Message-ID: <13466eli$9807300148@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/13466.txt>
From: AnneArbor@hotmail.com
Subject: {ASS} RP "Fingerprints" by Anne Arbor (MF)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <6pl6o2$fn6$1@nnrp1.dejanews.com>

[ Obligatory caution:  adult material lies ahead.  If you cannot buy a ticket
  to an NC-17 movie, then you shouldn’t be reading this. ]

[ Originally posted in March 1998, and now slightly revised.  The first
  posting had mixed reviews, but this story remains as one of my favorites, so
  I'm reposting it.  'Dee' is near and dear to my heart. ]

Copyright © 1998 by Anne Arbor    (AnneArbor@hotmail.com)


Fingerprints
    By Anne Arbor

    Dee sprawled heavily on top of him, her back sweaty and slow to cool.  Her
face was tucked under his jaw, where she could hear his moist panting in her
right ear, feel his chest rising and falling.  She could feel the rapid thump-
thump-thump of his heart, though it was still not as fast as hers.  His
erection was gradually softening in the twitchy clutches of her vagina.  The
only muscle she moved was down there, trying to hold onto the moment.

  But her carpet-scrubbed knees were complaining too loudly to ignore. Dee
sighed and rolled off onto her back.  She looked over at Paul. His shrinking
cock flopped to the side in that almost pathetic post-coital dying animal
look, erotically shiny with her juices and his semen.  It bobbed, feebly.  A
trace of white still oozed from its tip.  A death gasp.  Dee closed her eyes
again.

    "That was good," he said to the ceiling.  His hand reached over to fiddle
his fingers in her flattened pubic hair.  They drifted lower until they grazed
her upthrust clitoris, still peeking out of the folds, but she squeezed her
legs together and pushed his hand away.

    "No," she grumbled, "Too sensitive."  He grunted and lay still again.  She
could hear her own heartbeat thumping in her ears.  Another apartment door
slammed somewhere down the hallway.  Dee's fingers found herself still puffed
wide and pouty.  His semen, thick and sticky, was beginning to leak out.

    It had been a few days, so there was more than usual.  She liked that.  It
was the gift that kept on giving, for hours after he left her, a sloppy
reminder of their all too brief connection.  And the more he ejaculated inside
of her meant the less likely it had been that he'd had sex with his wife since
the last time Dee had seen him.

    Paul cleared his throat.  "I can't be here on Friday."  He paused.  Dee
remained silent.  She always wanted him on Fridays.  The weekends were
insufferably long without Fridays.  "It's my birthday.  Jodie is -- we're
having a party.  She wants me home early."

    "Oh."  There was nothing else to say.

    "I've got to go," Paul said in a quiet voice.  Dee watched him rise
unsteadily to his feet and head toward the bathroom.  She knew that "go"
probably meant "leave."  He'd been in her apartment for almost two hours.  He
was no doubt expected at home.

  It had been a year now.  A year since they first had sex that spring
afternoon on the floor in her apartment.  It had been a day very much like
this one.  In fact, Dee mused, today might even be close to a first
anniversary. Sometime in early May, wasn't it? She couldn't remember
exactly.  She had never been very sentimental about those kinds of things.

  Yes, it probably was early May.  She remembered a warm California sun, a
typically cloudless day.  They had played hooky from work, sneaking away in
the middle of the afternoon to swim in the large pool at her apartment
complex. They both probably knew what was really going to happen.  Dee had
certainly known.

    It wasn't as though she had seduced him.  No, he had been ready and
willing.  She'd met Paul when she started her first job after a Master's at
Berkeley.  He was flirty in an attractive, non-threatening way.  Light brown
hair, thin and starting to recede.  Startlingly blue eyes.  A couple of inches
shy of six feet.  His being married didn't bother her.  At least not back then
it hadn't.

  No, they had both been ready and willing.  They'd retreated into the
coolness of her apartment after the swim, and there she had accepted his
cliched invitation of a back massage on a damp towel on the living room
floor. Before long she was on her back, naked and legs unashamedly splayed
wide apart, and Paul was licking the last remnants of chlorinated water from
her breasts and the rapidly forming musky nectar from her vulva.

  Dee was proud of her breasts, 26-year-old firm and almost softball-sized,
with medium-small tan nipples that hardened easily.  She was neither skinny
nor plump, neither obsessed with controlling her weight nor oblivious to it
those times when it crept upwards.  She was a tomboy.  Her dirty blonde hair
was cropped just above her shoulders, her legs strong from running, arms and
shoulders from swimming.  She was comfortable in her skin.  And she loved how
men reacted to it.

