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From: Peter Principle <peterprin@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Marking Territory (MF) {Peter Principle}
Date: Wed, 17 Sep 2003 21:10:02 -0400
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Copyright 2003 (c) by Peter Principle (PeterPrin@yahoo.com)








Marking Territory    (by Rosemary Hips)
     
We heard them before we saw them.  Bill and I had arrived at the Garden
Kai condo in Wailea in the early afternoon, antsy from the hours in the
airplane and sticky from the ninety minutes of driving in the Maui heat
and humidity.  It was a familiar route, this being our third trip in
three years to the same condo.  Our first visit had been less than a
month after we'd moved in together.  This vacation was becoming our
anniversary of sorts, except this time our relationship was seriously
waning and we both sensed it was probably our last trip together.

Twenty minutes after we checked in at the main office, we were parked
at our unit, had mostly unpacked, and were heading out the door to the
beach.  We soaked up a good three hours of sun and salt water before
the daily rain squall showed up and gave us an excuse to clean up for
dinner.  By tradition we ate that first night a few miles up the road
at a small restaurant in Kihei, getting reacquainted with fresh
mahi-mahi and ahi, and avoiding any substantive communication.  The
traveling and the time change had taken a toll, and by 9 o'clock we
were back at the condo and ready for an early bedtime.

In all our passes in and out of the condo that day and evening, it was
apparent that the adjoining ground-level unit was dark and unoccupied. 
The two units on the second floor appeared to be in use, but baring a
flock of noisy toddlers or parentless teenagers, it was the adjacent
condo unit that would most affect us because our two units shared a
common patio garden just outside our livingrooms.

Before bed we treated ourselves to quick showers to freshen ourselves
up -- to "get the stink off," as my father used to say -- and we
slipped into bed before 9:30.  Though we may have been passionless, we
were still patterned.  We made love in the flickering light of the
muted television, starting hesitantly and finishing perfunctorily fast
and together.  By 9:45 we were sweaty again and the mute was off.  We
still hadn't said much to each other.

Not long after 10 o'clock we heard activity next door, complete with
slamming doors and excited chatter.  It was a couple, a man and a
woman, and their flutter of traffic in and out their front door
suggested they were bringing suitcases in from their car in the parking
lot.  No sooner had we turned off our television than theirs came on. 
We could hear them talking to each other over the newscaster, their
words indistinct, as they went about their nighttime bathroom rituals. 
And then they went to bed.  Their television went off.  And their
moaning began.

They had playful sex.  We just listened to them through the wall from
those few short feet away.  Listened to the giggles and the soft moans.
 The delicious silences.  The groans.  The woman was vocal in both
sounds and words, urging him on with low-pitched guttural grunts and
occasional high-pitched squeals.  As their fever pitch rose, so did her
profanity, with gasping shrieks of "Oh fuck!  Fuck!  FUCK!"  From him
we only heard muffled words and heavy grunts.

She came first, her voice rising to an almost inaudible pitch as the
headboard thumps accelerated.  My head was spinning, imagining her
slippery cunt clutching at his cock as he drove into her, hitting his
own peak a few seconds later, complete with a sudden silence of their
bed and his loud, joyful exhaling grunts.  It left me with a pounding
heart and a wet pussy, and a reminder of how exciting good sex could
be.

The next morning Bill left to make his early tee time.  I lazed in bed,
then later enjoyed the peace and quiet of the patio with my coffee and
my vacation ritual of fingernail and toenail polish.  I did my toes
first.  I was engrossed in slathering on the slow-drying fire engine
red polish to my fingernails, when behind me I heard the adjoining
unit's glass patio door slide open.  I didn't have to turn around and
look.  I knew who it was.

"Hey, Jackie," he said, with a casual nonchalance that didn't improve
my irritation at him.  "How was your flight?  Where's Bill?"

"Hey yourself.  He's golfing.  Where's the Screamer?"  My eyes remained
steadfastly focused on my fingernails.  I needed another layer, I
thought to myself.
 
"She's over at the Intercontinental," he replied, "getting a massage."

"Don't tell me you strained her back last night."

"Oh Jackie, don't be jealous."  He had moved to stand directly behind
my chair.  His hands found my shoulders.  "You and I have been planning
this for six months.  Don't spoil things now."

