Need a Little Company Ch. 13

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Paul admires the majestic baby belly he made.
6.1k words
4.44
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Part 13 of the 13 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 02/25/2014
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Disclaimer: I don't own any of the movies or characters from the "Cabin Fever" franchise. All "Cabin Fever" movies and their characters belong to their respective owners. I don't make any money from the writing of this story.

Comments/Kudos are appreciated.

***

Even hours after the fact, Paul was astonished that a woman carrying around so much ballast had so much energy.

In truth, Paul had probably done most of the actual work. But Marcy was undeniably a very engaged lover. Her appetite in the bedroom proved to be even more voracious than her appetite in the kitchen.

He'd lost count of the number of times they'd actually fucked, and the number of positions he'd taken her from; all the while being cheer on by her primal snarls of, "Give it to me! Give it to me, Paul!"

Yet despite the exhausting marathon of sex that had completely milked him dry, Paul still couldn't get to sleep. He felt like he might've passed out for a while after the final orgasm. But right now he was wide awake.

It had been a crazy day and his mind just had too much to process right now for him to properly relax.

Marcy, on the other hand, was dead to the world. She had given everything she had to their fleeting night of passion and now her batteries were completely drained. She looked as if nothing short of a meteor hitting the house would wake her up.

Paul gazed long and patiently at the naked, voluptuous splendor of this nymph who had haunted his memories these past eight months.

They had worked up so much heat having sex that they'd gone to sleep without bedcovers, leaving every inch of Marcy exposed for his viewing pleasure. The house lights they'd neglected to turn off during their race to the bedroom shone just brightly enough through the open doorway for him to be able to make out her features.

She was truly a sight to behold, one that only ever seemed to get hotter. Paul was far too spent to get hard over the sight of her naked body, but he was still fully capable of appreciating what a desirable woman Marcy was. For now, simply enjoying her perfection with his eyes was all the pleasure Paul could ask for. It was a curious situation of receiving sexual satisfaction without any physical satisfaction.

He took his time admiring her enlarged breasts. It was a shame that they lost so much of their shape when she laid on her back like this. But their incredible size and luscious suppleness remained obvious no matter what position she was in.

God, he loved those tits. He loved them like crazy. He loved them in their pert, regular form. He loved them large, blossoming spectacularly in pregnancy. He loved them in every state he'd ever seen them. They consumed him to the point of obsession. He adored and dwelled on those feminine marvels unlike anything else he'd ever known.

He'd seen larger breasts (in porn), but size isn't everything and at certain points it's even a handicap. But Marcy's tits were utterly perfect. Perfect size, perfect shape, perfect softness, perfect perkiness, perfectly suited to Marcy's body and perfect little petite pink nipples. They had changed significantly in the past seven months, but that didn't dampen Paul's admiration of them one iota. To him, these were the same perfect boobs that had given him so much pleasure in the cabin and the motel room. Gazing upon them, fondling them still gave him the exact same heady bliss they had given him before.

He leaned over and pressed his lips around the dark nipple of her left breast, adoring it with something between the tenderest of kisses and a mild suckle. He let his face sink in to its flesh. It was intoxicating to realize just how yielding she was.

A few seconds passed before Paul noticed the bittersweet tingle of early breastmilk on his tongue. This was another new feature; one he hadn't experienced up until now. It caught him by surprise, but kind of in an exciting way and ultimately it became yet another pleasurable sensation these tits had given him.

Marcy didn't stir at all as Paul enjoyed her assets; she was out cold.

As he slowly drew away from her soft bosom, her remembered all the fun he'd had with her boobs in the motel room. Especially that unforgettable tittyfuck Marcy gave him. Feeling that tender flesh rolling over his erogenous cockhead was sheer heaven and blowing his load onto them had been the most satisfying orgasm of his life.

He lamented that he was too spent right now to enjoy such pleasures again. Nothing was stopping him from propping himself up and touching her breast with his cock; he just couldn't be bothered.

With a sigh of exhaustion, his heavy head dropped like a rock back in to his pillow. He stared up at the dark ceiling and reflected on how he came to be too spent to play with those breasts he adored so much.

