Parting Shot

"You don't use condoms?" he'd rasped with concern.

At the time, she'd felt a little offended that his mind was off fixating on matters of common sense when she was sitting on top of him, about to rock his world. But in hindsight, she couldn't blame the guy for being apprehensive about having unprotected sex with her. She a reputation, and it was more accurate than not.

Of course, Paul didn't have anything to worry about. Assuming Joe hadn't been fooling around on her, she could be confident of her health. He also didn't have to worry about putting a bun in her oven, as she was on the pill.

Marcy may have been satisfied that the sex had been okay, but the worry she recalled seeing in Paul's eyes gave her a poignant outside perspective on the choices she made. She had a smokin' hot body and she had practically served it up to Paul on a silver platter. Yet his first impulse seemed to be, "Better not risk it." She couldn't help but feel like there was a message to take away from that, like maybe she was too cavalier with her sex life.

"Maybe it is time to tone it down, when guys start thinking of you more as a health hazard than a desirable woman," she thought.

Marcy began to feel guilty, began to feel like she was her own worst enemy. She began to feel like she was all alone. It was not unlike that time in pre-school when she'd been sent to sit in the time-out corner, separated from her happy playmates and made to linger in her own sorrow, for reasons she didn't understand and could no longer remember. Once again, it seemed she'd been a bad girl.

She couldn't help it. Her dynamic sexuality was just who she was, it wasn't something she could switch off. She knew herself well enough to know that she would go crazy living a more buttoned-down life. She needed the thrills she got from flaunting what God gave her, without inhibitions. She needed the power trips she got from seducing guys. She needed that simmer of anticipation that came from sensually courting a partner. And boy oh boy did she need to get laid.

Sex wasn't just some guilty pleasure for Marcy; it was her passion. She just loved it so much; loved the things it did to her, loved the way it steamrolled over all the petty bothers in her life and left her chilled and satisfied. She wouldn't be able to bear starving herself of it. It was just too damn good.

Take tonight for instance. On the spur of the moment, she'd decided to seduce some random acquaintance, strip them both down to their skin and then shamelessly fuck his brains out in the open theater of the beach. All because some silly drunken dare had given her the idea. From start to finish it was exciting, primal and extremely satisfying: everything a good screw should be. It was the 'shameful' aspects that had given it such spice: the spontaneity, the exhibitionism, the fact that she needed to be so forward to get the ball rolling, the casual nature of her friendship with Paul and just the plain simple fact that it was such an outrageous thing to do.

Okay, letting Brad watch her was pretty stupid. But even taking that in to account, she had thoroughly enjoyed fucking Paul tonight. She had no regrets whatsoever. Had she carried herself more conservatively, she would have missed out on something great.

Marcy soon realized that idea held true for her entire sex life. Being such a sexually active young woman definitely had its complications. But she couldn't let herself forget how wonderfully rewarding it was, too. She couldn't even begin to count the amount of toe-curlingly fantastic experiences she had had being the sex kitten she was. She would be a fool to turn her back on all that.

Yeah, okay, the arrogant assholes like Brad would always see 'the girl who needs it' as the prime target for their obnoxious advances. But that was their problem, not hers. Being horny wasn't a crime, it didn't rob her of her right to say "no," to a guy she wasn't interested in, nor her right to be respected.

Marcy lamented that there was no actual remedy to be found in that simple truth. Knowing that she deserved to be treated with respect didn't mean she would get it. Macho idiots would always be there to push her too hard.

But at least now she had put those nagging doubts about herself to rest.

She felt a lot better having sorted through those worries. But she still had troubles weighing on her mind. The wounds from Brad and Joe's behavior down on the beach were still raw for her.

It got to the point where Marcy realized the bath wasn't going to do her any further good. The water was practically tepid by that point anyway, so she reluctantly decided to get out. She had no idea how long she'd been in there. It felt like more than an hour, perhaps as long as two.

She was in no hurry as she dried herself. Even the risk of one of the others barging in on her while she was standing around buck naked couldn't make her work faster. Her heart was too heavy.

