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.
Comments/Kudos are appreciated.
***
Even hours after the fact, Paul was astonished that a woman carrying around so much ballast had so much energy.
In truth, Paul had probably done most of the actual work. But Marcy was undeniably a very engaged lover. Her appetite in the bedroom proved to be even more voracious than her appetite in the kitchen.
He'd lost count of the number of times they'd actually fucked, and the number of positions he'd taken her from; all the while being cheer on by her primal snarls of, "Give it to me! Give it to me, Paul!"
Yet despite the exhausting marathon of sex that had completely milked him dry, Paul still couldn't get to sleep. He felt like he might've passed out for a while after the final orgasm. But right now he was wide awake.
It had been a crazy day and his mind just had too much to process right now for him to properly relax.
Marcy, on the other hand, was dead to the world. She had given everything she had to their fleeting night of passion and now her batteries were completely drained. She looked as if nothing short of a meteor hitting the house would wake her up.
Paul gazed long and patiently at the naked, voluptuous splendor of this nymph who had haunted his memories these past eight months.
They had worked up so much heat having sex that they'd gone to sleep without bedcovers, leaving every inch of Marcy exposed for his viewing pleasure. The house lights they'd neglected to turn off during their race to the bedroom shone just brightly enough through the open doorway for him to be able to make out her features.
She was truly a sight to behold, one that only ever seemed to get hotter. Paul was far too spent to get hard over the sight of her naked body, but he was still fully capable of appreciating what a desirable woman Marcy was. For now, simply enjoying her perfection with his eyes was all the pleasure Paul could ask for. It was a curious situation of receiving sexual satisfaction without any physical satisfaction.
He took his time admiring her enlarged breasts. It was a shame that they lost so much of their shape when she laid on her back like this. But their incredible size and luscious suppleness remained obvious no matter what position she was in.
God, he loved those tits. He loved them like crazy. He loved them in their pert, regular form. He loved them large, blossoming spectacularly in pregnancy. He loved them in every state he'd ever seen them. They consumed him to the point of obsession. He adored and dwelled on those feminine marvels unlike anything else he'd ever known.
He'd seen larger breasts (in porn), but size isn't everything and at certain points it's even a handicap. But Marcy's tits were utterly perfect. Perfect size, perfect shape, perfect softness, perfect perkiness, perfectly suited to Marcy's body and perfect little petite pink nipples. They had changed significantly in the past seven months, but that didn't dampen Paul's admiration of them one iota. To him, these were the same perfect boobs that had given him so much pleasure in the cabin and the motel room. Gazing upon them, fondling them still gave him the exact same heady bliss they had given him before.
He leaned over and pressed his lips around the dark nipple of her left breast, adoring it with something between the tenderest of kisses and a mild suckle. He let his face sink in to its flesh. It was intoxicating to realize just how yielding she was.
A few seconds passed before Paul noticed the bittersweet tingle of early breastmilk on his tongue. This was another new feature; one he hadn't experienced up until now. It caught him by surprise, but kind of in an exciting way and ultimately it became yet another pleasurable sensation these tits had given him.
Marcy didn't stir at all as Paul enjoyed her assets; she was out cold.
As he slowly drew away from her soft bosom, her remembered all the fun he'd had with her boobs in the motel room. Especially that unforgettable tittyfuck Marcy gave him. Feeling that tender flesh rolling over his erogenous cockhead was sheer heaven and blowing his load onto them had been the most satisfying orgasm of his life.
He lamented that he was too spent right now to enjoy such pleasures again. Nothing was stopping him from propping himself up and touching her breast with his cock; he just couldn't be bothered.
With a sigh of exhaustion, his heavy head dropped like a rock back in to his pillow. He stared up at the dark ceiling and reflected on how he came to be too spent to play with those breasts he adored so much.
His hail-Mary shot at bedding Marcy one final time had obviously paid off, much better than even his wildest dreams. During the trip, he had braced himself many times for a meeting with Marcy that would be cordial, but fruitless. Realistically, the chances of his visit leading to a casual fuck were practically nil. Hope hadn't driven him to Oregon, desperation had.
But of course, Paul hadn't anticipated the massive curveball that was awaiting him.