His hail-Mary shot at bedding Marcy one final time had obviously paid off, much better than even his wildest dreams. During the trip, he had braced himself many times for a meeting with Marcy that would be cordial, but fruitless. Realistically, the chances of his visit leading to a casual fuck were practically nil. Hope hadn't driven him to Oregon, desperation had.

But of course, Paul hadn't anticipated the massive curveball that was awaiting him.

Marcy's pregnancy was initially a total mood-killer, but it had also made Marcy as desperate for a little sexual release as Paul himself. It turned out to be a game changer that worked very much in his favor.

Marcy's new shape was the only foil to his plan. His deeply-rooted fantasy of screwing the exact same heavenly body he'd enjoyed in the cabin could never have come to pass. Nonetheless, the well-rounded figure he'd found instead satisfied all his cravings completely.

Paul gazed over at the shadowy silhouette of Marcy's swollen belly, which towered above the mattress like a geometrically perfect hill. He reached out and gently laid his hand upon its side and slowly caressed its surface, feeling her abdomen's new solidness and curvature. Once again, he was struck by how much the changes to Marcy's body conveyed a profound sense of womanhood.

As he let the fullness of her womb fill his grasp, he reflected on the moment the new life within was made.

He remembered it with such clarity: being utterly captivated by those two bountiful breasts hanging freely mere inches above his face, while simultaneously being driven crazy by the hot, tight pussy polishing the sensitive head of his cock. He'd lost himself in a daze of arousal, been numbed and paralyzed by every facet of Marcy's femininity, as surely as if it were venom. The few muscles that still worked were operating entirely on reflex, not his own control.

Suddenly, he felt all his strength disappear. But a mere second later, it returned, in liquid form; a furious torrent of male fluid flooding in to the belly of the gorgeous brunette on top of him. He felt every amazing surge as it rocketed up the length of his shaft. Even at the time, it had been incredibly profound; feeling his essence, his masculine virility leaving his body to settle in the flesh of a young woman.

But until today, he'd had no idea precisely how profound that moment had truly been.

Feeling the expanse of Marcy's full womb under his hand, Paul finally understood why those farmers he'd seen at county fairs in his youth showed off their enormous pumpkins and melons with such pride.

There was something truly satisfying about their shape; the fullness, the largeness, the heaviness. But moreover, it was satisfying to know that such an impressive product had come about due to their own handiwork. There was something of themselves in these seductively round masses; they were tangible testaments to these people's skills as farmers.

Likewise, the enormous, perfect bulge in Marcy's belly was *his* handiwork. It was an irrefutable testament to his virility, his manliness. This was the milk of his loins risen to its true potential, and it was *so* large.

He recalled just how 'experienced' a woman Marcy was. He had no idea how many men had had their way with her. The word "dozens" popped in to his head and it immediately felt like a conservative estimate. Yet among that multitude of different men's seeds that had spilled within Marcy's sex, it had been his own that had taken root. He knew that there were mitigating factors at play; many of her lovers would've worn condoms and perhaps Marcy had even been on birth control earlier in her life. But his sense of pride was primal, not logical. The idea that it had been *his* sperm that had won the race; *his* sperm that had accomplished what all those sperm from all those other men who had lain with her could not, filled him with the deepest sense of satisfaction.

Her beautifully big belly was lavish monument marking the site of his sexual conquest, a loud announcement to the world that "Paul fucked this superb woman!" *His* seed alone had been able to raise such an ostentatious tribute. Not one of her other multitude of lovers had been so spectacularly immortalized.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp kick in to the palm of his hand. It swiftly knocked him out of his abstract self-congratulatory musings and back in to the poignant reality of fatherhood. His adoring hand instantly recoiled.

He had a child. It was right beside him, growing unseen within that bulge. Once again, he was shaken by his near miss; the trials of caring for a baby which Marcy had thankfully chosen to spare them both from. Yet at the same time, the thought that he would never know his firstborn son or daughter likewise troubled him.

It was strange. A few seconds ago he felt sublimely content caressing that swollen belly. Yet right now, he couldn't stand to be near that ticking time-bomb of complications. As gently as he could, he rolled over and sat up. In the shadows before him he could just make out the crumpled mass of his briefs on the floor, but he quickly decided not to bother putting them on.

