the same, the soft mattress looked extremely inviting.  It called to her, promising a comfortable place to rest her weary legs.

She walked over and sat upon the bed in a position that was halfway between laying in repose and curled up in the fetal position. Resting an elbow upon the window sill, she gazed out into the wilderness. The darkness was still out there, still encroaching upon her. The cabin was no defence whatsoever against its advance; it was merely a more welcoming place for her to await the inevitable than the cold, dirty woods.

Without even thinking about it, she pulled one of the pillows close and held it close to her body. It was a poor substitute for Whipsie, the plush, sky-blue toy cow she had embraced for comfort in her formative years, and more than once after the crueller days of high school.

Behind her, the door opened and soon after closed again. There was no need to turn around to see who it was for there was only one other person beside herself in this godforsaken place who wasn't paralyzed with sickness.

"We're all gonna get it," Marcy lamented aloud. "We're all gonna get sick and Jeff's in the woods getting drunk."

The tired old bedsprings creaked in protest as Paul sat down by her side.

A warm hand landed upon the side of her thigh. Marcy’s legs were used to the contact of men’s hands. It was quite often one of the later gestures she’d receive as they came on to her. But this time, the connection felt different. It rested upon her gently; there was no squeezing, or fondling. This was a gesture of support, not persuasion.

“No,” Paul declared, barely louder than a whisper, but with a staunch confidence in his voice. “Bert’s gonna get help. Karen will be fine, I promise.”

The resolve in his voice actually made her feel a little more secure. A little, but not enough.

“It’s like being on a plane when you know it’s gonna crash,” she responded, shaking her head slightly in denial of his words. “Everybody around you is yelling and screaming ‘We’re going down! We’re doing down!’ and all you really want to do is grab the person next to you and fuck the shit out of them. Because you know you’re gonna be dead soon, anyway,” she told him.

She spoke without an ounce of hesitation. The gathering darkness made restraint and even self-respect seem absolutely worthless. If her proposal was rejected, then so be it. But right now the only thing of value she had left to lose was the time she would waste by beating around the bush.

She gave her words a second to sink in, before she turned to Paul to check his reaction.

Marcy was surprised by Paul’s expression. There was no passion reflected in his face; neither outrage, nor lust or delight. Instead, it showed only a sense of mild curiosity. He looked like a young child who had been confounded by something a world-wise adult had said, and was trying to work through it in his own mind. For a split second, the naivety she saw made her feel guilty about what she wanted to do.  But then she saw the other side of Paul, the side that she had stolen glances of earlier as he powered up that impossible hill. The lively, powerful masculine side of him.

With a heavy sigh and an adamant decision that she would enjoy her “last meal” for everything it was worth, she pounced. Her lips landed upon Paul’s so swiftly that he had no time to react until it was too late. His arm jerked away from her, but otherwise Paul didn't react to her hungry kisses. It was as if her warm lips were laced with venom and each attack they made paralyzed him even more.

Marcy found Paul to be incredibly malleable. With only the slightest pressure of her hand she could move him as she wished. When she didn't push him,  he would hold still for as long as she wanted. With Paul completely under her control, it was easy for Marcy to get them both undressed quickly. As she had hoped, Paul's member had rapidly risen to the occasion and was ready to serve her needs.

A sense of spirit returned to him and he pulled her naked body firmly against his own which Marcy found invigorating. They kissed passionately while Marcy struggled to maneuverer  within his constraining grasp. She could feel his maleness being pinned between her mons and his own belly.

But after a few seconds she was able to position her moist opening right over his glorious rod and drop herself on to its complete length. With a brutal sense of purpose Marcy hurled Paul down on to the mattress and began riding him like a machine.

"You don't use condoms?" he asked her nervously, the shock over how ridiculously sudden their friendship had turned sexual still burning in his eyes.

Marcy only half-heard the question.

“Don’t worry. I’m healthy,” she answered concisely.

No sooner had the words left her mouth when the smart part of her brain started screaming profanities at her, “YOU STUPID BITCH! YOU STUPID BITCH! DON’T FUCK HIM WITHOUT A CONDOM! IT WILL RUIN YOU!” It spoke with a sense of absolute certainty that worried her. But Marcy simply brushed aside her common sense just as she had done with Paul’s misgivings.

In turn, her common sense asked her why she wasn’t listening to reason, reminding her that her folly was as bad as could be. It was only now that Marcy realized that she wasn’t in complete control of her actions. Something told her that she was doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing; that what was happening now was somehow set in stone and could not be deviated from. Marcy found that to be an oddly comforting thought. As Paul’s maleness moved forcefully to and fro within her cunt, Marcy contented herself with the notion that this was a rather pleasant experience to be committed to.

Over and over, she worked her hips upon him, her breath constant and heavy from the exertion. But every penetration she felt excited her snatch all the more, giving her more than enough motivation to power on.

For some reason, she cracked her eye open after a while and peeked down at Paul. His eyes were closed, his head craned back into the pillow, his mouth agape with a look of mindless ecstasy upon his face.

Then Marcy noticed that he was laying in a shallow pool of water that had a blackish tinge to it. With every thrust Marcy made, as she pressed Paul in to the mattress, more of the foul liquid bubbled up around him, as if the mattress was a saturated sponge being squeezed. The liquid stained every part of Paul’s skin it came in contact with, and as the amount of the substance increased, Paul became more and more coated in it.

Marcy knew what the liquid was. It, too, was death. And it was her fault that its filthy touch was now upon Paul. Death was already closing in on Marcy, and by having unsafe sex with Paul she had inflicted her own fate upon him as well. The longer they screwed, the more severe his exposure to the hazard became.

Even when she told him she was healthy earlier, she believed it was a lie. That didn’t matter at the time - she figured he was done for anyway, but more importantly, she just really wanted his cock. But when she saw his healthy robust physique tainted with that noxious stain, Marcy couldn’t help but feel remorse for what she was doing to him.

Nonetheless, she powered on, her newfound guilt soon joining all her other unpleasant thoughts in the back of her mind. Her body, roasting with arousal, willingly played out the role that Marcy seemed to be trapped in.

Amidst the rhythmic creaking of the rusty bedsprings, Marcy thought she heard a distant noise, like a bird call. It repeated again and again before Marcy realized it wasn’t a bird at all, but a person; a woman to be precise.

The calls grew closer and closer. Then all at once, Marcy was able to discern not only what the voice was saying, but also who it belonged to. It was Karen.

“Paul?” she cried mournfully, “Paul? Help!”

Marcy looked down at Paul. Half-submerged in a pool of tragic carelessness, he was clearly too lost in the throes of passion to notice his love calling for him.

“Help me, Paul! Where are you? Where… where are you, Paul? I need help!” Karen continued. Her voice sounded sickly and her calls were occasionally broken up with wet coughs.

The voice kept growing closer and clearer. As Marcy rode Paul to the precipice of release, she could hear the voice and footsteps moving around the cabin on her left-hand side.

“Pau…” came the final plea for help, which ended abruptly.

Marcy raised her head and stared out the window before her. Her gaze was met Karen’s.

Karen was tightly clutching the dirty white blanket that was wrapped around her, as if she were freezing. Two thin streams of blood dripped from her nostrils and the skin around her mouth was still stained red. Her hair was unkempt and likewise stained with blood in several clumped-together sections. The rest of her face was one almighty rash, pockmarked with sores that were either weeping, scabbed or both.

But by far the most disturbing aspect of Karen’s appearance was the look of utter heartbreak upon her face.

Now she understood why Paul hadn’t come to her rescue when she called out for him. He was busy – fucking her supposed best friend.

Karen’s lower lip began to shudder uncontrollably. Tears began to tumble down her cheeks, mixing with blood along the way to form a pale red cordial.

Marcy was at a loss. She struggled to think of something she could either say or do to at least begin to make the situation right, but her mind was a blank. At the very least, she knew she ought to stop fucking Paul. But the motion of Paul’s rod inside her was like a drug. With every stroke of its tender flesh, her pussy seemed to beg her, “Oh, that was SO good! Please, just give me one more. Then you can stop, I promise!” But every thrust made a liar out of her body and the temptation to go just that one step further repeatedly got the better of her.