She wrapped the towel around herself while she brushed her teeth, then took it off and slipped in to her nightgown, which was really little more than a saucy purple satin negligee. Marcy had packed all her nightwear anticipating an erotic week with Joe. Poor planning on her part.

The cabin was practically a ghost town when she eventually opened the bathroom door. There was plenty of light, but no sound whatsoever. She stepped out into the hall and closed the door softly behind her.

Only now did it dawn on her that she had a tricky decision to make. Where the hell was she going?

She had no bed of her own. Up till now, she had been sharing a double with Joe. But they weren't a couple anymore, so where would she go?

Her hand was still clenched upon the bathroom door knob, her face was practically pressed against its gray, uneven planks as she weighed her options.

To the left was her old room. Joe's room. Even though she'd broken up with him, they could, in theory still share a bed for the next couple of days as a matter of necessity. But Marcy hated that idea. It would completely undermine her decision to break up with him. She could just see Joe putting all his smooth moves on her like he had that morning, trying to charm her into forgiving him and remaining his girlfriend. Worse yet, she could see herself actually succumbing to his advances. That was something she couldn't abide. She needed to be serious about this break up.

To the right was Kathy's room: a spacious double bed with only one occupant. Crashing with her bestie in a situation like this seemed like the obvious choice. But things were a bit more complicated than that at the moment.

Kathy was open to the idea of being in a relationship with Paul. She liked him. Just how much she liked him, Marcy couldn't say; Kathy could be hard to read like that sometimes. But over the course of the vacation Marcy had gotten the impression that Kathy had half expected to leave these woods as Paul's lover.

By now, word would almost certainly have gotten back to Kathy about what Marcy and Paul had gotten up to on the beach earlier. Marcy had no clue how Kathy would've taken that news. If she had any real interest in Paul at all, she might be resenting Marcy right now for 'stealing' him from her. If that was the case, barging in to Kathy's bedroom and playing off her sympathies to get her to put Marcy up for the night would only strain their friendship further. It would add a whole new bucket of tension to a night that was already rife with it.

Marcy was emotionally exhausted and it was late. She wasn't in the mood for more drama. She just wanted to go to bed now and leave all the unresolved crap for tomorrow.

Thinking outside the box, the only other place she would really be able to sleep would be the living room, either in one of the armchairs or on the floor. However, that was not an option as Brad was crashing on the couch in there. Even if they weren't sharing the same piece of furniture, there was no way in hell Marcy was going to sleep alone in the same room as Brad - especially not wearing a provocative negligee.

It seemed like she had no choice but to take her chances with Kathy.

There was of course a fourth option, off to the right, beyond Kathy's door. But it was a bad idea. So bad, in fact, that the mere thought of it made Marcy's sullen heart beat a little quicker. If not for that physiological response, it would have been nothing more than a passing, absurd thought. But instead, it lingered in her mind and the longer it did so, the faster her heart beat.

What a rush it was, too! There it was yet again: that giddy tingle she got from being risque; from being a naughty girl. There soon came a point where her mind began to wander away from the question of where she was going to sleep and on to other bedroom activities.

"No," she chided herself. "Don't even think about that! Things around here are fucked up enough as they are. Don't go doing anything stupid now. It's been a long day with enough messed-up shit and enough is enough already. Let's just go to bed."

But common sense had already lost the battle. That tingle of excitement was just too seductive. It made her forget all about her weariness. She wasn't thinking about retiring any more, she was only thinking about blowing off some steam. She *needed* to blow off some steam and there was only one proper way to do that.

Finally, she released the door knob, turned right and began walking, as she committed to her radical choice.

"Damnit, Marcy!" she silently snapped at her own incorrigibility. A moment later, she was smirking about it.

She came to where the hall opened up into the living room and her mischievous smile withered away. Brad was in there, standing around near the fireplace, or perhaps he was wandering somewhere? Marcy didn't look long enough to tell which.

Their eyes met for a second. There was still caustic scorn burning in his gaze. It delighted Marcy that her mindfuck with him had made such a lasting impression. She'd half expected that his tiny, alcohol-soaked brain would've forgotten all about it by now.

