Need a Little Company Ch. 12

Everything Marcy had told him indicated that the baby was on-track for a great, happy life with the adoptive parents. It would be irresponsible, he thought, for him to ruin that future simply because discovering that he had carelessly conceived a child had stirred up a whirlwind of powerful, conflicting emotions within him.

"Thanks, Paul," Marcy replied, with a grateful smile.

The remainder of their dinner was passed with just a polite conversation about the goings-on back in college to maintain the facade of two friends sharing a casual dinner together. Surprisingly, it was Marcy that had to wait for Paul to finish eating as she had devoured her banquet at a ravenous pace whereas Paul had been pickier with his smaller meal.

Once they were finished, Paul graciously insisted on cleaning up and Marcy accepted. It wasn't much work, anyway. All he had to do was re-bag all the boxes and carry the bags out to the trash can outside.

Afterwards, he headed directly to the bathroom to wash his hands, which were greasy from handling the food containers and probably dirty from the trash can.

When he was done, he meandered back in to the main area of the house. He found Marcy sitting on the couch in the living room, watching TV.

He was at a loss as to how to proceed. The only real reason he was still here was to fuck. But Marcy wasn't showing any sign of interest in that at the moment.

For a moment he considered airing his desires plainly by saying, "Well, I'm finished. You wanna fuck, now?" But he was reluctant to be so crass.

He wished he was more like Marcy. Marcy had a way about her: a sexual assertiveness that allowed her to express her appetite to her partners without any inhibition. At times it could be shocking, but it was always hot. Paul, by comparison, was far more restrained by common courtesy. He certainly had enough passion brewing inside to hold the interest of a worldly nympho like Marcy, but that carefree animal only seemed to come out once the clothes had come off.

Deciding to just 'go with the flow', he entered the living room and sat down on the couch without a word. Marcy was sitting more or less in the middle of the couch. Paul sat on the end, leaving about a foot of space between them. He looked over at Marcy and offered a friendly smile, but Marcy's gaze didn't shift from the TV. Paul felt his stomach sink as the agonizing awkward silence that had gripped the house before dinner instantly reasserted itself.

No sooner had he settled in when Marcy began to stir. With her extra weight, every movement she made rocked the entire couch. Paul found it incredibly distracting and wondered what the hell she was doing. Eventually, it became clear that she was clumsily shuffling down towards the far end of the couch; widening the gap between them. Paul's discomfort doubled in a heartbeat. Apparently, even a space of one foot between them was too intimate for Marcy's liking.

He couldn't have been any more astonished by what happened next.

Once she had moved a suitable distance, Marcy turned and laid down upon the couch, with her head hovering about an inch above Paul's lap. Without a word, she unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped his fly and swiftly but tenderly extracted his flaccid member from his faded green briefs. In less than five seconds, Paul went from believing Marcy wanted to keep him at a distance, to having his cock in her mouth.

He had been totally unprepared for this; he hadn't been even minutely aroused when she latched on to him. But her soft, warm lips and nimble tongue soon took care of that. In an instant his blood became flooded with adrenaline. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer. The rapid change in his biology literally made him dizzy.

Mere seconds under the expert brushings of her tongue turned the soft, tender appendage in to a resolute monument of manly spirit.

"Holy Shit!" Paul gasped between shuddering lips, as his gracious host's head began to bob industriously up and down upon his fully-erect cock.

Marcy's lips firmly squeezed the unyielding circumference of Paul's shaft as they transitioned it to and fro. Her suction was incredible - commanding, even. It pulled at Paul's loins in the most profound way, with an unspoken yet crystal clear assertion that he would not be released until it had drained his balls of all their spores. But by far the most intoxicating sensation was the massage her tongue gave to his erogenous head.

Paul leaned back, his head tilted back to face the ceiling. His right arm was draped upon the back of the couch while his left sat tense upon the nearby armrest. Both his hands were clenched upon the upholstery beneath them as if his life depended on it. The sound of his heavy breathing soon became a match for the volume of the TV.