With a stressful huff he stood and lumbered quietly off to the kitchen.

He opened the fridge having not yet decided whether he wanted something to eat or drink. In truth, all he wanted was something to distract him; to take his mind off the mess of this stupid accidental pregnancy.

The first thing that caught his eye was a milk carton. He grabbed it.

After all the other bodily fluids they'd shared in the past couple hours, backwash seemed like a moot point, so Paul skipped the glass and just took several big swigs directly from the lip of the carton.

He felt the sharp edge of the kitchen counter pressing in to his buttocks as he leaned back and tried to relax. It felt more than a little naughty, sauntering around Marcy's kitchen buck-naked; resting his bare butt against her counter. But that was what made it feel so good.

That was his fucked-up history with Marcy in a nutshell: wrong, but undeniably satisfying. That sense of liberation that comes with saying, "to hell with the rules!"

With the carton still in hand, he began to wander aimlessly across the room, simply enjoying the cool night air upon his skin, especially on his flaccid cock and balls, which rarely knew such freedom.

By chance, he came upon a small stack of opened envelopes near the phone and his curiosity got the better of him. He didn't actually take the letters out, he just skimmed through the logos and postmarks on the envelopes. Mostly no surprises, just what he surmised to be utility bills, credit card statements and one of the European postcards Marcy had mentioned earlier.

But then he came upon an envelope marked from the "Shorestone Foundation."

Paul had never heard of this company before and couldn't resist taking the letter out of the envelope to learn more. But his curiosity only grew when he discovered that the only thing inside the enveloped was a check for $2,000! It was drafted from this "Shorestone Foundation," as well.

He absently rested the milk carton on the counter as he pondered who these people were and why on Earth they were sending Marcy money.

He figured this foundation was probably mediating the adoption process and that the money was probably to reimburse Marcy for her pregnancy expenses. While he didn't know a lot about adoption, he'd picked it up from somewhere that expectant mothers who intended to give their babies away could sometimes get financial assistance during their pregnancies.

He thought he heard a noise. It was so mild, he began to think his ears were just playing tricks. But then he heard the distinct sound of a light switch being flicked further down the hallway and he immediately went in to a full panic.

"Shit! I can't let her catch me looking through her mail!" he thought.

His anxious hands tried desperately to get the check back in its envelope, but the fucking thing just would not go back in! The more desperate his efforts became, the more the fucking thing seemed to bow out of alignment with that narrow slit.

To his great relief, eventually he managed to get a sizable portion of the check inside, and the rest just flowed smoothly from there. Then, all he had to do was return the envelope to its proper position in the stack and in turn, replace the stack in its proper position on the counter. In his haste, he knocked the milk carton and it began to topple over. Only his quick reflexes prevented it from spilling milk all over the counter.

Holding the carton securely in his right hand, Paul finally returned the orderly stack of envelopes to where he'd found it. After wiping the condensation marks left by the milk carton with a single brisk swipe, Paul nervously surveyed the entire section of the counter and tried to assure himself that everything was as it had been before he'd started snooping.

Just to drive the impression of innocence home, he took three steps to the right, turned his back to the counter and tried to assume a relaxed pose as he waited for his host to check up on him.

Seconds passed until eventually it felt like an entire minute had gone by. The longer he waited, the more ridiculous he felt for panicking earlier.

Eventually, he heard the toilet flush. Then a moment later, the hiss and splutter of a faucet running. After a couple more seconds of silence, he heard heavy foot falls and saw a soft shadow gliding past the archway in to the hall.

Marcy poked her head through the archway and stared at him with those sweet, doey eyes that belied the troublesome succubus within. They were weary, yes, but even in these wee hours of the morning they were no less potent.

"You coming back to bed?" She asked. There was the slightest inflection of insecurity in her voice, as if she'd considered the idea of him running off in to the night without so much as a bye or leave and felt hurt by it.

"Uh, yeah, for sure. I'll be right there," Paul awkwardly assured her, his heart still racing from almost getting caught spying on her. "I was just thirsty, y'know?"

