Need a Little Company Ch. 08

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.

Fair warning: the sex scene in this chapter includes some dark, disturbing and very gory imagery. This chapter is probably closest in tone to "Cabin Fever" than any of the ones I've posted so far.

If you think that might be too much of a turn-off for you, feel free to just skip ahead to the next chapter. The sex in that is all steam, no scream.

*****

The endless banality of the grey, thick forest was disturbed only by the sounds of its foreign intruders. The constant scrape of a mattress being dragged along the ground served as a backing for two pairs of sneakers marching through the brown, leafy undergrowth, out of sync with one another. It was like music being played by a trio with no souls.

Sometimes when Marcy looked back at the mattress she was pulling all she could see upon it was death. It was hard to articulate what death looked like exactly, except that it was bloody and ugly, but she just knew that the thing she was looking at was death. Even though her mind kept assuring her that it was Karen.

Other times when she looked back, Marcy saw the bubbly blonde freshman she'd met on her first week of college. A beautiful broad grin shining upon her face, excited about all the new experiences she was about to have, without a worry in the world.

Surrounding them, at a distance of about 100 yards, a darkness consumed the forest. It wasn't like a shadow cast by a cloud. This darkness twitched and swirled as if everything out there was completely covered in a layer of black insects.

Marcy recognized this darkness as well. It too was death, for death came in many forms.

With a casual glance, it looked as if the boundary between the darkness and the forest remained constant. But when she really looked, Marcy could tell that the darkness was getting closer, one inch at a time. It was patient in its advance. It had no need to chase her because there was nowhere she could go to escape it - she was surrounded.

By the same token, Marcy felt no compulsion to run or scream because she knew it would do her no good. So she simply continued toting the heavy load of someone too frail to flee from the darkness without her help.

The lone contrast in her macabre surroundings was Paul. He stood opposite her, his hands latched firmly upon the other corner of the mattress. The sleeves of his dark blue sweater bulged handsomely where his biceps swelled from the effort of carrying his childhood crush. He was like a virile bull the way his legs powered tirelessly on; the way the hot, heavy breath snorted from his nostrils. It gave Marcy a precious sense of comfort to have this sturdy specimen of masculine strength by her side in this awful time.

Every now and then, she'd look ahead to their destination: the shabby little log cabin at the top of the hill. The incline before her seemed insurmountable: it felt like they were trying to climb Mount Everest.

She would look ahead to her destination only briefly, before turning her gaze to other aspects of her surroundings. But each time she checked to see how much farther they needed to carry Karen, it seemed like they'd barely made any progress at all.

Then Marcy finally realized what the problem was. Her legs were moving at a normal rate, but her actual forward movement was as if she were trying to run in a swimming pool.

Nonetheless, she carried on in this fashion for several minutes, refusing to let the futility of the task deter her from doing 'what she was supposed to do'.

Then, for no particular reason, she decided that it was all ridiculous. There was no point trying to carry Karen away from the darkness. Death was already inside her. There was nothing in the cabin that could save her.

Marcy dropped her burden without a word, leaving Karen to be consumed by the darkness where she lay. She continued on ahead. Without even looking back, Marcy knew that Paul would likewise drop the mattress and follow her, because she wanted him to. She didn't know how or why, but at this time, Marcy had control over him. She could feel his unwavering gaze upon her butt as she walked. It was like he was some kind of mindless thrall in a trance.

Before she knew it, Marcy was back at the cabin. She turned the knob of the flimsy door, which had been nailed together from uneven planks, and stepped inside.

It was a pitiful little sanctuary, with only one room. Fortunately for Marcy, it was the only room she needed to find a little comfort in these final couple of hours.

The bed, an antiquated piece made of cast iron, was pressed flush against the back wall and centered beneath a small window. It was a mess; the blood-red floral quilt had been tossed to one side and the sheets and pillows were all rumpled. Appropriate, Marcy thought, considering how the world around the cabin was crumbling to pieces. Why should the inside be any different?

All the same, the soft mattress looked extremely inviting. It called to her, promising a comfortable place to rest her weary legs.

She walked over and sat upon the bed in a position that was halfway between laying in repose and curled up in the fetal position. Resting an elbow upon the window sill, she gazed out into the wilderness. The darkness was still out there, still encroaching upon her. The cabin was no defence whatsoever against its advance; it was merely a more welcoming place for her to await the inevitable than the cold, dirty woods.

Without even thinking about it, she pulled one of the pillows close and held it close to her body. It was a poor substitute for Whipsie, the plush, sky-blue toy cow she had embraced for comfort in her formative years, and more than once after the crueller days of high school.

Behind her, the door opened and soon after closed again. There was no need to turn around to see who it was for there was only one other person beside herself in this godforsaken place who wasn't paralyzed with sickness.

"We're all gonna get it," Marcy lamented aloud. "We're all gonna get sick and Jeff's in the woods getting drunk."

The tired old bedsprings creaked in protest as Paul sat down by her side.

A warm hand landed upon the side of her thigh. Marcy's legs were used to the contact of men's hands. It was quite often one of the later gestures she'd receive as they came on to her. But this time, the connection felt different. It rested upon her gently; there was no squeezing, or fondling. This was a gesture of support, not persuasion.