She wondered for a moment whether he would feel any remorse for how he'd insulted her tonight, once he'd sobered up. She reflected on the humility he'd shown over breakfast that morning, and wondered what kind of ultra-polite overtures he might attempt tomorrow, as a poor excuse for an apology.

As Brad watched her drifting through the cabin in her revealing negligee, Marcy heard that same, tiresome insult being barked at her through his judging eyes.

"Slut!"

She didn't respond this time, not even with her own gaze. She simply ignored him and continued on her way in silence.

The delicious irony was that there was no need for her to bite back at him! The mere fact that he'd seen where she was going was punishment enough. What better way to hammer home the point that, when she's looking for alternative company, he doesn't make the cut? She'd gone to great lengths tonight to make Brad feel as pathetic as he actually was, and this happy coincidence was the icing on the cake.

One of the things Marcy loved about this negligee was its high hem line. Often when the breeze caught it, it would actually show her ass. She dearly hoped that would happen as she turned around. She wanted to put the screws to Brad by giving him one last peek at the prize he so desperately craved, but would never possess.

As she came to the door she wanted, she casually opened it and stepped inside, just as surely as if it were her own bedroom.

Paul was laying atop the covers upon his single bed, casually dressed in a dark shirt and fresh, blue shorts. Headphones were straddling his head, connected to a CD player clutched in his hand and resting upon his belly. His grasp, Marcy noticed, seemed unusually tense; almost as if he were a secret service agent and the player contained some information vital to national security. His eyes were locked on some point upon the ceiling, staring up at it with an eerie, vulnerable intensity.

Marcy suspected that her face had probably looked much the same as Paul's when she was in the bath earlier. He, too, clearly had a lot on his mind right now. No wonder, either; he'd just lost his virginity. That takes some serious time to come to terms with. At least it does for girls, Marcy just assumed it did for boys, too.

As if that weren't enough of a distraction by itself, it happened right in the midst of this whole complicated love/one-night-stand triangle between himself, Kathy and Brad. Now it had become a love/one-night-stand... rectangle between himself, Kathy, Brad and *Marcy*. Jesus. How was he ever going to wrap his head around that mess?

It took him a moment to notice her slipping through his doorway. Once he did, though, his reaction was predictable shock, which seemed to double when he noticed how provocatively she was dressed.

"Marcy?" he quietly acknowledged her, as he clumsily plucked the headphones from his ears.

Marcy closed the door softly behind her, not wanting Brad to overhear their conversation. Her little psychological tete-a-tete with Brad had steeled her nerve. But now she actually had to make this work! For the first time, she considered the possibility that Paul might be unwilling to putting her up for the night. That would mean she'd have to endure the anticlimactic indignity of slinking back out of Paul's room, to find somewhere else to sleep, all with Brad watching.

"It's been a really fucked up night. I don't want to sleep in the same bed with Joe," she told him candidly. "Can I spend the night with you?"

Marcy had the chops to sweet-talk pretty much any favor she could want out of a guy. But she was too tired for mind games right now, so she decided to just wing it with plain honesty. It would either work or it wouldn't.

Paul stared at her in silence for a few seconds, seemingly still dumbfounded that she was standing there, in his bedroom, in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but scantiest of night-wear.

"Uh... uh... yeah! Yeah! Of course! Sure!" Paul babbled.

"Thanks!" Marcy flashed him a weary but sincere smile. She brushed a messy tendril of her hair behind her back as she approached the bed.

"Let me just..." Paul muttered as he hastily gathered up a couple of CD cases that were scattered on the mattress and stashed them in the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed. He began shuffling over to the far side of the bed, to make room for her. Marcy climbed aboard.

"You know, if you want the bed, I can go..." Paul began.

"Yeah. By 'spend the night', I mean 'sex,'" Marcy clarified in a straightforward manner, as she simultaneously threw her right leg over his to straddle him. Without even waiting for a response, she pressed her lips firmly upon his. It was a sensual, gentle kiss, which concluded with her sucking upon his upper lip as she drew back.