Two thrusts… three thrusts… four thrusts… five thrusts… six thrusts…

Karen was aghast at the spectacle of Marcy continuing to fuck Paul’s brains out right in front of her and Marcy was aghast at herself for forcing Karen to watch it.

In many ways, it was good that the horrifying situation didn’t continue much longer before Marcy climaxed with a deep thrust onto Paul’s member. A single, sharp gasp escaped her lungs as her womanhood seized tightly. Her face contorted into a visage of unmarred carnal ecstasy. She lifted her breasts forward, almost as if she meant to show them off, as her back arched on reflex. Marcy was well aware that cumming like this probably seemed to Karen like Marcy was mocking her. Yet still it felt fantastic.

Paul’s reaction to her orgasm was almost immediate. But this was unlike any male climax Marcy had ever felt before. The ejaculations literally felt like her sex was being blasted by a high-pressure hose. Each one felt like it was blowing about a gallon of fluid into her belly.

Marcy began to shudder wildly as each blast seemed to reset her orgasm back to the beginning, while at the same time leaving her reeling from the previous climax. Yet somehow, she was able to keep her eyes wide open throughout.

She watched as Karen’s already tenuous health declined rapidly, in waves that were somehow synchronized with Paul’s ejaculations. With the first two ejaculations, Karen convulsed as if she was having a heart attack. With the third, the blanket dropped from her shoulders and fell to her feet as she began to collapse. Then, with each subsequent ejaculation, Karen’s body literally fell apart. Her bloody flesh began to slip from her body like a melting ice-cream, dropping on to the ground in sloppy, red chunks. Her right arm fell off, then her left. Shortly afterwards, her jawbone detached from her now featureless face. By this point, her legs had already buckled and dissolved away to mush and bones.

As more and more of Paul’s cum flooded in to Marcy’s womb, charged with the energy of life, that same life energy slipped away from Karen, until nothing was left of her but a pile of bloody bones.

Marcy was utterly horrified by what she had just witnessed. Not only was her poor friend dead, but she had died in the most awful way imaginable. Yet Marcy’s body was still seething in orgasm, which completely numbed her to actually feeling any pain. Her mind actually struggled to fight the process, to induce the sorrow that it knew she was supposed to feel. But the shackles of her own base impulses would not allow it. She felt a tear spill from her eye as she watched the forest ground consume Karen’s bones. But her mouth was still spewing the exhausted panting of a wanton woman.

The powerful surges of Paul’s semen faded away to stillness. Yet as they did so, Marcy became aware of another foreign throbbing in her loins; less powerful than the ejaculations had been, but far more rapid. A theory occurred to her that at first seemed ridiculous, but Marcy soon realized it was all too true: there was a second heart beating inside her.

Marcy looked down at her belly. She nervously explored the shape of her mons with her hand. It all looked and felt the same from the outside, but that was no reassurance for the rhythmic rapping she felt, like a fingertip tapping on her innards.

Then she heard another voice. Only this one wasn’t coming from outside the cabin – it was coming from inside *her*! She felt it resonating through her blood and bones all the way up to her ears. It’s nature was indistinct, neither male nor female. Yet its calls shared the exact same sorrowful, desperate tone that Karen’s had earlier. At first she couldn’t make out its words, but gradually they became clearer, until one call finally made sense.

“Marmy? I need your help!”

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 9

Marcy opened her eyes with a sharp gasp. All she could see was blackness.

It took her a while to remember where she was.

She was in a motel room - not the cabin. The disaster at the cabin was weeks ago. It was over. She’d survived it. She was safe now.

It was only a nightmare.

Her heart was still racing, only now it was racing in terror, not passion.

It only became worse as her mind reorganized the fact she’d just relived from the fiction. Yes, she was safe; “death” was no longer stalking her. But Karen was really dead, and a new life really was growing inside her.

All those emotions she wasn’t able to feel in the dream suddenly dropped on her like a shipping container.

For the longest time she was unable to navigate through the confusion of them all. She was extremely distressed, but for no particular reason, and yet, for a million reasons all at once.

Eventually, once she had calmed down, she owned up to herself with scathing honesty. What she had done with Paul in the cabin was *wrong*! Not just because she had slept with him, but because she did it to forget about Karen. And Karen deserved so much better than that!

Karen was sick, dying and probably in pain. Karen was alone and probably so very scared. Marcy was right there and she did nothing. She didn’t tend to Karen, she didn’t dress her sores, she did nothing to ease her pain. At the very least, she could’ve kept Karen company; could’ve talked to her and try to keep her spirits up. But Marcy didn’t do any of those things.

But even worse than simply walking away from Karen in the midst of her suffering, Marcy had cruelly carried on like Karen didn’t even exist. She seduced Paul without the slightest regard for the hold Karen had upon his heart, nor the indecisive attraction Karen felt for him. She broke the trust of friendship. She even broke her own rules about unsafe sex. All for the sake of finding some distraction that could make her forget that Karen existed. Because being aware of Karen meant being aware of the sickness eating away at her; and Marcy was just too fucking cowardly to deal with that.

But Karen deserved better. Much better.

Now, Marcy found herself in an eerily similar situation. She was so eager to pretend that the baby inside her wasn’t there; so willing to forget it. She wanted it to simply go away because it would make her so much happier if it, and all the complications that came with it, simply didn’t exist.

That was exactly how she had treated Karen. It broke her heart remembering that she’d rejected her friend like that. Marcy would’ve given anything to be able to go back in time and undo her selfishness; to do whatever she could to be there for Karen. But she couldn’t.

And yet she could. The baby inside her was just like Karen: frail and in need of Marcy’s help. If she chose to reject it, it would die. This was a fresh chance for Marcy to be the better person she dearly wished she had been before. This was her chance to do the right thing and help someone who needed her, instead of just tending to her own selfish preferences.

If she kept acting as shamefully as she had in the cabin, if she made a habit of turning her back on others every time they became an inconvenience to her, what kind of shallow, lonely life would that amount to? She was only still breathing because EMTs had come knocking on the cabin door before she got as sick as Karen. What if one day she needed to be rescued and nobody cared enough about her to come to her aid?

The EMTs... The rescue...

It occurred to Marcy that at the moment she left the cabin there were two unwanted parasites inside her body. One was the virus that eventually destroyed Karen: death. The other was the seed that Paul had planted inside her: life. As she had laid on the bed with Paul spooning her from behind she had wished so dearly for life; wished that the sickness would not finish her, even though she felt that that was almost certain to be her fate. And here she was, her wish granted.

Her fortune seemed to turn when her baby was conceived. The disease took Karen, but Marcy and the life inside her were spared. While Marcy couldn’t bring herself to believe that the baby had actually saved her life somehow, she nonetheless saw a parallel between their fates. Marcy had been granted the chance to live at the same time as the one inside her.

Now, to callously discard that other life seemed like an insult to everything Marcy had prayed so earnestly for.  She had a renewed appreciation for how precious life was. She was immeasurably grateful that hers had been spared. Now, with another life in her own hands, Marcy felt she could do no less then to grant the same mercy.

The thoughts she was having scared her immensely. Her train of thought was taking her somewhere she really, really didn’t want to go. Beginning to panic, she tried to recall Paul’s counsel from before.

“Nothing you can do can undo the past.”

“There’s no point torturing yourself because of what we did.”

Marcy remembered the words, but the logic suddenly seemed so flimsy. They were words that sounded nice on the surface, but now Marcy knew they were just what she wanted to hear. They came from a point of view that had been distorted to offer her convenience, by obscuring greater truths that she now found impossible to ignore.

She wept as she made the decision with absolute resolve. She would see the pregnancy through.

She wept for all the discomfort it would press upon her. She wept for the hormonal chaos that would assault her. She wept for the fact that it would make her fat and ugly. She wept for all the fun, booze and pot she’d miss out on over the coming months. She wept for the agony of labor she would eventually go through. But most of all, she wept for the way this wrecking ball would turn her life into a shambles.

