Chapter 2: In For A Penny, In For A Pound

 She didn't make any particular effort to arouse him. She knew the little fella would wake up in his own time. She simply ran her lips all around the spent member as slowly as could be, basically giving it a neverending French kiss. Periodically, she'd take the head into her mouth and made a point of probing his urethra with the tip of her tongue.

 

 Eventually, Marcy noticed that Paul's cock was growing. When it began to stiffen, she finished the leisurely oral massage and gave him a proper blowjob. At a far more serious tempo, she drew the length of his swelling organ in and out of her mouth, while never letting the head escape her lips.

 

 But once he was at full attention, Marcy promptly quit the blowjob and stood up. Paul glared at her with confusion.

 

 She grabbed his erect maleness firmly and pulled on it as hard as she could without hurting him. Paul had no choice but to get up and follow her hand.

 

 "Come on," she instructed in a matter-of-fact tone. "It isn't comfortable here. I want to go back to the bedroom."

 

 True enough, Marcy led Paul back to the scene of their first coital foray. Her grasp upon his rod didn't loosen at all, leaving him with no choice but to follow her. Although, their brief trip gave Paul a chance to watch Marcy's cute butt in motion, which was stimulating, to say the least.

 

 When they stood at the side of the disrupted bed, Marcy gently pushed Paul on to the mattress. He looked up at her longingly. By now there was nothing left of him beyond his primal craving for the embrace of her hot pussy. Marcy had broken his will - smothered all his worries about their peril, about his beloved Karen, with two D-cup pillows of the most supple feminine flesh. He was resigned to staying in the cabin with Marcy, awaiting his fate, whatever it would be, in a decadent cocktail of semen, vaginal fluid and sweat.

 

 She climbed on top of him and almost immediately plunged her slick womanhood on to his rigid meat. They began to writhe together and quickly developed a rhythm that maximized the sensation of Paul penetrating her. They wrapped their arms around each other and held tight, hungry for the many sensual pleasures of the other's body.

 

 Being their third fuck inside an hour, neither of Paul nor Marcy had the energy for a rerun of their last round in this bed. Yet their resolve to enjoy themselves burned hotter than ever before.

 

 Paul grabbed Marcy's ass and squeezed harder and harder until it started to hurt her. Yet even then it was far more of a turn on for her than a turn off. 

 

 Her head was slumped over his left shoulder; all her energy was concentrated in her frisky hips. Every time Paul thrust into her, Marcy moaned quietly into his ear, making him want her more and more.

 

 Their faces were so close together, yet they hesitated to kiss. Some part of them still remembered that their relationship was nothing more than polite; that sleeping together was wrong, even though it felt so good. But that lingering reluctance could never last in air so thick with the odors of their throbbing sexuality. Paul wavered first. He began mouthing her shoulder, delighting in the taste of her perfect skin. Then he moved up to the side of her neck, drawing a hearty, "Oh Yeah!" from Marcy with his hungry kisses. Eventually, their lips snapped upon one another, like a fish lunging upon that all-too-convenient bated hook that teases its senses until it can't take it anymore. Their tongues went wild, playing with each other, exploring each other's mouth.

 

 Paul rolled over on top of Marcy and she didn't have the strength to resist. The springs of the quaint old bed began to squeak loudly as he powerfully humped her pelvis into its mattress. He raised his head, his breath heavy and ominous as he lost himself in the sublime caresses of Marcy's womanhood.

 

 "Wait," Marcy suddenly protested. Paul didn't react.

 

 "Wait, Paul!" she insisted in a louder voice. She held his belly back just firmly enough to impede his thrusts and get his attention. "Are you about to cum?"

 

 Paul simply looked down at her with guilty look in his eye. He was still thrusting back and forth, still sampling her delights, but very gently as if he hoped she wouldn't notice him taking the liberty.

 

 "Jeez, Paul, don't be so selfish!" Marcy sternly chided him. "Give me a chance to get there, too!"

 

 As an afterthought, she pushed him off of her more forcefully and Paul grudgingly backed off, removing his ardent maleness from her hot opening.

 

 "Lay down," Marcy commanded in a contrastingly warm tone, patting the mattress right beside her invitingly. Paul did as he was told, taking the intermission to reach over and fondle one of her incredible boobs. Marcy didn't resist.

 

 She rolled over on to her side, turning her back to him and giving him another great view of her tight little ass. Once her tit slipped out of his grasp, his hand ventured south to caress one of those enticing buttocks and the sexy, long thigh beneath it. Marcy backed her hips up so that her ass was almost touching him.

