Cabin Fever: Parting Shot

Written by , on 2018-06-28, genre straight

The vacation was going great and it was only half over!

Paul was loving these days, this week of blissful serenity out in the remote woods of North Carolina. He was loving them more than he’d ever expected he would. Actually, he’d originally suspected that a week out in the boondocks with nothing to do but drink beer would get incredibly boring incredibly fast. But he couldn’t account for the immense sense of release he felt in throwing off all the stresses of exams and studying. In fact, just being away from the general crowded busyness of college and the city was a rejuvenating experience.

But by far the best part of the vacation was that he got to spend so much time with Karen. Strictly speaking, they weren’t alone, of course. But with Jeff and Marcy sneaking off to fuck ten times a day, and with Bert frequently wandering off into the woods to amuse himself with his own juvenile antics (one of his favorite activities was shooting at squirrels with a hunting rifle), Paul essentially had Karen all to himself in these beautiful, romantic woods.

Sweet Karen: the gorgeous flaxen-haired angel whom he’d secretly doted on since their first days together in junior high. Even after all these years, the warmth in her eyes and the sweetness of her smile still made him melt. She was a wonderful friend: so warm and caring and fun and supportive. In fact she was so wonderful that mere friendship wasn’t enough for Paul. He wanted to be closer to her; he wanted to be her boyfriend.

That was his grand ambition for this vacation: to consummate a serious relationship with the love of his life, before the hustle and bustle of post-college life swept them apart forever.

It wasn’t about the sex, not much anyway. In his mind, it was more about using sex as a stepping stone to the next level. Paul was not stupid and he knew that having sex with someone didn’t mean marriage and happily-ever-after; especially not in the 21st century. But Karen and Paul already really enjoyed each other’s company. So if he and Karen shared a really wonderful moment together, that might be the push she needed to fall seriously in love with him.

That being said, the prospect of screwing Karen, even just as a one night stand, was an electrifying thought. She was a very sexy woman.

Her face was fair and so beautiful, especially when she let her shiny blonde hair loose to frame it. Some might’ve even said it had an innocent character to it, though in truth Karen was as worldly as most young women her age.

The rest of her body was just as attractive. However, unlike her BFF Marcy, Karen didn’t make a habit of showing hers off. Sometimes the dowdy, loose clothing she wore belied the fine figure beneath. But when she stripped down to her swimwear, she proved to be a very well-proportioned young woman.

Her ample breasts - Paul would guess generous ‘B’, or perhaps even ‘C’ cups – crowned an enticing hourglass waist and broad hips. Her flawless, slender legs had a way of looking deceptively long, so much so that they made it easy to forget that Karen stood at a mere 5 feet tall.

With all the years Paul’s doting eyes had spent gazing upon Karen, it was inevitable that his eager adolescent loins would become just as obsessed with her as his heart. Beneath his love roiled a powerful sea of suppressed lust. At times, Paul had to admit to himself that he just wanted to have a hot, messy screw with his gorgeous friend, regardless of whether or not they would ever be a couple.

Love, or just a one night stand with his dream girl. Either way, Paul had a good feeling about this night. Over the past four days, he had felt himself and Karen growing closer and closer. Their banter was more playful; Karen’s manner was more flirtatious.

A couple nights previous, a wandering camper, who called himself ‘Grimm’, had spent some time with the group. He brought with him his large and very angry dog, Dr. Mambo, and every time the dog started barking menacingly, Karen cozied up to Paul for protection, much to Paul’s delight.

Today, they had enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the picturesque woods alone together, and Karen had laughed at virtually every lame joke Paul had made.

He could feel it. Karen was more into him now than ever. He was so close to sealing the deal. Tonight would be the night!

The weather had been clear all day and was unusually balmy for this time of fall, so the group had decided to spend the evening on the lake edge about a 10-minute walk from their cabin. They all pitched in to carry the bare essentials out, including Paul’s boombox and enough beer to kill an elephant.

The girls donned their swimsuits: Marcy in a spaghetti-string yellow bikini with white trim that left nothing to the imagination, while Karen wore a somewhat more modest black bikini. The boys all stripped down to their shorts.

Before they got in the water, though, Jeff realized that they would need wood for their campfire. They all ventured back into the woods to help collect it, but Jeff, Bert and Marcy soon lost interest in the errand and went off to frolic in the lake, leaving Paul and Karen to build up a decent stockpile by themselves. Not that either of them minded.

Shortly after joining the frivolity, Karen discovered a pink rubber ball, a toy that some preschooler on vacation probably lost during the summer, half-buried in the sand. A game of wading dodgeball ensued, with plenty of laughter to go with it.

When the sun sank beneath the horizon, the group started their campfire and fired up their amalgamated collection of CDs. But the fun continued in the water for some time.

Only the dimmest glow of dusky purple lingered in the sky when the group collectively decided to get out of the water and start on dinner. The boys, especially Bert and Jeff, were quick to get the night’s drinking underway, while Marcy got to work cooking their dinner and Karen helped by unpacking the bowls and utensils. Marcy had prepared their dinner, chili, earlier in the cabin. All she needed to do now was cook it over the campfire.

Dinner itself went off without any major hitches. Paul accidentally spilled his serving, but there was plenty left in the pot.

But after dinner, somewhere around the second or third round of beers, Paul started sensing trouble on the horizon. Bert was being just a little too boisterous and a little too friendly with Marcy. He was taking every opportunity he had to make physical contact with her. They were brief, seemingly innocent gestures, but it was abundantly clear that they made Marcy extremely uncomfortable.

Their relationship had always been confrontational. Clearly there was some kind of history between them and Paul had often wondered what it was. There was no mystery about why Marcy disliked Bert; he was painfully immature and had a tendency to be an obnoxious asshole. But Bert’s attitude towards Marcy was more telling. He’d address her as “you slut” with only the slightest provocation and it seemed every word he spoke to her, even at the best of times, was venomous.

Paul had begun to suspect that once upon a time Marcy had actually fucked Bert, but then refused to give him another taste, much to his frustration. Then again, it may have been just the opposite. Marcy was well known to have had countless partners during her college years, and perhaps Bert was just ticked off that he hadn’t been one of them.

Either way, Paul began to realize that the pieces were all in place for a perfect storm to brew between them tonight:

Bert, an unabashed playboy, had spent the last 4 days in close quarters with a couple of drop-dead gorgeous women, neither of whom were available. Their swimsuits had been showing plenty of skin, and even Marcy’s tight sweaters would’ve lit a fire in his nuts. Not to mention all the noise she and Jeff had been making throughout the vacation. By now, Bert was probably feeling the strain of having all that stimulation, but no release.

Meanwhile, Marcy, a statuesque beauty with long chestnut-brown hair, was once again flaunting her buxom, athletic body in her barely-there bikini. Between her stunning looks and her reputation for being ‘easy’, it was hardly surprising that sex-starved Bert might be tempted try his chances with her.

Add beer into that mix and all bets were off.

Every awkwardly brazen move Bert made towards Marcy gave Paul a rush of apprehensive excitement, like the feeling he got when he was in a rollercoaster just about to reach the top of the rise. On one hand, a blow-up between those two could spoil the night for everyone and completely ruin his chances with Karen. But on the other hand he took some guilty pleasure in the thought of getting to witness some juicy drama play out.

The drinks kept coming and less and less of what followed would ever be remembered by Paul in the future. Part of him was reluctant to dull his wits so badly on the night he hoped to finally seduce Karen. But he was more concerned about not being “fun” enough for her, than he was about devolving into a drunken fool.

Somehow the group managed to turn ‘six degrees of Kevin Bacon’ into the basis of a drinking game. Taking turns, they’d drink whenever they miscast an actor, or stalled too long contemplating their next move. It was governed by a slew of absurdly complex rules, the likes of which only drunk people could come up with.

Then, things started to get really wild.

The ladies went back to the water to play and giggle, while Bert and Paul laid on the beach and had a deep philosophical conversation about why NASCAR drivers are more badass than heavyweight boxers.

Bert’s advances on Marcy not only persisted, but grew bolder and bolder. At the same time, her resistance to them seemed to be waning. Jeff seemed far too wasted to notice what was happening. Paul, on the other hand, saw what was going on, but was too drunk to really care about it. Though judging by the headway Bert seemed to be making, Paul started to wonder if it was all leading to an even wilder outcome than the fight he’d initially predicted.

The night rolled on and so did the beers. They played in the water. They played near the roaring fire.

When the inhibitions were razor-thin and the boombox had segued on to a song with a funky beat, the girls decided, or perhaps were coaxed, to show off their talents at pole dancing... without the poles.

Paul’s heart went crazy as the two superb female forms writhed sensuously in the firelight before him, often scandalously close to one another. Every curve undulated in time to the music, every part of their bodies was alive and nubile.

Marcy’s bra was the first to go astray. After effortlessly untying the knot in the back, she pulled it off and cast it in to the shadowy distance with a playful cheer of, “Wooooo!”

Paul was shocked at how amazingly stacked Marcy was. Of course, it had always been obvious that she had large breasts. But now to actually see them, jiggling in their altogether, they were more grand than he ever would’ve envisioned. Not only were they large, they were also very pert. The unassuming little nipples, soft pink circles that barely contrasted with the surrounding skin, were utter perfection.

For a brief moment, Paul thought that Bert had the right idea in rolling the dice with this 5-star babe. But it was only a moment. There was another woman dancing in the light, the woman of his dreams. It would take a hell of a lot more than a couple of D-cup wonders to break him out of the spell she held over him.

Not to be outdone by her adventurous friend, Karen began sliding her hands all over her upper body, eventually working their way back to the knot securing her top. Though by this point, Marcy seemed about two seconds away from dropping her bikini bottoms.

Paul couldn’t breathe. This was really happening! Karen’s tits!

Then God flipped Paul the bird.

At that precise moment, the boombox’s battery died. The music stopped abruptly and with it, the dance and all of its sexual momentum.

“Awww!” The group groaned in chorus.

Paul felt like he’d been sucker punched.

“What the fuck, man?”

“C’mon, Paul!”

“It was just getting fun!”

“Fix it, man!”

“Didn’t you remember to change the batteries, dipshit?” came the commentary from all sides of the fire.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” Paul apologized profusely as he staggered around, at first to check the boombox and then to search for new batteries, despite the fact that nobody had brought a second set of batteries down with them. His blurred mind was locked on a single idea: if he could get the music going again, the show would pick up just where it left off.

“I know where the batteries are! I know where they are! They’re at the cabin! Just wait a sec and I’ll be back in a sec!” he proclaimed with determination, as he staggered up the grassy hill towards the woods. In his drunken stupor he lost all concept of time and distance and couldn’t appreciate the difference between a 10-minute hike through featureless woods and a 10-second stroll across a clearing.

As any sober person could’ve predicted he would get hopelessly lost. At some point, he completely forgot that he’d wanted to go to the cabin and instead believed he was trying to find the campfire again. He had no idea just how long he’d been lost in the trees.

The closest thing he had to a measure of time was the fact that he’d had to stop and take a piss twice before he found his way out, which considering his heroic intake of beer that night, didn’t really mean much.

But find the campfire he did. He trotted back down the hill, eager to rejoin the party.

As he approached the beach, it seemed deserted. But then he noticed movement beyond the fire and off to one side. Someone... Bert, was laying buck naked upon the ground and... he was fucking!

Paul was shocked, appalled, but also titillated to discover that Bert’s pushy advances on Marcy had actually paid off. Though judging by her open behavior earlier, he was hardly surprised. Still, he knew there’d be hell to pay if Jeff found out about it.

He crept forward, unable to resist his voyeuristic urges. That’s when he realized that the woman Bert was humping so commandingly wasn’t a brunette, she was blonde. Karen.

It felt like something out of a nightmare, but it was true. There she was, just as naked as him, her legs splayed and practically turned back far enough to scratch her ears with her toes. The tender nether regions that Paul had longed to know for so long were open in boundless welcome to the most arrogant, obnoxious asshole he could think of. The heavenly tits that he’d ached to see just a short time ago, now shimmied mockingly to and fro as this other guy had his way with her.

Then, through the crackling of the fire, he heard the sounds. Grunt-snorts of exertion and pleasure from him, and dainty brisk whimpers of erogenous shock from her. That, by far, was the worst of it.

Paul turned and stormed back to the woods as fast as his unsteady legs could move without collapsing beneath him. By chance, he had better luck staying on the path this time than his previous attempt. Once he was within sight of the cabin’s porch light, the rest of the trip was easy.

Slamming the door behind him, he kicked one of the dinner table’s chairs across the room as he stormed in to his bedroom. Furious and weary all at once, he flopped down on to his mattress and proceeded to batter both it and his pillow with punch after punch. The fury of hell itself flowed through him, on to that unfortunate bed, until his arms were stiff and burning and could hit no more.

Soon after, the alcohol in his system lulled him off to merciful sleep.

---------


So naughty, so shameful, but so much fun! Marcy let the music move her as she danced, free and comfortable as could be. She let the inertia of her unbound breasts guide the undulations of her body, so that all would move as one.

The heat of the flame amorously caressed her bare skin on one side, while the cool night air caressed it on the other. But by far the most exciting force upon her skin was the attention she felt upon it.

She relished the familiar giddy thrill of captivating men with her lovely body. Tonight, it was triple her pleasure, with three drooling admirers sitting before her instead of just one. Their eyes were locked upon her full, naked breasts as they swelled and jiggled proudly. Their man berries were almost certainly secreting profusely, in silent applause of her beauty.

She was just about to wow them with the money shot when the hypnotic party flow abruptly turned deathly silent.

“Ohhhh...” she moaned, voicing her disappointment in unison with the others. “It was just getting fun,” she gently grumbled.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” Paul slurred as he began staggering around aimlessly, hoping to accomplish God knows what. She knew he’d been drinking as much as any of them, but she liked to think that the sight of her tits also had a hand in making him so disoriented.

Then he loudly announced that he was going to get some more batteries for the CD player and ran off in to the shadows.

“Well, boys, who’d you like best?” Marcy cooed as her playfulness reasserted itself. The dance had originally begun as a good-natured contest to determine who could pole-dance better, herself or Karen. “Me?”

“Totally,” Bert applauded before taking another swig of beer.

“Definitely you, babe,” Jeff agreed with an affectionate caress of her thigh.

“Oh my god, that is such bullshit!” Karen protested in good humor. “We didn’t get to finish!”

“Oh, you think so?” Marcy taunted her with a smile.

“I call fucking rain-delay, or rain-check, or rain... rain... something. Whatever they fucking call it when they can’t finish the game properly,” Karen rambled as Marcy giggled at her silliness. “Shut up!” she chided her friend.

“Rematch! Rematch! I demand a rematch!” Karen announced, loud enough for the whole county to hear.

“Bring it, sister!” Marcy playfully trash talked her.

“Oh, I will,” Karen replied with equal facetiousness.

“Alright!” Bert cheered with enthusiasm as the dual dance/striptease resumed. The boys helped get the girls started by giving them a rhythm - humming the bassline from the song they’d just been listening to. But they trailed off into silence after a few bars and just sat back and enjoyed the show.

Already being half-naked, Marcy was at a disadvantage in terms of mystique. But she made up for it by rhythmically kneading her breasts to show off their malleability and contorting her body into various angles, to show how gravity changed their shape.

Karen finished her artistic teasing and finally released her top.

“Woo!”

“Alright!” the boys cheered and briefly applauded, as she dropped the bikini top at her feet with a beaming grin.

The rhythmic swaying continued for a while. For a few seconds , the girls collaborated on an especially erotic display; bumping and grinding close to one another without actually making contact, before they pantomimed feeling one another up.

Then Marcy decided that the boys had dangled on the hook long enough and pulled loose the side knots of her bottoms. They flopped to the ground, revealing her wide, thick, yet neatly trimmed landing strip.

“Oh yeah! That’s what I love to see,” Jeff complimented her, with the heartiest applause yet. Bert, however, was eerily silent.

Kicking the last of her clothing aside, Marcy continued to dance, making her crotch writhe invitingly before her lover’s eyes.

She did an extremely slow 360 degree spin. As her ass turned towards Bert she heard a sound: an impulsive, crude grunt. She thought he might’ve jizzed his pants, but on reflection she figured it was more likely he was just having lewd thoughts about her. For the first time, one of the leering gazes she felt on her body didn’t feel so good. In fact, it made her a little uncomfortable. But she continued dancing without letting on and after a few seconds, the unpleasant thoughts were forgotten in her euphoric drunkenness.

Karen stripped naked, too and yet another round of applause and cat calls ensued as her messy golden tuft of love-hair was bared for all to see. Then after another couple minutes, the dance petered out to a natural conclusion. The girls slung their arms over each other’s shoulders in a comradely embrace and giggled.

“So, who’d you like now?” Karen asked expectantly.

“Mmm... too close to call,” Jeff answered diplomatically.

“Yeah, man, you’re both fuckin’ hot!” Bert agreed between drinks.

Marcy pouted in mock disappointment at the indecisive result, but Karen was more open about how flattered she was.

“Aww! Thanks boys,” she said.

Jeff stood, and slid his hands presumptuously on to Marcy’s hips as he leaned in for an open-mouthed kiss.

“Now it’s your turn,” Marcy informed her boyfriend when the kiss broke.

“What?” Jeff asked in confusion.

“You boys have to show us your moves,” she explained, with a loving yet adamant gaze. She placed her fingers upon his firm pecks and pushed him away, feeling his hands slipping away from her naked butt as the distance grew between them.

“Seriously?” Jeff cringed, as if he’d just been ordered to give an old man a sponge bath.

“Mm-hmm,” Marcy cheerily confirmed.

“Fine,” he sighed in resignation.

Marcy tip-toed excitedly over to the dead log Jeff had been sitting on, and sat down to enjoy the spectacle. The rough wood was harsh on her bare little ass, but she was so wasted it barely even registered.

She turned her head and discovered that Bert was staring at her in a way that made her feel like prey in a hunter’s crosshairs. She met his gaze, but it didn’t intimidate him and the shameless leering continued. He only stopped when he felt like it, though it did seem like he’d grown weary of Marcy’s dark look.

Jeff began thrusting his hips around clumsily, while humming his own off-key musical accompaniment. Calling it a dance would’ve been too generous, it was more like a deliberate convulsion.

“Yeah!” The girls cheered in hearty support. Jeff stuck out his ass and wiggled it.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Get out of here, man. I don’t wanna see that shit!” Bert grumbled, pulling his baseball cap down to cover his eyes.

“C’mon, Bert. Get up there!” Karen insisted, forcefully jostling him. Unlike Marcy, who was still buck naked, Karen had wrapped her faded lime beach towel around her body. Though she seemed to be having difficulty getting it to cover her boobs and they remained mostly exposed.

“No fucking way,” Bert refused, without lifting his cap to make eye contact with her. “I’m not going up there with fucking Lord Gay-Prance up there shaking his junk around. Maybe when he clears the stage, I’ll show you girls how it’s done!”

Karen pouted.

The girls’ cheers at Jeff’s antics quickly turned to laughter. It became one of those things that was hilarious to drunk people, but would’ve been agonizing for anyone even remotely sober.

After exhausting his full repertoire of ‘erotic’ moves, Jeff dropped his shorts and briefs, to squeals of delight from his lady friends.

“For fuck’s sake. Tell me he isn’t naked!” Bert complained. Jeff tossed the shorts at him and the girls cracked up as he lost his balance.

Jeff mimicked his girlfriend’s moves at this point. He slowly turned around, while rotating his hips as if he were spinning a hula hoop. His completely-shaved cock, a respectably-sized member that had given Marcy many cumulative hours of satisfaction, flapped around freely as if it were tracing a Spirograph pattern.

Karen’s lively cheers suggested she was getting a giddy little thrill from the display.

When Jeff’s back was turned, Marcy took the opportunity to snatch a nearby black towel and sneak down to the shore. She hoped that Jeff was too wasted to notice she was missing. She saturated the towel in the lake, then wrung it out into a long, twisted worm. With all the stealth of a cat burglar, she crept back towards the campsite. When Jeff turned away, she leapt silently into the fire light and towel whipped him square in his left ass cheek.

“Holy shit!” he cursed in alarm as he leapt three feet into the air.

Marcy cracked up. Karen tumbled backwards in a fit of drunken hysterics. Bert immediately lifted his cap off to see what had happened.