She couldn’t romanticize the thought of holding a gurgling little baby in her arms. The thought of being called “Mommy” made her gag. She most definitely didn’t want this baby. She most definitely despised having it inside her. The road ahead of her was not a rollercoaster of highs as well as lows. Carrying this baby was nothing to her but a burden, plain and simple. But it was a burden she simply couldn’t shirk.

Marcy let the full weight of her worry over her now daunting future settle upon her. She explored all her uncomfortable thoughts about what this pregnancy would do to her life; often asking poignant questions that she simply didn’t have any answers for yet.

She finally let down her defences surrounding the circumstances of the baby’s conception and allowed herself to openly confront the realities of the affair. She lamented what she had done, not because it had gotten her pregnant, but because it had been so inhumane. It would’ve made Paul sick if not for the timely intervention of the EMTs, and it denied Karen.

And at long last, she finally gave herself the opportunity to truly grieve for her dear, departed friend. Up until now, Marcy’s tears over Karen’s death were largely for herself. She had wept for her own uncertain future, wept for the turmoil of guilt and bitterness that Karen’s death had brought up in her, wept for her own trauma from having to watch Karen succumb to the flesh eating disease and wept for the way her own life had been ruined by the same vacation that had killed Karen.

But now she mourned only for the loss of her lovely friend. She mourned for the awful experience Karen must’ve gone through in her final weeks. She mourned for the loneliness and betrayal Karen must’ve felt while she was locked in that tiny, dark toolshed all by herself. She mourned for the bright, bubbly glow of Karen’s personality that was no longer shining upon the world. And she mourned for the future that Karen had lost, all the exciting, happy and proud moments of life that she never got to have.

With her seemingly endless flow of tears still trickling down on to Paul’s shoulder, Marcy said her final goodbyes to her best friend.

Marcy had confronted all the awkward, painful, distressing thoughts that she’d been artfully dodging ever since leaving the cabin, at a growing cost to her sanity. She had accepted that she was pregnant and that she would remain so for another 8 months. She had acknowledged the tragedy of what had happened in those woods, particularly to Karen. She had made a frank and honest confession to herself about her terrible, careless choices and accepted their moral and physical repercussions.

Yet as difficult a process as it was, Marcy was ever mindful of the fact that Paul was right beside her. The slack, yet warm embrace of his arm curled around her; his hip bone settled neatly into the cup of her crotch. Right now, as she was facing all these problems, Marcy wasn’t alone and for that she was immeasurably grateful.

Her mind was well aware that Paul was fast asleep, that he had absolutely no idea what she was going through. But that could not diminish the sense that the weight of these heavy matters wasn’t resting upon her alone. Someone was there with her in this harsh, frightening moment of reflection and decision. Someone was holding her. That made all the difference in getting her through what would otherwise have been a devastating time.

Eventually, she calmed down. The flow of tears dried up and the barely-audible whimpers fell completely silent. But Marcy was too awake to go straight back to sleep. She spent some time in quiet contemplation. Some of the things she pondered were important, such as her future and how she would manage the pregnancy. But a lot of it was not, such as wondering how friends she’d talked to at dinner were getting along. She also spent a few minutes reflecting on how enjoyable it had been to spend the night with Paul.

Marcy had no idea how long she’d been awake when Paul began to stir, though it felt like somewhere between an hour and an hour and a half.

He lifted his head for a moment, most likely to peek at the clock radio behind Marcy. Then he dropped back onto the pillow with a frustrated huff.

“What time is it?” Marcy asked him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Paul quietly apologized.

“It’s okay,” she replied.

“It’s 5.10,” Paul sighed, in response to her question.

“Time to go?” Marcy inquired after an ominous moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Paul confirmed in the kind of voice people use to describe nuisance chores. “I want to get back home before my family wakes up. Don’t want to have to face a bunch of questions about where I spent the night, y’know?”

“No, of course not,” Marcy agreed.

Despite Paul’s preference to be home nice and early, they continued to lay there in silence, still resting comfortably in the embrace they’d fallen asleep in. They both knew Paul needed to make every effort to keep their fling discreet, but neither of them wanted to see their temporary haven away from reality come to an end.

“One for the road?” Marcy asked him in a gentle, yet eager tone.

“What the hell!” Paul accepted, with a joyless chuckle.

Marcy slid over so that she was completely on top of Paul and found his lips with her own. Paul’s loose one-arm embrace became a firm two-arm bear hug as they kissed. Marcy began to massage Paul’s pubic area invitingly with her own mons, but made no deliberate effort to tease his cock. With the tone set for sex, she knew it would come to the party in due course.

Paul sat upright, carrying Marcy with him. They kissed for a while longer before he dipped Marcy back a little and leaned in to suckle upon her breasts, with which he was so enamoured.  Marcy fondled the back of his head as he feasted upon them like a man who hadn’t eaten in a week, continuing to slowly rock her hips around on his lap.

As they entered into another prolonged kiss together, Marcy felt the touch of Paul’s stiffening maleness against her labia. Marcy had been a little worried that her nightmare might have soured her on having sex so soon. But thankfully, her libido proved to be quite healthy. She found the sensation of his shaft brushing over her opening to be very stimulating and increasingly, she ached to stick all that meat inside her.

Paul departed from her lips once again, to kiss and suckle upon her magnificent tits a second time. Marcy let him have his fill for a time, but when the genital stimulation became too much for her, she lifted his chin with her fingertips and stole a brief, yet firm kiss. While he was distracted, Marcy lifted her hips, allowing Paul’s cock to raise just enough for her to align their sexes for penetration. Then with a gentle motion, she dropped on to his fully-erect maleness. Her pussy was saturated with fluid, making the motion as smooth as feeding her arms through the sleeves of a silk blouse.

Paul exhaled in surprise as he suddenly found himself ensnared once again by Marcy’s sweet snatch. Then before he could do anything to try and regain control of the exchange, Marcy threw her body weight forwards, pushing him back on to the matress.

Her hips wasted no time in establishing stable a rhythm of gyrations upon his organ.

This was how it all started; their sexual relationship, that is, along with all the associated problems it had caused. Marcy was on top, riding cowgirl, while Paul simply laid back cooking up the hot, salty broth that would inevitably be splashed upon her pink flesh.  Her hips worked vigorously, but not rapidly. Marcy was in no hurry to finish, because once this screw was over, so was her night with Paul, which meant she would be back in the real world again. Though his issues weren’t anywhere near as complex, Marcy knew that Paul was in no hurry to make that transition either.

Paul’s eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness for him to be able to make out the barest details of Marcy’s form heaving to and fro above him. He could make out the thick curtain of dark hair hanging off to one side of her face, bouncing wildly with each motion and the two huge masses of supple femininity jiggling side-to-side mere inches from his face.

His memory easily filled in all the details he couldn’t actually see: such as the soft, pink lips, parted just enough to blow out her hot, lusty breath, or those cute, dark little nipples. Apart from the darkness, this was a familiar sight that had haunted his most shameful nightmares over the previous month. This was his precise viewpoint when Marcy robbed him of his virginity.

It was strange. Paul had spent so much of the past four weeks trying to block out that complex memory. While on some level he found it arousing, for the most part he was disturbed and even infuriated by that vivid imagery. Yet now, he would’ve given almost anything for a way to bring some light to the room, just so he could relive that first fuck in the cabin over again, complete with all its spectacle.

Paul yearned to rise up and taste those mouth-watering breasts once more. But Marcy's hands were pressing her full body weight upon his shoulders, limiting his movement. His arms, however, were still able to reach up and explore her fine figure.

Skirting the upper reaches of her active hips, his hands settled for a moment on the sides of her slender waist, where he marveled at how little distance there was between them. But Marcy's jiggling boobs called to him and before long his hands had latched upon them. He squeezed them with a firm grasp and rubbed them with the flesh of his palms, over and over again. This was all but certain to be the last time he would ever hold these natural wonders; he wanted his experience of their pliant perfection to be complete. He wanted to reinforce this memory so well that he would never be able to forget what Marcy's tits felt like.

