by Jane Price
“I'll see you around!” he called after me, though I sure as hell knew that this was as unlikely a possibility as any.
To my credit, I somehow, with an intense degree of effort, managed to maintain myself until I at least made it out onto the street, waiting until the sole of my shoe hit asphalt to go flying out of there like a bat straight out of hell.
And God, did it feel wonderful to be on this footing again, pounding away at the street, springing myself down alleyways and past parked cars, picking up right where I'd left off before that unscheduled and unceremonious distraction, which I now prayed to God I might forget through the drunken bliss of a runner's high.
I tried, with some degree of success, to keep my mind clear of the details of all of this for some time, simply taking in the afternoon, and focusing on my running, and the sweat pouring down along my body. The wet clothes began to feel at least tolerable again as my entire anatomy heated up beneath them, acting as something of a cooling mechanism, if one that was a bit stiff and wrinkled at this point in the day.
But, as block after block rolled by my field of vision, and I grew closer and closer to my home, the guilt began to swell up all over again inside me, burdening me down, slowing me to a crawl, until at last I had to surrender to it, had to allow it to bowl me over, and I collapsed against a mailbox on a street corner, panting and wheezing for breath.
It was only then that I let myself start crying. The tears streamed down my face, saturated with guilt and self-loathing and, even worse, desire, and this third factor only served to amplify the first two even worse than ever.
This wasn't who I was. This wasn't what I wanted out of my life. And God, this isn't how I had envisioned my day going at all...
I was, in point of fact, a happily married woman. My husband, Daniel, was a man I considered my soul mate, and was perfect for me in every way a girl could ever hope to imagine. He was in tune with my every need, and he provided for me, and he was about the kindest, sweetest guy on God's green earth. And there was no shortage of affection or desire for him on my part, not in the least. He was everything to me, and I knew I was to him as well, and that was a huge part of what made all of this so much worse.
Maybe, if we had hated one another, or if we were distant, or if things had been going in any direction other than perfect between the two of us, I could have at least rationalized this all to myself. But, as things stood, I had no excuse whatsoever for my actions, and thoughts of my husband in that moment were like a knife stabbing repeatedly into my already damaged heart.
The two of us were in our late twenties, and had managed to scrape together quite the reasonable life together in the time that we'd been with one another. We had a nice house, fairly decent-sized for a young couple, with two cars and just about everything in terms of material possessions that one could hope to ask for. Daniel worked at a high paying office job, which sometimes kept him a little longer than I might have hoped, but that was easily made up for by the fact that I was all his whenever the weekend rolled around.
I, meanwhile, had become quite the little businesswoman myself, selling makeup and facial products from home, and rolling in quite the extra bit of income for those everyday expenses that popped up here in there. I felt an immense satisfaction about the coexistence that we'd been sustaining up to this point, and lately we'd even been discussing the possibility of having a child together.
It was a huge decision, of course, as we were both well aware, so the talks were sort of in the early stages at the present point in time- he wanted a little girl and me a boy, and we'd already started scribbling down some names just in the event that it should ever take place.
Now, though... Oh God... I didn't even know how I could let myself think that the life I'd had before could continue to be a possibility, and the prospect of having to hide what had happened from my husband seemed almost as devastating for me as telling him the truth.
I had been jogging for a few weeks up to this point. It was, I don't know... I guess a way of getting a little bit of extra release during the day? I was getting a little bit stressed by some things with my own work, and Daniel being at the office as frequently as he was was leaving me a little bit down about a couple of things in spite of myself.
I'd been on the track team during high school, though I hadn't really been running for some time, and I realized that I sort of missed it. Getting a bit of extra cardio in, I reasoned, could be just what I needed to improve my personal satisfaction with my day-to-day life.
It had admittedly been a bit of a struggle at first. I was never completely out of shape, exactly, in terms of being overweight or anything like that. But I was very much out of practice, and for my first few jogs I'd gotten myself awfully damn winded. But, I kept pushing myself to go a bit further, a bit further, a bit further every day, and gradually, it had had an effect on my endurance.