"Oh god! Oh god!" he breathily moaned as the shivers of immanent climax turned his muscles to jelly. It was like being in freefall, completely out of control. He wanted to savor this experience, wanted to enjoy the journey much longer. But the wanton mass of chestnut brown hair bouncing on his lap gave him no quarter, keeping its pace without so much as single stall until hot semen began gushing in to her throat.

"Holy Fuck!" Paul cried loudly in surrender as waves of maddening ecstasy battered him in time with the paralyzing seizures in his loins.

A quick, damp snort betrayed Marcy's surprise at suddenly being blasted with the fruits of her labor. She didn't release his manhood yet, but the pace of her ministrations slowed significantly as she helped Paul ride out his orgasm with some mild stimulation. Her tongue gently caressed the top and bottom of his throbbing cockhead as it continued to spill its charge. Some time after she'd felt the final shudder of ejaculation, Marcy set her tongue to meticulously cleaning his cockhead. She made sure to lap up every last bit of its surface and took special care to clean his sensitive urethra several times.

Finally, while still maintaining a constant airtight seal, Marcy slowly lifted her head off Paul's dick, parting company with it via a pursed-lips kiss to its tip.

Paul was completely wrecked. But he was able to summon enough strength to lift his head a little and watch as Marcy propped herself back up and then leaned over to fetch several Kleenexes from a box on the nearby coffee table. She multi-layered them in to a single, thick tissue, then held it to her mouth and silently spat his cum in to it.

He wasn't offended that she didn't swallow. He had simply been curious as to whether or not she would. Nonetheless, he found something extremely sexy about her casual manner as she relieved herself of his load, like it was just a routine everyday task. That was probably one of the reasons why he found Marcy so goddamned irresistibly hot: that ability she had to make her potent sexuality seem so ingrained and effortless.

Marcy scrunched up the tissue and the dropped it out of view, over the far side of the couch. Paul hadn't noticed a wastebasket there before, but he figured that Marcy must've known she was going to suck him off and probably placed one there while he was taking out the trash.

Still remaining silent, save for a couple soft grunts of exertion, she shuffled back across the couch until she was sitting right by Paul's side. Her attention was fixed upon the television; in fact, it was as if she was completely oblivious to the fact that the guy beside her was exhausted and limp (in every conceivable sense), panting heavily, with his jeans wide open and his flaccid dick hanging out.

Any threat of awkwardness between them was well and truly dispelled now. As if the blowjob hadn't been a big enough hint, Marcy was clearly very comfortable sitting close to Paul. Paul, on the other hand, had released all the tension that he'd been carrying with him. Between the post-coital endorphins and the lingering weakness in his muscles, Paul was too relaxed to dwell on the drama of the unwanted lovechild gestating in the belly beside him, and the secrets and lies that had grown with it.

Once his heart and lungs had completely calmed down, he lifted his head and joined with Marcy in enjoying the TV show they were watching. After several minutes, Paul decided he ought to take care of his pants. He calmly stuffed his cock back in his underwear, before buttoning and zipping up his jeans over them. Marcy didn't react.

Paul was far too spent to even think about sex for about an hour. During one of the ad breaks he became curious as to how the remainder of the evening would progress. He was sure that he and Marcy were going to fuck again - more than once if he was lucky. But when would it happen? Were they simply going to sit here until Marcy tired of what was on TV?

Gradually, his interest in the matter became more than just academic as his itch for a little action returned. He kept peering over at his attractive hostess, stealing longer and longer glances at the sizable portion of her right breast visible through the deep neckline of her blouse. Though it was only a modest sample of her womanly assets, it was a provocative reminder of just how hot Marcy was and it made him want her. He didn't even particularly care what manner of intercourse they had, just so long as he got to experience her warm, lithe pleasures.

Enduring the television was starting to gnaw at his patience.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: why did he need to wait? If it was okay for Marcy to just pull out his cock and start sucking on it without rhyme or reason, then wouldn't it be equally acceptable for him to start playing with her goods, without an invitation?

He tested his theory gingerly: creeping his right hand nonchalantly over towards Marcy's left thigh. His middle finger made contact.

