Cabin Fever: Lovechild

Paul was convinced that she truly relished the madness of it all; how reckless and naughty it was to go all the way with a random guy, without protection. For Marcy, it was all part of the thrill.

As the inevitable finale neared, Paul realized that he had never wanted anything so badly as he wanted to cum inside Marcy right now. It felt as if it was his sole purpose in life.

Marcy was perfect. Between her sumptuous body, and her lusty body language, everything about her shamelessly advertised that she was a fit woman in her sexual prime. Nature had bred her to receive a man's virile load, just as it had bred Paul to give himself to such a woman.

Intuition assured him that she was the ideal partner, and this was the ideal moment.

The bed began to squeak as Marcy's motions became less regular. Her graceful muscles were beginning to shiver with exhaustion and anticipation. Subtle hints of moaning began to seep in to her ragged breath. Yet even as she neared collapsing, she still managed to hold Paul virtually immobilized beneath her: her hands pinning his upper arms to the mattress with the full weight of her body.

Paul felt a veritable powder keg brewing within his loins. He could already tell that this was going to be the most powerful climax he'd ever had. The only question was how many seconds he could hold out.

A surge of electricity shot up his spine. Then it happened.

He would never be able to recall what it felt like, aside from the knowledge that it was an instant of utter perfection; the most wonderful experience he had ever had, or everwould have.

When he came to, the first thing he noticed was the blackness of night in the bedroom window, partially eclipsed by the reflection of the ceiling light. As he acclimatized to the eerie silence, he became aware of the bassline of the music playing on the stereo on the lower floor, and soon after, the irregular, incoherent murmurs and laughter of party guests.

Marcy was lying on top of him, motionless, aside from her heavy breathing. It took Paul a few seconds to realize he was embracing her tightly; holding her close, and in no hurry to let her go. His right arm was wrapped around her back. His left hand was clenched firmly upon her ass cheek, anchoring her hips against his own.

Then he realized he was still inside of her. He was flaccid, completely spent - but his cock was still nestled within her hot, welcoming grotto.

He let his fingers course slowly through the yielding flesh of her buttock. It proved to be yet another striking reminder of what a superb example of womanhood Marcy was. Even from behind, her hips possessed more seductive wonder than any man deserved.

Then he remembered that he had just cum inside her. The broiling fire of his lust was now cupped within those same joyful hips he had just been admiring. It was an immensely satisfying thought.

Paul had given her everything, and done so happily. He himself now felt somewhat like a ghost, or shadow; numb and lost, yet serene and completely fulfilled.

The best of himself was gone. His strength, his will, his passion, heart and intelligence had been released into this ravishing naked woman lying on top of him. He had even surrendered his past and very identity - for it felt as if his entire life had only been lived to lead him to that essential moment.

Marcy was panting heavily and Paul could feel her heart pounding wildly beneath her soft breasts. Curiously, he noticed that his own breath was shallow and his heartbeat was quite relaxed. Even the excitement that had burned in his blood a mere minute ago had been given away to his lover.

And yet, despite his immense loss, he didn't feel poorer for what had just occurred; not by a long shot. He was no longer the man who lived to deliver himself into this beautiful woman; he was now the laureate whohad given himself to her. That legacy, that memory of what he had done would be his enduring reward.

It had nothing to do with bragging rights; Paul had no notions of being indiscreet about having slept with Marcy. It was about his own pride in having shared in something exceptionally wonderful with her.

After some time, Marcy began to stir. Paul felt her weight shifting. He would've loved to have held on to her for another minute, another hour, another lifetime. But eventually he resigned himself to the fact that she wanted to roll off of him and released his grasp upon her. With a hard, nasal sigh, she flopped over on to the empty mattress beside him.

She laid there, upright; her eyes closed as if in some private meditation. Her superb breasts continued to rise and fall, as she fought to catch her breath. Paul admired the way her horizontal posture changed their shape; how it streamlined her normally-voluptuous bust without compromising any of its femininity. The vision of her nipple rising and falling was mesmerizing. Flushed to a rich, dark shade of pink and noticeably constricted to the size of a quarter, it betrayed how Marcy's entire body was still tingling with the thrill of arousal.