I'd gotten up to the point that running became a real high for me again, making me feel alive and rejuvenated, and more motivated than ever to keep at it and persevere. I was loving this new me, this version of myself that just kept pushing her own boundaries- that is, until today, when I'd finally given in and pushed those boundaries just a little bit too far...
Once I'd worked my way up to my maximum running distance, I'd begun seeing another man running the opposite direction at about the same time every morning. The two of us would always kindly nod at one another whenever we passed, and for the longest time I'd managed to just forget about him after that brief, fleeting encounter every day.
But gradually, the more and more I went jogging past him, I began to realize that this man was exceptionally attractive, well-fit and toned, and that he seemed to look at me with something in his eyes that was a little bit more than friendly whenever our paths happened to cross...
Derek was his name, as I would learn later on down the road, and initially, at least, I felt just the least bit flattered by his attention to me. Our encounters began to turn into the highlights of my runs, a little blip of encouragement that could prod me to keep on going when I was feeling worn out and exhausted.
It was innocent enough, I reasoned. Just a little bit of harmless flirtation between two attractive, athletic strangers, each working out for what were probably individual and distinct reasons, and their paths not really crossing otherwise, save for that brief, thirty second or so first thing every morning.
Until today, that is...
Today, our paths had crossed far earlier in the day than I'd come to expect at this point, and I had to admit I was just the least bit taken aback by this fact. He'd reversed directions on me, and was now running alongside me- a bit presumptuously, I had to say, but at the same time, I had to own up to the fact that I was the least bit turned on by it, and my thoughts, as the run progressed, began to center primarily on him, over just about everything else.
In his presence, I have to admit, I kind of just forgot that I was married...
I felt young again, like a teenager even, even though I was hardly some old woman in my late twenties as I was. But this young stud, he couldn't have been much older than a college student, a freshman or a sophomore maybe, and the fact that he was displaying such an obvious interest me was getting me awfully damn aroused in spite of myself...
The two of us had come to an exhausted, panting halt after a while, catching our breaths for a moment, before stopping to introduce one another. Then we'd started talking, although God knows what about at this point- the events that followed after that kind of overshadowed all that preceded them.
I don't know what sort of alleyway the conversation took, or what possible course of events could have allowed me to perform such an egregious error in judgment, but the next thing I knew I was leaning into this young man, this hot, sweaty, sticky, glorious stud of a beast, and the two of us had our lips planted passionately up against one another.
God, was I tripping... I know I can't even begin to excuse my actions here, but I frankly believe that my worked
up state of exhaustion, my runner's high, if you will, played an instrumental part in drawing me disastrously into this man, filling me with an unshakable desire to consume and to be consumed, to taste, to suck, to be entered, and to be pushed to the edge...
Good Lord, he tasted so sweet, his lips popping and sucking up against my own right there in the middle of the road, my hot body being pulled up into him at the bare midriff, his fingers digging into me, and his cock getting hard, pressing up against me through the fabric of his jogging shorts. I allowed myself to get lost in this fantasy, to participate as adamantly as he seemed to be doing, and to collapse into this sin as though it was the most natural thing in the world for me.
At last, I had to pull myself away from him, panting harder than I did on the most vigorous of my jogs, casting my eyes away from him, and trying my damnedest to come to my senses. It was strange... Very strange, in fact... To be honest it was like, in that moment, I wasn't even completely sure what it was I should feel guilty about with all this.
Like, I sort of just forgot that I was married, and that that was the reason I should view this as being as wrong as it was. It was more like I felt some vague sense of guilt about it, something I couldn't really put into words, and which was therefore far easier than it should have been to simply brush aside and forget about.
“Are you alright?” asked Derek, snapping my dazed self back into the present somewhat, and I blinked stupidly up at him, seeing him as though for the first time, and the guilt rising inside me seeming to subside all at once.