No response.

His hand kept going, slowly sliding his fingers over the velvety surface of her pregnancy pants until his entire hand was resting upon her thigh.

Still no reaction.

He squeezed her warm leg fondly, then massaged it back and forth a couple times and squeezed it a couple more times, too. Marcy's lips curled upwards in cheery smirk, but Paul thought that was probably due to the decent gag that had just played out on the sitcom she was watching. At the very least though, his efforts didn't seem to be making her uncomfortable. So far, so good.

He drew his hand back, following her inner thigh. The edge of his hand connected with her ripe belly, but his fingers continued on their way, soon veering around the obstacle and finally coming to a stop upon her crotch. He began to tease her sex through the thick fabric of her pregnancy pants. At first it was just a simple up- and-down caress, with only the softest pressure from his fingertips. But once he was satisfied that Marcy was ready for the attention, he was working her sex like a pro.

He never took his eyes off her as his fingers cast their sensual spell. A smug smirk washed over his face as it became apparent that Marcy's forced nonchalance was just a game. It was all just a question of how long she could hold out playing coy before he overpowered her resolve and brought out the chaotic, lusty vixen who had blown his mind so many times. Paul knew he had already won this battle of wills; it was merely a question of when Marcy would succumb. Paul was in no hurry.

His fingers pressed firmly in to her yielding labia in rhythmic waves like a battering ram weakening her strong composure one beat at a time. Marcy didn't realize that her breathing had grown heavier. But Paul was quick to notice the exaggerated movement of her lovely breasts. He was tempted to step up his game.

"No," he mentally corrected himself, "not yet." He wanted to watch Marcy collapse slowly.

Then the noises began; those soft, sharp, breathy whimpers that spoke of consuming arousal. As profound as they were subtle, to Paul those sounds seemed to be uniquely Marcy's - her fiery sexuality summed up in a single soundbite.

Hearing them, he suddenly felt himself being ambushed by the same primal urges he'd hoped to overpower her with.

The patch of Marcy's pants that Paul was fondling suddenly became quite damp. Now, Paul decided, was the right time to take the foreplay up a notch. He lifted his fingers and slipped them down inside the stretchy waistline of her pants. They once again settled upon her slick opening, where they immediately resumed manipulating and probing its soft flesh, this time without a buffer of clothing to dull the sensations.

Even as her hands became fidgety, Marcy still tried to convey the pretense that this was just a quiet night at home in front of the television. But soon enough, her eyes fell closed and her head tilted up towards the ceiling with a blissful smile as she surrendered with a hearty, "Mmmmmm..."

Paul smiled broadly at his triumph. He could feel his cock growing already. But as much as he yearned to slip it in to her hot, lusty hole, he was enjoying the spectacle before him too much to interrupt it so soon. Besides, he had an inkling that the hornier he got Marcy with his hands, the more rewarding their eventual intercourse would be.

By the time she lifted her hand to billow one of those huge, malleable bulges in her blouse, Paul's pulse was racing. What had begun as involuntary squirming was now a slow, but irregular rhythm of full-body heaving against the couch. Every whimper and coo that escaped her soft lips was charged with more spirit than the last.

Watching her was driving Paul crazy.

Then, with a sharp yelp, her entire body bucked and her thighs clenched on Paul's hand so tightly he couldn't masturbate her any more. Her doe-like eyes fluttered open as if she were suddenly awaking from a vivid dream. She faced Paul and released his hand at the same time.

"How about we take this in to the bedroom?" she panted.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Paul growled with enthusiasm.

He sprang up from the couch in an instant; a gesture that Marcy could hardly mimic in her condition. Paul helped her up with a single powerful yank of her forearms. No sooner were they both upright then they were locked in messy, mad, open-mouthed kiss. Paul grabbed Marcy's head, rubbing her own juices deep in to her hair, like an aromatic shampoo that shamelessly announced her wild libido to the world.

Clothing was stripped away and tossed as they staggered clumsily through the obstacles of the small house, bound together in a tangle of impatient arms furiously fumbling with buttons and clasps.