“Oh, I’m gonna get you!” Jeff retorted. He turned and sprinted towards his mischievous girlfriend. Marcy screamed playfully and ran like a girl down to the water. She backstroked leisurely away from the shore, watching in anticipation as her lover’s frenzied, shadowy splashes drew closer and closer. His firm but tender hands grasped her waist and pulled her tightly to him.

“See? I told you I was gonna get you,” he panted.

Marcy wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, and her legs tightly around his torso.

“Yeah. You got me,” she sighed amorously, before pulling him in for a hungry kiss.

Immediately, she began rubbing her privates against his toned stomach. The fresh night air had been tickling them ever since she stripped off her swim suit and now they were seething for some real attention. The void in her loins nagged her; it needed to be filled.

As they kissed and rocked their bodies in energetic foreplay, Marcy noticed Bert out of the corner of her eye. He was still sitting on the same log, drinking his beer and watching the action, with the same quiet intensity that had disturbed her earlier. He was too far away, and her vision was too inebriated to actually see his obsessive gaze, but she could feel it.

Jeff danced them around in a waltz of frivolous passion as their bodies bumped and ground together. Marcy’s hand found his dick, grown to its inspiring full size and standing proudly at attention. She effortlessly guided it to her tender slit and gently shafted herself upon him, savoring the pleasure of his solid meat slithering all the way up to her quivering center.

Through their ongoing kiss, they started humming a melody of arousal, as Marcy began to bounce athletically upon Jeff’s cock.

Marcy couldn’t be sure how long they’d been fucking when it happened. Something touched her ass. She initially presumed it was one of Jeff’s fingers. But she quickly realized that it wasn’t a finger, it was a shape she knew all too well. It was a fully-erect cock!

The next thing she knew someone was pressed firmly against her back, sandwiching her uncomfortably tightly against Jeff. The second cock turned upright and slipped in to her crack, where it began to hastily work itself up and down between her cheeks.

“What the fuck?” she slurred as she turned around, trying to make sense of the bizarre turn of events. The intruder was, of course, Bert.

“Oh my god, Bert! Get the fuck out of here!” she screeched in disgust. Her arms flailed about in languid, drunken motions, trying in vain to swat her unwanted partner away.

“C’mon, babe, you know you want it,” he dismissed her. The arousal she heard in his breathy voice made Marcy’s skin crawl.

“No...” she weakly moaned.

She felt his fingers snaking under her armpits and coursing through the pliant flesh of her sideboobs. His hips pressed against her hard, crushing her yielding buttocks between himself and her pelvis. Jeff, meanwhile, continued thrusting inside her vagina, while affectionately mouthing the edge of her jaw. Having an uninvited third party intrude upon their lovemaking didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

“Oh, yeah! You like it!” Bert asserted. “You want it from both sides, don’t you?”

“No... don’t...” Marcy whimpered, her voice wavering with indecision.

She didn’t want this awful asshole to fuck her.

But the mass of masculine bulk pressed against her back was starting to turn her on and that firm stalk tickling the sensitive depths of her crack felt really good - exciting even.

But it was Bert! He was such a nasty sleazebag!

Then a hand clamped on to her right boob with all the subtlety of a bear trap. It hurt! In that surge of pain she found her clarity.

“No!” she shouted, as she flung her weight back to force Bert off of her.

The maneuver threw both drunken men off-balance and all three of them tumbled in to the waist-deep water. In the confusion, Bert lost his hold of Marcy and she wasted no time in swimming clear of him.

Jeff’s head sprang out of the water.

“Holy shit! I am so fucking wasted!” he cackled, apparently believing he had only fallen over due to his own drunken clumsiness.

By the time either of the men got their bearings, Marcy was about 15 feet away, wading back towards the beach.

“Fine! Be that way, you uptight bitch!” Bert spat at her, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Hey, Marcy! Where you going?” Jeff called after her. She didn’t respond. “Aww, c’mon babe! Don’t be like that,” he pleaded, before swimming off in pursuit.

By the time he finally caught up with her, Marcy had retreated to a dark, secluded section of the beach about fifty yards from the roaring campfire. The moon gave them just enough light to make out the barest outlines of their surroundings.

“Hey, c’mon babe. What’s wrong?” Jeff asked as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t want that asshole touching me!” she snapped. Her arms were folded in indignation and clutched tightly to her chest, protecting her tender nipples from the cool night air.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t get upset. Bert was just fooling around,” Jeff explained in the calmest voice.

“His dick was in my ass, Jeff!” Marcy fumed.

“Yeah, well, you know what he’s like. Bert always takes it too far. But he doesn’t mean any harm.

“C’mon, he’s just being a drunk idiot. That’s the thing: he’s had too much to drink. You just... We shouldn’t let him spoil it all for us, y’know? Just let him have his fun, and try to ignore him,” Jeff gently suggested.

He tilted her chin up and stared into the moonlight glimmering in her eyes.

“C’mon. We were having a good time, weren’t we?” he asked.

Marcy’s head was swimming. She was very drunk and confused. Her train of thought was easily led by Jeff’s diplomatic words. But a quiet little part of her resisted them, as if she thought what he said was wrong, but couldn’t articulate why.

All she knew for sure was that she felt unhappy. Unhappy and also sullied. Her ass crack still tingled with revulsion where Bert’s junk had touched her.

In the future, Marcy would never be able to remember whether they had argued some more, or whether Jeff had simply stood with her in silence until her anger ebbed away.

Either way, the stand-off lasted a long time. But it eventually ended with Jeff coaxing a warm kiss from Marcy’s lips. She felt his fingertips combing through her bush and settling upon her labia.

“Don’t...” she winced, gently brushing his hand away. “I’m not in the mood.”

With a heavy sigh, she started back to the campfire and after a few seconds she heard Jeff’s footsteps following her.

There was a rise in the beach between themselves and the campfire: not very tall, but tall enough to obscure line-of-sight to most of the campsite. As Marcy climbed the gentle slope, she was greeted by an unexpected sight.

Bert was there, still naked. He lumbered like an ape-man past the fire to collect and dust off his black shorts which had been strewn on to the sand. Directly behind him, Karen sat at the edge of the fire light, her legs spread wide. She was buck naked once again, with the towel she’d wrapped herself in earlier nowhere to be seen. Every movement she made was languid; even just sitting upright looked like it was an effort for her.

There was nothing overt about the scene before Marcy’s eyes, but the subtext was clear as day. They’d had sex!

In retrospect, Marcy wasn’t surprised that Bert had gone after Karen. He’d had a hard-on and he would’ve been determined to get some release, regardless of who gave it to him. For one disturbing moment, Marcy wondered if Bert had forced himself upon her friend. But everything about Karen’s manner suggested to Marcy that it had been consensual. Regrettable, perhaps, but consensual.

In the numbness of her intoxication, Marcy didn’t give the subject any further thought. As she re-entered the campsite with Jeff, Karen and Bert both seemed unconcerned that their friends probably knew what they’d done.

The tone among the group was casual and relaxed, as if nobody cared about anything that had happened in the last twenty minutes. But the frivolity that abounded during their ‘pole dancing’ and strip teasing was well and truly over now and everyone gathered their clothing and got redressed.

Despite the mellow atmosphere, Marcy still felt kind of tense. She needed a beer...

---------


Paul laid on the bed for ages, staring up at the poorly-finished, uneven planks of the ceiling in catatonia of rage and dread. He knew he would have to get up eventually, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to have to face her. He didn’t want to face him.

He could hear the sounds of breakfast outside: chairs moving, utensils striking plates and bowls, people talking.

He thought about just staying put and waiting for the others to finish so he could slink out unnoticed. But the longer he stayed holed-up in his room, the more likely it was that someone would stick their head through the door to check that he was alright; possibly Karen.

No. He had to face them sooner or later and he wanted to do it on his terms.

He got up, got dressed and with a mighty sigh of resignation, opened the door. He proceeded down the cabin’s narrow hallway and then turned right, into the small kitchen/dining area. Jeff and Karen were sitting at the table. Bert was manning the stove. Karen was the first to notice his presence.

“Hey!” she greeted with a friendly grin.

“Morning,” Paul acknowledged her, forcing a polite smile. He took the seat right next to Jeff and before long, Bert had served a plate of steaming bacon strips right up in front of him. Paul restrained himself to making a curt mumbling sound and hoped it would pass for an acceptable “thank you.”

He picked at his breakfast and watched in anguished silence as the banter between the trio continued.

He tried to gauge the current situation between Bert and Karen. Karen seemed more or less at ease around Bert and for some reason that made Paul’s stomach sink. He wondered if she didn’t even remember having sex with him. She had been extremely drunk at the time, after all. But the more he scrutinized the way they spoke to one another, the more he got the impression that she was well aware of what they’d done.

Bert seemed to be engaging with her much more than normal. Hidden within the small talk, Paul could see that Bert was even giving her some good-natured ribbing. Karen tolerated it with a smile, even if she didn’t particularly enjoy it. Near as Paul could tell, Karen wasn’t happy that she’d fucked Bert. But instead of being mortified by her poor judgement, as Paul might’ve hoped, Karen only seemed mildly embarrassed about the situation.

People have a saying about colossal social mistakes, “One day we’ll look back on this and laugh.” The implication being that that “one day” will be years, maybe decades away. But Paul got the distinct impression that for Bert and Karen that day was already here - and that cut through him like glass.

Marcy showed up after a few minutes and after the standard morning pleasantries, took the seat on the opposite side of Jeff. Her relationship with Bert seemed frosty as ever. Though oddly, Marcy seemed to be the hostile one this morning, while Bert was being uncharacteristically considerate. But Paul was too torn up with grief to care about their strange role-reversal.

By the time he’d cleared his plate, Paul had heard as much of Bert’s jovial banter with his poached love as he could stand. He just wanted to get out of there, away from both of them and spend some time alone to clear his head. He cleared his place as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself and then tried to slip out of the cabin unnoticed.

“Hey, where you going?” Karen asked warmly.

She caught him justas he was about to step out the front door. Paul had no response prepared, but he surprised himself with just how quickly he was able to invent one.

“Oh, one of my CDs is missing. I think I must’ve left it down on the beach, so I’m just going to go find it,” he told her in a deadpan tone that couldn’t match her friendliness.

He’d noticed during breakfast that someone had considerately carried his boombox back to the cabin last night, along with his CD pouch. He hadn’t checked it, but he just assumed everything was there.

“Well, hold up! Let me come with you!” she requested. He could see she still had a sausage and a half left on her plate, but they wouldn’t take long to finish.

“No, that’s okay. It shouldn’t take long,” he declined. “You finish your breakfast.”

He rushed out and closed the door behind him before anyone else decided to stall him.

His pace was brisk as he left the cabin, but as soon as he was out of its view, he started dragging his heels. He was in no hurry to get where he was going because he was in no hurry to get back.

He had nowhere particular to go, so by default he headed back down to the beach. Once he got there though, he immediately regretted the decision. This was where it had happened; the ‘scene of the crime’ as it were. What a stupid idea it had been to come here! The fury he had sought to escape suddenly returned, burning from within like an acute case of reflux. His body began to seize up like the rusty Tin Man as he passed the exact spot where the deed had been done.

With a huff, he powered on, continuing down the beach. Gradually, his furious charge simmered down to a calm, maudlin stroll.

He pined for the part of Karen that had been lost. He couldn’t put a name to it, but she had definitely lost something. She no longer gave him the rush of joy that she once did. He no longer felt drawn to her.

Of course, he’d known that she wasn’t a virgin for some time now and it hadn’t much bothered him. But seeing Bert’s naked body pumping away at her with his own eyes was something else entirely. Seeing her like that... well, it just soured the image. The fun memories he had of her no longer seemed fun, the romantic moments no longer seemed romantic. All the goodness in his life that revolved around that beautiful girl with the heart-warming smile wasn’t so good now that she was the same girl who had been lying naked in the sand with a look of stupefied satisfaction upon her face.

Paul didn’t keep track of the time. By the time he struck an impassable section of the shoreline, he guessed he’d been walking for an hour and a half. He likewise guessed he’d been walking for the same length of time again when he returned to the path that led back to the woods. Despite having spent the better part of the morning in solitary contemplation, Paul still didn’t feel like returning to the cabin. Not yet.

A little ways in to the woods, he came to a familiar fork where the right path led back to the cabin. He veered left.

---------


Marcy released the thumb-length pinnate of leaves she had been absently twirling and let it fall upon the murky brown water of the reservoir below. It grossed her out a little to think that this was where they got the water they’d been drinking and bathing in for the past four days. But she figured it probably went through several stages of filtration and sterilization before it actually reached their faucets.

Leaning upon the concrete guard wall like a handrail, she watched as the leaves floated to the water, producing a single perfect ripple.

She was lost in thought. The past 24 hours had been... complicated, to say the least. It wasn’t that she was confused about what had happened; it was more that she was confused about how to feel about what had happened, and where it all left her now.

She was still angry about what Bert had done. Not as angry as she had been; not as angry as she probably should’ve been, but angry nonetheless.

She’d come to forgive the dumb ox somewhat. Jeff had pointed out to her the previous night, and again earlier this morning, that Bert had only done what he’d done because of alcohol. It didn’t excuse what he’d done. Not by a long shot. But she knew that the real Bert, as much of an asshole as he was, would never force himself upon a woman when he was sober.

She knew him and his type all too well. When they want a girl they are brazen and assertive to the point of being pests. But they know where the line is between annoying and unacceptable and they usually have the decency not to cross it. The problem is, when you add a shit-ton of beer into the mix, that line gets damn blurry.

That’s what it all came down to: poor judgement.

By the same stroke, she couldn’t help but curse herself for her own behavior last night. Stripping nude and dancing provocatively in front of Bert? What the hell had she been thinking? Again, her behavior did not excuse his. But she knew that Bert really wanted to screw her, he hadn’t been subtle about that. When she’d been sober she’d been sensible enough to shoot down all his advances, quick and clear. But then later in the night, she’s practically giving him a guided tour of all her God-given assets? Talk about sending mixed signals! It was so stupid.

Strangely enough, it wasn’t Marcy’s issues with Bert that were weighing heaviest on her mind this morning, it was her issues with Jeff.

His behavior the previous night was harder for her to come to terms with than Bert’s. Once again, his failings could largely be blamed on the alcohol. But unlike Bert, in Jeff’s case that didn’t make her feel any better.

When Bert had first started fucking her ass, Jeff just kept grinding away at her without even hesitating. She gave him benefit of the doubt on that one: he was so wasted, he mightn’t have even realized what Bert was doing. Though deep down she didn’t really believe that.

But even supposing that he was too drunk to realize Bert was trying to buttfuck her while it was happening, she couldn’t just explain away his attitude after she’d escaped. She as much as explained to him point-blank what Bert had done to her and all Jeff seemed to be concerned about was the fact that he hadn’t gotten off!

Booze or no booze, horny or not horny, it was hard to make peace with having a boyfriend who can be so callous when someone tries to molest you.

Of course, they had ‘made up’ first thing this morning. Jeff had been far more sensitive to her displeasure after a sobering night’s sleep. He talked to her and did his best to make things right, which was somewhat impressive as Marcy didn’t make it easy for him. She spent a good long time simply giving him the cold shoulder before she actually responded to him.

His hands touched her with kindness, not lust, in an effort to simply remind her he was there for her. They had embraced her so tenderly as she had vented about how upset she was over the events of the previous night. Their gentle caresses patiently lulled her upset mind and body to peace.

At some point, the pleasant contact went from being relaxing to being exciting and finally they made love, which Marcy enjoyed very much. It proved to be an excellent exercise for knocking out her lingering tension and for putting her back in a great mood.

For all intents and purposes, everything was good between them once again. Yet for some elusive reason, Marcy didn’t feel content. Something was off about it all, like she and Jeff weren’t really on the same page.

During their pre-coital pillow talk, Jeff had promised her that he’d “talk to” Bert about his behavior. His best friend sticks his dick in his girlfriend’s ass and Jeff says he’ll “talk to” him about it. Jesus.

The soft, regular sound of feet crunching upon foliage snapped Marcy out of her reflections and she turned her head to see Paul coming down the track. His gaze was heavy upon the ground immediately in front of him. He looked like he would walk right past her without noticing if she didn’t announce her presence.

“Hey,” she politely greeted him. His head sprung upwards, as if the voice had come as a shock to him.

“Oh! Hi, Marcy,” he softly replied, seeming flustered. “What are you doing here?”

“Eh, I guess I just felt like taking a walk,” she told him, as she relaxed once more upon the concrete guard wall and stared out across the small reservoir.

“You’re out here alone?” Paul asked, as he wandered off the path to join her.

“Yeah. Karen just felt like chilling, I think she said she was gonna read a book. And Jeff and Bert were taking the truck back to the store on a beer run. Seems we cleaned out the supply last night,” Marcy explained.

“Really? More beer?” he asked in a facetious tone.

“Yeah,” Marcy chuckled, understanding his meaning completely. After the lunacy that had gone on the previous night, it was ridiculous to think that they were setting themselves up for another night of heavy drinking. But what the hell? They were on vacation!

“How about you?” Marcy asked.

“Oh. Same, I guess,” Paul shrugged.

She could hear the weariness in his voice. But somehow Marcy got the impression that he was more than just tired, he almost seemed ill. As he stared out across the water beside her, Marcy looked him over. His eyes seemed glazed over and had bags beneath them. His posture was so frail it looked like a gentle breeze would knock him off his feet.

“No offense, Paul, but you look like shit,” Marcy told him, in the kindest possible tone that such an observation can be spoken. “Hung over?” she guessed.

“Yeah,” he smirked bitterly, “Something like that.”

Marcy could tell from the indignity in his voice that it wasn’t just a bad hangover eating away at Paul. She wondered for a moment what might have put him is such a foul mood and her jaw dropped as she figured out what it probably was.

“Oh my god! You know, don’t you?” she gasped.

Paul didn’t answer per se, but the brief, agonized glare he shot her confirmed her suspicions. She covered her mouth in shock. She could only imagine how terribly it must’ve cut him to know that Karen slept with Bert.

“I didn’t think you were around when it happened,” she said.

“Yeah, well... I was,” he scowled.

The revelation left Marcy reeling. She hadn’t much cared that Karen had fucked Bert. Karen might have been her best friend, but she was a grown woman and whoever she had sex with was her own business. But discovering that Paul knew about it made it more serious than Marcy had initially assumed. Now, it was more complicated than just a silly little drunken indiscretion; now it turned out someone had gotten hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Marcy said sincerely, gently placing a hand on Paul’s shoulder in support. “I know you really like her.”

Paul sighed. Marcy got the sense that he wanted to respond, but just didn’t know what to say.

Paul had never actually told anyone he loved Karen, but it was obvious to anyone who ever saw the two of them together, especially during this vacation. Marcy knew that Paul had hoped his close friendship with Karen would finally develop in to something serious over the course of the week. It was no wonder he was so devastated by her little fling with Bert.

“I thought she ‘really liked’ me, too,” he said, not trying to conceal his pain.

“I’m sure she does,” Marcy assured him.

“Yeah? Then how do you explain her...” Paul couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud.

Marcy sighed and turned once more back to the water, her gaze facing parallel to Paul’s.

“She was wasted,” she answered.

“That’s it?” he rebuked her, clearly irritated by her seemingly dismissive attitude.

“Yeah,” Marcy nodded, with a confident tone that caught Paul by surprise. “I know it seems like it shouldn’t be that simple, but it is. When you’ve had too much, shit happens. Trust me, I know.”

Marcy appreciated how frustrating her response was for Paul. She wished she could’ve been more helpful, but there would be no making sense of something that simply didn’t make sense. She figured that the kindest thing she could do was help him to realize that, rather than leading him down the garden path.

After silently processing Marcy’s words for some time, Paul straightened up.

“Some vacation, hey?” he sighed sadly, before turning and heading back towards the path.

“Yeah,” Marcy softly agreed. “Some vacation.”

Taking one last look at the still surface of the reservoir, she likewise straightened up and followed Paul. She instinctively knew that he really needed a friend right now. Besides, it wasn’t like staring at that murky water had made her own problems any clearer.

At first she was about 20 feet behind him, but by the time they’d re-entered the woods she’d caught up and was walking by his side.