Over time, Marcy threw her restraint to the wind. She was in no hurry for the fuck to be over, but this night was all about careless passion and excitement. She figured it was ridiculous to water down their grand finale, instead of going out in spectacular fashion.

Her hips pounded against him faster and faster. The still silence of the room was disturbed by Marcy’s loud, heavy panting. Paul was rocked up and down like a castaway on a stormy sea, due to her ever-shifting body weight.

She let his big, hard rod scratch her itch until it drove her crazy. Her body was roasting hot and shivering with pleasure when her stamina crumbled with one final, mighty plunge upon that wonderful stack of maleness. Her arms gave way and she barely had the wherewithal to make her collapse upon Paul a gentle one.

Paul’s arms wrapped around her; one encircling her upper back and squeezing her tightly, the other snaking south from the small of her back until it found the yielding curvature of her right buttock. He grasped her posterior affectionately, a couple of his fingers straying into the upper reaches of her crack.

He had cum at some point there; of that Marcy was in no doubt. She couldn’t actually feel it, but she knew there was a torrent of semen washing through her abdomen at that very moment. She couldn’t have cared less. With a bun already in the oven, she felt like Supergirl: completely bulletproof. Paul’s busy little swimmers couldn’t possibly do any more damage to her. There was something bizarrely liberating, perhaps even satisfying about that.
They savored the mutual afterglow together in a sensual embrace that lasted a minute or two. Then without a word, Paul rolled Marcy on to the other side of the bed. Marcy didn’t resist; she was almost like a rag doll. Her only reaction was a quiet moan that could only be described as post-orgasmic.

Paul sat up on the side of the bed for a second, gathering his strength and resolve, before lumbering reluctantly off to the bathroom.

Marcy heard the switch being flipped and a second later the distant features of the motel room became subtly illuminated by the small amount of white light that was escaping through the crack in the bathroom door.

She began to stir shortly after she first heard the shower running. Between the bathroom light and the glow of the clock radio, Marcy was able to find her pack of cigarettes and lighter without too much difficulty. A twinge of guilt nagged her as she placed the cigarette between her lips and brought the flame up to its tip.

“The night’s not over until he leaves,” she declared to herself. “Until then, there are no problems, no worries, no commitments; we’re just having fun. I don’t have to be bothered with being pregnant tonight. That starts in the morning. But not tonight.”

She drew in a full breath’s worth of hot, soothing smoke and was pleasantly surprised with how effectively she’d silenced her misgivings. Giving the health of her and Paul’s baby no further thought. She immersed herself in the simple pleasures of a cigarette and being sexually spent.

As her mind rambled, Marcy realized that there was one final question about her situation that she hadn’t faced yet: Paul.

He was going to be a father. Should she tell him?

Marcy was at a loss. She had no idea what to do. Her realization that she would actually be giving birth to this baby hadn’t occurred more than two hours ago. Back when abortion seemed like the most likely end to this problem, telling Paul what had happened seemed not only unnecessary, but also stupid. But now the issue was so much more complicated and the best way to handle it was not so clear.

After a minute of mulling over the issue Marcy was only able to come to one conclusion: telling Paul now would only ruin what had been a wonderful night of soothing respite for both of them. After all the comfort she had gotten out of these past few hours with Paul she would hate for it all to end on bitter terms.

She would wait, give the matter all due consideration. If she later decided that she would need to contact him to give him the news, she could always claim that she didn't know she was pregnant at the time of Karen's funeral.

The shower stopped and Marcy realized that their night together was swiftly drawing to a close. She reached over and switched on the bedside lamp to brighten up the room enough for everything to be clearly visible. She was about to get up and fetch her bathrobe from the counter, but quickly decided against it.

"I'll give him one last thrill," she figured, "let him see me naked again before he leaves." Marcy wondered how much of an effect the little exhibition would have on Paul. Was he leaving the motel completely satisfied, or would the sight of her body make him want to jump her bones all over again? Marcy kind of hoped it would actually happen. She wished this bubble of blissful ignorance they had made together would never burst.

The bathroom door whined as it opened. For a moment, the bathroom's flurescent light flooded the back wall of the motel room, before it disappeared with a flick of the switch. Paul wandered into sight, dressed in the smart casual outfit he had worn to dinner the night before. He stopped and stared at her for a moment. He looked as if he wanted to say something meaningful. But in the end the only thing he managed to say was, "Well..." with a shrug.

"Yeah," Marcy softly replied.

She got up and nonchalantly strolled over to the counter just behind him, as if she were unaware that she was completely nude. Paul broke eye contact just long enough to drop his gaze over the full length of her body. The expression on his face changed. She saw admiration, perhaps even gratitude in his coy smirk. But not lust. Not enough to make a difference, at least. This was it.

Paul started slowly for the door as Marcy fetched her bathrobe, threw it around her back and tied the belt securely around her waist. She was right behind him as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold pre-dawn air.

He turned around on the threshold and met her doe-like, yet savvy gaze.

"Well... see you around, I guess," he said in a raspy whisper.

"Okay," Marcy said. "Thanks for coming," she added in a deadpan tone that almost completely concealed the sincerity of her words.

"Thanks for inviting me," Paul replied. It was practically an obligatory response. "This was a good idea," he told her in a moment of unguarded honesty. The second the words left his mouth, he wondered if he would still feel that way tomorrow or next week. But right now, he believed that he and Marcy had made the best of a bad situation.

"Yeah," Marcy agreed with a broad, thoughtful grin, "It was."

An awkward silence grew as the smiles faded. Without really thinking, Paul leaned in to plant a kiss on Marcy's lips and Marcy leaned forward to recieve it. It was fleeting, closed mouth, but nonetheless firm and affectionate. Despite the far more intimate acts they had performed in the past hours, this kiss felt uncomfortably inappropriate  for their otherwise casual friendship.

"I'll call you," Paul told her.

"Okay," Marcy cordially agreed, desperately hoping it was a bullshit promise he made just so she wouldn't feel like he had used her as an easy booty call. She watched as Paul turned and stepped off the concrete walkway and into the dark parking lot before closing and locking the door behind him.

She rested her back flat against the door and closed her eyes in anguish. Her heart sank into her stomach as the full weight of the world fell upon her shoulders. Her future started now. She had little concept of what she had entered in to, except that it seemed hard and scary and so very lonely. She felt like a bailed criminal who had been found guilty and had just entered the courtroom for their sentencing hearing. The only thing she knew for sure about what lied in store for her was that it would be something awful.

She wanted to make a last-ditch border run; to escape her punishment. But her heart would not hear of it. It was uncomprimising in its need to make pennance for her crimes in the cabin.

She walked over to the fixed wardrobe on the far side of the room. On the inside of one of its doors was a full-length mirror. Standing before the mirror, she opened her bathrobe and lamented the great body she'd been blessed with, which she was sacrificing for the sake of inner peace... and the friend she betrayed.

Marcy turned to the side and drew the sides of her robe back so she could see her entire body in profile. She tried to picture that sight with her currently flat belly distended 8 or 9 inches ahead of where it was now. She snorted at the ugliness of that image.

A hand that had been subconciously caressing her belly slipped down until her fingertips were positioned in the borderlands between belly and crotch. This was the spot where she imagined her baby was. A brand new life that she had created; that was living inside of her, that was being nurtured by her. Her fingers began caressing the area in a small circle as she struggled with how surreal it all was.

But before long Marcy had to reign in fingers that were pressing into her abdomen with uncomfortable pressure. Part of her, a very large part in fact, wanted to squish this life-wrecking parasite like a bug and just be rid of it. She knew the meat of her womb was too secure a buffer for that to actually work, but it was cathartic to try.

She was haunted one last time by the image of herself grown large with child. She saw it reflected back at her and stared into the eyes of this woman before her, this frightened, broken woman.

"Shut up!" she bitterly snapped at the reflection, before dropping her robe to her ankles and stomping back to the bed to try to get another hour or two of sleep before she had to get ready for her flight home.