  And Paul had reacted like most men.  He had an experienced mouth which had
lingered only briefly on her neck and breasts before finding its way straight
down, following the faint downy path between her bellybutton and her curly
brown thatch of pubic hair.  There he had stayed, swabbing her labia apart
with a flattened tongue, alternatively prodding fingers and tongue into her
twitchy vagina and not quite often enough saying hello to her clitoris.

  They seemed to be a matched set from the beginning, Dee had thought. Paul
loved to give her head.  She loved to receive it.  Neither of them seemed to
feel the need for much talk.  They communicated instead through gestures and
motions, sighs and moans.  He'd learned quickly that first afternoon.  She
had intruded her fingers to interrupt his mouth, strumming her clit in a firm
side- to-side flurry, then had held her lips apart and angled her hips and
had encouraged his mouth to mimic her instruction.  And mimic he did, until
she was inflamed and flowing and climbing her way to a climax.

    But he had been too eager that first day and still unable to read all her
signals, and before she'd reached the mountaintop he was moving to the next
step, up on his knees between her thighs, his Speedo stripped and flung atop
her own a few feet away.  His erection curved high and hard, his testicles
hanging asymmetrically.

  All too quickly he'd covered her body with his.  The moment was aroused and
rushed and awkward.  The cool skin of his thighs pressed against her own
warmer flesh.  Dee had strained her legs apart, bending her knees, her hands
just below her kneecaps to hold herself open for him.  He had smeared his
shaft in her creamy slickness, and she had tried to adjust her body to
accommodate to his angle.  His knees had nudged up and back on the carpet,
searching to find the right position with this new body and its unwaif-like
hips.

  And then, suddenly, he was inside her.  At first an electric inch, then a
brief retreat followed by a deeper thrust.  Dee always held her breath at
initial penetration, held her body still and receptive, relishing that
invasion of hard flesh.  She remembered how Paul had stopped, then leaned
forward and just kissed her.  Long and lingering.  It had been the longest
kiss of that first afternoon, and it had surprised her how he was able to
pause what had at the time seemed so frantic and to just focus on her mouth. 
She had tasted herself on him, inhaled her scent on his mustache.

  Then, without breaking the kiss, he had driven the rest of the way up
inside her, until his pubic bone pressed the weight of his hips through hers
to pin her against the hard floor.  She couldn't breathe.  Dee had broken the
kiss to pant, to find a place for her hands on his back, his behind.  His
thick shaft had deliciously stretched a vagina that hadn't felt a cock in
more than six months.

  But they didn't click right away, that first time.  She'd felt out of sync,
out of control.  Falling behind.  Paul was breathing hard, his cock already
doing that thrust-twitch-stop thrust-twitch-stop that signaled how
distressingly close he was to an orgasm.  Dee had struggled to get back to
where she was when his mouth had so abruptly left her pussy, and that was
made all the more difficult by Paul's irregular rhythm.

    "Wait," she had gasped.  "Stop."  She had pushed at his chest with her
fingertips.  His cock, jerking involuntarily, reluctantly retreated.  Not yet,
not yet, she had thought.  "Let me be on top," she'd told him.

    Paul had smiled and acquiesced, withdrawing completely, then had flopped
down beside her on his back.  His penis was an arch of glistening flesh, with
an inch of angry red just below the head.  Throbbing.  Bobbing up and down.
Alive.

  She had straddled his hips.  She had reached down to find his shaft,
furrowed its mushroom head up and down between her labia to assure herself
that she was properly spread and wet, and, closing her eyes, had lowered
herself on his erection.  She had impaled herself on him with a directness
that had made him audibly groan.  She loved to hear a man groan.

  Dee’s reverie was broken by the sound of water running in the shower.  That
was a clear sign that Paul was leaving.  Her right forefinger traced the
sensitive edge of her inner labia, from bottom to top, first one side then
the other, then briefly checked the still gaping path to her vagina.

    Dee smiled to herself and remembered back to that first time, remembered
how it was so much like this very afternoon.  How she'd ridden him, how she'd
mashed herself against his pubic bone, how her body had swirled with the heady
sensations of a roughly diddled clit matched with a stuffed vagina.  How she
was happy.  How she was being fucked.

    How she was fucking him.

    And how she had found her rhythm with him.  Back and forth, a relentless
grinding pressure of her clit on him, an occasional small sideways movement to
stretch her vagina and remind herself that this rock-hard, warm male flesh was
inside her body, stirring her soul.  Her clitoris had scrubbed against his
pussy-juice soaked pubic hair.  She'd always loved that feeling, loved the
sensations, the bonding.