“You know, just because she was wasted, it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t matter,” she clarified. “Like, I know it’s a big deal. I’m just saying that there’s no real reason why she did what she did, apart from being drunk off her ass.

“For what it’s worth, I think she ended up with the wrong guy last night,” she told Paul warmly.

She meant what she said. Paul was good people and she had no doubt he would’ve treated Karen right. He was such a sweet guy; a little bit shy, but really nice. Not to mention that beneath the fuzz of the ill-advised moustache and goatee he was currently growing, he was really cute!

Marcy herself tended to gravitate, often precariously, towards guys with a little more of a wild streak. But she knew that there were plenty of girls out there who dug sensitive sweethearts. It was a wonder that Paul had been so unlucky in love and Marcy could only guess that his long-held fixation on Karen had prevented him from exploring other opportunities.

He looked her in the eye and forced a smile. “Thanks, Marcy,” he replied, in the friendliest voice his weary heart could muster. He tried not to let on, but her kind words were clearly cold comfort for him.

Marcy couldn’t help but feel his pain and that in turn made her angry. “Nice guys finish last” was one of the hard laws of nature that Marcy accepted with cold ambivalence. Except on the rare occasions when she had to witness its cruelty firsthand. Like now.

It seemed like such a grievous injustice! The kind that makes your blood boil. Everyone on this trip was getting action - everyone, except poor Paul. Even that pig, Bert, managed to get laid! It was bad enough that an asshole like him got lucky, while a great guy like Paul was left out. But knowing that Bert had only scored by stealing Paul’s beloved crush from right under his nose was the absolute limit!

It just simply wasn’t right that Bert got laid on this trip, while Paul would probably finish the week having had no ‘action’ at all!

“So... do something about it!” she challenged herself. She was so frustrated, she just couldn’t sit by idly and watch it play out. But what could she do?

An answer came to her almost as soon as she’d asked the question. It was so obvious, so straightforward. Yet it also felt incredibly weird, risky and very intimidating. She couldn’t be 100% sure that Paul would appreciate the gesture and if it backfired, she might upset him even more than he was now. But on the other hand, he had taken a big hit last night; it would take something big to lift him out of his depression. Marcy believed her idea was likely to succeed and as she studied the broken look on Paul’s face, she became convinced that doing him a solid was the right thing to do.

A tingle of excitement raced up her spine as she decided to try it.

“You mind if I ask you a personal question?” she asked Paul gently.

“I guess not,” Paul shrugged, seemingly too lost within his head to appreciate the cautionary undertone of the question.

“Have you ever... ‘been’ with a girl?” she asked.

Despite the warning, the question clearly caught Paul off-guard. His feet staggered for a moment and he turned to face her with eyes that said, “Beg your pardon?” Marcy didn’t react.

“Uh, well... Yeah, sure! Yeah, I’ve been with...” he stammered with awkward enthusiasm, trailing off into a babble of half-words.

Marcy could see through his claim as if it were made of glass. His words were the feeble protests of a virgin trying to protect his macho image. At most, he might have gotten to second base at some point in his life.

In a way, his shyness about the subject was kind of cute.

“Would you like to?” Marcy asked, ignoring his answer.

Paul’s brow furrowed in confusion. He didn’t seem to understand the question any more than he could interpret the mischievous smirk on Marcy’s face. Indeed, he was apparently so lost that he didn’t even seem to notice her grabbing him gently by the wrist and raising his hand until she had guided it on to her left boob.

His mouth hung wide open like a cod as his utter confusion became utter disbelief. He watched in silence as Marcy took his other hand and placed it likewise upon the other shapely bulge in her red polo shirt.

“What... What is this?” he eventually asked.

“Mmm... call it a ‘consolation prize,’” Marcy replied. She was as cool as a cucumber; the complete opposite of Paul’s jittery bewilderment. She had never done anything quite like this before. But navigating the subtleties of sex and foreplay came as second nature to Marcy.

She leaned forward slowly and pecked a soft kiss square upon his lips.

Paul could not take his eyes off hers. They reflected nothing more than sympathy, kindness, and perhaps the slightest hint of apprehension. No lust, no romantic yearning. Just profound kindness.

“You don’t have to do this,” he hesitantly rasped, words from his conscience that his body put up a resistance against.

Marcy cocked her head and shrugged. “I know,” she replied with a sense of finality.

Paul seemed to accept that this was really happening. His fingertips came to life, pressing ever so gently in to Marcy’s tits to test their suppleness. Marcy encouraged him to be bolder, grabbing his wrists again and pulling his hands firmly against her chest, to give him a proper demonstration of just how lithe her girls were.

She kissed him again as he began to knead her through her shirt with more confidence. This time the kiss lasted longer, though it was just as ginger. The kisses were just for the sake of arousal. She took care to make sure they didn’t imply anything else, like love. The last thing she wanted was to give Paul the wrong impression.

Then she pulled away.

“C’mon,” she instructed, as she led him by the wrists over to a large uprooted tree stump about 30 feet off the path. There was a space of smooth white wood upon it just the right size for two people to sit side-by-side.

As they sat down and kissed again, Paul’s hands quickly found Marcy’s breasts and resumed fondling them with no further guidance. Meanwhile, Marcy quietly unbuttoned and unzipped her skin-tight jeans. She let him play with her breasts for a little while longer, before she lifted his left hand off them and guided it down to the waistband of her panties. She thought that might be enough, but his hand stayed frozen in place. She giggled briefly in amusement, before gently goading Paul’s timid fingers to venture inside.

She felt a gentle, roaming tickle in her bush, as his hovering fingertips brushed through her nether hair.

“You can touch my body,” she suggested with a smile, “It’s okay.”

A sheepish smile appeared on Paul’s face, but she quickly washed it off with another kiss, while Paul’s fingers settled upon her skin and began to massage her mons with increasing pressure.

“Try going further,” she told him after a while, prompting his fingers to head south.

“Further,” she whispered soon after, this time getting them to tap her clitoris with the lowest point of their cycle.

And so it continued until his fingers were manipulating the tender flesh of her labia. Marcy tutored him on the various techniques he should use to get her excited and Paul proved to be a very adept student. It turned out that he only needed a little patient encouragement to push through the nerves that stalled him early on. After he’d had some time to acclimate to her body, his touch became almost as firm as a seasoned lover’s. With just a little more guidance about what pressure to use, he became most enjoyable.

His other hand was already working her breast like a pro. She felt him trying to slip his hand up her shirt, but she thought that would be too constrictive, so she beat him to the punch. Breaking off their umpteenth kiss, she pulled off the red polo shirt and laid it on the log beside her. Paul leaned in for another kiss and slowly reached for the breast he’d just been fondling. But, before he could get to it, Marcy unlatched her leopard-skin bra and let it tumble down her arms like an erotic zipline.

Paul pulled out of the kiss almost immediately and leaned back to appreciate her breasts in all their naked glory. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped in absolute wonderment. The lively fingers on her pussy suddenly went dead still. Marcy wasn’t surprised by his reaction. She had a damn fine rack; she knew it and she was proud of it. Paul was hardly the first guy to be stunned by the site of her gorgeous twins. All the same, it was always flattering to see a guy so captivated by her body.

She shimmied her shoulders briskly back and forth and treated him to a nice jiggle.

“Fuck!” Paul gasped absently. “You have some fucking amazing tits!” he told her.

“Thanks!” she grinned sweetly, genuinely appreciating the compliment. “You wanna feel ‘em?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Paul joked as he dove in for another kiss. His free hand latched on to her left breast and began to cup and fondle it in a way that felt wonderful for Marcy. She could feel him lifting and releasing it to test its’ unsupported weight, then squeezing it tightly yet adoringly, to finally explore the responsiveness that the bulges in her shirt had only hinted had. After a little while, his other hand suddenly sprung back to life, and resumed tickling her snatch in a well-choreographed dance.

After he’d had his fun feeling up her left breast, Paul leaned over to suckle upon it. Marcy hung her bra upon a spindly nearby tree branch.

Her agile hand snaked down towards Paul’s crotch and made fast work of the fastenings of his khaki pants. She reached into his grey briefs and carefully extracted his pulsing rod. It was already quite large, but Marcy could tell from its rubbery state that it wasn’t completely aroused yet. Her fingers embraced his shaft and she began working him in slow, steady strokes. She felt the hot column of man-meat expand like magic within her grasp and soon it was as solid as the wood they were sitting upon.

As Paul continued to amuse himself with her tits, Marcy masturbated him as gingerly as could be. With Paul being so inexperienced, she figured it wouldn’t take much stimulation to set him off and she didn’t want this little game to finish so early.

Only now did she stop and consider exactly how she intended this to finish. Of course, she had to get Paul off somehow, anything less would be downright cruel. He seemed to be having the time of his life just as he was, nuzzling and sucking one of her boobs and fondling the other. He would probably be grateful if she got him off with a hand job, but for Marcy it felt like a rather half-assed gesture, compared to the blow he’d received last night.

His fingers had been hitting all her right notes like a piano maestro and her sex was buzzing for some real action. She gave serious thought to giving Paul a proper fuck. There was a seductive sense of cosmic balance to the idea: Bert had gotten all the way home with Karen, so for Paul to break even, he would need to go all the way with a girl as well.

But this felt weird enough as it was. Paul was a great guy, but he was just a friend and not a particularly close friend, at that. She wanted to give him a good time, but the thought of getting his jizz in her snatch was just a little too uncomfortable for her liking.

A blowjob seemed like a happy compromise. She was a skilled fellator and she knew her mouth could take care of his cock in a way that would not leave him wanting.

She pried his busy hand out of her panties and gently pushed him away. There was confusion, perhaps even apprehension shimmering in Paul’s eyes as he watched her slide off the stump and reposition herself between his legs. Marcy wasn’t put off. If this was his first proper sexual experience, it was only natural that he would be nervous.

She held his manhood in her hand and stared into its inflamed purplish-pink head. A glistening trickle of pre-cum was already seeping from the tiny slit on it’s very tip, like a single tear of joy for the wonderful gift it was about to receive.

This was the moment it actually became real for her. She was actually going to fuck this guy! Mouth-fuck him, perhaps, but fuck him all the same. Part of her felt uncomfortable and guilty about doing this when she was in a serious relationship with Jeff. But her more obstinate side quickly reminded her of Jeff’s attitude the previous night and how he hadn’t seemed to mind the idea of her sexually servicing another man. “Fair enough,” she sardonically told herself, “but it’s my body, so I get to choose the man.”

Besides, this wasn’t something selfish she was doing for her own pleasure, it was a favor she was doing for Paul, who really needed it. Why should she feel guilty over doing something nice?

Licking her lips for lubrication, she dove gracefully upon Paul’s impressive boner and took it deep into her mouth.

“Holy shit!” Paul uttered as her tongue coursed over the sensitive surface of his cockhead. The full weight of his body seemed to collapse upon his hips, yet somehow, he managed to remain upright. His breath, which he had apparently been holding, instantly resumed as an irregular sequence of heavy panting.

What Paul didn’t know was that this wasn’t Marcy’s planned finale. She wanted to give him one or two more fun experiences before she got him off. She bobbed up and down his shaft several times, enough to give the top few inches a good coating of saliva. Her nimble tongue played with its prize, just enough to give Paul a thrill, but not enough to bring him to orgasm - she hoped.

When she was done, she seamlessly pulled her mouth away from his cockhead and began licking the further reaches of his manhood like it was the world’s most delicious popsicle. Once it had been coated sufficiently to her liking, Marcy evened out the spread with her hand, while quietly sucking up the biggest loogie she could manage with her remaining saliva.

She collected her breasts and drew them together to form maximum cleavage, then carefully spit into it. The tepid goo tingled as it slid down the already-stimulated skin of her tits. She jiggled them up and down against one another to maximize the spread.

The abrupt pause in the sex woke Paul out of the blissful daze he’d been in. He turned to Marcy just in time to see her supple melons being bounced around in her hands. Before he could process the sight, she lifted them on to his boner and dropped the slick envelope of her cleavage right on top of it.

“Oh wow!” Paul sighed with a giddy smirk as his head fell back behind his shoulders.

“Mmm... You like that?” Marcy mewed with a flirtatious grin.

“Fuck, yeah!” Paul cheered.

She worked her soft tits up and down his pole, over and over. They relished the sensation of that rigid mass with its bulbous top coursing between them and keeping them apart. Her pussy began to feel jealous and hungry. But the mind and the body don’t always get along and Marcy remained unwilling to let Paul screw her down there.

Eventually, she let his tip poke out through the top of her cleavage and before long she was kissing it, then taking the entire head into her mouth.

From his frequent moans, it was abundantly clear that Paul was thoroughly enjoying the titty fuck/oral combo Marcy was giving him. For her part, Marcy was actually being quite tame, hoping to draw the experience out for him. She privately mused that he would probably die if he knew what she could really do for him.

Marcy kept the act up for a while, but it was uncomfortable keeping her head down at such an angle and it limited how much of the cock she could take. After letting his cockhead swim through her cleavage for a few final strokes, she segued into her grand finale. She took the virile rod into her mouth once again; took it deep this time. There was no further need for kid gloves at this point as Marcy had no other plans for this little encounter. She let the full length of her mouth cast a spell of ecstasy over Paul’s erogenous cock with several thrusts: fast, then slow, then fast once more. Then to top it off, she gave his glans the tongue-lashing of a lifetime.

The dam finally broke, and a furious torrent of thick, salty cum gushed into Marcy’s mouth. She enhanced his pleasure by sucking on him and continuing to tickle his organ with her playful tongue.

“Oh God!” Paul sharply grunted at barely a whisper. He began to teeter as he lost himself to orgasm. Marcy reached for his hand and held it firmly, hoping that she would be able to stop him from falling off the stump, if it looked like he might do so.

The forceful blasts ebbed into drizzles and finally into a long series of dry convulsions. Yet even after Paul’s spent manhood went quiet, Marcy continued to patiently caress it with her tongue like one might stroke a beloved pet. She knew that a well-serviced afterglow was nothing to be sniffed at.

Paul was a breathless wreck by the time she finally pulled away from his junk. She leaned over to her right and quietly spat a huge white glob of semen on to a patch of leaf-covered ground. She made sure to eject it far enough away that there would be little risk of accidentally kneeling in it. She cleared her mouth as best she could by hand, then fetched a hanky from her jeans and thoroughly wiped her lips and chin for good measure. As an afterthought, she did a quick check of her boobs to make sure no stray cum had gotten on them.

“So, was it good?” Marcy facetiously asked, already knowing the answer.

Paul chuckled, remaining speechless for the longest time before he finally gathered a response, “Well, you’ve sure cured my hangover.”

“Hmm? Better than a greasy breakfast?” Marcy asked dryly, as she stood and put her bra back on.

“Heh. Just a bit, yeah,” Paul said with a smile, which Marcy returned.

She took her time getting dressed, but she was still finished well before Paul had regained his composure. Once he had tucked his dick back in and zipped up his pants, Marcy gave him a hand to get off the stump. Then they headed back towards the path.

“Hey, Paul? Our little secret, right?” Marcy stated in a serious tone.

“Yeah, of course,” Paul swiftly replied, with an assuring sense of resolve.

“Thanks,” Marcy weakly smiled.

“No problem,” he softly assured her, as they reached the path and turned towards the cabin.

---------


Once again, the weather had been idyllic all day long, so the group collectively decided to camp out on the lakeshore. Things got off to a rocky start right from the get-go, when Bert showed up at the beach still carrying his rifle, as he’d spent the afternoon hunting squirrels again.

Nobody else wanted it around, especially if they were all going to get as wasted as they had been last night. Adding a loaded gun to that kind of anarchy seemed like crossing the line from stupid to downright insane. Karen demanded that Bert get rid of the gun and Marcy echoed her sentiments. Even Jeff, who normally had his bro’s back, seemed noticeably uncomfortable that the gun had been brought.

But Bert stubbornly refused to carry the gun all the way back to the cabin. He condescendingly assured the girls that he’d put the safety on and that it was completely harmless. It soon became obvious that Bert was never going to cooperate, so the others reluctantly let the subject go.

The mood gradually lightened and the frivolity began. The boys made an early start on one of the beer cases that Bert and Jeff had driven off to buy that morning, while the girls waded out to enjoy the refreshingly cool water. The boys eventually joined them and together they played another game of water dodgeball, which seemed to put everybody in good spirits.

Marcy noticed early on that Paul seemed unusually sullen and reserved. No doubt he was still in pain over Karen. She wasn’t surprised. The blowjob she’d given him might’ve been a nice little treat, but when you’ve carried a torch for someone for as long as he’d been doting on Karen, the wounds don’t mend by just randomly screwing some other woman.

Coming back here to the place where his world fell apart and virtually re-enacting the events leading up that moment must’ve been tearing the poor guy up inside.

But she knew that nothing good would come of the others perceiving him as a sourpuss. Being stuck in his own head wasn’t doing him any favors, either. So, she took it upon herself to reach out to him and gently encourage him to join in with the group, at times when he looked like he needed a little extra nudge. She called him out to the lake when it looked like he might just linger on the beach and during the ball game, she tossed the ball in his vicinity often and playfully taunted him to try to nail her when he came by it at other times.

The key was finesse. She didn’t want to upset him even further by making him feel pushed around; she just wanted to give him the gentle morale boost it seemed like he needed.

The other reason she employed such subtlety was so that nobody would notice the special attention she was paying to Paul. She didn’t want to give away that she knew about his pain; that he had shared that secret with her alone. Had they just “talked” about Karen in the woods that morning, Marcy probably wouldn’t have been so cautious. But the fact that their heart-to-heart chat had spiraled into something much less innocent made her reluctant to be caught showing Paul some special sympathy.

Near as she could tell, her efforts were appreciated. On the rare occasions when it seemed no one was watching, Paul would respond to her little encouragements with a weak, covert smile, which Marcy took as a silent “thank you.”

Marcy hadn’t felt like cooking that night, so when the sky started to darken and the group got hungry, Karen tried her hand at some homemade pizza. She left it in the fire too long and the crust got burnt. The rest of it, while well cooked, was nothing special. But at least it was edible.

The heavy drinking got underway much earlier this evening than it had the night before. At least, it did for Jeff and Bert. Marcy was drinking freely, but not as if she was in a race to get shitfaced. Karen, she noticed, seemed to be curbing her intake a bit, probably trying to avoid the mistake she made last night. Paul, meanwhile seemed to be nursing the same beer all night long.

Once again, a little alcohol in Bert’s system made him a bit too friendly for comfort. Initially, his ostensibly innocent gestures were directed at Karen. No doubt he figured that she was his best shot of getting laid again. It was a bittersweet development for Marcy. On one hand, she was grateful that Bert’s sleazy paws weren’t chasing after her again tonight. But on the other, the attention clearly bothered Karen and infuriated Paul. Marcy could see this evening ending in tears if Bert wouldn’t take the hint.

Unfortunately, the more he drank, the more ‘sociable’ he became. Karen began to use the others as human shields whenever Bert started getting friendly with her. Marcy filled this role more often than not. Considering the circumstances, Marcy didn’t mind doing Karen a solid, though she didn’t relish being so close to Bert, especially while wearing nothing but a bikini.

After yet more drinks, Bert’s fixation on Karen waivered and he began acting chummy with whichever of the two lovely ladies were nearest at the time. Marcy began to receive some inappropriate contact on her shoulder, waist, knee or thigh almost as often as Karen. However, by this point Marcy had consumed 3 or so beers herself and was too buzzed to be seriously annoyed by it. Bert was little more to her than a pesky fly buzzing around that she simply had to periodically brush off.

The evening rolled on. The rock kept playing. The beers kept coming.

Marcy’s awareness of what everyone else was doing began to falter and she began to feel like dancing.

By the time the last orange trace of daylight had faded from the sky, both Jeff and Bert were about as drunk as a person can get without constantly falling on their ass. It had taken them much longer to get this wasted the previous night.

Not long afterward, a conversation they were having brewed into a tense argument that quickly caught the attention of everyone else.

“...Dude, I don’t care. I don’t fucking care what your fucking reasons are for thinking it; there is no fucking way that you’re a better shot than me,” Bert blustered.

“Oh really?” Jeff laughed sarcastically, “Five days of hunting and you’ve hit exactly “zero” squirrels. Yeah, that’s a real hard record to top!”