[HeatAndChills]

CHAPTER 10

It was messed up. Even after 5 days on the open road, with nothing to do but burn through his CD collection and think, Paul was still at war with himself. When he started out, he just assumed that one way or another he would have settled on a course of action by now. But reality wasn’t that simple. He’d passed countless intersections since he started out and he continued to barrel onwards without deviating. But his straight course belied the anxious knot in his stomach.

Ostensibly, Paul was driving cross-country to spend a few weeks crashing in San Francisco at his old friend Ricky’s place. But what nobody knew about was the major detour he planned to take along the way; the major detour that was his real motivation for making this trip.

The past few months had been difficult and strange for Paul. Settling back into the college routine for his final semester came surprisingly natural to him. But it couldn’t lessen the pain of losing his beloved Karen and Paul became withdrawn, spending a lot of time lost in his own head. All too often, this would happen during lectures and study sessions and Paul’s grades suffered because of it. He had still graduated comfortably, though.

One thing that had surprised Paul during his first days back at college was that Marcy hadn’t returned. At first he was relieved as he had no idea how he was supposed to face her after that wild night of no-strings sex they’d had the night after Karen’s funeral. How on Earth were they supposed to act casual around one another with a history like that?

But Paul’s sense of relief quickly dissipated, and was replaced by feelings that were far stronger and extremely frustrating.

He began to think about her; in intermittent flashes at first, but then constantly. In every thought he had about her, Marcy was nude, or close to it. One of his favorite staples was the image of her large tits swinging like fleshy pendulums right in front of him, as Marcy pinned him down and bucked upon him wildly, milking his erogenous shaft with her tight, slick snatch. Another was the hypnotic memory of the taste of one of her nipples in his mouth, while the left side of his face sank into the warm, yielding splendor of her other breast.

Though some memories were a lot stronger than others, there was scarcely a snippet of their brief erotic history that Paul hadn’t reflected upon in detail during his final semester. Virtually every night ended with Paul jerking off to the memory of oggling Marcy’s naked body, if not the memory of fucking her. And on nights when he was too damn tense to get to sleep that easily, he would jerk off over her again, and then again, if necessary.

Campus was filled with a ton of cute and hot girls, many of whom were notoriously easy. But Paul felt little impetus to chase after any of them. Marcy had gotten stuck in his head like an earwig.

At times when he lamented his sordid little affair with her, he began to understand why the church associated casual sex with the devil, hellfire and the like. Sometimes it felt like he was actually being possessed by a demon.  Ever since Marcy had taken his virginity it seemed as if she had also taken over his entire life. He felt like a prisoner. He felt like *her* prisoner. His fixation annoyed and often upset him, yet he could not escape his persistent sensual thoughts about her. Nor could he resist indulging those thoughts to the point of climax, when they occurred.

Eventually, and against all logic, that maddening obsession drove Paul to seek Marcy out. Her dropping out of college should have been a fortuitous blessing. It was best that they never see one another again and that the shameful affair they began while Karen layed dying become nothing more than ancient history. But Paul simply couldn’t help himself; he *needed* to find her.

Rumors of Marcy’s whereabouts abounded between the vacuous “friends” she had left behind on campus. Some seemed to believe that she was touring Europe, trying to clear her head after her traumatic brush with death and break-up with Jeff. Others believed that she was living back close to her family in New Mexico.

But a few days before graduation Paul got the first lead that he actually considered somewhat reliable. With a little financial incentive, Paul was able to convince a guy in the college’s admin office to give him the new mailing address the college had on record for Marcy. It was a P.O. box in a town called Calloway in Oregon.

Even as he was handing over good money for the information, Paul had no idea what he was going to do with it. For some reason, he believed that simply knowing where she was could give him some measure of satisfaction; that the knowledge would somehow loosen Marcy’s hold over him. But having a place to focus his fixation upon only made it stronger. All too soon he found himself having absurd ideas that both frightened and excited him. Calloway was calling to him. By the time he had graduated he had invented an excuse to travel across the country so that this new desire could be satiated.

And now he was here.

As he passed the “Welcome To Calloway” sign, his heart pounded so anxiously it felt like he was driving with a flat tyre. Paul had no plan for what he’d do when he finally found Marcy. He truly wondered if he’d be able to pluck up the courage to do anything more than simply watch her from a distance. But even if he could, what then? A polite greeting, inquiring about how she had been - those were a given. But Paul wasn’t really concerned for Marcy’s welfare, nor had he driven 2500 miles to catch up with an old acquaintance. The sleazy truth was that the only reason Paul was there was because he wanted to fuck her again.

It seemed like an impossible wish. He highly doubted that she’d be so delighted to see him again that she’d throw herself at him as she’d done before. Paul was well aware that Marcy had never felt especially attracted to him; she had only taken him as a lover previously because he was convenient.

He had an idea that he could talk her into catching up with him at a bar and that, with a few drinks under their belts, they might make a “drunken mistake.” But Paul was under no delusions; he knew that even his best chance of sleeping with Marcy again was a long shot. He could only hope that simply seeing her in the flesh again, being able to admire her awesome body, even fully clothed, would grant him some measure of release.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He still didn’t know precisely where in Calloway Marcy could be found. The college only had a P.O. box for her, not a residential address. Judging by the size of the dot that marked Calloway on the map, it looked to be a relatively small town, so Paul hoped that would make her easier to track down.

The main street was easy enough to find. Soon enough, Paul had discovered what appeared to be the town’s main parking lot. It was only half-full, so he had no trouble finding a space for his second-hand Chevy.

The bright mid-afternoon sun shone down upon Paul as he got out of his car. He figured that seeing as how he knew she had a P.O. box, the logical place to start his search was the post office.

As he strolled down the street, meandering around the many other pedestrians on the sidewalk, Paul drank in the classic Americana atmosphere of the town and people. It actually began to strike him as suspicious. Paul’s impression of Marcy was that she was a vivacious spirit, who relished excitement and glamor. This place was too quiet – too suburban. It didn’t feel like the kind of place Marcy would live.

With some direction from a helpful local, Paul soon found the post office. There were only a couple of customers inside, neither of whom were at the counter. The employees, a balding, meek-looking man and a old lady with glasses who looked like she’d been sitting back there for her entire working life, were both free.

Paul walked up to the man.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hello,” the man replied dryly.

“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Paul said as he reached into his pocket. He produced a photo of Marcy that he’d cut out of a yearbook, knowing he’d need one to help locate her. “She told me she lived somewhere around here but I lost her address…” he lied.

The man glared at the photo with a bemused look, as if he was examining some unpleasant medical sample. He didn’t seem to know her, but his co-worker leaned over to take a look at the photo and her face lit up almost immediately.

“Oh! That’s young… oh, what’s her name? Marcy!”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name. This was actual confirmation! Marcy really was here in Calloway! After all these months, she was only a stone’s throw away.

“Very pretty girl. But a shy one; doesn’t say much,” the woman elaborated.

Paul was confused. Shy? Marcy? Were they talking about the same person? For a moment, he wondered if this was a case of mistaken identity. But what were the odds that this lady would guess Marcy’s name correctly, purely by coincidence?

“Still, she’ll always respond if you say ‘hello’ to her,” the postal worker continued.

“Do you know where she lives?” Paul asked, eagerly.

“No, I’m sorry,” the woman shook her head.

The balding man simply continued to glare at Paul with suspicious eyes. Paul felt that glare piercing him all the way to his bones because he knew he deserved it. He was no respectable gentleman visiting this wholesome town with pure intentions. He was a sex-obsessed pervert who had come here to coax a woman he didn’t particularly care for into sleeping with him.

Still, Paul managed to conceal his shame completely as he offered the woman a polite, “Oh well, thanks anyway,” and smile, before leaving the building.

Standing on the post office’s threshold, Paul took a second to steady himself against the twinge of guilt he felt. He had come too far, quite literally, to bail out now. He knew for a fact that Marcy was around here somewhere and with a little persistence, he was sure to find her.

He repeated his inquiry at all the locales where Marcy would be likely to pass through: the pharmacy, the banks, the cafes. Several people recognized Marcy, some of whom even knew her by name, but none of them could offer Paul any useful information.

