Parting Shot

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 Joe. But her more obstinate side quickly reminded her of Joe'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 tittyfuck/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."

"Hm? 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.

---------

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 Brad 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. Kathy demanded that Brad get rid of the gun and Marcy echoed her sentiments. Even Joe, who normally had his bro's back seemed noticeably uncomfortable that the gun had been brought.

But Brad 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 Brad 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 Brad and Joe 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 Kathy. 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 Kathy, 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.

There was another reason why she was taking such care to be subtle: she didn't want anybody else to notice that she was paying special attention to Paul. She didn't want them to pick up on the fact that there was something going on beneath the surface; a secret that only the two of them were in on.

If she had merely *talked* with Paul about his heartbreak over Kathy that morning, she 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 nervous about the others discovering that she had some private insight into Paul's mood.

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, Kathy 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 Joe and Brad. Marcy was drinking freely, but not as if she was in a race to get shitfaced. Kathy, 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 Brad's system made him a bit too friendly for comfort. Initially, his ostensibly innocent gestures were directed at Kathy. 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 Brad's sleazy paws weren't chasing after her again tonight. But on the other, the attention clearly bothered Kathy and infuriated Paul. Marcy could see this evening ending in tears if Brad wouldn't take the hint.

Unfortunately, the more he drank, the more 'sociable' he became. Kathy began to use the others as human shields whenever Brad started getting friendly with her. Marcy filled this role more often than not. Considering the circumstances, Marcy didn't mind doing Kathy a solid, though she didn't relish being so close to Brad, especially while wearing nothing but a bikini.

After yet more drinks, Brad's fixation on Kathy 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 Kathy. However, by this point Marcy had had 3 or so beers herself and was too buzzed to be seriously annoyed by it. Brad 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 Joe and Brad 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," Brad blustered.

"Oh really?" Joe 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!" Brad retorted, counting the points off with his fingers while still maintaining his grasp on his beer bottle.

"Bull-shit!" Joe replied, unable to keep a straight face. "Where the fuck are they, then?"

"What? You think I was gonna bring 'em back with me? Like I'm fucking Granny Cartwright bringing home roadkill for dinner?" Brad countered.

"What the fuc..." Joe 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 Brad with a gleeful grin.

"Don't change the subject, man," Brad told him, unimpressed. "The fact is, I could outshoot you any day of the week!"

"Oh God!" Kathy groaned as she sensed what was going to happen next.

"No way," Joe argued.

"Well c'mon! Let's settle this right now!" Brad challenged him.

"Fine," Joe agreed.

"We'll line up five beer bottles on that log over there," Brad suggested, pointing to a dead white piece of driftwood half buried in the sand, "Five shots each. Whoever hits the most bottles wins."

"Let's do it," said Joe.

"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," Brad told Joe as he staggered over to collect his rifle.

"Oh no! Fuck this!" Kathy 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.

"Kathy! It's totally fine. We're just gonna shoot some bottles, that's all. You got nothing to worry about, I promise," Brad tried to assuage her, to no avail. "Kathy? C'mon don't be such a pussy! KAREN?" his voice grew louder and louder the further she marched from the campfire. Kathy didn't so much as hesitate in her hasty retreat, much less respond to him. "Eh, fuck her," Brad dismissively shrugged.

He carried the rifle over to Joe, 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 Brad'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," Joe justified himself.

"Okay. You think you're so good, how 'bout we make it interesting?" Brad proposed.

"What? You mean like a bet?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, man," Brad confirmed.

"Okay, cool!" Joe 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," Brad balked.

"Well, okay. What about two hundred? Four... no, five hundred?" Joe ran off thoughtlessly.

"Fuck, man," Brad muttered in displeasure.

"A thousand?" Joe offered.

"You know... fuck off with your money, man. I don't need your charity. C'mon make a real bet!" Brad told him in a moody manner.

Despite their bluster, they were good friends. But the contrast between Joe's reasonably wealthy background and Brad's poorer, blue-collar background had always been a sore point that occasionally caused friction.

"Oh. Okay. So... what, then?" Joe asked.

"Dunno, man," Brad shrugged.

"How 'bout: loser has to get a tattoo that says, 'I suck!' On his forehead!" Joe suggested with a broad, self-satisfied grin.

"'I suck'? What are you? Eight?" Brad refused.

"Well okay, how 'bout: loser has to... loser... No, wait. *Winner* has to... ah, shit! Loser... uh..." Joe 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," Joe offhandedly chided her as he tried to concentrate on his problem.

The moment he said her name, Brad had an epiphany.

"Well, how 'bout this, man: Winner gets to fuck Marcy?" Brad 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!" Joe 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!" Brad mocked him.

"Okay, fine!" Joe agreed as a kneejerk defense to his wounded pride. "Winner..."

"EX-CUSE ME?" Marcy roared in outrage.

"Relax, babe, I got this," Joe blithely assured her after downing a mouthful of beer.

"So yeah..." Joe resumed his conversation with Brad, 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," Brad 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'm 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!" Joe urged, as if the disgusting act he'd volunteered her for was nothing more than a simple errand.