"No," Paul declared, barely louder than a whisper, but with a staunch confidence in his voice. "Bert's gonna get help. Karen will be fine, I promise."

The resolve in his voice actually made her feel a little more secure. A little, but not enough.

"It's like being on a plane when you know it's gonna crash," she responded, shaking her head slightly in denial of his words. "Everybody around you is yelling and screaming 'We're going down! We're doing down!' and all you really want to do is grab the person next to you and fuck the shit out of them. Because you know you're gonna be dead soon, anyway," she told him.

She spoke without an ounce of hesitation. The gathering darkness made restraint and even self-respect seem absolutely worthless. If her proposal was rejected, then so be it. But right now the only thing of value she had left to lose was the time she would waste by beating around the bush.

She gave her words a second to sink in, before she turned to Paul to check his reaction.

Marcy was surprised by Paul's expression. There was no passion reflected in his face; neither outrage, nor lust or delight. Instead, it showed only a sense of mild curiosity. He looked like a young child who had been confounded by something a world-wise adult had said, and was trying to work through it in his own mind. For a split second, the naivety she saw made her feel guilty about what she wanted to do. But then she saw the other side of Paul, the side that she had stolen glances of earlier as he powered up that impossible hill. The lively, powerful masculine side of him.

With a heavy sigh and an adamant decision that she would enjoy her "last meal" for everything it was worth, she pounced. Her lips landed upon Paul's so swiftly that he had no time to react until it was too late. His arm jerked away from her, but otherwise Paul didn't react to her hungry kisses. It was as if her warm lips were laced with venom and each attack they made paralyzed him even more.

Marcy found Paul to be incredibly malleable. With only the slightest pressure of her hand she could move him as she wished. When she didn't push him, he would hold still for as long as she wanted. With Paul completely under her control, it was easy for Marcy to get them both undressed quickly. As she had hoped, Paul's member had rapidly risen to the occasion and was ready to serve her needs.

A sense of spirit returned to him and he pulled her naked body firmly against his own which Marcy found invigorating. They kissed passionately while Marcy struggled to maneuverer within his constraining grasp. She could feel his maleness being pinned between her mons and his own belly.

But after a few seconds she was able to position her moist opening right over his glorious rod and drop herself on to its complete length. With a brutal sense of purpose Marcy hurled Paul down on to the mattress and began riding him like a machine.

"You don't use condoms?" he asked her nervously, the shock over how ridiculously sudden their friendship had turned sexual still burning in his eyes.

Marcy only half-heard the question.

"Don't worry. I'm healthy," she answered concisely.

No sooner had the words left her mouth when the smart part of her brain started screaming profanities at her, "YOU STUPID BITCH! YOU STUPID BITCH! DON'T FUCK HIM WITHOUT A CONDOM! IT WILL RUIN YOU!" It spoke with a sense of absolute certainty that worried her. But Marcy simply brushed aside her common sense just as she had done with Paul's misgivings.

In turn, her common sense asked her why she wasn't listening to reason, reminding her that her folly was as bad as could be. It was only now that Marcy realized that she wasn't in complete control of her actions. Something told her that she was doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing; that what was happening now was somehow set in stone and could not be deviated from. Marcy found that to be an oddly comforting thought. As Paul's maleness moved forcefully to and fro within her cunt, Marcy contented herself with the notion that this was a rather pleasant experience to be committed to.

Over and over, she worked her hips upon him, her breath constant and heavy from the exertion. But every penetration she felt excited her snatch all the more, giving her more than enough motivation to power on.

For some reason, she cracked her eye open after a while and peeked down at Paul. His eyes were closed, his head craned back into the pillow, his mouth agape with a look of mindless ecstasy upon his face.

Then Marcy noticed that he was laying in a shallow pool of water that had a blackish tinge to it. With every thrust Marcy made, as she pressed Paul in to the mattress, more of the foul liquid bubbled up around him, as if the mattress was a saturated sponge being squeezed. The liquid stained every part of Paul's skin it came in contact with, and as the amount of the substance increased, Paul became more and more coated in it.

Marcy knew what the liquid was. It, too, was death. And it was her fault that its filthy touch was now upon Paul. Death was already closing in on Marcy, and by having unsafe sex with Paul she had inflicted her own fate upon him as well. The longer they screwed, the more severe his exposure to the hazard became.

Even when she told him she was healthy earlier, she believed it was a lie. That didn't matter at the time - she figured he was done for anyway, but more importantly, she just really wanted his cock. But when she saw his healthy robust physique tainted with that noxious stain, Marcy couldn't help but feel remorse for what she was doing to him.

Nonetheless, she powered on, her newfound guilt soon joining all her other unpleasant thoughts in the back of her mind. Her body, roasting with arousal, willingly played out the role that Marcy seemed to be trapped in.

Amidst the rhythmic creaking of the rusty bedsprings, Marcy thought she heard a distant noise, like a bird call. It repeated again and again before Marcy realized it wasn't a bird at all, but a person; a woman to be precise.