“Dude, one: those fuckers are faster than they look, and two: I have bagged like, four; no, five of them!” Bert retorted, counting the points off with his fingers while still maintaining his grasp on his beer bottle.

“Bull-shit!” Jeff replied, unable to keep a straight face. “Where the fuck are they, then?”

“What? You think I’m gonna bring ‘em back with me? Like I’m fucking Granny Cartwright bringing home roadkill for dinner?” Bert countered.

“What the fuck...” Jeff muttered in confusion. “Granny Cartwright? Do you mean Granny Clampett? Jesus, you moron, you’re getting the fucking Beverly Hillbillies mixed up with Bonanza!” he corrected Bert with a gleeful grin.

“Don’t change the subject, man,” Bert told him, unimpressed. “The fact is, I could outshoot you any day of the week!”

“Oh God!” Karen groaned as she sensed what was going to happen next.

“No way,” Jeff argued.

“Well c’mon! Let’s settle this right now!” Bert challenged him.

“Fine,” Jeff agreed.

“We’ll line up five beer bottles on that log over there,” Bert suggested, pointing to a pale piece of driftwood half buried in the sand, “Five shots each. Whoever hits the most bottles wins.”

“Let’s do it,” said Jeff.

“Oh shit,” Marcy chuckled with a disparaging roll of her eyes. In terms of sobriety, she was in an odd zone where she still knew that a couple of drunken idiots playing with a gun was a stupid idea, yet wasn’t really intimidated by the danger.

“Okay, go get some bottles,” Bert told Jeff as he staggered over to collect his rifle.

“Oh no! Fuck this!” Karen declared in horrified indignation. “I’m not staying anywhere near this place if you drunk assholes are gonna start shooting off that gun!” she told them, as she stormed briskly back into the woods.

“Karen! It’s totally fine. We’re just gonna shoot some bottles, that’s all. You got nothing to worry about, I promise,” Bert tried to assuage her, to no avail. “Karen? C’mon don’t be such a pussy! KAREN?” his voice grew louder and louder the further she marched from the campfire. Karen didn’t so much as hesitate in her hasty retreat, much less respond to him. “Eh, fuck her,” Bert dismissively shrugged.

He carried the rifle over to Jeff, then helped him set their targets up. It was difficult because the log was round and uneven, and their extreme intoxication certainly didn’t make the task any easier. When they finally managed to get all five bottles to stay upright, they withdrew several yards towards the campfire.

“Are you guys seriously going to do this?” Marcy asked in exasperation.

“Well your fucking boyfriend doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, so yeah, I think we have to do this,” came Bert’s brusque answer. Marcy silently shook her head.

“Dude, I just fucking said that I could shoot as good as you. It’s not my fault if you can’t deal with it,” Jeff justified himself.

“Okay. You think you’re so good, how ‘bout we make it interesting?” Bert proposed.

“What? You mean like a bet?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, man,” Bert confirmed.

“Okay, cool!” Jeff agreed. “So, what do you wanna bet? Like, a hundred bucks?”

“What? Get out of here, man! You gotta back yourself up with more than just a C,” Bert balked.

“Well, okay. What about two hundred? Four... no, five hundred?” Jeff ran off thoughtlessly.

“Fuck, man,” Bert muttered in displeasure.

“A thousand?” Jeff offered.

“You know... fuck off with your money, man. I don’t need your charity. C’mon make a real bet!” Bert told him in a moody manner.

Despite their bluster, they were good friends. But the contrast between Jeff’s reasonably wealthy background and Bert’s poorer, blue-collar background had always been a sore point that occasionally caused friction.

“Oh. Okay. So... what, then?” Jeff asked.

“Dunno, man,” Bert shrugged.

“How ‘bout: loser has to get a tattoo that says, ‘I suck!’ On his forehead!” Jeff suggested with a broad, self-satisfied grin.

“’I suck’? What are you? Eight?” Bert refused.

“Well okay, how ‘bout: loser has to... loser... No, wait. Winner has to... ah, shit! Loser... uh...” Jeff babbled, trying to compose a new wager on the fly.

He didn’t notice his girlfriend rolling her eyes at his stupidity.

“Winner gets to drive the loser to the hospital,” Paul muttered bitterly under his breath. He’d only been speaking to himself, but Marcy overheard the remark and instantly broke into a hysterical giggle.

“Shut up, Marcy,” Jeff offhandedly chided her as he tried to concentrate on his problem.

The moment he said her name, Bert had an epiphany.

“Well, how ‘bout this, man: Winner gets to fuck Marcy?” Bert suggested.

Marcy’s trailing laughter was swiftly severed. For a moment the campsite descended into a deathly silence where even the fire didn’t seem to crackle. Her blood ran stone cold and her body froze in place, her trembling eyes shooting a gaze of raw fury at the shirtless drunken imbecile who just spoke. Surely, surely, she must’ve misheard. Surely, even he couldn’t have spoken an idea as disgusting as that out loud.

“What? Fuck off, man! We’re not doing that!” Jeff rebuffed, without so much as a hint of indignation. He reacted as if the idea was merely silly, not grossly offensive.

“Yeah, ‘cause you know you can’t hit shit!” Bert mocked him.

“Okay, fine!” Jeff agreed as a kneejerk defense to his wounded pride. “Winner...”

“EX-CUSE ME?” Marcy roared in outrage.

“Relax, babe, I got this,” Jeff blithely assured her after downing a mouthful of beer.

“So yeah...” Jeff resumed his conversation with Bert, having already forgotten Marcy’s outburst, “Winner, i.e. me, gets to fuck Marcy and you can go fuck yourself.” A second later, he doubled over in hysterical laughter upon realizing the droll turn of phrase he’d made quite by accident.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Bert brushed him off, unamused, as he concentrated on loading the rifle. “Just make sure you don’t get your hand caught in the bolt. I got a feeling you’re gonna be needing it tonight.”

“Uh, hell-o! Newsflash! I am not gonna fuck one of you guys just ‘cause you shoot down a bunch of fucking bottles!” Marcy venomously asserted.

“Hey c’mon, babe, be cool!” Jeff urged, as if the disgusting act he’d volunteered her for was nothing more than a simple errand.

“Yeah, Marcy,” Bert agreed, “look on the bright side. You might find out what it’s like to be with a real man for a change.”

Marcy’s jaw hung agape in utter disbelief. She looked on as Jeff and Bert debated the minor bylaws of their little contest, utterly oblivious to how mortified she was by the way they were treating her; utterly oblivious to the fact that, regardless of their own private agreement, neither of them had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting laid tonight. Not by her, anyway.

“Un-fucking-believable...” she quietly seethed, as she turned to walk away.

Only then did she notice Paul, reluctantly watching the unfolding catastrophe with a scowl of disgust.

Out of all the people present, he alone seemed to appreciate how obscene Bert and Jeff’s treatment of her was. Naturally, he wasn’t half as infuriated as she was; after all, he wasn’t the one being raffled off like a ham at a school fair. But at least he was sensitive enough to empathize with her sense of degradation. At least he was human enough to know that what Bert and Jeff were doing wasn’t okay. Paul had more decency in his little toe than those other two assholes combined had in their whole bodies.

It was cold comfort to know that she had a friend of sorts at a time like this, but it was a comfort nonetheless.

At that moment, she was a woman torn. On one hand, she just wanted to storm off into the night and get as far away from those two drunken pricks as she could. But at the same time, that didn’t feel like it was anywhere near enough. She wanted to kick their asses; wanted to hurt them as much as they’d hurt her. But even half-drunk, Marcy was no thug.

It seemed like her wounded pride would go unavenged and she was about to just walk away when watching Paul gave her an idea.

She sauntered over to his side and whispered in his ear, “How many have you had?”

“Hmm?” Paul reacted, surprised by her presence. He saw her looking at the bottle in his hand and he understood. “Oh. Two... not counting this.” The bottle in his hand was open, but otherwise seemed practically untouched. “Why?”

“Could you do me a favor?” Marcy pleaded, still whispering.

“Sure,” Paul blindly agreed. He took his cue from her and lowered his volume to match hers.

“Take a shot at those bottles,” she told him.

“What?” Paul responded in confusion.

“You’re practically sober. You can totally out-shoot those assholes,” she assured him.

“But... why?” he asked.

“I want these guys to get some humble pie, y’know? Get their asses kicked and realize what a couple of losers they are,” she explained.

They were so wrapped up in their little macho contest right now, outshooting them both would be about the biggest blow someone could do to their egos. It would pale in comparison to being treated like a cheap sex trophy, but for Marcy, getting the last laugh would still feel mighty good.

“But...” Paul uttered, as he wrapped his head around the surprising request. “I’ve never fired a gun in my life.”

“Those guys can barely stand up! You’ve got the advantage,” Marcy pointed out. “Just give it your best shot. If you’re 0 for 5, well... whatever.”

He looked into her pained eyes and saw how badly she needed this minor victory right now. He gave her a silent nod, then stood up and approached the two rambling drunkards.

“Well, hey, what about me?” he chimed in, silencing both of them.

“What? You want a shot, too?” Jeff asked.

“Sure. You guys get to show how good you are, why can’t I?” Paul argued. Bert and Jeff looked at each other.

“Bring it,” Bert stoically agreed.

“Okay. Wow,” Jeff said, suddenly seeming a bit disoriented by the surprise addition. “So, three players... Winner fucks Marcy; second place... shit!”

“Winner fucks Marcy; other two losers don’t get shit, man!” Bert declared. His arrogant manner betrayed just how certain he was that he already had first place in the bag. It made both Paul and Marcy’s blood boil. Marcy couldn’t wait to see Paul beat him.

“How... How ‘bout, first and second place each get a turn with Marcy, and the loser just gets nothing?” Jeff bargained. It seemed that with the addition of a third player, Jeff suddenly wasn’t so confident about his odds of getting to sleep with his own girlfriend tonight. “You cool with that, babe?” he asked Marcy, as if okaying such a disgusting arrangement with her was some kind of courtesy.

Marcy simply sneered at him. As unbelievable as it was, it seemed Jeff would not stop digging the massive hole he was in until he popped out in China.

“How ‘bout: Winner fucks Marcy; second place gets to watch; loser gets squat,” Bert proposed. Jeff found the idea agreeable.

“Babe?” he checked with Marcy.

She replied only with cold silence and a sour gaze at first, but she soon relented. “Ugh! Fine...” she sighed with a roll of her eyes, purely for the sake of moving things along. Of course, she had no intention of sleeping with either of those clowns. If, by some chance, either of them did claim victory, she would simply refuse to go ahead with the deal. To hell with ‘good sportsmanship!’

But with a little luck, it wouldn’t come to that. Paul would come out on top, she’d be off the hook and Bert and Jeff would feel almost as pathetic as they actually were.

After some tediously protracted discussion about what would happen in the event of a tie, a line was drawn in the sand, and Jeff took position to begin his round. Bert and Paul stood well back and watched keenly. Bert was still sipping from his beer.

BANG!

BANG! He wasn’t hitting anything.

BANG! Not even close!

BANG! Oooh! The fourth bottle actually toppled! The breeze of the bullet must’ve blown it over.

“Ha ha! Got it!” He cheered.

“Fuck off, man! You got to “hit” the bottle! If it isn’t broken, it doesn’t count,” Bert told him.

“Ah, fuck!” Jeff complained, before bracing for his last shot. “How many do I have left?” he asked.

“One,” Bert and Paul said in unison.

“One,” Jeff muttered to himself as he concentrated. The end of the barrel was wobbling all over the place.

BANG! Swing and a miss.

“Shit,” Jeff quietly grumbled as he lowered the rifle and stepped back from the line. Bert handed Paul his beer without a word, then took the rifle off Jeff’s hands. He went up to the ‘target range’ to reset the fallen bottle, then returned to the line.

Marcy smirked at Jeff’s poor performance. The only downside was that Bert could do no worse. While Jeff was far from innocent, it was Bert’s vulgar little brain that had come up with the idea of using her body as the prize for this shooting contest. He was the one she was aching to see totally humiliated.

Bert steadied himself and lined up his shot.

BANG! The sand a couple feet behind the first bottle blasted into the air as the bullet hit the beach.

“Shit!” Marcy silently cursed. “He got really close.”

BANG! The second bottle exploded in a flash of flying brown shards! One of them must’ve struck the first bottle and it toppled to the ground, as if in fearful surrender.

“Yeah-eh!” Bert cheered in triumph. Marcy softly groaned at the unwelcome result. In her head, she shouted profanity at his good luck.

BANG! Miss.

BANG! Again, the fourth bottle toppled, but it was intact.

BANG! Nothing but sand.

All his shots had gotten close to the targets, but he’d only gotten one hit. He was sneering and grumbling about his overall score as he stepped back from the line. Marcy, on the other hand bore a tentative smile. Bert’s slump in his final three shots gave her renewed hope. Paul only had to do better than ‘1’. That was doable, she felt.

Bert exchanged the rifle for the beer that Paul had been minding for him. He downed the last few ounces in a single gulp, then lumbered over to the target range to restore the two fallen bottles and replace the busted one with the one he’d just emptied. By some miracle, he managed to stand amidst all those glass shards he’d created without lancing his foot.

He left the targeting area and walked right past the ‘spectator zone’ from where Jeff and Paul had watched him take his shots, to fetch another beer from the cooler several yards away. Once Bert was clear of the targets, Paul took position behind the line. He turned to Marcy with a nervous smile and their eyes met.

“Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!” They silently said to one another at the same time.

He turned and raised the rifle. Marcy put her hands to her mouth. She could barely stand to watch.

He took a second to gauge the trial before him. He was encouraged when he realized that from this position, the bottles were only a few yards away. No doubt the distance would’ve appeared much further through the eyes of anyone who’d had half a dozen beers.

Paul had seen numerous ‘teach the rookie to shoot’ scenes in action movies throughout his life. Right now, they were all he had to go on. He quickly recognized the protrusions on top of the barrel as the ‘sights’ and aligned them as best he could with the dead center of the first bottle. He took three deep breaths, each slower than the last, then finally pulled the trigger...

BANG! Direct hit! The first bottle was vaporized!

Taking only a second to privately celebrate, Paul realigned with the next target, and did his best to suppress the adrenaline rush with some deep, calm breathing.

BANG! Two for two! He blew the neck and half the shoulder clean off! That was it! He’d beaten them!

“Eeee!” Marcy squealed in delight, bobbing on her tippy-toes.

“Fuck, man!” Bert and Jeff moaned in unison.

Marcy was ecstatic! Her white knight had won the day and delivered her sweet justice! The competition was, in effect, over. But Marcy continued to watch eagerly as Paul lined up his next shot. The more crushing his defeat of those two jerks was, the sweeter her victory would be.

BANG! Miss.

BANG! The fourth bottle toppled, yet again. It must’ve been in a bad spot.

BANG! Yes! Bottle number five was history! Paul had tripled that asshole Bert’s score!

Paul lowered the gun and turned to face the other guys with a well-earned smug smirk. Jeff shook his head in defeat while Bert silently drank his beer and gave Paul a brief, frosty glare. It made Paul hesitant to hand the loaded gun back to him, if only for a second.

Marcy concealed her beaming grin well behind the hands cupped over her mouth. That had been fun to watch, but now things were about to get real. The contest was over, and the boys would be expecting to settle up. Her pulse began to quicken as she stifled her smile and prepared herself to deal with the situation.

At the beginning of the contest, she had hoped Paul would win because it was an easy way out of that sick arrangement the other two had made. Of course, she certainly wasn’t obligated to sleep with either of them. But she had a feeling that if either of them had won, the victor would’ve hounded her to give him his “dues”, which would’ve just been another awful trial for her to endure in a night that had already dealt her too many. Paul’s victory meant neither of them could claim her as their ‘rightful’ prize and effectively let her off the hook.

But while the competition played out, her feelings on the matter changed significantly. It began as she watched Paul waiting to take his turn. Here was this sweet guy - no, this sweet friend, standing up to two drunken clowns who were, frankly, bigger and tougher than he, simply to support her.

By the time he was lining up his first shot, he’d come to strike a rather heroic stance in her eyes. Between shots, her gaze lingered upon his fit, masculine physique, practically hypnotized by the orange firelight flickering upon his bare skin. A familiar warm tingle began to waft through her body.

However, it wasn’t until Paul clinched his victory with that second bottle that she began to change her mind about what she would do after the contest. Bert and Jeff had been defeated, humiliated. But she still wasn’t satisfied. She still felt wronged, like they hadn’t paid heavily enough for the way they’d insulted her.

She knew they both really, ’really‘, wanted her. So, wouldn’t it just eat them up alive to know that some other guy was getting off with their “prize”, instead of them?

Besides, Paul had been such a great friend, the thought of showing him some serious gratitude was very... agreeable.

Now that the competition was well and truly over, she steeled herself to go ahead with her wild plan.

Wearing a mask of indifference, she strolled up to her champion, swaying her hips like a model on a catwalk. The ends of her knotted bikini strings beat upon her thighs like serpentine drummers. She placed one hand upon Paul’s shoulder and with the other, ran her fingers intimately through his curly brown hair.

“Well, that makes you the winner,” she decreed. “I guess I know what that means.”

Before Paul had a chance to process what was happening, she had already landed her lips upon his and begun fondly caressing his petrified tongue with her own. It was such a tender kiss, but its pants-wetting hot message could not have been stronger. Somewhere in the midst of that kiss she pressed her crotch hard against his hip, though he seemed so stunned, he might not have even noticed.

Many seconds later, when the kiss ended, Marcy finally noticed the look of utter bewilderment on Paul’s face. He looked like one of those owls with the gigantic eyes and she had to force herself not to chuckle.

“Seriously?” he asked at a discreet volume.

It was obvious that he’d had no expectation nor intention of leveraging his victory in the shooting contest for sex. He didn’t think for one moment that Marcy was under any obligation to sleep with him. That made Marcy feel even happier about what she was about to do with him.

“Those were the rules of the game,” she stated in a rather businesslike tone. Just to hammer the point home, she lifted his hand on to her left breast. He wasted no time in fondling it with his firm, talented touch.

She kissed him again, but this time he fully reciprocated. She felt like he was pouring gas on the urges that had, up till then, been merely smoldering in her loins. A wave of heat flushed all the way through to her extremities. She was going to enjoy this.

After the fourth or fifth kiss, a voice off to one side took her out of the moment.

“What are you so happy about?” Jeff asked. Marcy had all but forgotten those two morons were there.

“I get to watch,” Bert chuckled, in the most oafish voice imaginable.

Marcy pulled herself out of the steamy make-out session to deal Bert a frosty glare. Paul’s appetite kept running without her and he took to kissing her cheek and neck while continuing to feel her up.

Bert stared her down defiantly, unwilling to let her longstanding animosity towards him spoil his silver lining.

“That was the deal. Second place gets to watch,” he proudly reminded her.

The idea of Bert leering at her while she was having sex made Marcy’s skin crawl. But after thinking about it for a little while, she began to see it less as an ordeal and more as an opportunity. If Bert wanted to watch her, she would be sure to make it a surprisingly sour experience. She knew that there were few things in the world guys despised more than a cocktease. That would be her battle plan: she would leave him more maddeningly unsatisfied than he ever would’ve believed possible.

That’d teach him to stop pulling his bullshit on her.

Paul’s hand dove into her bikini bottom and began massaging her labia. It proved to be a very timely morale boost.

“Fine,” Marcy bitterly conceded. “You can ’watch’.

“But only from a distance. You can’t come anywhere near us. You can’t touch us,” she instructed. Her firm tone and the fire in her eyes told Bert that her terms were non-negotiable.

“And you can’t touch yourself, either,” she added.

Bert smirked. It was so subtle, but it was enough to bait her.

“I’m fucking serious, Bert!” she insisted. “If I fucking see your dick, or if I see either of your hands within 10 inches of it, we will stop at that’ll be the end of your little peep show!”

Paul stopped kissing her and joined her in staring Bert down. Marcy could feel his support and it was delightful! Of course, she wouldn’t count on him upholding his resolve while they were in the middle of hot sex. But here and now, at the battle of wills, Paul had her back. She felt like queen of the world!

“Fine,” Bert agreed. He sipped his beer as he turned and wandered back to the driftwood log he’d sat on during dinner, putting several yards between Paul & Marcy and himself.