But he hit paydirt at a supermarket. He was asking one of the cashiers if she recognized the girl in his photo when by fortuitous coincidence the woman whom the cashier was checking out took an interest in the photo.

“Oh, I know her!” the customer exclaimed. “Oh jeez, now let me think. Where did I see her?” the woman pondered aloud, closing her eyes tightly as she concentrated. “Ah! I remember!” she exclaimed with satisfaction, “She was at the real estate agent’s! We’ve been thinking about moving and that girl was working at the estate agent we visited.”

The woman was all too willing to provide Paul with clear directions on how to get to the real estate office in question. Paul was delighted. After thanking the woman very graciously, Paul made his way out of the supermarket at a brisk stride.

Judging by the lady’s directions, the real estate office was on the far side of town, but still within walking distance of his car, so he opted not to drive. Despite his misgivings over what was to come, Paul’s enthusiasm could not be reigned in and his impatient pace didn’t relent for one minute as he journeyed to his destination. Not until he found himself within clear view of the building in question, that is.

His momentum left him. His steady march ground to a sudden halt. This was it; the do-or-die moment. Up until now meeting up with Marcy had only been a theoretical prospect. Paul hadn’t even realized until now how secure that state of mind had been. But if he continued now, there was no turning back. Whatever awkwardness or pain would come from trying to insert himself back into Marcy’s life, he would simply have to endure it.

It was not an easy decision, and it took more than one deep breath to help Paul make it. But in the end, the powerful, desperate urges that had driven him to this point overcame his fear. He continued onward towards the object of his desire. His march was only half the speed it had been before, but its confidence had been redoubled.

As Paul reached for the handle of the glass-paned front door of the office he briefly peered inside. The dark brown ponytail and general youthful look of the receptionist behind the front desk gave him instant hope that his quest was at an end. But with the glare on the window, he couldn’t be sure.

He opened the door and by the time he was a few steps into the reception area there was no further doubt. It was Marcy.

A huge beaming grin grew upon Paul’s face. He thought it probably looked silly, but he couldn’t help it. Suddenly all he could think about was the fact that he finally had a chance to re-experience all the carnal pleasures Marcy had given him before. The realistically slim chances of such a situation actually occurring didn’t matter. His mind was utterly consumed by the 1 in 1000 vision of the future in which he would be grasping her pert little ass cheeks, suckling on her voluptuous boobs, and blowing a full, surging load into her luscious cunt. He was more excited than a kid waking up on Christmas morning.

Marcy was on the phone, her eyes fixed on a computer screen on her right-hand side. She may have been aware that someone had just come in, but she hadn’t looked up to see who it was.

“Okay... Okay... Thank you… Bye,” she wound up her conversation in a cold, professional voice.

“Yes, how can I…” she greeted the visitor, stopping dead when she realized who he was.

Her jaw dropped. Her eyes stared at this blast from her past with a look of abject horror. Paul recognized her displeasure, but wasn’t fazed. He’d anticipated a possible reaction like this from her. It didn’t speak well for his prospects with her, but Paul was confident that through the obligatory veneer of polite conversation, he might be able to turn the tables and persuade her to spend a little time with him.

He continued to stroll confidently up to her desk, still sporting that unwaveringly cheery grin that flied in the face of her unwelcoming glare. The color began to drain from Marcy’s face, as if she’d seen a ghost. Her boobs began to heave rapidly as her breathing quickened. Paul could’ve sworn they looked even bigger now than they had in all those tight sweaters she used to wear at college.

“Wow! Marcy!” Paul greeted her happily. “How are you…” he continued, stopping dead as soon as he had advanced far enough to get his first unobstructed view of her whole torso.

For an instant, he dismissed what he saw as her sweater simply contorting itself in an odd way, or some other odd optical illusion. But all too soon, he realized the undeniable truth of what he saw before him. Marcy’s belly was huge. She hadn’t simply put on weight, either. She was pregnant; *VERY* pregnant.

All of a sudden, Paul’s expression mirrored Marcy’s. His thoughts of sexual conquest were all but forgotten. In fact, his mind went completely blank. He didn’t know what to think. In no vision he had imagined of this trip had Marcy looked like that! This was a hundred times more awkward and disturbing than anything he had anticipated.

It felt like he’d been staring dumbstruck at that enormous belly for half an hour, but eventually Paul managed to lift his gaze to meet with hers. As he stared into Marcy’s wide brown eyes, Paul finally appreciated the full scope of her distress. It was terrible, almost ridiculously so. The longer he looked at her, the more curious it seemed that she would be so horrified by his appearance here. It took a moment to twig, and then suddenly a thought occurred that made Paul sick to his stomach.

The look on her face wasn’t that of a woman who had been surprised by an old acquaintance, or even an old shame. It was the look of a pregnant woman whose secret had been found out by the baby’s father!

A large part of his brain tried to maintain an optimistic outlook. It tried to reassure him by yelling that he was being paranoid. But the look in Marcy’s eyes assured him that all his worst fears were true. As Paul grappled with this idea, Marcy’s expression shifted from one of sheer horror to sheer outrage.

Paul’s jaw began to shudder as he tried to speak.

“Well...” he croaked, stumbling over a long awkward pause. “You’re... you’re looking... uh, healthy! It’s good to see that you’re... doing so well. How long have you... uh... When... when are... um…” he began to babble nonsense sentence fragments. His hands began to tremble as they fidgeted uncontrollably: brushing back his hair repeatedly and feeling around his pockets for no real reason.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! What the fuck are you doing here?” Marcy snarled between clenched teeth, somehow managing to maintain a discrete volume. Amidst the fury burning in her eyes, Paul could see tears beginning to form.

“What am I... That’s a good question! What am I doing?” Paul repeated, anxiously. “Well, I’m...I’m just passing through, on my way to California and... I thought I’d just stop here to... uh... to say ‘hi’, you know? And, so, yeah...”

Marcy didn’t say a word, but the seething anger in her eyes made Paul genuinely worried that she was about to physically attack him.

“But, yeah... you’re right, I should’ve called first,” Paul continued to yammer mindlessly, his breathing out of step with his words. “I probably shouldn’t have just turned up... so... I’m gonna go. I’ll... leave you to it.” He began to step backwards, retreating towards the door. “Hope everything goes... good for you! Maybe we can, uh... yeah! See you around,” he carelessly farewelled her as he finally reached the door and left.

Marcy watched through the glass in a state of shock as Paul staggered back to the sidewalk then out of sight.

“Shit!” Marcy cursed to herself when the realization of what had just happened finally sunk in. “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” she repeated, pulling on her hair in distress.

Paul finding out about their baby was an utter nightmare in every possible sense. She’d gone to so much trouble to compartmentalize this pregnancy away from her old life. Suddenly all those plans laid in ruins.

So now Paul knew. What would he do with this information? There were more possible answers to that question than Marcy could fathom, and none of them were good. She realized that she had to get on top of this situation before it spiralled out of control.

“Shit!” she cursed once more at her atrociously bad luck. With no small exertion, she propped herself out of her chair and staggered over to the hallway that led into the depths of the building.

“Blake!” she called out anxiously to her boss. “Can I please leave early today? I’ve got a personal emergency that I *really* need to take care of!”

“Okay, Marcy!” a kindly voice replied from one of the office doorways stemming off the hall.

“Thanks!” she sighed, with too much stress to properly reflect her immense gratitude.

“We aren’t having an early arrival, are we?” her boss inquired with concern.

“No!” Marcy shouted back at him as she made for the door in a top-heavy jog, supporting her heavy belly with her right hand.

“Jesus Christ, that’s the last thing I’d need right now!” she muttered to herself.

She opened the door with a mighty heave and raced out to the sidewalk where she’d lost sight of Paul. She scanned the street on her right, then her left. As it happened, Paul was only about 50 feet down the road. He was bent over with his back to her, supporting his weight with his hands on his knees. Marcy noticed what appeared to be a small puddle of vomit in the gutter beside him.