"Still cool?" Marcy checked, with a casual air that probably amazed Paul.

Several seconds of silence followed. Marcy didn't push Paul for an answer; she knew it would come in due time. She deduced from his troubled expression that there was more to his hesitation than just shock. Something inside was telling him to say, "No." That didn't bother Marcy. After all, the killjoy side of her own mind had told her not to do this, too.

Ultimately, Marcy's offer proved to be one Paul couldn't refuse.

"Yeah... Sure!" Paul agreed, with a goofy enthusiasm that was kind of cute.

"Great!" Marcy mewed with a broad grin. Her body was already revved up. If Paul had refused her, it would have been... annoying, to say the least.

They kissed again, this time with Paul fully engaged. The kisses grew longer and more amorous. Paul fumbled with his CD player in a frantic effort to collect it from his lap and stow it in the drawer along with the CDs he'd previously cleaned up. In his haste, he jammed the headphones in the drawer without noticing.

The instant his hands were free they swooped on to the shapely bulge where her negligee flowed over her ass. His fingers dug in and coursed effortlessly over the smooth purple satin.

Marcy carefully pulled his shirt off. Paul responded in kind, stripping her of her negligee, leaving her completely naked. She could see the animal wash over him as he found himself face-to-face with her superb tits once more. He all but forgot about the ass he'd been squeezing so affectionately and immediately devoted both hands to playing with them. Even his lips seemed to lose interest in hers and after a few half-hearted kisses, they departed to suckle upon her cheeky little nipples. Though they soon returned for more kisses and they came with greater passion than before.

The foreplay was momentarily disrupted by the bothersome chore of getting Paul's pants off. Neither of them wanted to break the steamy embrace, but it needed to be done.

Once he was as naked as she, their bodies lunged upon one another like magnets, becoming a clumsy, heaving tangle of bare skin and gaping mouths rubbing obsessively against one another. When order returned to the chaos, Paul's hands were once more cupping Marcy's breasts and his lips were helplessly crushed beneath her own.

Paul grabbed her by the waist and jerked her forcefully against his own body, as if preparing to penetrate her right then and there. But Marcy had other appetites at the moment. She lifted one of his masterful hands off her boob and guided it down to her crotch. Paul needed no further instruction. His fingers lined up in formation and hugged her mons as they rolled through her bush and points beyond. They kept going until her entire vulva was covered, at which point they began rubbing her erogenous labia back and forth with their firm touch.

At the same time, he completely immersed his face in her right breast. Marcy smirked at the way his stubble tickled her skin there. She could really feel the love in the way he treated her voluptuous assets. Naturally, all guys loved tits; hers more than most, as they were two especially fine specimens, if she did say so herself. But this was something more; this was almost obsessive, as if he was utterly enslaved by her breasts and relished being under their power. His suckling was so passionate and content, it gave the impression that he never intended to let her boob out of his mouth. Even the way her scraped his teeth over her skin seemed profoundly intimate somehow.

It was lovely. Her breast began to enjoy the attention almost as much as Paul seemed to enjoy giving it.

But as good as he was with her tits; the best performance was going on downstairs. He masturbated her as well as she could have done herself, though being in the hands of someone else made it far more exciting.

"Damn! The rookie's got talent!" Marcy cheered in her head, marveling at how skilled Paul was with his hands despite of his limited experience with women. His pacing was exemplary; he had a wonderful appreciation for the art of the slow build. Or perhaps he was just very good at reading her body language to tell what she needed and when. Either way, her nether regions were having the time of their life. The fingers of his right hand were quickly becoming her new best friends.

"You boys are welcome back any time," she contemplated telling them.

Paul reached around behind her and tried to pull her closer once again. His manhood was hard as a rock and Marcy figured that all he could probably think about right now was getting it inside her. But she really liked the petting and she wasn't ready to change things up yet.

"Don't stop," she sighed. "Keep touching me."

"Okay," Paul acknowledged, his hot breath pouring over the top of her right breast. He tried to sound willing but Marcy could hear the disappointment in his voice. The hand pushing against the small of her back released her immediately.