Chapter 6: Hard Truths and Soft Flesh

"It was a mistake," Marcy stated. "I should've known better."

She took a deep swig of her beer.

"Yeah," Paul agreed in a half-hearted tone. "That's what we're supposed to say, isn't it? So if we know it was a mistake, how come we're here right now, in bed together, naked?" Marcy glanced at him with unreadable eyes. "I mean we've fucked twice tonight; we're probably gonna fuck again, right?"

"Oh, fuck yeah!" Marcy confirmed with deadpan honesty.

"It seems like we're full of crap," Paul continued.

Marcy consumed the last half-inch of her cigarette, letting the last of the soothing smoke linger inside for a second before rolling it out through her lips while she squished the butt into the ashtray. Paul took the opportunity to admire her ass while it was briefly visible to him.

"Yeah, but it's different now," she argued. "The damage's already been done."

"Yeah, " Paul replied with a bitter chuckle. "I guess things can't get any more fucked up than they are, can they?" he asked in a pensive tone.

"Nope," Marcy softly replied.

"Do you think about it much?" she asked after a brief silence.

"Yeah," Paul admitted with a sigh. "At first, I tried not to, but after a while I just couldn't stop myself from thinking about it. I keep trying to make some sense of it, but..." he trailed off. "You?" he turned the question back on Marcy, without even the slightest hint of accusation or judgement in his voice.

"Same," she nodded. "I thought I could just forget about it and keep going, like it never happened. But it comes back to haunt you. It's like a fucking horror movie monster – there's no escaping it." In truth, Marcy had been able to do a reasonable job of putting Paul out of her mind since their rescue. She'd had ample experience in blocking out regrettable one night stands. But that all fell apart the moment she began to suspect that his seed had taken root inside her. Coupled with the news of Karen's death at the same time, Marcy found herself unable to suppress the thoughts of guilt and shame any longer.

She rolled on to her side and looked Paul straight in the eye as she continued, "Sometimes I can't even look at myself in the mirror, and then when I do, I just look so miserable or pissed off and it really hurts. It feels like the woman on the other side wants to slap me for fucking up so bad; for what I've done to her."

Paul reached out and placed his hand on Marcy's side in a comforting gesture.

"You know, I really wish I could just go back and not do it. But I can't. It's just messed everything up," Marcy remarked. Her anxieties were pouring out of her with such momentum that she found herself on the verge of revealing her pregnancy to Paul. But the level-headed part of her mind stepped in and censored her. The comfortable, judgement-free atmosphere in the room existed solely because the dirty laundry they were airing was no secret to either of them. If Marcy dropped a bombshell Paul wasn't prepared for, it would surely spoil the entire night.

"I don't know what the fuck to do," she continued, veiling the true nature of her predicament with vague language. "I don't have a fucking clue how to deal with any of this. I sure as hell can't talk to anyone about it. God, the way they'd look at me if they knew what I'd ... the crap they'd say about me behind my back. The only thing I can do is try to work it out myself. It's such a headfuck," she told him, a sense of melancholy slipping in to her voice as her detachment from the uncertain future ahead of her wore thin.

Paul caressed her body gently up and down in an instinctive comforting gesture.

"It'll get better..." he told her in a voice that betrayed his lack of confidence in those words. " ... eventually. It has to, right?"

"Thanks," Marcy replied in a soft, emotionally exhausted tone, that was nonetheless sincere. They stared at each other in silence for a while, a weak smile on Marcy's face expressing her gratitude for Paul's consolation.

"Do you think that this, tonight, is gonna be just as big a mess to deal with?" Paul asked her.

Marcy couldn't help but smirk at his ignorance. It's not like she could get any more knocked up.

"Well, like I said, I think the damage's already been done," she answered.

Paul seemed to take a measure of comfort from her words. Knowing that the emotional baggage he'd been carrying wouldn't be compounded by his choices tonight was a relief.

The heel of his hand brushed against the side of her breast as he absently caressed her.

Meeting his gaze, Marcy sighed softly as the silence between them grew. Like the entire evening, nothing about the silence was awkward. If anything, it was extremely soothing, offering her the opportunity to process everything that had been discussed at her own pace. There was something about the intimate contact that Paul gave her that added a measure of dependability to his words. Perhaps things would work out for the best.