Paul wasn’t on the move, so Marcy was free to pursue him at a more comfortable pace than when she’d raced out of her desk. But while there was no great urgency in her pregnancy waddle, each step hit the ground with more fury than the last. By the time she was standing right over him she had a compelling urge to push him over and shout obscenities at him until she was hoarse. Yet looking at him in his current state, a man crippled by the shock of what he’d just discovered, Marcy couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. She knew all too well how upsetting it was to realize that one of your careless indiscretions had been productive.

She stood beside him in silence as she shuddered and panted heavily. Her hands were balled up into tight fists, but her heart was too merciful to unleash them upon him. She felt like she needed to say something, but she had not clue what. What could she possibly say that could calm Paul down and persuade him to respect her privacy? What words could repair this disaster he had brought by stumbling back into her life?

Paul could see her, though only as a pair of legs in navy blue pregnancy pants standing in his peripheral vision. He was scared to think what her face looked like; scared to look at that loaded abdomen again. But he soon realized that she wasn’t simply going to walk away, no matter how long he stood there staring at the curb. With a deep breath, he plucked up the courage to stand upright and look her in the eye.

Her face was contorted into a strange expression that was sad, scared, furious and lost all at once. Normally, Marcy was a skilled mistress of subduing her emotions. But not today.

“Who told you?” she demanded in a strong, calm whimper.

“Told me? Told me what?” Paul asked in confusion.

 “That I was pregnant,” she answered.

“Nobody,” Paul gently replied with a furrowed brow, galled by the implication that he’d had the benefit of a forewarning about this bombshell.

“Bullshit!” Marcy snapped through clenched teeth. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Paul! Who told you?” She repeated, swinging her arms up and down as if to pound them upon an imaginary lectern before her.

“Nobody! Nobody told me! I. Didn’t. Know! I had no idea that if I came to see you I’d find... this!” he asserted, gesturing angrily towards her full belly.

They stood there for the longest time, staring each other down with poisonous, accusing glares. The sounds of their asynchronous heavy breathing overrode the songs of distant birds and the lively murmur of the main street, one block over.

Eventually, Marcy was able to put aside her stubborn assumptions long enough to notice the look of utter shell-shock in Paul’s eyes. He may have been telling the truth.

Her icy gaze softened and eventually retreated.

“Shit!” she softly repeated. As the tears began to flow, her eyes shifted aimlessly from the road to the sky, to distant trees; anywhere but the livid gaze on Paul’s face.

“Why the fuck did you have to come here?” she sighed, in a manner that made it sound so much like a rhetorical question, Paul didn’t feel obliged to answer.

Paul looked on in silence, his eyes still locked firmly upon her as he tried to process the situation. His body felt numb; his mind was lost in a storm of a thousand conflicting emotions. Though dominant among them was anger towards Marcy: anger at her for being pregnant, anger at her for surprising him by looking like this, anger for having seduced him to begin with, which he felt sure was how she had gotten this way.

 Marcy steeled herself against her thoughts of self-pity with huff of resolve. She took a second to compose herself by briskly wiping most of the tears from her eyes and sweeping her loose hairs back behind her ears. Then she turned to her unwelcome visitor.

“Listen, Paul...” she began, her tone far more conciliatory than it had been a moment ago.

“Is it mine?” Paul interrupted, staring at her with eyes that were both vindictive and frightened.

Marcy had sensed this question was coming, but she hadn’t expected it to be sprung on her so soon. She contemplated her options. Should she lie to him – tell him the baby was someone else’s? Or should she tell him the truth? It was a complicated matter, far too complicated to resolve in the split second she had at her disposal.

She opened her mouth, but she had absolutely no idea what to say to the father of the life growing inside her. She met his gaze for a moment, but quickly turned away, effectively retreating from the painful question.

Though it wasn’t verbal, Marcy had given Paul a clear answer to his question: the answer he had been dreading. Right out of left field, it turned out that he was mere weeks away from becoming a father. His head sunk on to his chest.  His legs became so weak and shaky it felt like he could collapse on to the ground at any moment.

“We should talk,” Marcy softly suggested.

----------------------------

Paul nursed the steaming white coffee on the table before him, scarcely aware it was even there. The café’s young waiter practically had to twist Paul’s arm to get him to order it. He did his best to tempt Paul’s into ordering one of the café’s tempting meals, as well, but Paul had lost his appetite.

Marcy had been far less fazed by the afternoon’s events. She ordered a double serving of cheery pie to go along with her white tea and began tucking in almost as soon as the plate hit the table.

It was she who suggested that they come to this café. They had an awful lot to discuss and being so far along, Marcy could hardly stand around on the curbside all afternoon. She had made a point of picking out the most secluded booth in the room; so long as they kept their voices down they would have all the privacy they needed.

Paul looked on in astonishment as Marcy devoured the meal before her like a lawnmower. She glanced up at him and noticed his furrowed brow.

“Pregnant,” she justified her appetite with a shrug.

“Yeah. I noticed,” Paul replied with dry sarcasm that made the atmosphere extremely uncomfortable. “So... you’re looking well,” he commented, in an effort to dispel the silence.

“Thanks,” Marcy politely acknowledged.

“Is everything... going okay?” Paul asked, struggling to word the question in a way that felt appropriate.

“Yeah,” she nodded in a cheery tone. She was about to make a crack about life being as good as it could be with a person stuck inside her, but she quickly decided against it. “I’m healthy. Baby’s healthy…”

“Good,” said Paul, trying to sound pleased. “How far along are you?”

“31 weeks,” Marcy replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

 “31 weeks...” Paul softly repeated. “So, four weeks a month, four eights are 32... almost 8 months... March, Feb, Janu…” he muttered to himself as he did the arithmetic in his head.

“So it was at the cabin,” he sombrely declared when he had finished his calculations.

“Yeah,” Marcy softly confirmed, sensing the tone of the conversation was taking a turn for the worse.

“Goddamnit!” Paul sighed with a quiver in his voice as he rested his temples in his hands. “You said it would be safe!” he remarked, in a voice that was an eerie combination of accusing and discrete all at once.

“No, I didn’t!” Marcy countered with a defensive glare.

“I asked you about using a fucking condom and you said you were safe!” Paul whispered, pointing his finger at her for emphasis.

“I said I was *healthy*! I never said I was on birth control,” she clarified.

“Oh, don’t pull that legal, disclaimer-in-the-small-print crap on me, Marcy! You knew what you were saying...” Paul lashed out at her, holding back every urge he had to raise his voice.

“I only said I was *healthy*! I thought we’d be dead in 24 hours, Paul! Why the fuck would I think it mattered if I was on the pill or not?” Marcy spoke over him, her aggression mirroring his.

“*You* fucking threw yourself at me, I asked you about putting on a fucking condom and *you* said I didn’t need one,” Paul continued beating the dead horse.

“Okay, so if you’d known that I wasn’t on the pill, would you have done things differently?” Marcy challenged him in a calm, confident voice. Paul opened his mouth, but Marcy cut him off before he could answer, “Honestly?”

The question gave Paul pause.

“You know, I don’t know if you remember, Paul, but things were pretty fucking bad up in that cabin. It really seemed like we weren’t gonna make it out. And I think it’s safe to say that at the time neither one of us really gave a shit about whether or not what we were doing was sensible.”

Paul shook his head with an angry scowl as Marcy defended her deceitfulness. There was truth in her words about Paul’s own carelessness during the baby’s conception, but he was too bitter to see it.

“You lied to me,” he told her.

Marcy rolled her eyes in frustration.

“Whoa, wait...” he continued as something suddenly dawned on him. “If it happened in the cabin then... wouldn’t you have known about it by the funeral?” He could tell by the guilty look that suddenly washed over Marcy’s face that the answer was “Yes.”

“So you knew? That whole night we... you knew the whole time? And you never said a word! Unbelievable!” he fumed.

“Paul, I... Okay, I knew I was pregnant, but I hadn’t figured out what I was going to do about it,” Marcy justified the omission. “Matter of fact, at the time, I was pretty sure I was going to terminate it.”

It was an admission that caught Paul’s full attention. He was surprised by the poignant honesty he could see reflected in her eyes.

“I figured if nothing was ever going to come of it, then you never needed to know,” she said.