Marcy turned her attention back to Paul and nibbled on his ear. A surge of renewed vigor in Paul’s hand brought on waves of heady excitement in her breast.

But Marcy could still feel one more pair of eyes on her skin than there ought to have been. She turned and stared at her pitiable now-ex boyfriend. He couldn’t even make eye contact and appeared to be staring at the boob Paul was playing with. He was so wasted, Marcy wondered if he even knew where he was.

“Goodbye, Jeff,” she said to him in a pretentious, sing-song voice. He had scored lowest. As per the rules of the contest, he wasn’t even allowed to watch her in action.

Marcy couldn’t have been more pleased that this was the last image he would have of their relationship: another guy with his hand all over her snatch. It was a hell of a parting shot. There was a sweet poetic justice to it. Jeff had carelessly given his blessing to the idea of another guy taking his girlfriend and now that was exactly how it would end.

“Pfft... What a gyp!” Jeff complained, as if he had just lost a quarter in a claw machine. Marcy gently shook her head as he staggered off towards the dark reaches of the beach. It astounded her how oblivious he was to what had just happened.

Paul’s lively fingers soon made her forget her frustrations. The kisses resumed, hungrier, brisker than ever. When Marcy felt the urge to strip, the clammy touch of Bert’s perverse eyes upon her skin made her hesitate for a moment. But she powered through, reached back to untie her bra string, pulled the skimpy garment off and dropped it upon the sand.

Paul responded by alternating his hands, giving her right boob some long-overdue attention. Marcy could feel his heightened enthusiasm. Now he was able to mold her breast the way nature had intended, making the act much more enjoyable for both of them. It pleased her to feel bare fingers upon her bare skin, without the synthetic covering to dull the sensations. Paul settled his thumb upon her nipple and pressed it deep in to the pliant tissue. It made for such a teasing sensation, like he was constantly skirting some erogenous pressure point deep inside her tit, but never quite reaching it.

Marcy tried to slip her fingers inside the waistband of Paul’s shorts, but the drawstring was so secure, she found it difficult. Undeterred, she simply pulled his pants down and let them drop to his ankles. She easily found his plump, growing maleness and affectionately caressed it for a moment, before ensnaring it in her skilled grasp and gently masturbating him.

In a show of dexterity that she privately lauded herself for, Marcy used her free hand to release both hip knots holding her bikini bottom together without interrupting the hand job she was giving Paul. Once again, she felt the seedy gaze watching her pelvic region descend into complete nudity. It made her uncomfortable, but only for an instant.

By now Marcy’s nether regions were wetter than the monsoon. Paul’s fingers had truly made her feel like a woman; a very hot, horny woman. She had an appetite for some real action and judging by the veritable baseball bat in her hand, Paul most certainly did, as well.

She concluded the make out session with an especially ferocious, lunging kiss, which ended with her sucking his lips almost clean off his face. Then she pushed him down by the shoulders. As he sank, he snuck a wild, sloppy kiss upon her left nipple.

Marcy kept pushing until Paul was kneeling at her feet. Then she dug her fingers in to his hair and pulled his face into the shapely recess of her sex, until his nose was buried in her thick, brown bush. Needing no further guidance, Paul immediately began lapping at her pussy. He was over-eager at first, racing his tongue all across her outer labia in a chaotic frenzy. Marcy giggled at how his manic efforts tickled. Then she began to purr.

Paul calmed down. His shock and awe assault on Marcy’s pussy turned into an exploratory mission of plowing through her slit to feel how her folds parted and eventually, investigating the many ways he could deflect her clit.

Marcy touched her tits without thinking and immediately felt self-conscious. She opened her eyes and saw Bert staring at her, just as she expected.

His legs were splayed wide-open, but thankfully he was still wearing his shorts. He almost looked dead. The only sign of life was when he raised his beer bottle to his lips.

His gaze was fixed upon her in the most macabre way, as if his eyes had been paralyzed by some debilitating sickness. His expressionless face implied calmness, or even boredom at the sexual encounter unfolding before his very eyes. But Marcy could hear the cat calls he was hooting in his head; the crude thoughts he kept to himself only because he feared Marcy might stop performing if he spoke them out loud.

She sheepishly repositioned her left arm to cover her nipples. But then she remembered that the whole reason she’d agreed to this exhibitionistic game was to aggravate Bert’s desire for her. She certainly wasn’t going to accomplish that by being shy.

Like a dancer, she made one motion flow seamlessly into the next and instead of covering herself, suddenly she was cupping and lifting her breasts in the most conspicuous way possible. She stared Bert down and slowly licked her lips as she squeezed her voluptuous assets and made them billow before his eyes.

There was a tic: a scowl that flickered upon the right corner of Bert’s mouth. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but Marcy caught it. It told her that her little display wasn’t pleasing Bert, it was tormenting him. Her plan was succeeding! And she was only just getting started.

Thoughts of escalating the provocative show brought Marcy back into the moment: the friendly tongue driving her clit wild and the lusty hands clenched upon her ass cheeks. Paul seemed to be having a ball manipulating her petite derriere just as he had manipulated her tits. Yet he was savvy enough to know that her buttocks were much less sensitive and he didn’t hesitate to give his grip the extra bite it needed to stimulate her. Marcy was amazed that a guy as inexperienced as Paul could be so intuitively good with his hands.

He wasn’t half bad with his tongue, either. With a little tutelage, he could become a real pleasure machine. But that would have to wait for another time. Right now, the void between her legs was starving for some nice hard cock and she wasn’t in the mood to hold out on it any longer.

Breaking away from Paul’s embrace, Marcy sidestepped around him, forcing him to change his orientation slightly and stretch his legs out on the sand. This was going to happen, but she wanted it to happen a particular way.

Her haste to straddle him and kneel over his lap betrayed how excited she was. Paul, who was more eager still, had her locked in a tight embrace before she could steady herself. Another round of kissing ensued; lips and tongues tangling with one another in mad desperation, as if tonight was their last night on Earth and they had precious little time to savor the pleasures of the opposite sex. Marcy drifted away when she ran out of breath, but Paul kept going, teething her ear and adoring her neck in a way that was liable to leave a hickey.

Marcy awoke from the daze of her passion and peered over Paul’s shoulder to see Bert sitting directly in front of her, watching them with the same keen daze and cool manner as before. This was why she’d reoriented Paul: so, she could face Bert head-on - the way she always faced her problems when she was at her best and boldest. He would get the perfect view of her goods in action. It was sure to give him the most excruciating hard-on he’d ever had in his life! And come hell or high water, she would make sure that throbbing need got no release!

She taunted him with her eyes.

Marcy shuffled forward until Paul’s rigid organ was pressing firmly against her mons. She raised her hips and shifted them around until she had the tip of his manhood cupped between her vaginal lips. Paul, who was still ravenously kissing her neck, made an odd moan, almost as if he were trying to say something. It sounded uncomfortable and Marcy suspected that he was starting to feel nervous about his first ever proper fuck.

Under different circumstances, she probably would’ve been more patient, gentler, to make this special milestone as enjoyable as possible for him. But as it was, she had Bert tied to the spit and ready to fry; she didn’t want Paul’s anxieties to bring her scheme to a premature halt.

Besides, she was so horny, her body wouldn’t have paid her much attention if she told it to slow down.

Distracting him with a passionate kiss, she dropped herself on to Paul’s magnificent boner. It filled her splendidly!

He made another muffled noise, much louder than the first, excited and confused all at once. Marcy didn’t hesitate. She grabbed him by the upper arms and threw her full weight forward. Paul, who could not have predicted the move, fell back, hitting the sand with a sharp grunt. Marcy loomed over him in all her buxom splendor. Her long brown hair cascaded over the left side of her head and practically brushed against Paul’s cheek. By the time they came to rest, she had him pinned to the ground, her hands locked around his biceps like iron shackles. She was convinced that once she’d shown him what her pussy could do for him, he’d forget all about his virgin anxieties. But in the meantime, she needed to maintain control.

She began riding him immediately.

“But... You don’t use condoms?” Paul asked at almost a whisper.

Was that what he’d been so anxious about?

“Don’t worry. I’m healthy,” Marcy curtly assured him in a breathy voice. They were having fun. Frankly it was a little annoying that he was about to let the piddling little guidelines from sex-ed crash their party.

As she looked down at him she could tell that her response hadn’t really put his mind at ease. His eyes were wide open in... panic, or was it shock? No, it was awe. Awe from discovering what it felt like to have his manhood worked by a hot pussy. His eyes glazed over and his mouth curled into a tentative smile as he lost himself in the incredible pleasure.

Marcy set an ambitious pace of vigorous thrusting. Her crotch ground hard upon Paul’s in a cycle set by raw instinct. Her head tilted towards the sky while his rod beat upon the sweet spots of her womanhood as if they were bells to be rung. Her ample breasts started to heave and sway wildly, from the sheer energy of her motions. All the while, Paul remained pinned beneath her full body weight, trapped with no hope of escape until Marcy had her way with him.

A peep of arousal slipped from Marcy’s lips. She barely even realized she’d made it. Then she opened her eyes and once again saw Bert, sipping calmly at his beer. She smirked wickedly as she decided she would give him a little music to accompany his show.

She closed her eyes again and let out a long, wanton moan. It was quite flagrant, yet also mild enough for her to be able to build upon it. The noises kept coming. She made a habit of teasing Bert with a few seconds of merciful silence, lull him in to believing she had finished toying with him, before dishing out yet another moan, louder and more excited than the last.

By next time she opened her eyes, Bert’s expression had barely changed, but his eyes were burning with resentment. Despite his attempt to conceal it, Marcy could tell he was overcome with frustration. He looked like he had a valve somewhere inside him that was about to burst under the pressure. This was certainly not a man who was enjoying himself.

Marcy grinned at her triumph, but even in her victory she had no intention of easing off winding back her retribution, far from it. She sat fully upright, maintaining a spirited rocking in her hips to keep the coital motion going. Paul leaned up and Marcy pulled his head firmly into her right breast. He completely buried his face in its yielding mass and suckled while blubbering a series of mindless, indulgent sounds. His hand soon found its way on to her other breast and played with it.

While Paul had his fun, Marcy peered over his shoulder and stared Bert straight in the eye. She couldn’t close her mouth due to her heavy breathing. Her parted lips bore a subtle curl of carnal euphoria. Yet amid her enraptured expression, she made sure to project all her delicious spite to the disrespectful asshole staring back at her.

There were no words spoken between them, but Marcy’s message to Bert could not have been clearer, “You see this? This sweet body you’ve been lusting over for so long? Well, take a good, long look! This guy here, he is getting it all! Absolutely everything! And you? You will ‘never‘ have any of it!”

Bert’s simultaneous response was just as silent, and just as clear, “Fuck you, bitch!”

Marcy felt Paul’s body going slack. The mouth on her right boob, the hand on her left, both lost their strength and coordination. She knew what it meant: all his energy was pooling in his loins for the big finish. He gently collapsed back on to the sand, with the only remaining sign of life being the hands brushing weakly against the sides of her tits.

She leaned over him and began thrusting in earnest once more. She grunted softly with every exertion. They weren’t as showy as the noises she’d made earlier, but they conveyed a greater sense of urgency.

Marcy hoped Paul would make it obvious when he came. She wanted to see Bert’s face boil bright red with jealousy as he watched another guy have the one experience he desired above all others: blowing his load inside of Marcy. It was a rather pointless wish as Marcy had closed her eyes by this point and wouldn’t open them again until well after they had finished.

Paul’s hands clenched upon the skin of her back, just below her shoulders. He made a barely-audible grunt which immediately decayed into loud, ragged breathing. Marcy could tell he had cum. It was nice timing as she was incredibly close herself.

She plunged her excited womanhood on to that card cock two, maybe three more times before an almighty shiver shot right through her body. It was short, but sweet; a jolt of pure sexual electricity. She gasped sharply and by the time it was all over, no more than two seconds later, all her strength was gone. Suddenly, all she felt from head to toe was heaviness. She collapsed gently upon her impromptu lover and she felt his arms loosely embracing her. One hand made itself at home on her ass.

As orgasms went, it certainly wasn’t going to make Marcy’s top ten list, but nevertheless, it was a rewarding outcome to the night’s activity.

She hadn’t forgotten her little psychological war with Bert and she thought it’d be fun to rub a little salt in his wounds. So, she began lavishing Paul with gracious kisses, as if she couldn’t thank him enough for the ecstasy he’d given her. Paul was so thoroughly spent he didn’t seem to notice.

Marcy’s show of affection only continued for a while, until weariness got the better of her and she laid her head down on the sand alongside Paul’s.

It took some time for her to recuperate enough to raise it again. When she did, the sight that greeted her came as quite a shock. Bert’s big, pink cock towered shamelessly up from within the waistband of his shorts and his right hand was madly fapping away at it. It was enough to shatter Marcy’s post-coital mellow and bring her crashing back to Earth.

Bert continued to stare at his ‘visual aid,’ namely, Marcy’s naked body, with the slack-jawed look of someone who had nothing going on in their head, except perhaps dirty thoughts. He must’ve realized he’d been caught, but he didn’t seem to care one iota.

“Ooooooh! Fuck off, Bert!” Marcy snarled as she hurled the only readily-available weapon she could find: a chunk of charcoal from the fire about the size of a cigarette pack.

The charcoal missed him, but only just. It zoomed over his right shoulder.

Marcy had soon grabbed a similar-sized chunk and held it up behind her right ear in a threatening pose. Bert paused for a moment with his dick in his hand while he sized up the situation. He could probably dodge anything she threw at him or he could stick around and jerk off. But he couldn’t do both at the same time. It didn’t take him long to realize he’d been beaten.

“Man, fuck this shit!” he quietly seethed, shaking his head. He stood up and stomped back towards the woods, tucking his cock back in to his pants as he went.

Marcy watched him carefully until he had disappeared in to the darkness. Only then did she relinquish her crude weapon by chucking it back towards the campfire.

Now that he was gone, Marcy was finally able to take stock of what had just happened. Even though Bert had managed to find one last opportunity to irk her, she ultimately believed her scheme to get back at him had been a resounding success. She had just told him, in the most scathing way possible, that she would never, ever stoop to having sex with him. His ego wouldn’t quickly recover from a battering like that. Moreover, knowing that he would never get to enjoy the amazing, vivacious body he’d watched tonight would be a disappointment that would probably gnaw at him for the rest of his testosterone-saturated life.

Marcy glanced down and was reminded of the other man caught up in the night’s drama.

She was still straddling him. As a matter of fact, she could still feel Paul’s cock inside her. Though most of its spirit had long since faded. Her belly was roasting and no doubt flooded with Paul’s robust load; a souvenir, as it were, from what had been quite an invigorating little tryst. Even now, the spontaneity of it all tickled her, made her feel naughty, crazy, excited... alive.

She watched her gallant helper for a little while. He was just lying there, eyes closed, practically lifeless except for his chest, which was still rising and falling heavily as he struggled to catch his breath. Marcy couldn’t help but be flattered. It was always a point of pride to know she’d properly wrecked a guy - especially when it was her first time with him.

Nonetheless, the deed was done now and she had no intention of kneeling naked on the beach all night long. As soon as she started to move, Marcy realized how goddamn sore her thighs were. Not surprising, they’d been pumping away like mad earlier.

When he felt her shifting, Paul’s hands weakly reached out to caress her thighs. Marcy didn’t resist, but neither did she hang around for his benefit. He had only as long as it would take her to climb off of him to satisfy whatever lingering urges he had to feel her up.

Marcy took a second to steady herself on her sore legs, then gathered up the nearby pieces of her bikini. With tactful silence, she left her latest lover and padded off down to the lake to do a quick clean-up.

---------


When Marcy had packed the bath salts, it had been little more than a pie in the sky hope that she would actually get to use them. In reality, she had expected to be so tied up with fun activities during this vacation that she probably wouldn’t be able to find a good hour or two to just lay back in a fragrant bath and relax.

But tonight, she decided she would make the time! Frankly, she needed it. She needed to make a peaceful space for herself where she could just unwind after the infuriating events that had occurred on the beach.

It took a long time, but she eventually managed to shed the majority of her frustration; almost as if she had expelled it through her pores into the soft, buoyant water around her.

She and Jeff were through. At some point, she expected she should feel a twinge of heartbreak over that sad truth. But, at the moment, she couldn’t help but feel content with the sheer simplicity of it. In fact, it felt surprisingly liberating to suddenly be single again. Of course, living under the same small roof as her now-ex boyfriend for the next couple of days would no doubt be awkward, but she would deal with those trials as they came.

She hadn’t exactly told Jeff it was over. But he was an idiot if he believed anything else. Wasted or not, there was no way she was going to stay with a guy who was prepared to pass her around to his friends, like a cheap sex toy.

Her mind wandered and she began to think about Bert, probably in a more objective light than he deserved.

It truly boggled her mind how he could be so crass as to make that suggestion.

It wasn’t just unacceptable, it was unthinkable! She literally couldn’t fathom how such a dreadful idea could just pop into someone’s head! That’s why she’d been so floored when he’d first said it; she just couldn’t anticipate the depths of Bert’s sleaze.

Part of her began to wonder if, in some way, she herself was to blame - being... the way she was.

It wasn’t the first time today that these thoughts had troubled her. In the hours after she’d given Paul a blowjob, earlier that morning, she had reflected on her trouble with Bert the previous night and wondered if there was some correlation between the two events. Did being the kind of woman who would give head to a casual acquaintance, just because he looked like he needed a pick-me-up, somehow send a message to guys like Bert saying, “Here I am. Come and get me.”?

She thought about how mortified her old-fashioned mother and grandparents would be if they had any clue how active her sex life was. If they knew how she lived and then found out about the way Bert had forced himself upon her the previous night, she suspected they would tell her that she was merely “reaping what she had sown.” They weren’t without love. They would certainly get furious with Bert and protective of her. But ultimately, they would hold it over her as a teachable moment; the lesson being that a promiscuous lifestyle like hers invites perverts the way playing with matches invites disaster.

After all the trouble she has had in the past 24 hours, Marcy couldn’t help but wonder if there was more wisdom in those old attitudes than she cared to admit.

Even reflecting on her actions tonight, she began to regret her impulsiveness. Fucking Paul right in front of Bert had seemed like such a clever idea at the time. But in hindsight, it seemed much pettier.

She had managed to piss Bert off, there was no doubt about that. But now he was walking around with a very graphic memory of watching her having hot sex. She sighed in displeasure as it finally occurred to her that she’d just given him some top-shelf masturbation fuel. She didn’t want to think about how many times he was going to jerk himself off, picturing her naked body bucking to and fro in the light of a campfire.

Her plan had been to make Bert bitter; to sting him in such a way that he’d never try pulling his crap on her again. But now she began to worry that walking around with that erotic mental image of her in his head might in fact make him more determined to have her. In the long run, her behavior tonight might actually make her problems with Bert worse, not better.

Only time would tell. For now, she could only hope things would get easier.

As her introspection continued, Marcy recalled the look on Paul’s face as she hurled him on to the sand earlier that night; the panic in his eyes when her moist snatch finally spread itself over his naked cock.

“You don’t use condoms?” he’d rasped with concern.

At the time, she’d felt a little offended that his mind was off fixating on matters of common sense when she was sitting on top of him, about to rock his world. But in hindsight, she couldn’t blame the guy for being apprehensive about having unprotected sex with her. She has a reputation, and it was more accurate than not.

Of course, Paul didn’t have anything to worry about. Assuming Jeff hadn’t been fooling around on her, she could be confident of her health. He also didn’t have to worry about putting a bun in her oven, as she was on the pill.

Marcy may have been satisfied that the sex had been okay, but the worry she recalled seeing in Paul’s eyes gave her a poignant outside perspective on the choices she made. She had a smokin’ hot body and she had practically served it up to Paul on a silver platter. Yet his first impulse seemed to be, “Better not risk it.” She couldn’t help but feel like there was a message to take away from that, like maybe she was too cavalier with her sex life.

“Maybe it is time to tone it down, when guys start thinking of you more as a health hazard than a desirable woman,” she thought.

Marcy began to feel guilty, began to feel like she was her own worst enemy. She began to feel like she was all alone. It was not unlike that time in pre-school when she’d been sent to sit in the time-out corner, separated from her happy playmates and made to linger in her own sorrow, for reasons she didn’t understand and could no longer remember. Once again, it seemed she’d been a bad girl.