The calls grew closer and closer. Then all at once, Marcy was able to discern not only what the voice was saying, but also who it belonged to. It was Karen.

"Paul?" she cried mournfully, "Paul? Help!"

Marcy looked down at Paul. Half-submerged in a pool of tragic carelessness, he was clearly too lost in the throes of passion to notice his love calling for him.

"Help me, Paul! Where are you? Where... where are you, Paul? I need help!" Karen continued. Her voice sounded sickly and her calls were occasionally broken up with wet coughs.

The voice kept growing closer and clearer. As Marcy rode Paul to the precipice of release, she could hear the voice and footsteps moving around the cabin on her left-hand side.

"Pau..." came the final plea for help, which ended abruptly.

Marcy raised her head and stared out the window before her. Her gaze was met Karen's.

Karen was tightly clutching the dirty white blanket that was wrapped around her, as if she were freezing. Two thin streams of blood dripped from her nostrils and the skin around her mouth was still stained red. Her hair was unkempt and likewise stained with blood in several clumped-together sections. The rest of her face was one almighty rash, pockmarked with sores that were either weeping, scabbed or both.

But by far the most disturbing aspect of Karen's appearance was the look of utter heartbreak upon her face.

Now she understood why Paul hadn't come to her rescue when she called out for him. He was busy - fucking her supposed best friend.

Karen's lower lip began to shudder uncontrollably. Tears began to tumble down her cheeks, mixing with blood along the way to form a pale red cordial.

Marcy was at a loss. She struggled to think of something she could either say or do to at least begin to make the situation right, but her mind was a blank. At the very least, she knew she ought to stop fucking Paul. But the motion of Paul's rod inside her was like a drug. With every stroke of its tender flesh, her pussy seemed to beg her, "Oh, that was SO good! Please, just give me one more. Then you can stop, I promise!" But every thrust made a liar out of her body and the temptation to go just that one step further repeatedly got the better of her.

Two thrusts... three thrusts... four thrusts... five thrusts... six thrusts...

Karen was aghast at the spectacle of Marcy continuing to fuck Paul's brains out right in front of her and Marcy was aghast at herself for forcing Karen to watch it.

In many ways, it was good that the horrifying situation didn't continue much longer before Marcy climaxed with a deep thrust onto Paul's member. A single, sharp gasp escaped her lungs as her womanhood seized tightly. Her face contorted into a visage of unmarred carnal ecstasy. She lifted her breasts forward, almost as if she meant to show them off, as her back arched on reflex. Marcy was well aware that cumming like this probably seemed to Karen like Marcy was mocking her. Yet still it felt fantastic.

Paul's reaction to her orgasm was almost immediate. But this was unlike any male climax Marcy had ever felt before. The ejaculations literally felt like her sex was being blasted by a high-pressure hose. Each one felt like it was blowing about a gallon of fluid into her belly.

Marcy began to shudder wildly as each blast seemed to reset her orgasm back to the beginning, while at the same time leaving her reeling from the previous climax. Yet somehow, she was able to keep her eyes wide open throughout.

She watched as Karen's already tenuous health declined rapidly, in waves that were somehow synchronized with Paul's ejaculations. With the first two ejaculations, Karen convulsed as if she was having a heart attack. With the third, the blanket dropped from her shoulders and fell to her feet as she began to collapse. Then, with each subsequent ejaculation, Karen's body literally fell apart. Her bloody flesh began to slip from her body like a melting ice-cream, dropping on to the ground in sloppy, red chunks. Her right arm fell off, then her left. Shortly afterwards, her jawbone detached from her now featureless face. By this point, her legs had already buckled and dissolved away to mush and bones.

As more and more of Paul's cum flooded in to Marcy's womb, charged with the energy of life, that same life energy slipped away from Karen, until nothing was left of her but a pile of bloody bones.

Marcy was utterly horrified by what she had just witnessed. Not only was her poor friend dead, but she had died in the most awful way imaginable. Yet Marcy's body was still seething in orgasm, which completely numbed her to actually feeling any pain. Her mind actually struggled to fight the process, to induce the sorrow that it knew she was supposed to feel. But the shackles of her own base impulses would not allow it. She felt a tear spill from her eye as she watched the forest ground consume Karen's bones. But her mouth was still spewing the exhausted panting of a wanton woman.

The powerful surges of Paul's semen faded away to stillness. Yet as they did so, Marcy became aware of another foreign throbbing in her loins; less powerful than the ejaculations had been, but far more rapid. A theory occurred to her that at first seemed ridiculous, but Marcy soon realized it was all too true: there was a second heart beating inside her.

Marcy looked down at her belly. She nervously explored the shape of her mons with her hand. It all looked and felt the same from the outside, but that was no reassurance for the rhythmic rapping she felt, like a fingertip tapping on her innards.

Then she heard another voice. Only this one wasn't coming from outside the cabin - it was coming from inside *her*! She felt it resonating through her blood and bones all the way up to her ears. It's nature was indistinct, neither male nor female. Yet its calls shared the exact same sorrowful, desperate tone that Karen's had earlier. At first she couldn't make out its words, but gradually they became clearer, until one call finally made sense.

"Marmy? I need your help!"