 “I had a right to know,” Paul responded after taking some time to consider what Marcy had told him, “especially when it turned out like this!” he said, gesturing to her belly once again.

Marcy couldn’t argue with his feelings. She hadn’t decided to keep the pregnancy from him lightly.

“I guess you’re right,” Marcy sheepishly admitted as she gobbled another bite of pie. “I thought about calling, you know? But who the hell wants to have that conversation, right? In the end I guess I just figured that you’d be better off without the worry.”

Only now that she said that thought out loud did she realize that Paul’s face was absolutely covered in worry. She felt sorry for him, but she also realized that Paul’s fears about the prospect of fatherhood were just what she needed to secure the cooperation that she so desperately needed.

“Listen, Paul,” she began in her most genial tone. “I know this all must’ve come as a pretty big shock to you. But if you’re worried about child support or whatever, then don’t. I’m not planning on keeping it.”

Paul stared at her in confusion. What did she mean? Surely she was too far along to have an abortion now.

Marcy leaned in closer and lowered her voice, betraying how anxious she felt about what she was about to disclose. “I’ve arranged for a private adoption. It’s all taken care of.

“The thing is that when I filled in the paperwork, I said that I didn’t know who the father was. So, if you show up now and tell people who you are then... well, it could really fuck things up. I really, really need you to be cool about all this.”

She studied Paul’s face as he absorbed what she was telling him, but his expression was unreadable.

“Look, it’s better this way. For everybody,” Marcy asserted. “I’ve met the couple. They’re really nice. He’s in pharmaceuticals – makes a great living. I really think the kid’ll do great with them.

“And come on, Paul. Would you really want the stress of having a kid at, what? 21? 22?”

Paul didn’t react, but Marcy could tell her words struck a chord with him.

“I know I don’t know you all that well...” Marcy admitted, “but I’m pretty sure that this isn’t what you had planned for your life. It sure as hell isn’t what I had planned for mine,” she said with a remorseful chuckle.

“There doesn’t have to be a problem. All you have to do is just leave town and forget you were ever here; forget you ever saw me,” Marcy bargained.

Paul didn’t answer, which made Marcy increasingly nervous.

“Please?” Marcy added, in the soft, sweet voice she had successfully used countless times throughout her life to get her way. She reached out and placed her hand gently upon Paul’s.

Paul looked up at her but said nothing. However, Marcy gleaned from the lack of fire in his eyes that he had no inclination to fight her in this matter. There was no irrational broody instinct inside him pushing to claim his offspring for himself. She was cautiously optimistic that once he had processed everything she had told him, Paul would appreciate the logic of what she’d said and would leave her in peace.

She leaned back, giving Paul some time to think while she continued with the delicious pie before her.

“When you said you didn’t know…" Paul softly uttered.

“What?” Marcy responded.

“When you told the adoption people you didn’t know who the father is. Was that true?”

At first Marcy thought she’d misheard him. She hadn’t explicitly told Paul he was the father, but she was sure he’d understood.

“I mean, really? Is there a chance that maybe you don’t actually know?” Paul clarified.

Marcy awkwardly swallowed the piece of pie in her mouth. Again, she was faced with the difficult dilemma of whether or not to lie to Paul. If she let him believe that there was a chance he mightn’t be the father, that might make him feel better. But on the other hand, the blow of realizing he had gotten her pregnant had already hit him. Marcy figured that absolute confirmation would do little further damage. Besides, lying to him could have consequences, particularly if he kept pressing the matter until he pulled the lie apart. In the end, she decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

She shook her head softly, denying him his last ray of hope as gently as she could.

“No,” she silently mouthed.

Paul sighed.

“Jeff always wore condoms,” Marcy explained, “and there was no one else when…” she trailed off, beginning to feel uncomfortable discussing her sex life, or more specifically, lack thereof, in the aftermath of the cabin incident. “It’s definitely yours.”

“Damn,” Paul quietly lamented after a lengthy pause and another loud sigh.

They sat there together in silence for a long time. Paul simply stared at the cup of coffee in his hand which he still hadn’t so much as sipped. Marcy finished off what little remained of her pie, her enthusiasm for eating dampened somewhat by a lingering concern that Paul might make trouble for her future plans.

She thought about the astonished expression on his face when he had first seen her baby bump; the way he’d been staggering through their conversation in a daze ever since.

“You really didn’t know, did you?” Marcy finally realized.

Paul looked up at her, his emotional weariness painted all over his face and answered, “No. No one at college does.”

That wasn’t true. In a moment of desperation, Marcy had confided in two close friends, Steph and Jane, that was pregnant. After she had settled in Calloway, she had even dropped them a line to let them know where she was living. However, she had never told them who had gotten her pregnant, nor where it had happened.

When Paul had first walked into her workplace, Marcy had jumped to the conclusion that one of her so-called “good friends” had betrayed her confidence and gossiped to Paul about her condition. Paul, realizing that he could well be the father then travelled across the country to have his suspicions confirmed. But now she realized that her doubts were unfounded: neither Steph nor Jane had betrayed her. Her shameful secret was safe.

That still left one important question.

“So what the hell are you doing here?” she asked Paul gently.

Paul shrugged.

“Well, I... I guess I... I don’t know,” he muttered. He wasn’t being intentionally obstructive, he genuinely didn’t know what the answer was. His lustful ambitions towards Marcy hadn’t simply been dashed by discovering her in such a ripe condition - they had been completely forgotten! He could remember making the long drive to this place, but his reason for doing so was a mystery to him. In many ways, it almost felt like he was coasting through a nightmare, where one minute he was graduating college and the next he was sitting across a table from a woman with his baby in her womb.

In that awkward silence Marcy quickly deduced what Paul couldn’t: he had driven all this way just to see *her*.

It was a staggering revelation to say the least, but it was only half an answer to her question. Why had he come to see her? Had he really come all this way just to check up on her emotional wellbeing? The last time she had seen him - the night of Karen’s funeral - had been a rough time for both of them. They had been able to give each other some measure of comfort, but they were still plagued buy a great deal of grief and trauma when they parted ways.

They’d never been particularly fond of one another; the tragedy they’d endured at the cabin and the impulsive mistake they made therein were really the only things they’d ever had in common. But Marcy had always found Paul to be a sensitive, considerate guy. She wouldn’t put it past him to have grown concerned about her when she didn’t return to college for the final semester. But concerned enough to travel all the way across the country just to check up on her? Now that was surprising!

On the other hand, Marcy couldn’t help but consider the other side of their history: the lively, no-strings sex side. Despite the dry, occasionally frosty nature of their overall relationship, there was no denying that their hook-ups had left Paul extremely satisfied.

Was this visit simply a long distance booty call?

Marcy was more inclined to believe the latter. In fact, she actually hoped it was the latter. The idea of Paul going to so much trouble to make an emotional connection with Marcy may have been sweet, but it made her uneasy. Baby or not, Marcy had never been interested in a deep relationship with Paul. He was nice enough but there were just too many bad memories and complications associated with him. The idea that he had come all this way to reach out to her, only to be repaid with the shock revelation that she was carrying his child only made this scenario more disturbing.

But as she reflected on her theory that Paul had driven so far just to screw *her*, when there was no shortage of fuckable women on the east coast, Marcy couldn’t help but smirk. It seemed that she had left quite an impression on him all those months ago.

It was a surprisingly welcome ego boost for Marcy. It’d been months since she’d been able to look at a full-length mirror. Every time she looked at her body these days, all she saw was a hippopotamus. Knowing that the growth was completely natural and anticipating it had allowed Marcy to take it in her stride. In fact it had been such a seamless transition that she’d all but forgotten that not so long ago she’d actually been proud of her looks.

Paul coming here turned out to be a stirring reminder that Marcy’s natural form was so desirable that a man would drive across the country just to get a repeat taste. It reminded her what it was like to feel attractive. She mightn’t have had her gorgeous body anymore, but she nonetheless took to heart all these fond memories and flattering sensations which Paul had stirred up. It felt really good to be reminded that hidden behind the baby belly was a sexy young woman and it gave her renewed hope that after the birth, with some hard work she could be sexy again.