"Oh baby!" she cooed breathlessly, "That was just what I needed!"

Paul was still speechless.

It delighted him to see that Marcy had shared in that perfect moment; that she, too, had been powerfully affected by it. In her body language, Paul could read her wild satisfaction with what she had just done. Her desire had been natural and earnest and had burned with far more clarity than her messy personal life. She was meant to ride a thick, hard cock to orgasm tonight; it was her birthright as an athletic heterosexual woman.

The afterglow of that mutual experience connected them in a way that made pillow talk unnecessary. For Paul, it was enough to simply lay there in silence and gaze at the flawless, naked, pink body he had just been joined with, and, in a figurative sense, would be joined with for the rest of his days.

After some time, Marcy propped herself up. The move immediately caused her breasts to fill out to their full, natural shape and bulge conspicuously upon her chest. The distinct fold at their base sat atop two or three similar creases that formed across her lithe belly as she bent upwards. Somehow, her tits seemed even bigger now than they did before.

She turned to face him with sedate, yet warm expression. Paul could feel her gaze tracing over his naked body; his shoulders & biceps, his hairy chest, his gut. They were the stern, focused eyes of a seasoned evaluator conducting a formal exam. She wasgrading him; deciding how he rated as her latest conquest.

When her gaze reached his flaccid dick, her mouth curled up into a wry smirk. She had clearly enjoyed riding it. For a few seconds, Paul could see that she was trying to gauge whether or not his member had any residual strength to go another round, and if so, how soon it might be ready to perform again.

But the post-coital haze was already waning. Reality and pragmatism began to envelop Marcy once again and snuffed out her playful musings like a strict school teacher silencing the giggles of her students. She huffed softly in disappointment.

"We should probably get back before we're missed," she told him in a dainty whisper.

Paul responded with an indistinct murmur. He'd only half heard her, and what he had heard hadn't registered as a demand for immediate action. The entire situation felt like a vivid dream.

The serene smile upon his face never changed as he watched the sumptuous curves of her body reshape themselves and gently jiggle as she slid over and lifted herself from the mattress. There was poetry in every single motion she made, from the dynamic reactions of her pert breasts, to the graceful pivots of her hips, and the strides of her long, flawless legs. Marcy was a perfect woman and he would remember her perfection forever.

Marcy wasted no time in getting dressed. As she turned her back to him and bent over, Paul got his first proper look at her ass. It was just as gorgeous as every other aspect of her anatomy: petite, toned and deliciously curved. The sight of it brought on a renewed rush of fulfillment. Knowing that he had cum deep inside those wonderful hips was the most satisfying thought he would ever have.

Even after her seductive crack disappeared behind the veil of her swiftly-applied panties, Paul continued to admire her lovely figure.

"C'mon, Paul! Move your ass!" she gently chided him in her underwear, tossing his briefs directly on to his cock.

Paul knew Marcy well enough to know that her next expression of impatience would be much less cordial. As tempted as he was to remain on the bed, savoring his post-coital exhaustion, he decided it would be better if the encounter wasn't ultimately spoiled by an angry outburst. With a grunt of disappointment, he sat up and reluctantly put on his briefs.

They continued getting dressed in silence, even taking special care to step around the floor as gently as possible, so as to not alert any of the other partygoers to their presence in the bedroom. When Marcy was fully dressed, she examined herself carefully in front of the mirror atop the dresser, obsessively preening away any and every flaw that may have even hinted that she had just had sex.

By the time Paul finished tying his shoes, Marcy was already ready to leave. She stood at the door and cautiously opened it ever so slightly - just wide enough to give her line of sight to the end of the hallway. Then she opened it just wide enough to stick her head out and check back in the opposite direction.

Reading the tension in Marcy's body as he stood behind her, Paul was suddenly struck by sobering question: "Whatwould happen if they were discovered?" Was he prepared to be recognized as one of Marcy's one-time lovers? Was he prepared for that to become part of his identity? How would it affect his relationships with his friends? With Jeff? With Karen? With Marcy?