Marcy's pregnancy was initially a total mood-killer, but it had also made Marcy as desperate for a little sexual release as Paul himself. It turned out to be a game changer that worked very much in his favor.
Marcy's new shape was the only foil to his plan. His deeply-rooted fantasy of screwing the exact same heavenly body he'd enjoyed in the cabin could never have come to pass. Nonetheless, the well-rounded figure he'd found instead satisfied all his cravings completely.
Paul gazed over at the shadowy silhouette of Marcy's swollen belly, which towered above the mattress like a geometrically perfect hill. He reached out and gently laid his hand upon its side and slowly caressed its surface, feeling her abdomen's new solidness and curvature. Once again, he was struck by how much the changes to Marcy's body conveyed a profound sense of womanhood.
As he let the fullness of her womb fill his grasp, he reflected on the moment the new life within was made.
He remembered it with such clarity: being utterly captivated by those two bountiful breasts hanging freely mere inches above his face, while simultaneously being driven crazy by the hot, tight pussy polishing the sensitive head of his cock. He'd lost himself in a daze of arousal, been numbed and paralyzed by every facet of Marcy's femininity, as surely as if it were venom. The few muscles that still worked were operating entirely on reflex, not his own control.
Suddenly, he felt all his strength disappear. But a mere second later, it returned, in liquid form; a furious torrent of male fluid flooding in to the belly of the gorgeous brunette on top of him. He felt every amazing surge as it rocketed up the length of his shaft. Even at the time, it had been incredibly profound; feeling his essence, his masculine virility leaving his body to settle in the flesh of a young woman.
But until today, he'd had no idea precisely how profound that moment had truly been.
Feeling the expanse of Marcy's full womb under his hand, Paul finally understood why those farmers he'd seen at county fairs in his youth showed off their enormous pumpkins and melons with such pride.
There was something truly satisfying about their shape; the fullness, the largeness, the heaviness. But moreover, it was satisfying to know that such an impressive product had come about due to their own handiwork. There was something of themselves in these seductively round masses; they were tangible testaments to these people's skills as farmers.
Likewise, the enormous, perfect bulge in Marcy's belly was *his* handiwork. It was an irrefutable testament to his virility, his manliness. This was the milk of his loins risen to its true potential, and it was *so* large.
He recalled just how 'experienced' a woman Marcy was. He had no idea how many men had had their way with her. The word "dozens" popped in to his head and it immediately felt like a conservative estimate. Yet among that multitude of different men's seeds that had spilled within Marcy's sex, it had been his own that had taken root. He knew that there were mitigating factors at play; many of her lovers would've worn condoms and perhaps Marcy had even been on birth control earlier in her life. But his sense of pride was primal, not logical. The idea that it had been *his* sperm that had won the race; *his* sperm that had accomplished what all those sperm from all those other men who had lain with her could not, filled him with the deepest sense of satisfaction.
Her beautifully big belly was lavish monument marking the site of his sexual conquest, a loud announcement to the world that "Paul fucked this superb woman!" *His* seed alone had been able to raise such an ostentatious tribute. Not one of her other multitude of lovers had been so spectacularly immortalized.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp kick in to the palm of his hand. It swiftly knocked him out of his abstract self-congratulatory musings and back in to the poignant reality of fatherhood. His adoring hand instantly recoiled.
He had a child. It was right beside him, growing unseen within that bulge. Once again, he was shaken by his near miss; the trials of caring for a baby which Marcy had thankfully chosen to spare them both from. Yet at the same time, the thought that he would never know his firstborn son or daughter likewise troubled him.
It was strange. A few seconds ago he felt sublimely content caressing that swollen belly. Yet right now, he couldn't stand to be near that ticking time-bomb of complications. As gently as he could, he rolled over and sat up. In the shadows before him he could just make out the crumpled mass of his briefs on the floor, but he quickly decided not to bother putting them on.
With a stressful huff he stood and lumbered quietly off to the kitchen.
He opened the fridge having not yet decided whether he wanted something to eat or drink. In truth, all he wanted was something to distract him; to take his mind off the mess of this stupid accidental pregnancy.
The first thing that caught his eye was a milk carton. He grabbed it.
After all the other bodily fluids they'd shared in the past couple hours, backwash seemed like a moot point, so Paul skipped the glass and just took several big swigs directly from the lip of the carton.