 

 "It's better this way," she explained, knowing that the different angle would give the most erogenous parts of her pussy the best contact with Paul's cock. She reached between her legs and found the virile shaft that she knew was waiting for her. Her loins were buzzing with excitement, aching for that prize to fill them once more; to ravage them with its merciless pounding. Yet Marcy kept her cool, guiding it calmly to her slit, and then shifting her hips just enough to take his cockhead inside.

 

 "Okay, fuck me!" Marcy said in a voice that was both slutty and sweet all at once. "But don't rush!" she added in a far more serious tone.

 

 Paul hardly needed the former instruction, but the latter came as a sobering reminder. With his hand now firmly locked upon her hip to hold her steady, he began to thrust against her, gently, then with added vigor. He increased his pace at an almost imperceptible rate, watching for any cue of disapproval from Marcy. Eventually he plateaued at a pace that was immensely pleasurable, but also didn't feel like it would push him towards a quick orgasm. If he wanted to be more energetic, his fear of having Marcy pull away from him again kept those urges in check.

 

 Her moans of arousal were music to Paul's ears. Like a metal detector, the louder those chimes sounded, the closer he knew he was to striking the mother lode. "Mmm... Oh yeah..." she sighed. "Is it good for you?" She asked him mindlessly. Was it ever! 

 

 His other hand slipped beneath her and latched on to her right breast; that ample bundle of warm, supple flesh that filled his entire grasp with its splendor. He kneaded and massaged it; made love to it with his hand. He enjoyed it almost as much as Marcy's snatch. He pulled her entire torso closer to him, wanting every single part of her perfect body more and more with each passing second. He buried his face into her long brown hair and drank in its odor. That subtle lingering scent of shampoo, or maybe even perfume consumed yet another of his senses. In every way, he was fully immersed in feminine sexuality. It was heaven.

 

 While Paul's firm cock constantly probed her tender flesh, Marcy rubbed her clit with firm, circular strokes. Her nether regions were brewing with excitement. Her body felt so hot, it was like she had been in a sauna for the past hour. She was gonna get her money's worth out of this screw, no doubt about it.

 

 Suddenly, she felt Paul's fingers encroaching on to her mons. They assertively continued southward, pushing her own fingers out of the way. Without words, Paul told her that he wanted to take over her masturbation; he wanted to be the one to make her cum. It surprised Marcy, but also excited her more than a little. Grudgingly, her fingers surrendered her nub to him.

 

 Now completely at Paul's mercy, completely ensnared in his lusty embrace, Marcy moaned and writhed her way to ecstasy. Paul's stimulation of her clit was instantly firmer and more rapid than the caresses she'd left it with. It was an immensely pleasurable shock to her system.

 

 His thrusts had become quite vigorous. The sensations within resounded through her body like she was a church bell being rung over and over by his hard clapper.

 

 "Oooooooooooooooh..." Marcy moaned with rapidly growing volume as she careened into the home stretch. Within a few moments, she came, very loudly.

 

 "Ah! Ah! Ah!" she yelped, as Paul continued to pound her seizing cunt. Heeding her earlier warning, Paul had been restraining himself, not knowing how close Marcy had truly been to climax. He had enough resistance to be able to torture her with a continuing series of deep penetrations, perhaps even a dozen, while she was well into a powerful orgasm.

 

 But the squeeze of her tight corridor inevitably broke him. He finished masturbating her; using the hand on her crotch to hold her loins in place while he pressed himself into her butt and angled his hips to maximize his penetration. He continued to gyrate, if only mildly, as he spilled his wild oats into Marcy's lithe young belly.

 

 The trembling and writhing waned into virtual motionlessness. The primal cries and grunts faded into heavy panting; and eventually even that gave way to an eerie silence. Within minutes the room was deathly still. The two illicit lovers still locked in their carnal embrace, their exhausted sexes still joined. The only signs of life between them came from Paul's hands: one ever so tenderly cradling the voluptuous breast it had found earlier, the other slowly tracing the crease between her crotch and left thigh.

 

 Marcy's neat little crop of pubic hair was like the Turin shroud for a guy like him: a profound sight to gaze upon, but something he'd never dare dream of ever touching. Yet against all natural laws, here he was, with those holy strands coursing across his fingers over and over again. It was, in its own way, a religious experience - a way of holding on to the heaven she'd taken him to minutes earlier.

 

 He may never have had a crush on Marcy; never pined away for her as he watched her pressing against some other guy. But realistically, to look at Marcy was to want her. He might never have thought about it, but deep down, part of him had wanted to blow his load inside her amazing body since the first time they'd met.

 

 Laying there upon that disarrayed old bed, her most intimate areas locked in the clutches of her lover, exhausted and satisfied. Maybe Marcy drifted off to sleep, maybe she didn't. It wasn't clear how much time had passed, but the next thing she was aware of was a noise that sounded like a diesel engine. It was so distant that at first she thought it was just a dream and the fact that it disappeared only a couple of seconds later seemed to suggest that she had indeed imagined it.