    Dee had been in her private universe, fucking this man's cock.  She'd
allowed him into her body, though perhaps not into her mind, at least not just
yet.  She'd used him, used his erection, scratched her intimate itches.  He
always lasted longer this way, she smiled to herself.  She could ride his body
and soar into the clouds.

  Dee remembered how she'd opened her eyes and looked down at him.  Paul had
been flushed.  His hair was tousled and sweat-stuck on his forehead.  His
hands had found her hips, holding her with an anxious firmness as if he was
afraid she was going to escape.  She had captured those eyes and caressed her
own breasts, kneading them roughly and pinching her nipples, presenting
herself to him, teasing him.  His cock had jumped inside of her.

  Even though pinned down by her weight, Paul had struggled to rock his hips,
to stroke himself in her and find some measure of friction, but Dee wasn't
having any of that then.  She had only pressed down even harder.  Paul's eyes
had looked almost in pain.  Dee had rewarded him with the tightest clench she
could muster with her vagina.  It would have to be enough.

  Paul's lips had pursed.  Again and again she had squeezed and squirmed
herself on him, clenching and working her hips, until finally his eyes had
closed and she knew he was going to come.  His fingers clawed into her hips
and his body struggled to power upward to bury himself as deep as he could
manage. She'd met him with her own downward thrust, with her full weight
behind it, rewarding the both of them with one final fraction of an inch.

  And there they'd hung, suspended.  Dee had felt his cock stiffen into steel
and then, finally, those magical spasms began. She had clenched herself
around the pulsing root of his shaft, knowing each spasm was delivering a
splash of white fire.  She'd felt the tip quivering gloriously high up inside
her.  Felt the spreading warm rush of his fluid.

  And when he had finished, when the spasms had died down and his body was no
longer rigid, he had left her sloppy slick and fucked full, and it was her
turn.  Dee had closed her eyes to concentrate and to begin anew the grinding
pressure.  Paul, to his credit, had held his hips raised high. Now it was
all business.  It was all her.

  She had arched her back and twisted her hips to prod his shaft against that
old familiar spot, her Old Faithful.  And when she'd found it, when she'd
felt stuffed and goaded by that male stiffness, it had all come crashing over
her, splitting her head apart while her insides convulsed.  Dee had heard
herself grunting happily at every pleasure spasm, every clutching circular
grasp of his impaled penis, continuing to rock her hips and twist her nipples
and suspend herself there on the crest, hopefully forever.

  But it was never forever, and when she had returned to Earth, still making
those little circles on him, Dee had opened her eyes and had given Paul a
large smile.  "Hi," she'd said, with just a hint of self-consciousness.  For
the first time that afternoon she'd felt just the slightest bit shy and
vulnerable.  Not because of where his cock was, not because he had seen and
touched and tasted her body.  Because he had seen her climax.

  And one year later they were still in that apartment, still tearing off
each other's clothes.  Two, sometimes three times a week he'd come to her,
usually in the late afternoon, almost always on her living room floor. A
year, she thought to herself.  She wondered if Paul thought about
anniversaries. Or about anniversaries with her.

  Where was all this going, Dee asked herself. Now he knew just how to bring
her off with his mouth, with those long buildup licks and, at just the right
moment, that furious tongue making figure eights on her clitoral shaft.  And
when she had enough of that and needed the primal feel of his erection buried
inside her, sometimes after one orgasm, sometimes after two, she would ride
him just as she did that first May afternoon, until he would cry out her name
and explode.  Sometimes before her, sometimes after.  Sometimes together.

  And, like today, like a hundred other times, he would empty himself into
her body in those long, sticky surges, leaving her with a part of him that
would ooze out for hours as a lingering memory, hours after the apartment
door closed behind him, after he went home to his wife.  It was all she woke
up with in the morning.

    Dee heard the shower turn off.  Slowly, with a curious fatigue, she made
her way to the bathroom.  His semen, their soup, had seeped back between her
buttocks, and by the time she was standing in the open doorway of the small
steamy bathroom, she could feel it creeping down the insides of both thighs.

    Paul had dried himself with her favorite blue towel.  It was still hanging
loosely over his shoulders.  He stood next to the shower, looking down, his
hair wild and untamed.  He was inspecting his penis.

    "Looking for fingerprints?" she asked him in a quiet voice.  Paul stared
back at her with a puzzled look on his face.  She turned and walked away.



Email: AnneArbor@hotmail.com
Home:  http://members.tripod.com/~AnneArbor/

-----== Posted via Deja News, The Leader in Internet Discussion ==-----
http://www.dejanews.com/rg_mkgrp.xp   Create Your Own Free Member Forum


-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>