She couldn’t help it. Her dynamic sexuality was just who she was, it wasn’t something she could switch off. She knew herself well enough to know that she would go crazy living a more buttoned-down life. She needed the thrills she got from flaunting what God gave her, without inhibitions. She needed the power trips she got from seducing guys. She needed that simmer of anticipation that came from sensually courting a partner. And boy oh boy did she need to get laid.

Sex wasn’t just some guilty pleasure for Marcy; it was her passion. She just loved it so much; loved the things it did to her, loved the way it steamrolled over all the petty bothers in her life and left her chilled and satisfied. She wouldn’t be able to bear starving herself of it. It was just too damn good.

Take tonight for instance. Impulsively, she’d decided to seduce some random acquaintance, strip them both down to their skin and then shamelessly fuck his brains out in the open theater of the beach. All because some silly drunken dare had given her the idea. From start to finish it was exciting, primal, and extremely satisfying: everything a good screw should be. It was the ‘shameful’ aspects that had given it such spice: the spontaneity, the exhibitionism, the fact that she needed to be so forward to get the ball rolling, the casual nature of her friendship with Paul and just the plain simple fact that it was such an outrageous thing to do.

Okay, letting Bert watch her was pretty stupid. But even taking that in to account, she had thoroughly enjoyed fucking Paul tonight. She had no regrets whatsoever. Had she carried herself more conservatively, she would have missed out on something great.

Marcy soon realized that idea held true for her entire sex life. Being such a sexually active young woman definitely had its complications. But she couldn’t let herself forget how wonderfully rewarding it was, too. She couldn’t even begin to count the amount of toe-curling fantastic experiences she has had being the sex kitten she was. She would be a fool to turn her back on all that.

Yes, okay, the arrogant assholes like Bert would always see ‘the girl who needs it’ as the prime target for their obnoxious advances. But that was their problem, not hers. Being horny wasn’t a crime, it didn’t rob her of her right to say “no,” to a guy she wasn’t interested in, nor her right to be respected.

Marcy lamented that there was no actual remedy to be found in that simple truth. Knowing that she deserved to be treated with respect didn’t mean she would get it. Macho idiots would always be there to push her too hard.

But at least now she had put those nagging doubts about herself to rest.

She felt a lot better having sorted through those worries. But she still had troubles weighing on her mind. The wounds from Bert and Jeff’s behavior down on the beach were still raw for her.

It got to the point where Marcy realized the bath wasn’t going to do her any further good. The water was practically tepid by that point anyway, so she reluctantly decided to get out. She had no idea how long she’d been in there. It felt like more than an hour, perhaps two.

She was in no hurry as she dried herself. Even the risk of one of the others barging in on her while she was standing around buck naked couldn’t make her work faster. Her heart was too heavy.

She wrapped the towel around herself while she brushed her teeth, then took it off and slipped in to her nightgown, which was really little more than a saucy purple satin negligee. Marcy had packed all her nightwear anticipating an erotic week with Jeff. Poor planning on her part.

The cabin was practically a ghost town when she eventually opened the bathroom door. There was plenty of light, but no sound whatsoever. She stepped out into the hall and closed the door softly behind her.

Only now did it dawn on her that she had a tricky decision to make. Where the hell was she going?

She had no bed of her own. Up till now, she had been sharing a double with Jeff. But they weren’t a couple anymore, so where would she go?

Her hand was still clenched upon the bathroom door knob, her face was practically pressed against its gray, uneven planks as she weighed her options.

To the left was her old room. Jeff’s room. Even though she’d broken up with him, they could, in theory still share a bed for the next couple of days as a matter of necessity. But Marcy hated that idea. It would completely undermine her decision to break up with him. She could just see Jeff putting all his smooth moves on her like he had that morning, trying to charm her into forgiving him and remaining his girlfriend. Worse yet, she could see herself actually succumbing to his advances. That was something she couldn’t abide. She needed to be serious about this break up.

To the right was Karen’s room: a spacious double bed with only one occupant. Crashing with her bestie in a situation like this seemed like the obvious choice. But things were a bit more complicated than that at the moment.

Karen was open to the idea of being in a relationship with Paul. She liked him. Just how much she liked him, Marcy couldn’t say; Karen could be hard to read like that sometimes. But over the course of the vacation Marcy had gotten the impression that Karen had half expected to leave these woods as Paul’s lover.

By now, word would almost certainly have gotten back to Karen about what Marcy and Paul had gotten up to on the beach earlier. Marcy had no clue how Karen would’ve taken that news. If she had any real interest in Paul at all, she might be resenting Marcy right now for ‘stealing’ him from her. If that was the case, barging in to Karen’s bedroom and playing off her sympathies to get her to put Marcy up for the night would only strain their friendship further. It would add a whole new bucket of tension to a night that was already rife with it.

Marcy was emotionally exhausted and it was late. She wasn’t in the mood for more drama. She just wanted to go to bed now and leave all the unresolved crap for tomorrow.

Thinking outside the box, the only other place she would really be able to sleep would be the living room, either in one of the armchairs or on the floor. However, that was not an option as Bert was crashing on the couch in there. Even if they weren’t sharing the same piece of furniture, there was no way in hell Marcy was going to sleep alone in the same room as Bert - especially not wearing a provocative negligee.

It seemed like she had no choice but to take her chances with Karen.

There was of course a fourth option, off to the right, beyond Karen’s door. But it was a bad idea. So bad, in fact, that the mere thought of it made Marcy’s sullen heart beat a little quicker. If not for that physiological response, it would have been nothing more than a passing, absurd thought. But instead, it lingered in her mind and the longer it did so, the faster her heart beat.

What a rush it was, too! There it was yet again: that giddy tingle she got from being risqué; from being a naughty girl. There soon came a point where her mind began to wander away from the question of where she was going to sleep and on to other bedroom activities.

“No,” she chided herself. “Don’t even think about that! Things around here are fucked up enough as they are. Don’t go doing anything stupid now. It’s been a long day with enough messed-up shit and enough is enough already. Let’s just go to bed.”

But common sense had already lost the battle. That tingle of excitement was just too seductive. It made her forget all about her weariness. She wasn’t thinking about retiring any more, she was only thinking about blowing off some steam. She ’needed‘ to blow off some steam and there was only one proper way to do that.

Finally, she released the door knob, turned right and began walking, as she committed to her radical choice.

“Damnit, Marcy!” she silently snapped at her own incorrigibility. A moment later, she was smirking about it.

She came to where the hall opened into the living room and her mischievous smile withered away. Bert was in there, standing around near the fireplace, or perhaps he was wandering somewhere? Marcy didn’t look long enough to tell which.

Their eyes met for a second. There was still caustic scorn burning in his gaze. It delighted Marcy that her mind fuck with him had made such a lasting impression. She’d half expected that his tiny, alcohol-soaked brain would’ve forgotten all about it by now.

She wondered for a moment whether he would feel any remorse for how he’d insulted her tonight, once he’d sobered up. She reflected on the humility he’d shown over breakfast that morning, and wondered what kind of ultra-polite overtures he might attempt tomorrow, as a poor excuse for an apology.

As Bert watched her drifting through the cabin in her revealing negligee, Marcy heard that same, tiresome insult being barked at her through his judging eyes.

“Slut!”

She didn’t respond this time, not even with her own gaze. She simply ignored him and continued on her way in silence.

The delicious irony was that there was no need for her to bite back at him! The mere fact that he’d seen where she was going was punishment enough. What better way to hammer home the point that, when she’s looking for alternative company, he doesn’t make the cut? She’d gone to great lengths tonight to make Bert feel as pathetic as he was, and this happy coincidence was the icing on the cake.

One of the things Marcy loved about this negligee was its high hem line. Often when the breeze caught it, it would show her ass. She dearly hoped that would happen as she turned around. She wanted to put the screws to Bert by giving him one last peek at the prize he so desperately craved, but would never possess.

As she came to the door she wanted, she casually opened it and stepped inside, just as surely as if it were her own bedroom.

Paul was laying atop the covers upon his single bed, casually dressed in a dark shirt and fresh, blue shorts. Headphones were straddling his head, connected to a CD player clutched in his hand and resting upon his belly. His grasp, Marcy noticed, seemed unusually tense; almost as if he were a secret service agent and the player contained some information vital to national security. His eyes were locked on some point upon the ceiling, staring up at it with an eerie, vulnerable intensity.

Marcy suspected that her face had probably looked much the same as Paul’s when she was in the bath earlier. He, too, clearly had a lot on his mind right now. No wonder, either; he’d just lost his virginity. That takes some serious time to come to terms with. At least it does for girls, Marcy just assumed it did for boys, too.

As if that weren’t enough of a distraction by itself, it happened right in the midst of this whole complicated love/one-night-stand triangle between himself, Karen and Bert. Now it had become a love/one-night-stand... rectangle between himself, Karen, Bert and Marcy. Jesus. How was he ever going to wrap his head around that mess?

It took him a moment to notice her slipping through his doorway. Once he did, though, his reaction was predictable shock, which seemed to double when he noticed how provocatively she was dressed.

“Marcy?” he quietly acknowledged her, as he clumsily plucked the headphones from his ears.

Marcy closed the door softly behind her, not wanting Bert to overhear their conversation. Her little psychological tete’-a-tete’ with Bert had steeled her nerve. But now, she had to make this work! For the first time, she considered the possibility that Paul might be unwilling to put her up for the night. That would mean she’d have to endure the anticlimactic indignity of slinking back out of Paul’s room, to find somewhere else to sleep, all with Bert watching.

“It’s been a really fucked up night. I don’t want to sleep in the same bed with Jeff,” she told him candidly. “Can I spend the night with you?”

Marcy had the chops to sweet-talk pretty much any favor she could want out of a guy. But she was too tired for mind games right now, so she decided to just wing it with plain honesty. It would either work or it wouldn’t.

Paul stared at her in silence for a few seconds, seemingly still dumbfounded that she was standing there, in his bedroom, in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but scantiest of night-wear.

“Uh... uh... yeah! Yeah! Of course! Sure!” Paul babbled.

“Thanks!” Marcy flashed him a weary but sincere smile. She brushed a messy tendril of her hair behind her back as she approached the bed.

“Let me just...” Paul muttered as he hastily gathered up a couple of CD cases that were scattered on the mattress and stashed them in the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. He began shuffling over to the far side of the bed, to make room for her. Marcy climbed aboard.

“You know, if you want the bed, I can go...” Paul began.

“Yeah. By ‘spend the night’, I mean ‘sex,’” Marcy clarified in a straightforward manner, as she simultaneously threw her right leg over his to straddle him. Without even waiting for a response, she pressed her lips firmly upon his. It was a sensual, gentle kiss, which concluded with her sucking upon his upper lip as she drew back.

“Still cool?” Marcy checked, with a casual air that probably amazed Paul.

Several seconds of silence followed. Marcy didn’t push Paul for an answer; she knew it would come in due time. She deduced from his troubled expression that there was more to his hesitation than just shock. Something inside was telling him to say, “No.” That didn’t bother Marcy. After all, the killjoy side of her own mind had told her not to do this, too.

Ultimately, Marcy’s offer proved to be one Paul couldn’t refuse.

“Yeah... Sure!” Paul agreed, with a goofy enthusiasm that was kind of cute.

“Great!” Marcy mewed with a broad grin. Her body was already revved up. If Paul had refused her, it would have been... annoying, to say the least.

They kissed again, this time with Paul fully engaged. The kisses grew longer and more amorous. Paul fumbled with his CD player in a frantic effort to collect it from his lap and stow it in the drawer along with the CDs he’d previously cleaned up. In his haste, he jammed the headphones in the drawer without noticing.

The instant his hands were free they swooped on to the shapely bulge where her negligee flowed over her ass. His fingers dug in and coursed effortlessly over the smooth purple satin.

Marcy carefully pulled his shirt off. Paul responded in kind, stripping her of her negligee, leaving her completely naked. She could see the animal wash over him as he found himself face-to-face with her superb tits once more. He all but forgot about the ass he’d been squeezing so affectionately and immediately devoted both hands to playing with them. Even his lips seemed to lose interest in hers and after a few half-hearted kisses, they departed to suckle upon her cheeky little nipples. Though they soon returned for more kisses and they came with greater passion than before.

The foreplay was momentarily disrupted by the bothersome chore of getting Paul’s pants off. Neither of them wanted to break the steamy embrace, but it needed to be done.

Once he was as naked as she, their bodies lunged upon one another like magnets, becoming a clumsy, heaving tangle of bare skin and gaping mouths rubbing obsessively against one another. When order returned to the chaos, Paul’s hands were once more cupping Marcy’s breasts and his lips were helplessly crushed beneath her own.

Paul grabbed her by the waist and jerked her forcefully against his own body, as if preparing to penetrate her right then and there. But Marcy had other appetites at the moment. She lifted one of his masterful hands off her boob and guided it down to her crotch. Paul needed no further instruction. His fingers lined up in formation and hugged her mons as they rolled through her bush and points beyond. They kept going until her entire vulva was covered, at which point they began rubbing her erogenous labia back and forth with their firm touch.

At the same time, he completely immersed his face in her right breast. Marcy smirked at the way his stubble tickled her skin there. She could really feel the love in the way he treated her voluptuous assets. Naturally, all guys loved tits; hers more than most, as they were two especially fine specimens, if she did say so herself. But this was something more; this was almost obsessive, as if he was utterly enslaved by her breasts and relished being under their power. His suckling was so passionate and content, it gave the impression that he never intended to let her boob out of his mouth. Even the way he scraped his teeth over her skin seemed profoundly intimate somehow.

It was lovely. Her breast began to enjoy the attention almost as much as Paul seemed to enjoy giving it.

But as good as he was with her tits; the best performance was going on downstairs. He masturbated her as well as she could have done herself, though being in the hands of someone else made it far more exciting.

“Damn! The rookie’s got talent!” Marcy cheered in her head, marveling at how skilled Paul was with his hands despite of his limited experience with women. His pacing was exemplary; he had a wonderful appreciation for the art of the slow build. Or perhaps he was just very good at reading her body language to tell what she needed and when. Either way, her nether regions were having the time of their life. The fingers of his right hand were quickly becoming her new best friends.

“You boys are welcome back any time,” she contemplated telling them.

Paul reached around behind her and tried to pull her closer once again. His manhood was hard as a rock and Marcy figured that all he could probably think about right now was getting it inside her. But she really liked the petting and she wasn’t ready to change things up yet.

“Don’t stop,” she sighed. “Keep touching me.”

“Okay,” Paul acknowledged, his hot breath pouring over the top of her right breast. He tried to sound willing but Marcy could hear the disappointment in his voice. The hand pushing against the small of her back released her immediately.

It took her a moment to realize that Paul had stopped playing with her boobs. He seemed a little intimidated, like he’d taken her request for patience as a criticism. Perhaps he thought she was telling him that he’d been coming on too strong? She knew just how to clear that up.

With a frisky smile, she slipped her hand behind Paul’s head and pulled it deep into her left breast. Righty had been getting all the attention lately, so now it was her sister’s turn. Paul began ravaging the supple pillow immediately. His free hand soon found its way there, too and cupped and fondled her tit while he kissed and suckled it.

“Mmm... Yeah!” Marcy moaned in encouragement. His passionate manipulations made every nerve ending in her tit feel alive... and ’horny’; really fucking horny.

As if that weren’t enough, Paul had begun changing things up on her labia and clit since she had asked him to persevere with the masturbation. It was only some subtle changes to the way he rubbed her, but it was enough to make things interesting and more exciting.

Marcy relished this: not just the physical stimulation, but being in bed with a guy who was so attentive for a change.

She normally gave it up for macho guys; the kind of guys who pressed her for sex, rather than ones she personally seduced. Certainly, she had plenty of fun with that kind of lover, but that take-charge persona also typically made them quite selfish. Once they were in bed, it became all about them; their pleasure; their dominance. Marcy was adept enough at the game to get off most of the time. But too often, it was a battle to make sure she got what she wanted out of it. Sometimes it frustrated her how much sex could feel like work.

Not tonight, though. Paul was only too eager to please and judging by that hard-on, he was exercising no small amount of patience. It felt wonderful to just have a guy give her what she needed, especially after a night like tonight. ‘Nice guys’ were clearly a resource she needed to take a greater interest in.

Paul’s fingers were utterly drenched by this point, yet they continued to massage her privates and slather them with her juices without any sense of tiring. Marcy’s heart was pounding like a drum. She was so turned on! She felt like any moment now she could...

ZAP! There it was! A harsh spasm in her lower back as a veritable bonfire roared to life in her womb. Soon after, other places all over her body began to twitch and seize, as if she had an ecstasy gremlin crawling around inside her.

“Mmmmmm...” she softly moaned while biting her lip.

Paul responded to the change in her body language by homing in on her clit. The spiraling cycle of his masturbation tightened and accelerated around it. It was a shower of constant, compelling contact, with no reprieve in sight for her vulnerable little nub.

Her body had turned to jelly. The random spasms had given way to an increasingly violent tremble that shook her from head to toe. She was coming, long and hard.

“Uh... Uh... Uh...” she quietly winced, her subtlety belying the gravity of her orgasm.

She held Paul firmly to her bosom, only to keep herself from collapsing. Paul, caught up in the excitement of the moment, had stopped suckling her and was now just panting his hot, lusty breath over the surface of her breast.

Marcy sizzled upon Paul’s exquisite touch until she could stand it no more.

“Okay!” she declared. She tried weakly to withdraw her hips from his reach, but she couldn’t move them well, so instead she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled his hand off her. “Okay! Okay!” she repeated absently.

She felt amazing, but she wasn’t finished yet. It only took a couple of seconds for the sensation to dwindle just enough for her to regain her wits. As soon as that happened, she decided she wanted another round of that searing pleasure; immediately. Her flesh was weak, but her spirit was itching for the thrill of multiple orgasms.

“That’s enough,” she panted. “Fuck me!”

“Now?” Paul checked, perhaps to avoid getting his hopes up prematurely.

“Now!” Marcy confirmed. She dove upon him gracefully but forcefully and planted a messy, passion-filled kiss upon his lips. The kiss was so forceful that she pushed his head right in to the headboard of the bed, which it struck with a loud ‘thump!’ If it hurt, Paul didn’t let on.

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” Marcy babbled between kisses. Her voice was breathless and dainty, yet it was so insistent it almost gave the impression that she would hurt him if he refused.

She pressed her crotch against him and tried to mount him, while Paul tried to help by maneuvering his hips. But they were distracted by the passionate kissing and their efforts were clumsy and ineffective. Just when it looked like they were about to succeed, Marcy had a revelation.

“Wait. Get under the covers. It’s a lot easier to do it before,” she suggested.

“Good point,” Paul nodded.

They scrambled to insert themselves beneath the covers as fast as they could, returning to virtually the same position they’d originally been in, albeit with a bedsheet now covering everything south of Marcy’s lower back. This time, she wasn’t willing to put up with any delays in getting his cock in to her womanhood. She held it steady with her hand while she carefully lowered her opening on to it. They blissfully sighed in unison as his thick shaft completely filled the sensitive space inside her.

Marcy began grinding away almost immediately, pivoting and shifting her hips in an almost poetic cycle that offered her a nice, long range of penetration. It was sheer heaven, feeling that hard, manly tool thrusting inside her. She needed it badly, after that masturbation had gotten her depths so hot and wet, yet left them starving for some direct stimulation.

She braced herself against the headboard of the bed, leaning over her submissive partner as her hips continued dancing for both their pleasure. They kissed three more times; sloppy, careless expressions of their piqued sexuality. Then they all but lost interest in everything apart from the activity between their genitals. Paul lifted his hands to fondle her boobs for a little while, but even they couldn’t hold his attention for very long and his hands soon dropped down to her hips and ass to weakly guide her movements.

Marcy kept her pace, neither accelerating nor slowing her carnal heaves. She didn’t want to build up to a frenzied, jackhammer-like pounding tonight, she just wanted more of the same. For even though the motions were repetitive, each thrust of Paul’s cock was sweeter than the last.