He took another deep swig.

"Okay," she replied, once again, with only the subtlest inflection of uncertainty in her voice.

"Just leave me enough for breakfast, will you?" Marcy instructed, her tone swiftly turning from genial to firm.

Paul, still with a mouthful of milk, raised his hands in a pledge of honor and nodded in agreement.

Marcy lumbered back down the hall and, after taking one final gulp of milk and returning the carton to the fridge, Paul followed.

She was already in bed by the time he got back, laying on her side, completely still. It had only been a few seconds, but Paul could've believed she was already fast asleep. It wouldn't have surprised him, considering the marathon of passionate sex she'd given him earlier.

He watched her carefully as he rounded the bed. It was too dark to tell whether or not her eyes were closed, but there was still no movement. Just in case she was asleep, he sat back down on the mattress as gingerly as possible so as not to wake her.

He laid his heavy head back down on the pillow and stared up, once again, upon the shadowy ceiling. He somehow knew that he was still too preoccupied to drift off to sleep as quickly as Marcy.

But just as his busy mind began to wander once more, he caught some movement in his peripheral vision. Marcy's silhouette was shifting.

"If you wanted milk, you should've just asked," he heard in a clear whisper.

Before he had a chance to contemplate the odd chiding, he felt a soft hand land on the side of his head. It pulled on him gently but firmly and Paul did not resist. A moment later, he found his face plunging in to the paradise of Marcy's hot, yielding cleavage. Needing no further encouragement, Paul began playing with her boobs immediately, lightly stroking the soft skin with his bared teeth and sampling whole mouthfuls of luscious femininity all at once. In the darkness he often had trouble finding those lovely nipples, but that didn't bother him too much. There wasn't a single inch of those perfect tits that failed to please him.

He felt tender fingers gently stroking the side of his cock and there was no further doubt about where all this was going. It seemed his work for the night wasn't done after all.

Paul didn't mind one bit.

-----

It was well and truly morning by the time Paul woke up. He'd been fast asleep since that final spooning screw with Marcy. But it was a restless sleep and he still felt tired as hell. He must've woken up, then drifted back to sleep about four times before he found the strength to wake up properly.

The first thing that struck him once he got his bearings was that he was all alone. Marcy was nowhere to be seen. That in itself felt somewhat awkward, but then he realized that, considering what had transpired in the past 24 hours, this morning was going to be awkward no matter how it began.

He wondered if Marcy was still in the house? Had she left for work already? If so, he would probably just walk back to his car and be on his way. Stopping by her office for a proper goodbye didn't seem appropriate somehow and he didn't find the idea very appealing anyway. On the other hand, unceremoniously vanishing out of her life, especially considering she was carrying his lovechild, seemed 'rude'. Even though it would be keeping in the spirit of their no-strings-attached pattern and was exactly what he believed Marcy would want.

Once his ears were properly awake, he noticed music coming from the front of the house. That meant Marcy was probably still there, he figured. He wondered what time it was and looked around for some clue until he found a stylish little analogue alarm clock sitting on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. It was 7.23.

If Marcy was still home, she probably wouldn't be for much longer. Paul briefly considered staying in bed, feigning still being asleep until she left and thus avoiding all the morning-after weirdness. But he soon decided that things would just feel much "tidier" if they exchanged pleasantries before he left.

He dreaded the task, though. How do you say goodbye forever to a woman you got pregnant? "Good-bye and good luck to you," seemed so callous, considering that a few weeks from now she'd be going through the agonizing and potentially dangerous process of labor, all because of his carelessness.

But anything sappier would be insincere on his part and wouldn't be well received by Marcy, either. In truth, he was eager and glad to be putting this pregnancy 500 miles behind him and he knew that Marcy loathed the fact that he'd found out about it, too.

By the time he'd gotten dressed, he still had no game plan. He would just have to wing it and hope things went smoothly.

He found Marcy sitting at the kitchen table. A radio was on the counter nearby, playing girl-band pop. She was making short work of a bowl of cereal. Beside it sat a large plate sporting 6 slices of toast, stacked to one side as if there had been even more food on the plate when the meal began.

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