"You really like those, don't you?" she asked in a voice that was garnished with the slightest hint of pride. She gestured towards her tits with her eyes to eliminate any confusion about what she meant.

Paul raised his eyebrows. The question surprised him a little. He might've grazed Marcy's boob a couple of times as he caressed her, but it wasn't by design.

Lowering his gaze on to the flawless mounds, he shifted his entire hand on to the breast it had been skirting and tested its suppleness with a gentle squeeze.

"They are ... pretty fucking impressive," Paul replied with a smirk, in a tone of voice that somehow made it sound like he was understating his opinion.

Marcy smiled warmly, clearly pleased by his answer.

"Well, here," she said as she simultaneously pushed herself closer to the back of the bed, propping herself up on her pillow and reached over to grab Paul by the back of the head. Gently, she pulled him closer until his face was only inches away from her boobs. "Go nuts!" she told him in a sweet voice.

Paul met her gaze for an instant, expressing at first disbelief then immense gratitude. Then his gaze shifted on to the awesome pillows of flesh themselves. His eyes widened, like a wild animal that had just spied its prey. He watched her puffy pink nipple as it danced fluidly before him in response to the kneading he was still giving the breast. Then he leaned forward, took the nipple in to his mouth and eagerly suckled upon her.

He suckled her intently for a good long time, lapping her nipple slowly with his tongue and tracing loops across the velvety skin of her areola. When he was done for the time being, he planted many slow, adoring kisses upon various other points of her breast, before turning his head to suckle upon its twin. He continued to massage her breast in rhythmic, circuitous motions. Without his face in the way his hand was free to play with the pliant mound however he pleased.

He took a brief intermission from suckling and kissing her tits to press his face in to them, luxuriating in the way her warm feminine bounty yielded so graciously before him. Then he began the entire cycle all over, alternating between suckling upon her left breast, then her right.

Marcy felt something skim against her lower thigh. She peered down and was surprised to see his maleness protruding from his loins as stiff as a board. Clearly the experience was more exciting for him than she'd realized.

She gently ran her fingers through Paul's hair as he delighted himself with her boobs. She couldn't help but smile. Men's obsession with breasts always amused her. She liked her girls; she was proud of their size and their perfect shape. They were a lovely aspect of her figure. But the male fascination with them, not just her own but every buxom woman's chest, was absurd. All the same, she enjoyed the attention they earned her, at least most of the time. From the way Paul was floating between them at the moment, she was certain that they played no small part in luring some pleasant company to her bed on this dark day. So who was she to snark?

Marcy was actually surprised by how pleasurable the experience was for her. Paul knew what he was doing. A lot of guys who had been given an audience with her tits had virtually attacked them like berserker warriors: grabbing at them like they were trying to squeeze the fat through her ribs. Paul's approach could best be described as adoration. Every gesture he made expressed a reverence for her boobs. He plated countless tender kisses upon their outer surfaces and treated her areolae like holy sites, patiently and fastidiously anointing them in his saliva with his tongue. His kneading grasp was firm, but also tempered. He took care not to abuse her precious breasts while he experienced all the unique tactile pleasures they offered.

The more attention he lavished upon them, the louder they hummed with carnal excitement.

"You like that?" Marcy asked Paul, already knowing the answer.

"Oh yeah!" Paul growled emphatically, tearing his lips away from her nipple for only the split second it took him to answer.

"Good," Marcy responded. She continued to stroke his hair gently.

"I'm glad you decided to come tonight," She told him a few seconds later. There was a sense of sincerity in her voice that was out of character for Marcy.

Paul took a break from kissing Marcy's ample right breast and sighed thoughtfully. She felt the hot breath from his nostrils as it billowed through her cleavage like raging winds. He buried half his face in the soft bosom he'd just been adoring with his lips, while he slowly rubbed the other in a wide circular motion.

"Yeah, I guess ... I guess I am, too," Paul replied in an indecisive, yet relaxed voice. "Tonight was ... well, it was gonna be pretty bad. But this is great," he elaborated. He punctuated the sentiment by plunging his mouth over her left tit with a huge gulp and suckling on her more hungrily than ever.