Her body was on autopilot; her mind had let go amidst the heady ecstasy of it all. She had no worries here; Bert and Jeff didn’t exist in this moment, so she could hardly have problems with them. No regrets, no consequences, no insecurities. There was only that giddy sense of arousal all throughout her body and that thick column of manhood pumping against her center. All the tension from the day’s events that she had kept tied up in her belly had evaporated away, as if Paul had masterfully massaged it out of her from inside.

After a while, that familiar shiver came over her for the second time. She felt herself losing control; felt her muscles succumbing one by one to the fitful paralysis of orgasm. But Marcy powered through the difficulty and kept thrusting, determined to ride out that climax for every sweet twitch of pleasure she could get.

Her nether regions couldn’t take it anymore, and went off like the 4th of July. She didn’t even realize as her arms buckled beneath her and she collapsed on to the hairy, toned chest beneath her. The pattern of soft, feminine grunts she’d been making quickly devolved into a set of erratic gasps.

To her shock, the cock in her pussy didn’t stop shifting once her hips fell still; her lover was still bucking his hips away against her. She couldn’t stand it! The penetration was too agonizingly exquisite! She wanted to scream at him, but half of her would’ve begged him to stop and the other half would’ve begged him not to. In her confusion, she said nothing at all and simply laid in his arms, completely helpless. It was unbearable. It was fantastic.

By the time she came to, all was still, apart from the irregular rise and fall caused by her and Paul’s asynchronous breathing. She was limp, spent and numb. The resonant echo of post-coital bliss carried her like a raft on still waters. All she knew was that she was 100% satisfied.

She soon deduced that Paul must’ve cum as well, or else he would still be pounding her. She hoped it was as spectacular for him as it had been for her.

“D’ya like that?” she sighed in a sugary voice.

“Fuck, Marcy! That was... the best moment... of my life,” Paul panted.

“Mmm... great,” Marcy mumbled indifferently. She hadn’t really paid attention to the answer.

She was so drowsy...

---------


It must’ve been a dream. That was the only explanation. Shit as unbelievable as this only ever happened in dreams.

Little more than 24 hours ago, Paul had been on track to finally score with the girl he’d been in love with since month one of junior high. Despite all the game-planning and self-consciousness, it was essentially a simple state of affairs.

But in the intervening day, everything had changed.

The truly weird part about all of this was that right now, things were even simpler. They shouldn’t have been, but they were.

He was in bed. There was a naked woman on top of him. They’d just had sex; phenomenal sex. His sperm was in her vagina. That was all that mattered.

He wasn’t completely oblivious to the staggering minutiae of the situation. They were lingering somewhere in the distant reaches of his mind, tangled up in one big knot of confusion and doubt. But it was all a trifle. Life was too perfect to fret about such trivial things.

There was a naked woman pressed against him at this very moment; no clothing, no ‘protection’, no margin of separation. Nothing but skin-against-skin, from the nose pressing into his cheek to the ankle crossed against his own.

Paul had seen dozens of naked girls before, certainly. Being a red-blooded guy, he’d watched his share of porn and skimmed his share of girlie magazines. He’d seen the odd wasted girl ‘take it off’ at a party, been dragged off to a strip club a couple of times and even walked in on some friends when they were getting lucky. But, he realized now that there was a world of difference between looking at one of those seductive, curvaceous forms and feeling the warmth, the suppleness of a woman for real. If he’d been asked at that moment to describe what it was like laying beneath a naked 21-year old coed, he wouldn’t have the words.

What a woman she was, too! Wet dreams and genetic engineering put together would struggle to create such a superb example of womanhood.

Karen had it made in terms of face, body, and personality; she was truly a dream. But if he took the love-goggles off, Paul had to admit that Marcy had it all over Karen in terms of sex appeal. Her face was just as beautiful and her body was stunning. She was taller, her legs were longer, her tits were much larger and perkier and her ass was tighter.

Paul had strong feelings for Karen in his heart. But as a virile male animal, which was all he was right now, he was delighted that he was lying here with Marcy instead. As far as his biological urges were concerned, it was like booking a plane seat in coach and being unexpectedly upgraded to first class right before take-off.

Being with Marcy was completely satisfying. Right now, Paul wanted for nothing and he couldn’t remember a time since his youngest days when a moment had been so perfect.

Screwing her had truly been a gift; a wonderful, precious gift. Losing his virginity to her on the beach had been a powerful, profound experience. But even that couldn’t hold a candle to what had just happened here, in the privacy of his own bedroom.

There were no theatrical aspects to it this time; they weren’t putting on a show for Bert. This time, the act was completely natural, completely genuine. He got to discover what Marcy was really like as a lover. As if it weren’t enough that she’d been blessed with incredible looks and irresistible charisma, she also had enough sexual passion cooped up in that slender, hourglass figure to completely ruin a man.

She was a sex machine. There was no other way to describe the way she rode him. Her hips had been practically industrial with their perfect, consistent timing, their tirelessness, their unwavering and singular sense of purpose. He knew she would never stop until the deed was done; she was clearly too devoted a servant when she was doing nature’s bidding to let anything disrupt her.

That perfection was truly something to behold. To have that velvety pussy squeezing and rubbing his dick from every angle non-stop, to have that gorgeous bush combing so intimately through his own curly thatch had been hotter than anything he could’ve imagined. With every motion, she persuaded him that she was the ideal mate. No wonder it had been so inarguably satisfying to blast his seed into her nether regions.

Even now, well after that mind-blowing exchange, Marcy was still making Paul swoon. She may have been passed out, but her radiant femininity was as potent as ever.

He took a deep breath and lost himself in her wonderful scent. He didn’t know what it was, a shampoo, a lotion, a perfume? She smelled like the best of summer. It was the smell of a warm breeze that had collected subtle hints of all the local plants, combined with that first breath of sea air when you get out of the car during the season’s first trip to the beach.

A long tendril of her hair had come to rest against the left side of his face. It tickled him there like a fly crawling over him and normally he would’ve brushed away anything that irritated him so. But because even that length of hair was part of the woman, Paul found serenity and happiness in its provocative touch.

He became aware of his hands, one on Marcy’s upper back, the other on her velvety ass cheek. As they shifted ever so softly, he contemplated the flawlessness of the warm skin beneath them. He opened his eyes. It wasn’t much of a view; nothing but an extreme close-up of shoulder. But even just admiring Marcy’s lightly tanned shoulder was enough of a visual cue to remind him just how flawless the whole woman was.

He noticed the hot cushions splayed out upon his pecks; the effect of their softness being sandwiched between two firm bodies. The heat he felt upon his nipples was incredible. He couldn’t see Marcy’s breasts right now, but he had a very precise mental image to muse upon instead.

Damn, those tits... they were a life-changing experience all by themselves. He knew the memory of them would plague his dreams for the rest of his life. They were truly fruit for the gods; each one a banquet of pure carnal luxury. If he buried his face in them, he suspected that even the prospect of suffocating wouldn’t be able to wrench him back out.

He slipped one hand down a little, and pressed his thumb deep into the swell of the side of her boob. The way it yielded in response made him melt. This ’had’ to be a dream. Laying there with something so perfect was just too good to be real.

Marcy didn’t react at all to Paul’s little experiment. She was well and truly zonked out. He decided to push his luck by giving her ass cheek a not-so-subtle squeeze. Still no reaction, but holy crap that cute little bulge was tight!

In hindsight, it was inevitable that all that musing over Marcy’s body would eventually provoke a physical reaction. Paul was surprised his cock had the energy to stand up again. The rest of his body was as limp as a sponge and that last party felt like it had drained his balls of all the sperm they could offer.

Nonetheless, Paul felt the smooth skin of Marcy’s thigh brushing over his cockhead as his organ stiffened and rose. The harder he got, the more he enjoyed it. If there was one thing better than laying beneath a gorgeous naked woman, it was laying beneath a gorgeous naked woman and feeling like a man who had the hutzpah to get the job done.

When his cock was fully upright, he patiently moved his hips so that it pressed against Marcy’s labia. He relished the sensation of having her sweet pussy kissing his rod once again.

But it didn’t take long for that frisky contentment to become a gnawing desire. It was only then that Paul began to consider what he was going to do next.

It wasn’t like that boner was going to go away by itself. A hard-on was difficult enough to calm down at the best of times. With a naked woman lying on top of him, he had no chance! There was no question about it; he needed to get off.

Of course, the lovely pussy positioned right next to his own organ was the first thing he thought of. Having it so close when he needed it almost seemed like fate. Marcy was dead to the world, if he was gentle, he could probably screw her again without her even waking up.

His body was saying, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”, but his conscience was saying something different. Taking advantage of her while she was asleep felt wrong. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but it just did.

He tried to rationalize his discomfort away by noting that the sex they’d already had tonight proved that Marcy had no problem with him fucking her. Except, she had been awake for those other two encounters; she had been able to consent. Now she was passed out and it was less a case of ‘two consenting adults’ and more a case of him exploiting her vulnerability and trust.

He pondered what her reaction might be if she ’did‘ wake up in the middle of it. Would she be in to it? Or would it come as a rude shock?

Then Paul remembered what had happened to her earlier in the night; how appalled she’d been when Jeff and Bert had made that bet over which of them would get to fuck her. They basically treated her like she was just a sex toy they could use at their convenience.

Was what he was considering right now any better?

He instantly felt ashamed for even thinking about screwing Marcy while she slept. He wanted to do it; God, how he wanted to do it! But it wouldn’t have been fair to her.

All the same, something had to be done about that boner. He needed to get off and if he kept it pressed against that soft pussy much longer he was liable to give in to the temptation. With a frustrated huff, Paul set about pushing Marcy off to one side.

The devil on his shoulder hurled scathing abuse at him, “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve got a hard-on, the hottest babe you’ve ever laid eyes on is laying on top of you, and you’re pushing her away so you can jerk off? You must be fucking insane!” But Paul was resolute.

He tried to be as gentle as possible at first, not wanting to wake her. The trickiest part was trying to roll her hips off his when he had a towering hunk of meat lodged between her thighs, essentially locking her in place. Eventually, the chore became so frustrating that he gave subtlety away and hefted her left thigh up far enough for him to be able to roll his dick out from under her. He half expected the harsh jostling of his efforts to wake her up, but Marcy remained dead to the world.

As soon as Marcy was clear, he rolled away from her and immediately began masturbating like crazy. Normally, he would savor the ride a bit, but tonight he just needed to cum as soon as possible.

He kept his back pressed against her as he did it. He couldn’t see what parts of her had connected with him; he guessed it was probably just her shoulder, hip and lower leg. But the mere fact that a gorgeous naked woman was touching him at all gave him a pleasant rush.

He couldn’t see her, so he pictured her in his mind’s eye instead. He thought about that thick bush of chestnut hair cupped between the shapely creases of her crotch; so feminine, so mature. He thought about those large, heaving breasts, so soft and delicious, with their tiny, dark little nipples.

A tightness formed in his loins that made his legs coil halfway in to a fetal position. An instant later, he was spraying hot jizz on to the bed sheet. He came more than he expected, considering what a taxing night it had been, but most of the orgasm was just dry heaves.

When he was done, he rolled back over on to his back. The mess he had just made clung to his right hip. It was damp and uncomfortable but Paul was too spent to do anything about it.

It was a relief to get that out of his system, though he wasn’t entirely satisfied. Though the orgasm had been unusually strong, the blues that follow were especially vicious this time. He lamented not fucking Marcy when he had the chance, yet paradoxically, he also felt somewhat proud of it.

He looked over at her, sleeping right beside him. She was as perfect as ever. He thought about lifting her back on to him once again, but he didn’t have the strength. So, he settled for lazily caressing her wonderful body with his left hand.

---------


The elevator was so crowded. Filled to the brim with nondescript people in nondescript clothes. Though there was barely enough space to stand comfortably, Paul couldn’t move at all. The orange-yellow floor counter dead center above the doors kept ticking over, routinely stopping with a clinical, electronic “ding”. At every floor, the doors would open and some of his friends at the front of the crowd would march out into the warm, inviting hallways beyond. Paul tried to follow them, but he couldn’t push his way through the crowd. No matter how many people left the elevator, the faceless crowd standing between himself and the exit never seemed to get any thinner.

It felt so strange, being so packed in with all these strangers; so, abnormal.

It was the strangeness that woke him up; that bizarre sense that the bed was a lot more crowded than he was used to.

He opened his eyes and was greeted with a sight he didn’t immediately understand: a thick mass of long, dark hair. Immediately, he was fully awake.

His heart began to race as it all came flooding back to him: the shooting contest, the ‘prize’ he’d won and the late night visit he’d received afterwards.

The memories felt too crazy to be true, but the warm body next to him left no doubt: he had fucked Marcy.

His mind was a complete blank. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel or what to do. What happens next after you impulsively have mind blowing sex with a friend, who happens to be in a relationship with another friend? He was so confused, he couldn’t even feel anxious about the dilemma.

He caught sight of a long track of creamy, bare skin starting from Marcy’s shoulder and a different sequence of memories flashed through his mind. This time, they were all about her magnificent body. His dick began to grow very rapidly.

“Oh! No, no, no, no! Shit!” he privately cursed, as he clenched his eyes shut to prevent the sight of her getting him any more excited. Things were complicated enough as they were. A boner in that bed right now would just stir more chaos into the mix.

He tried to ‘will it’ away. When the same thing had happened the previous night, he had been convinced that the only way to make it go away was to give it release. But this time he felt he needed to be subtler. Jerking off by Marcy’s side seemed appropriate enough when they’d just fucked mere minutes earlier. But now, in the light of a new day, the idea felt rude.

Scrambling for some trick to make the wood go soft again, he quickly decided to reminisce about the last time he got a filling from his balding, spectacled dentist. It took some time, but eventually the strategy began to work, and after a frustratingly long wait, his manhood was as limp as a wet rag.

With that minor crisis over, Paul tried to come to some understanding about the situation. He wasn’t particularly fixated on figuring out why things had happened the way they had last night, nor was he dwelling on what he was going to do next. He just wanted some measure of clarity about it all, so he didn’t feel so lost.

He deliberately avoided any thoughts which might arouse him once again, which proved to be hindrance. Every time he felt like he was getting somewhere, the animal deep within began salivating, and Paul had to mentally ‘change channels’ before his cock began to rise.

By the time he felt his bedmate stirring, he was no wiser than when he had woken up.

“Oh, shit. Here we go,” Paul thought to himself. He had no game plan. He would just have to wing it.

He laid back and patiently waited out the sequence of random motions she made as she woke. The suspense was unbearable.

Marcy lifted the nearest side of her body for a second and Paul got a fleeting glance of the ample swell of her breast pressed against the mattress. Jesus, what a whopper! That little peek was probably going to give him another boner, but he was too impressed to mind.

Then finally, a single drowsy, hazel eye emerged from that rolling ball of thick brown hair. It widened as soon as it noticed him.

She turned her head and looked him over with both eyes. Her mellow expression suggested that she wasn’t upset, just a little confused.

“Morning,” Paul greeted, in the most casual voice he could manage. He spoke without even thinking, like a reflex action to cut the tension.

An awkward grin curled over Marcy’s face. “Heeeeyyyy...” she responded with a subtle roll of her eyes. It was like she’d suddenly found herself the victim of a practical joke and decided that there was nothing else she could to but take it in good humor.

She laid her heavy head back down on Paul’s shoulder and her hand over his heart. They were only simple gestures, but they put Paul far more at ease. If Marcy was comfortable with this unorthodox sleeping arrangement, then he probably shouldn’t get in a twist about it, either.

“What time is it?” she gently groaned.

“Uh... Hang on,” Paul replied. He reached over to the nightstand beside him and fetched the wristwatch he’d left there last night, shortly after they’d had sex.

“Uh... It’s like... eight... something,” he reported, struggling to read the small analogue face with his sleepy eyes. “’Bout ten after eight.”

“Mmm... Good. It’s still kinda early, then,” Marcy purred. She was beginning to sound much more ‘awake’ now. Though he couldn’t see her face, somehow Paul knew Marcy’s eyes were wide open.

“I suppose,” he hesitantly agreed. “Some people are probably up and about, though.”

“Probably,” Marcy agreed with a sigh. She tried to hide it, but Paul could hear the apprehension in her voice. “It doesn’t really matter. It wouldn’t have taken them long to figure out what happened, anyway. And Bert kind of saw me coming in here, so... no point worrying about it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Paul agreed with a heavy sigh, “I guess you’re right.”

They laid there together in still silence for some time, neither one of them looking forward to the unavoidable chore of leaving that cozy bed, getting dressed and facing the world outside. They listened patiently to the sounds of dawn: the countless lively birdcalls mixed with the subtle creaks and groans of the rustic old cabin and the occasional ‘snap’ of its tin roof expanding under the fresh, warm sunlight. The distinct sounds of footfalls on the cabin’s timber floors confirmed their fears, and though neither of them said so, it soured the moment for them both.

“By the way...” Marcy eventually broke the silence. She raised her head to look Paul in the eye. “... I never got around to thanking you.”

“What for?” Paul asked, puzzled.

“Well... everything!” She answered with a shrug. “You know... for standing up for me on the beach, and for helping me teach those jerks a lesson, and for letting me crash here with you.”

“Hey, no problem,” Paul assured her warmly, “As a roommate, you’re actually a lot of fun...”

Marcy smirked.

“...You don’t cover the walls in death metal posters, you don’t erase my messages and you cook a mean chili,” he continued.

Marcy was chuckling heartily by the time he finished.

“Yeah, and you don’t borrow my clothes,” Marcy replied, after laying back down on his shoulder.

“As far as you know,” Paul facetiously clarified. They both shared a good, discreet laugh.

The joke seemed to be over all too quickly.

“There’s going to be hell to pay when we go out there,” Paul said as he stared at the bedroom door.

“Yeah,” Marcy mournfully agreed.

They each subconsciously embraced the other; Marcy’s fingers curled gently around Paul’s chest hair, as if trying to cling to him like a strip of Velcro, while Paul slipped his arm around the small of her back and gently grabbed hold of his other hand.

They both had a pretty good idea what would happen when they went out to join the others. It was going to be the worst kind of confrontation: the kind where nobody says anything and does nothing. Breakfast would be a frosty atmosphere of cold silence and biting subtext, until finally someone wouldn’t be able to take it anymore and it would all come out into the open, with all the bitterness, bile, and the fury of hell itself.

Unfortunately, there was no telling when that confrontation would occur. Maybe it was going to happen over breakfast, or maybe it would happen later in the day. Quite likely, it would strike them without any warning whatsoever. The only thing that was certain was that it was definitely coming.

It was like that old movie line about how the worst part of war is the calm before the battle. That was what Paul and Marcy would be walking in to when they left the bedroom.

What Paul dreaded the most was Karen’s reaction, mostly because he couldn’t predict what it might be. She would either be disappointed and think less of him for fucking Marcy simply because the opportunity presented itself, or she wouldn’t particularly care. He couldn’t decide which would be worse.

“You got any ideas what you’re gonna say to Jeff?” he asked Marcy.

Marcy grunted in disdain at the mention of her now-ex boyfriend, “Jeff and I are through.”

Paul glanced down at her in surprise. He knew that Marcy had been pissed off by Jeff’s drunken stupidity, but he didn’t realize she’d felt that strongly about it.

From Paul’s point of view, Jeff and Marcy’s relationship had always seemed quite volatile, with brief, bitter spot-fire fights punctuating their constant making out and retreats to private quarters. Despite the anger that would frequently flare up between them, they always made up shortly afterwards. Paul had never understood why they kept making up when there was clearly some serious hostility beneath the surface of their relationship, but he didn’t judge.

Paul had just assumed that this one night stand with Marcy was just another instance of her lashing out at her boyfriend; a severe psychological spanking for acting like such a douche earlier. But apparently, it had been less a case of Marcy trying to hurt Jeff and more a case of her consummating her decision to leave him finally.

“I figure I can do better than a boyfriend who treats me like a gambling chip to make bets with,” Marcy explained, her voice wavering with hints of pain and doubt.

“You can,” Paul asserted with all the confidence she lacked.

He planted a tender kiss upon her forehead. Ordinarily, such an intimate gesture would’ve felt creepy between the casual friends. But curled up in bed, their naked bodies pressed against one another, it seemed most appropriate. Despite her tough facade, Paul could tell Marcy needed the moral support right now and in the raw, naked aftermath of their night of passion together, there were no taboos.