He was oddly numb to the disturbing implications of those questions; still coasting on the lingering euphoria of his orgasm. Nonetheless, for the first time since entering this bedroom with Marcy, Paul was becoming keenly aware that making love to her tonight was going to have enduring and significant consequences. Things would be different from now on. Things would be more complicated.

"Okay, the coast is clear!" Marcy whispered, before turning to make eye contact with him. "I'll go first. You should wait a minute or so, then come back down. It's better if we go back separately."

She hesitated a moment, running her eye briskly over his upper body in one last-minute appraisal of her newest lover. When she was done, the sparkle in her wide, hazel eyes told Paul that she was pleased with what she saw. In fact, he could see that she was very tempted to drag him back to that bed and enjoy him all over again. But unlike their whirlwind flight up to the bedroom, Marcy's common sense was now decisively stronger than her libido.

She tilted forward a fraction of an inch, unconsciously pursing her lips ever so slightly as she did so. It seemed like she was wrestling with an urge to farewell him with a final kiss, but ultimately decided against it. Perhaps she figured it was smarter to end their hasty tryst with a clean break, rather than dragging things out. Or perhaps she didn't want there to be any confusion about whether romance had played a role in what had just happened.

Without another word, Marcy turned and slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

The lonely silence she had left Paul in quickly became eerie and disorienting. Suddenly, he was all alone with his thoughts.

Paul had had so much to think about now; he didn't know where to begin. He had just fucked Marcy! How on earth had that happened? What did it mean? Was he going to begin pursuing her now and forget about Karen? Was this going to be the first of several no-strings-attached encounters for them, or would it be the only time? Was he going to give away the long-term romance game for a life of wild, casual sex?

Paul was lost. He didn't know what to think, even about who he was now. The only thing he knew for certain was that his life had changed, in a major way.

He lost all track of time after Marcy left the bedroom. He may have lingered there for ten seconds, or ten minutes. By the time he returned to the party downstairs, he was in a daze. Several of his friends noticed how distant he had become. Paul mumbled quick assurances to them without even really paying attention to what he was saying.

Marcy was down there, working the crowd, with fresh color in her cheeks and a perky swagger in her steps. Paul let her be. Neither one of them wanted to tip off any of their friends that they had been intimate. But even without the risk of social complications, Paul probably wouldn't have approached her. He needed time to work through his immense confusion over what they had just done, and his feeling towards her.

As the party wound down and people started getting ready to leave, Marcy bid all her friends farewell with an innocent kiss on the cheek. Paul was no exception.

"Lovely to see you again, as always," she said politely, offering the others no clue as to what they had gotten up to earlier. Yet hidden within Marcy's eyes, Paul could see a feisty glimmer; a covert "thank you" for the moment they had shared together.

Paul wanted to be coy, but words failed him. He could only respond with a dumbfounded look upon his face.

He didn't get to sleep until well after 3 a.m. that night. His mind was racing, trapped in an endless cycle of disconnected erotic flashbacks of Marcy's naked body, and an overwhelming sense of bewilderment. He had hundreds of important questions, and not a single answer.

The following days were eerily benign. Oddly enough, in those first few days he barely thought about sleeping with Marcy. In fact, he didn't really think about anything at all. He simply went about his daily routine on autopilot, feeling as if he wasn't really himself.

But as time went on, Paul found himself increasingly haunted by his moment of passion with Marcy. Often without any provocation or warning, he would suddenly be consumed by some random, fragmented memory of what had happened. Sometimes it was the site of her petite, peach-colored nipples heaving gracefully before him. Sometimes it was the feeling of her ass cheek melting into the grasp of his right hand. Sometimes it was the flawless skin of her hourglass waist.

One day he had been in a convenience store. Another customer took a packet of batteries off a hook and incidentally bumped a packet on the adjacent hook in the process, causing it to swing from side to side, for no longer than a couple seconds. Paul was instantly entranced by a recollection of Marcy's long hair, swinging pendulously to and fro as she rode him.

