Cabin Fever: Parting Shot - Part 4

Cabin Fever: Parting Shot - Part 4

Disclaimer: This is a fan fiction based on the 2002 movie, Cabin Fever. The characters and settings of Cabin Fever described in this story remain the property of their original owners. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

 

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.

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