I sighed and plopped the bottle of polish on the small round table next
to me.  I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and let him try to appease
me with his strong hands.  "You didn't have to be so noisy, you know."

"I'm sorry, baby," he said with a soothing voice.  "She gets that way."

"Uh huh."  I wasn't going to make it easy on him.  

His hands left my shoulders and meandered lightly across my breasts,
braless and soft underneath my cotton shirt.  My nipples hardened
almost instantly.  They always did.  He pinched them, and I stifled an
urge to moan.  Leaning forward, his lips nuzzled the side of my neck as
his hands slipped lower, inside the loose elastic waistband and homing
in on my furry mound, gently scratching.

"Jimmy," I murmured, "sometimes you can be such an asshole."  I spread
my legs in surrender.  His fingers split me, teased my slick folds,
smearing my slipperiness until I was yawning wide and ready. My head
leaned back against his chest and slowly rocked back and forth.

"Stand up."  It was more a direction than an order.  I stood.  He led
me by the elbow through the door to my living room, turned me around at
the couch, and gently pushed me down.  I lay back, looking at his dark
green eyes.  I was starting to breathe harder.

His fingers latched onto my shorts and pulled them off without the
slightest hesitation.  I sprawled my legs apart, my left up on the back
of the couch, the right bent at the knee to put my right foot flat on
the floor.  I saw his eyes stare at my crotch.  I felt open, exposed. 
Juicy.  Seductive.

I resisted the urge to look anywhere but his eyes.  I always loved the
way his eyes desired me, consumed me.  My clit twitched endlessly.  He
licked his lips and shucked his shorts, and I caught a glimpse of his
upward curving flesh.  I kept twitching.  I wanted to be fucked.

He was inside me in an instant, exquisitely rigid, his steel-hard cock
jammed so deep inside me that I felt it driving at my heart.  He wasn't
in the mood for lazy, slippery stokes.  He wanted to take me, possess
me with the strength of his body and the lewd stirring stretchings of
his penis.  "Oh God, oh God," was all I could manage, writhing in his
grasp.  His little primal grunts drove me forward.

I was his, and he knew it.  I clutched my knees beside my breasts,
silently begging for more, and harder, and deeper.  My body opened for
him, surrendered to him.  He drove into me, stretching my cunt left and
right, up and down, "Oh God, Oh God" was all I could pant moistly into
his ear.

It never took long with him.  He knew my body so well.  He knew how to
linger, how to race ahead.  Knew what I wanted, sometimes even before I
knew it myself.  That morning he knew I wanted just to get fucked.  He
stabbed roughly into me, scrubbing against my inflamed clit and nudging
the high end of my vagina in just the right way, and the explosions
rippled through my pelvis.  I exhaled my throaty grunts as I pulsed
around his impaled hardness.

I looked up at him with leadened eyes.  He had a grin on his face as he
swirled in me, not letting my orgasm die a quick death.  I panted for
him, trying to speak but failing to utter a single coherent word.  I
was lost in his body.  His was lost in mine.

Eventually I found enough control of my vocal chords to repeat my
refrain, "Oh God," and Jimmy began his determined thrusts that I knew
would lead to only one conclusion.  I rocked under him, helping him
along.  It was an unnecessary act.  He was more than ready to be
dragged over the cliff with me.

Jimmy gave out a guttural moan and, with a few final quick plunges to
finish his sprint, he jammed his cock into my snug welcome and froze. 
I released my knees and clung to him with all my strength, holding him
tight against me and deep inside, rejoicing in that magical second when
you're both suspended in time and share but one joined flesh.

Then his cock jumped and his body shuddered.  He moaned, again and
again with each jet, and I only clenched him tighter and deeper,
unwilling and unable to let him go.  Three, four, five delicious spurts
kept filling me.  My mouth found the meaty muscle of his upper
shoulder, and my bared teeth pressed against his salty skin and paused.
 For a brief moment I considered biting down, leaving my toothmarks for
his other woman to ponder.

Instead, with a silent chuckle, as his cock continued to splash into
me, I smeared my still-wet red fingernail polish across his
shoulderblades, leaving my mark where he wouldn't likely notice.  I
knew he wouldn't complain if I embraced him long enough for it to dry. 
He was mine.


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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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