Need A Little Company Ch 05

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the movies or characters from the "Cabin Fever" franchise. All "Cabin Fever" movies and their characters belong to their respective owners. I don't make any money from the writing of this story.

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

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

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

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

Paul hoped she didn't notice his reaction.

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

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

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

"Hey," Paul repeated, still trying to act casual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul hesitated, unable to hide his shock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, Marcy opened her eyes.

"Man, that was good," she sighed.

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

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

"Want one?" she asked.

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

"No, thanks," he softly refused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yep," he replied.

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

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

"Thanks," Marcy acknowledged him.

"Sure," Paul responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcy didn't respond.

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

"You okay?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Talking about it won't fix anything," she rationalized.

"I dunno. Maybe you're right," Paul half-heartedly agreed in a sombre tone.

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

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