“You can,” he repeated, even stronger than before. His embrace around her tightened; his left hand curled all the way around her until it was grasping her left shoulder, while his right hooked around her right hip and pulled her body closer. His pinkie skimmed the bulging flesh of her ass, but there was nothing lecherous about his touch.

“Thanks,” she replied with a deep, sorrowful sigh.

“What about you and Karen?” she inquired, artfully changing the subject. When no answer came, she lifted her head off Paul’s shoulder and gazed up at him attentively.

“I don’t know,” Paul replied with exasperation. “I... I still have feelings for her. But right now, I don’t think I’m interested. Like, I look at her and I can’t help but see... them.”

Marcy nodded in understanding, “Total mood killer.”

“Yeah,” Paul sighed. “I dunno, maybe somewhere down the line...”

Marcy waited until it became clear that Paul had nothing more to say before she responded, “Well, yes, you’re still gonna be pretty sore about it. I mean it’s only been 24... 36 hours since it happened. Give it some time, maybe you’ll get past it.”

“Maybe,” Paul skeptically agreed.

Marcy smiled and affectionately stroked his hair. They were by no means unwelcome gestures, but at the same time, they didn’t instill him with the hope that Marcy was trying to offer. Quite the opposite, in fact. He couldn’t help but think that there was something seriously fucked up about discussing romantic feelings for his long-time crush, while canoodling naked with a woman he’d just had earth-rocking sex with the night before. It was all such a mess, Paul began to suspect that there was no realistic hope of salvaging a healthy relationship out of it.

“I dunno, maybe I should just forget about her,” he said softly. “I mean, I don’t even know if I had a chance with her anyway.”

There was a change in Marcy’s manner. It was subtle, but Paul noticed it. It was as if she had some opinion, or perhaps even inside knowledge on the subject, but felt compelled to keep it to herself for some reason. If that was the case, Paul was too tired to try to drag it out of her

“This whole week,” he continued, “I kept seeing all these little signs that I was getting somewhere with her, y’know? Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see.

“It’s hard to argue with reality, y’know? She ended up fucking Bert and then I ended up in bed with you. Maybe I’m supposed to take it as a sign that it’s just not meant to be.”

“You don’t really believe that, though,” Marcy told him after a thoughtful pause.

“You think it sounds like a bunch of bullshit?” Paul asked, sheepishly.

Marcy shrugged, “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that it doesn’t sound like you believe it.”

“I don’t want to believe it,” Paul replied. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, right?

“I guess I’m just confused. I need some time to figure it all out. I had all these ideas about what was going to happen over the past couple days and then they went nothing like how I expected,” he told her.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Marcy chuckled dryly. Paul echoed her cynical mirth, appreciating the irony of how his and Marcy’s separate problems allowed each of them to relate to the other so well.

“You mind if I give you some advice?” Marcy asked after a long pause. There was a cool sense of caution in her tone; the word ‘advice’ was meant to be interpreted as ‘criticism’ and if he said ‘yes’, she wasn’t going to sugarcoat what came next.

“Yeah, I guess,” Paul shrugged. Ordinarily, he would’ve been more guarded when responding to a question like that. But right now, he was too rested and numb to be damaged by blunt words.

“You kind of have a tendency to over-think things...” Marcy told him, in a voice much gentler than Paul had expected.

The remark caught him by surprise. He didn’t quite know how to respond, so he didn’t.

“Like, right now: every time I move around a little, you take a quick peek down to see if you can see any more of my boobs...”

Paul could feel the blood rushing to his face. One second he had been listening to casual pillow talk, the next he was getting ambushed about his voyeuristic impulses. And he thought he’d been so discreet...

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen much, though, right?” she pressed him, with a dry smirk.

“Uh... Well, uh... I...” Paul awkwardly stalled.

“If you want to play with them, just go for it!” Marcy instructed, her voice as gentle and relaxed as could be

“Are you serious?” Paul silently asked her with his wide-open eyes.

“I can always say ‘no,’” Marcy added, only compounding Paul’s confusion. If she’d had a meaningful point that she was trying to get across, it had been totally lost on Paul by now. He wasn’t thinking about self-improvement anymore, he was only thinking about tits.

When he didn’t immediately react, Marcy leaned in and stared him down with a feisty smirk.

“I’m not going to say ‘no,’” she assured him in a sultry whisper.

A tentative grin grew on Paul’s face as he gradually concluded that she was indeed offering her fabulous tits up to him once again.

He drew his right hand down under her armpit and spread his grasp around the hot, sumptuous bulge he felt beneath. He pressed his fingers in and gently squeezed. He’d forgotten just how large they were; how yielding her flesh was. The erotic memories he had of the previous night couldn’t compare to holding the genuine article in his hand.

She was so goddamned sexy. Not simply because she was stacked, but also because of how she operated. It amazed Paul how smoothly she could bring breast play in to a serious conversation, as if it were no big deal. There was an artful grace to this side of her, one that Paul had noticed in her long ago. She wielded sex like it was an extension of herself. She was so bold, so shameless, so masterful in the way that she played the turbulent currents of sexual chemistry between herself and the men who fawned over her. It shocked him occasionally, but deep down it never failed to impress him.

“Happy now?” Marcy softly asked with a grin of approval.

“Mm-hmm” Paul agreed, trying to conceal his excitement and play it as cool as her.

“Good,” said Marcy.

Right on cue, Paul’s cock began to grow and rise at an urgent pace. It made him nervous. Just because Marcy was letting him feel her up didn’t mean she’d be cool with him sporting a boner while they were in bed together. Second base was a fair way from home, after all. He was enjoying himself; he didn’t want things to get weird.

“Oh! Hello!” Marcy chirped in surprise as Paul’s rising erection brushed across her thigh.

“See, your little friend down there knows what I’m talking about,” she told Paul. Her face was radiant with amusement, which came as a great relief to him. “When he wants something, he just stands up and goes for it. A real man of action.

“You should follow his lead more often,” she advised.

“Uh... Okay,” Paul awkwardly responded, still not quite understanding what Marcy was trying to say. Of course, it didn’t help that his attention was focused elsewhere.

“Here, let me give you a better angle,” Marcy said as she rolled on to her side. That was much better! Not only could Paul hold her boob properly now instead of merely clasping it from the side between his thumb and fingers, but more importantly, he could see both of them! Damn, they were spectacular! So big and proud; pure femininity in its most overt form. Particularly, he found himself captivated by her candy-pink nipples, which were so beautifully petite compared to the grand size of the breasts themselves.

Her left nipple danced for Paul like a sensual harem girl, as he began to gently squeeze the breast and distort its shape. However, it soon disappeared in to the palm of his hand as his grasp grew increasingly ambitious.

“Better?” Marcy inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Much!” Paul gleefully growled.

She made a sound, something between a giggle and a wanton sigh, as she tried to lay her head down on her pillow without shifting her body so much it would interrupt Paul’s fun.

The occasional dull thuds and murmurings of life outside the bedroom did little to spoil the comfortable peace between them. Marcy looked on with warm serenity as Paul kneaded her breast with devotion. Eventually, the rhythmic fondling plateaued.

“Think you’re getting it out of your system?” Marcy teased.

“I suppose so, yeah,” Paul replied. “Feels good!” he chuckled. It was strange how he never really realized how badly he wanted to play with Marcy’s tits until she’d offered him the opportunity. He thought he’d managed to put them out of his mind, aside from that persistent little itch to steal one more decent glance. But now that he really held one of them in his hand, it felt like he would’ve gone crazy if he’d repressed himself much longer.

“So, you get what I’m saying?” Marcy asked once she’d settled into a comfortable position.

“Uh... yeah, I guess. You’re saying... that I... what? That I should come on stronger?” Paul replied, clearly distracted.

“Hmm... kind of,” Marcy sighed, seemingly frustrated by the different wavelengths they were obviously on.

“I guess what I’m saying is that with real life shit, you can’t make it all some carefully mapped out plan, you know? You can’t just make a list like, ‘This is what I’m gonna do Monday; This is what I’m gonna do Tuesday...’ and so on.

“You have to be more in the moment than that. Be impulsive; follow your gut.

“If you get the feeling that things are going your way, then press your advantage. A guy like you can do that without being an ass about it. If you’re wrong and doesn’t pay off, well then, so be it. But don’t pretend like the opportunity isn’t there just ‘cause you weren’t anticipating it.”

Marcy was definitely giving Paul some serious food for thought, so much so that he all but forgot about the whopping breast in his hand.

“I’m not saying, ‘give up on the thoughtful stuff,’” she continued. “There’s plenty of room for that: you know, putting some effort in to impress, showing that you care, going for a mental connection. That’s all good.

“But you’ve got to follow up all that strategy with some action, you know? Like, when you actually get together with her, you need to really be ’there‘ with her.

“’It’s that stuff that happens in the moment, that’s where all the magic happens. That’s when you feel most alive; when you enjoy it the most. Trust me, if you want to get with a girl, you need to be a part of that moment. You have to let her know you’re there with her, sharing it with her, so she can see how much she enjoys being with you. You can’t do that if you’re running off some battle plan.

“Sorry,” she giggled, shaking off her pensive torpor in an instant. “Am I making even less sense now than I was before?”

“No,” Paul croaked. He didn’t lift his gaze to meet hers, but his voice was so insistent and sincere, Marcy instinctively believed him.

“Good,” Marcy responded happily, sounding very satisfied with herself.

It was a lot to take in. Marcy had given him a new perspective on his difficulties with Karen.

Although he understood the essence of her advice, he felt more confused than enlightened. He needed to ‘stop thinking so much’ about his advances towards Karen? How was he supposed to do that? How do you stop thinking about the very thing you are trying to do?

It all seemed moot right now, anyway. Even if Marcy had handed him a sure-fire, easy-to-follow recipe for winning Karen’s adoration, Paul had doubts he’d go out there and use it. He felt like he just wanted a little distance for now.

Then, for no apparent reason, his solemn musings of Karen faded quickly away, like a flame that had exhausted its candle. He became acutely aware of the tenacious stiffness of his cock and he once again took notice of the sizable mound of soft, feminine flesh in his hand. An uncanny sense of serenity rushed through him as he gazed deeply upon the smooth, tanned skin of Marcy’s upper breast and watched the pores and sparse freckles undulating due to his rhythmic squeezes.

“Damn! I have a fucking amazing knocker in my hand!” he suddenly appreciated.

Paul absolutely adored tits. He’d never admit it aloud, but as far as he was concerned, they were the most fantastic creations on God’s green earth. Admiring them via pictures and videos was easy enough to do in this day and age, but actually being able to feel their sweet consistency with his own hand was all too scarce a privilege. In this case, it was an extra special blessing, as these were no ordinary breasts. Fondling such an exquisite pair was literally a pipe dream from his teenage years that had miraculously come true.

Paul gazed down at her other breast; hiding deeper in the shadowy ‘hinge’ between Marcy herself and the mattress, where it was more difficult for him to reach. Its bulk rested majestically upon the mattress in a way that barely compromised its regular shape. He stared at the dainty little nipple at its center; so seductively pink and covered with the silkiest, softest of skin. All he could think about was how satisfying it would be to suck on that scrumptious little gland.

“’Be in the moment!’” he privately reiterated Marcy’s earlier advice. “’Be impulsive!’

“Well, no time like the present!” he reasoned. With that, he cupped and lifted Marcy’s left breast - the one he’d been fondling - and dove hungrily upon it, taking the nipple and much of the surrounding flesh in to his mouth. Only after he’d already begun suckling did he wonder if this was a step too far. A surge of adrenaline made him quiver as he worried that he might be about to get slapped. But even the risk of rejection couldn’t deter him from feasting upon that supple breast.

“Hey!” Marcy reacted. She was certainly surprised, but she didn’t seem upset at all. Paul cautiously took it as a sign of consent and continued suckling.

“Looks like you got the message after all,” Marcy told him warmly.

Paul was uncertain how to take those words. Was that big speech of hers really about his failed love life? Or had it all been just a veiled effort to persuade him in to one more casual fling? Who was in control of what was happening right now, him or Marcy?

After thinking about it, he figured that Marcy’s advice had probably been sincere. If she’d only been interested in fooling around with him, it would be more like her to just be direct about it. After all, she’d practically just barged in to his room last night and told him, “I want to fuck you.”

All the same, Paul realized that he wasn’t the one in control right now: Marcy was. She was ’always‘ in control. She was just so sexy, Paul couldn’t help but be captivated by her; he couldn’t help but desire her with every fiber of his being. Marcy had a hold over him that he just couldn’t break.

Not that Paul minded, though. He didn’t need to be in control; he was enjoying himself.

He loved her tender breast with unguarded passion. He plowed its yielding skin with his teeth, lapped the erect little nipple with his tongue and freely suckled upon entire mouthfuls of woman. It was a gushing testament to his lifelong adoration of the female form, specifically the bust.

Marcy moved her leg and inadvertently bumped her thigh in to his cock. Once again, he became acutely aware of how hard he was. Suddenly, her tits weren’t enough anymore. There was something he desired even more.

He slid his other hand down through the tight gaps between their bodies, navigating Marcy by touch until he found her warm crotch.

He reflected on how sexy her bush was as he ran his fingers through it. Most girls he’d seen in porn were completely bald down there. There was a definite appeal to that look. But, he had been most impressed last night when he discovered the generous crop of hair Marcy had on her privates. It made her seem more womanly, more sexually mature than the multitude of hairless teases he’d seen before. Yet, just like every other aspect of her appearance, there was elegance to the way Marcy kept her nether regions. The nice, wide landing strip showed off how lusciously rich her hair was down there, but the ruler-straight edges spoke of a sophisticated woman in charge of her own sexuality. That was so Marcy: she didn’t just flaunt what nature gave her; she flaunted it like an expert.

He watched her face carefully as he touched her labia, looking for any sign that the move might be unwelcome. The soft smile that her mouth curled into eliminated all his remaining doubts. This was happening: he was really going to fuck her again! In retrospect, he figured that sex was all but inevitable once you start titty-playing with a girl you’re naked in bed with. But then again, pretty much everything about their time together over the past 24 hours flew in the face of what one would expect.

Paul massaged her privates with diligence and confidence, employing all the guidance she’d given him the previous morning. It wasn’t long before his fingers were practically swimming in her juices. He noticed the movement of her breasts increasing as her breath quickened.

The stiffness of his rod was driving him crazy. He needed to let it taste her so badly. But he didn’t want to be too eager, like he’d been last night. This was shaping up to be such a great experience, he didn’t want to spoil it by being impatient.

He rolled Marcy over on to her back without his fingertips ever leaving her pussy. Now he could finally reach her right breast. The poor thing hadn’t had any attention all morning and had none of the spritely perk of arousal that her twin displayed. Paul lunged upon its relaxed little nipple and began suckling in earnest. At the same time, his fingers changed their game and began testing the depths of her slit.

He did his best not to disrupt the foreplay as he propped himself up and edged closer and closer to her. Judging by the broad grin on her face, whatever he was doing was working. He had to stop suckling her tit when he finally swung his leg over to position himself on top of her, but he was able to keep up the masturbation.

Their eyes met as he leaned over her. There were no words, but the hot, heavy breath said it all.

They came together in a passionate kiss, while Paul’s fingers danced furiously upon the threshold of her sex.

It was too much; he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of Marcy’s womanhood any longer.

He removed his hand and lined his erection up with her opening. Marcy’s hand seemed to come out of nowhere and gently grasped him by the shaft to help guide him in.

The first push was amazing: feeling the tight, smooth flesh sliding down his cock. He saw something in her eyes as he penetrated, something indescribable but beautiful. The slightest shimmer of a tear of joy and a quickening of her pulse. It felt like he’d just watched her complete her metamorphosis from intelligent human being to primal sex kitten. All he could see in her was a hot, naked animal that wanted nothing except to be hammered by a nice, hard cock. Paul was most happy to oblige.

The furious, messy kissing resumed as Paul began thrusting vigorously. The old cast-iron bed frame began to squeak in a distinctly coital rhythm. It wasn’t subtle and Paul suspected that the others would be able to hear it.

“Who the fuck cares?” he thought to himself, while Marcy sucked on his bottom lip. “Whatever it’s going to cost me later for this hot pussy, it is totally, totally worth it!”

Marcy had to come up for air eventually, but Paul was still hungry, so he took to mouthing her neck, just below her left ear.

“Hey!” she sighed after catching her breath somewhat. She placed her hand on the side of his butt and grabbed it so firmly it disrupted his rhythm.

“Easy there, tiger! There’s no hurry. It isn’t a race,” she scolded him sweetly.

“Sorry,” Paul sheepishly panted, as he slowed the pace of his hips to half of what it had been before.

He leaned in for more kisses and Marcy reciprocated, but they had lost the fire they’d had before. He moved down further and began to mouth her jaw.

“Well, technically, I suppose it is a race..." Marcy corrected her earlier remark. “But you’ll be a lot more popular if you come second in this one.”

Paul chuckled.

“Ow! I just got a cramp!” he replied facetiously. “Guess you’ve got the lead.”

Marcy grinned broadly and giggled.

“Don’t worry. We’re both going to win,” she replied in a whispering growl.

They locked lips once more. Only this time, the fire had returned. Marcy began to rake her fingers aggressively through his curly hair. Her other hand wrapped around his back and held him quite insistently.

Paul kept to the moderate pace Marcy had set him on, but he made up for it by humping her more forcefully than before. With every thrust, he pressed her shapely hips deep in to the mattress beneath.

Her pussy was sheer paradise. It teased him non-stop with its toothless bite and stroked every hungry nerve in his cock each time he pushed inside. Not to mention how it stroked the profound urges that laid much deeper. Paul wished this wonderful dance would never end and yet ironically, the ending was what he wanted more than anything else.

Paul felt Marcy’s legs wrap around him and close against his butt, attempting to lock their sexes together so that he wouldn’t be able to pull out even if he wanted to.

The kisses stopped; this time it was Paul who needed to take a breather. Marcy kept going, leaving Paul swooning. The tender lips dancing across her cheek added to the myriad of delightful sensations he was caught up in.

He kept grinding away, his hips running on automatic. His pace smoothly increased, but not to the point of being impatient. He happily persisted, even as his thighs and stomach began to ache and his body roasted like an oven. But eventually he succumbed to the sweet kiss of Marcy’s womanhood.

A dizzying lethargy came over him just as his loins began to thunder. His upper body collapsed on to Marcy as dead weight, while his crotch pressed firmly against hers on sheer reflex. He felt her soft tits cushioning his pecks and he relished it.

As his cock gushed triumphantly in to Marcy’s lithe, young abdomen, she serenaded him with an erotic song of breathy, wanton moans. At that moment, a single thought took root Paul’s mind: he was so glad he had come out here to the North Carolina backwoods with his friends.

It turned out this vacation was exactly what he had needed. Not the quiet, isolated woods, the horseplay in the lake or the ambitious amount of drinking he’d done; but this right here - cutting loose and getting it on with a random hot girl.

The truth was, it wasn’t college that he needed a break from. What he’d really needed a break from was his friend-zone limbo with Karen. For years he’d kept himself tied in knots over the relationship he so desperately wanted with her. All those moments when he felt that distance between them, all those times he watched in anguish as some other guy got close to her - they took their toll.

The assignments and exams, the piddling other social dramas, shortness of cash; those kinds of troubles would come and go. But this thing with Karen had been pulling on his heart strings non-stop for the better part of a decade.

Paul had come on this trip hoping it would improve his relationship with Karen. Though it hadn’t played out the way he had intended, that was precisely what had happened. With Marcy’s help, he managed to stop dwelling on Karen for a little while and start caring about himself. He gave himself a chance to have fun just being a guy. He finally tended to that quintessential masculine need to put his cock inside a gorgeous, gorgeous woman and release the sperm he’d been repressing for eight years.

It seemed counter-intuitive, but Paul couldn’t deny that his head was in a much better place now than it had been beforehand. He felt liberated; rejuvenated. All he had lost for certain was a good measure of his frustrations and self-pity; things that had only been souring his friendship with Karen. Guilty pleasure or not, these casual flings with Marcy had been a diversion he’d sorely needed.

The vacation had been great and it wasn’t even over yet...


The End


With thanks to Kimberly Odle for her editorial assistance.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the movies in the Cabin Fever franchise, nor any of the characters in it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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