He stood there, staring senselessly at the battery rack until the short, greying cashier woman came up and prompted him with a concerned, "You need help finding something, hon?"

After three weeks, it felt like he was starting to lose his mind. The memories were so intoxicating, he began to wonder if they were actually real, or if his mind was embellishing them. Were her tits really that large? Was her ass really that supple? Had she really been that energetic?

There were even moments when he began to wonder whether or not he had made the whole thing up; perhaps gotten a particularly vivid wet dream confused with reality.

Encounters with Marcy quickly became overwhelming. His heart raced like crazy whenever she was in sight. During such times, his friends always had to repeat themselves to get any sort of response out of him - sometimes two or three times - and even then, all he was able to offer them were the simplest appropriate responses.

Strangely enough, he never found himself lost in one of his vivid flashbacks when he was actually in Marcy's presence. However, the instant she wandered out of sight, Paul would be struck with a barrage of erotic visions and sounds; as if a porn video were being fast-forwarded in his brain. Before he could begin to savor one particular image, he was already thinking about another.

As bad as the persistent distractions were, the frequent, random erections were even worse. Paul couldn't begin to count the number of times he'd been forced to remain seated somewhere, or nonchalantly stand against a wall waiting for things to calm down in his pants.

It took several weeks, but eventually, Paul admitted to himself that he was wrestling with more than just shock and confusion in the wake of his tryst with Marcy. He was wrestling with desire. Marcy had given him the most powerful moment of pleasure he had ever experienced; and he wanted to fuck her again.

Tragically, it seemed like his maddening desire would never be satisfied. Marcy's spat with Jeff had been short-lived and she had gone back to him shortly after she had slept with Paul.

Nonetheless, Paul began to dwell on the fact that Marcy and Jeff's relationship was turbulent, to put it kindly; and Marcy was a very hot-headed, impulsive woman. If she and Jeff had another bad day, and Paul just happened to be in the right place at the right time... well, who knows what might happen?

That's when he started trying to suck up the nerve to approach and talk to her. If he could build up his friendship stock with her, he figured it would make her much more inclined to think of him as a'therapeutic companion', whenever she and Jeff weren't getting along.

By that stage, Paul hadn't really spoken to Marcy at all since they'd slept together. The idea of that first conversation had always seemed so daunting to him. What was he supposed to say to this friend who was now suddenly a former sex partner? Even his newfound desire to get closer to her couldn't give him the courage to make that leap. Every time he decided to make a move, he would chicken out before he got close to her.

On one occasion, he actually sucked up the nerve to get within a few feet of her. He caught a whiff of her perfume. It was the exact same scent she had been wearing the night it had happened. It paralyzed him.

More often than not, Paul hated himself for the feelings he was having. Chasing after a friend's girlfriend? Trying to weasel his way into Marcy's good graces? Hoping for her and Jeff to have a fight? All just so that he could get some cheap, meaningless sex? He felt like a slime. But every time he challenged himself to abandon his shallow ambitions and leave Marcy be, he would be confronted with a vivid memory of full breasts heaving in front of his face, or a thick brown bush combing through his own. His need to relive that magnificent evening would reassert itself as strong as ever. In those moments, Paul began to realize that there were few lines of decency he would not be willing to cross for a chance at screwing Marcy again.

By Thanksgiving, Paul no longer felt like himself at all. He often wondered what the hell Marcy had done to him to cause such a radical personality change. Though his desire to sleep with her again never, ever cooled, there were times he cursed her for turning his world upside down.

But fall still had one final card to deal.

Paul noticed that Jeff was extremely bitter one morning, and his mood didn't improve over the following days. It was abundantly clear that there was trouble between him and Marcy.

For a brief moment, Paul felt that his chance may be at hand. The climate was ripe for him and Marcy to get together for another carefree indiscretion.

But then a few days later, he was sharing a meal at the cafeteria with Karen. In the middle of their mostly one-sided conversation, Karen leaned over and with a devilish grin of guilty delight, whispered that she knew a secret:

Marcy was pregnant.