Cabin Fever: Parting Shot - Part 5

Cabin Fever: Parting Shot - Part 5

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.

 

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, and 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.

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