 

 But then she heard another noise: it sounded like a vehicle door slamming. This time, she was definitely wide awake. Soon after, she heard the sound of a man's voice.

 

 Instantly, Marcy lifted her head off the pillow and listened intently.

 

 "Paul," she whispered. "Did you hear that?"

 

 She turned her head to look at him. She could tell from the way his head was raised that he had also heard the noises.

 

 Another car door slammed and there was more talking. Marcy could judge the distance now: it was no more than 50 yards away.

 

 "Oh my god!" she muttered as she suddenly sprang to life and scrambled frantically out of Paul's clingy embrace before he even had the chance to release her himself. She jumped out of the bed and tore out into the living room with Paul following close behind. The flashes of red light intermittently illuminating the living area made it clear that somebody had come.

 

 "Oh my god!" Marcy repeated with a sense of astonishment, as she gazed out the cabin's front window to see an ambulance parked just beyond the tool shed.

 

 "Shit!" Paul muttered, standing just behind her. "Bert did it! He got help!"

 

 Marcy's sense of relief was short lived, for all too quickly the realization of what she had done over the past couple hours sunk in. The cheating; the selfishness of abandoning her best friend, Karen, to a dark and lonely fate; the simultaneous betrayal, by seducing the guy Karen had feelings for; the trashiness of pouncing on some other guy mere minutes after her boyfriend turned his back on her, not to mention the trashiness of fucking a guy simply because he was the only guy available; the sheer depravity of forcing herself on Paul, who sincerely tried to resist her, to stay true to his principles, at least at first. Not to mention the real risk that she had passed the killer disease to Paul, or perhaps vice-versa, because she was too impetuous to go fetch a condom.

 

 It was like a bad joke, how everything seemed to turn on a dime. When there was no hope; when their love-bed was also to be their death-bed, nothing they did seemed wrong. But now... now that they were saved, now that there would be a tomorrow, a next week, a next year... now that she would have to live with the knowledge of how she'd behaved, the sleaziness of it all became all too apparent.

 

 She could feel the remnants of her transgressions all across her body. Her right breast and mons still tingled from the post-coital fondling Paul had been giving them mere seconds ago. Her back, especially her ass was warm from where he had been pressed up against her. She could even feel his heavy deposit of semen clinging to the walls of her sex. She felt it because she knew it was in there. Like Eve who ate of the forbidden fruit, Marcy had realized how naked she was and suddenly felt so deeply ashamed.

 

 "Oh, fuck!" she cursed, as she spied the two paramedics marching briskly towards the cabin. In a panic, she covered her exposed breasts and crotch with her hands, whirled around and charged back to the bedroom, almost pushing Paul over in the process. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! They can't see me like this!"

 

 No more eager than Marcy to be caught with his pants down, Paul briskly marched over to the kitchen table to fetch the jeans that she'd tenaciously removed from him earlier.

 

 "Paul, you fucking better be getting dressed!" Marcy barked at him as loud as she dared. Paul simply rolled his eyes and scowled in silence, resisting the temptation to curse back at her.

 

 "Here! Put this on!" she ordered, as she chucked his sweater out into the living room. It landed on the couch.

 

 Hastily buttoning and zipping his jeans as he went, Paul dashed back into the living room area and grabbed the sweater. Just as he began putting it on, a loud urgent knocking rapped on the rickety front door. His heart was racing as he pulled the top down over his head and body.

 

 Without waiting for any kind of 'ready' signal from Marcy, Paul stepped over to the door and opened it to greet their saviors: a tall male paramedic with a thick goatee and his middle-aged female colleague. Just then, Marcy briskly padded back into the room, dressed once more in the tight mauve sweater and jeans she'd been wearing earlier in the morning. Her arms were folded tightly against her bust to try to hide the fact that she hadn't had time to put her bra back on.

 

 "We got a report that a woman here was seriously ill?" The male paramedic declared in a no-nonsense tone. 

 

 "Uh, yeah... She's down here. C'mon!" Paul responded, stepping past the man and breaking into a jog as he led them to the shed where Karen laid, waiting for their medicines.

 

 Just like that, the affair was over. Passionate, forbidden, unbridled: it had begun in an instant, and been quashed just as swiftly. 'Normal' life had resumed, though it now offered a real hope of overcoming their peril, which they hadn't had beforehand. Yet even though they were able to behave as if nothing had happened, the knowledge of what they had shared alone in that cabin, with all its bitter shame and sweet ecstasy, was burned permanently into both of their minds.