“I, um... Yeah... I'm fine... It's just fast, is all...” I said, smiling at him, wiping my brow of sweat and straightening my body out for him, trying to make myself look as sexy as possible in his presence.
He grinned, looking at me, and I could tell from his expression that he was almost certainly undressing me with his eyes. “Well, in that case, I don't want to be too forward or anything, but... Well, I have a place, just a couple of blocks away from here... You wouldn't want to swing by, by any chance, would you?”
Although my cheeks were flushing scarlet at this point, and my trepidation about all of this felt hotter and more forbidding than ever, I nonetheless stammered like a fool, “O-okay,” and allowed myself to be led in his wake back to the house.
And almost from the moment I set foot into the door, the two of us were on one another, inseparable, and tangled up so fiercely that it was almost suffocating. We rolled around through the house, nearly choking one another on our respective love as our tongues pushed deep into one another's open mouths, our kisses getting hotter, wetter, and more intense with each slick, progressive peck.
Before I knew it, the two of us were in his bedroom, and things were amplifying to levels that made me dizzy to even consider. I mean, hell, even when I'd been single I'd never let myself be operated on with this amount of intensity, and I'd always been one for taking things slow and steady. But now, God help me, it was like I just couldn't get enough of this delicious bastard, and the feeling was, quite apparently, very, very mutual.
He draped me across the bed like an extra blanket, and I lay there, astonished, as he peeled his sweat-soaked shirt up off of himself, sliding the fabric up coursing along his slick, astonishing flesh, and tossing the article to the floor.
My eyes went wide as I gazed at the glory of his body, his intense pecks, his blaring, heaving six-pack abdominals, and the deeply cut trenches of his Adonis muscles, pointing like an arrow to his treasure below the belt, which, for its part, was so thick and so hard that I could practically see its outline clearly through the mesh of his jogging shorts.
He denuded me as well then, putting his hands all over me, and sliding me out of my already scanty little uniform into complete vulnerability in his presence. My sports bra came melting of almost effortlessly, and without missing a beat he was descending on me, putting his face to my tits and lapping at me, treasuring every inch of the abundance of my bosom.
I felt like crying as his tongue rolled in circles around each of my tender nipples, his teeth sinking into me, stretching me out, and his hand clutching tightly onto whichever of the two breasts wasn't presently being serviced orally. I loved the warmth of his mouth up against me, coating me with his saliva, and getting me so damn worked up that I could barely sit still on the bed.
And gradually, his free hand began to creep down further along my body, fingers crawling like an insect along my heaving abdomen, tickling me playfully on his trek down to my jogging shorts, until at last I was trembling from head to toe with bated anticipation.
Then, God help me, I could feel his fingers beginning to slip beneath the fabric of the tight shorts, penetrating their sweaty confines and giving me a considerable deal more to withstand as I collapsed beneath his efforts. He began to rub me, to slide his palm all around the clean shaven swath of my mons pubis.
Sensations burning in my loins and my legs sliding up and down along the sheets as I awaited the moment of his touching down. He came so, so close to the prize every time, always pulling away at just the right moment, knowing he was doing a damn fine job of tormenting me, and backing up just long enough to devastate me before returning yet again.
Finally, however, he did at last progress, pushing his fingers back up out of the fabric, and seizing a firm grip on the waistline. He began to roll my shorts and panties down from off of me, pulling them from my pelvis to my thighs, up to my knees, and then sliding them down and yanking them clean off of my ankles altogether.
I braced myself, now, completely naked and vulnerable in his present, and the pool of sweat soaking the sheets beneath my excited body expanding further and further with the passing of the moments.
He put his hands on my knees, pushing them wide apart, as he lowered himself down onto the bed. Then he stared into me, gazing into the floral folds of my body, as though considering them with reverence, and hoping to approach them with the absolute utmost of care and tenderness.
And then, like that, he touched me, slowly pushing his fingers into me, and causing me to gasp out in sheer, splendid pleasure, this being the point of no return. Slowly he pushed the skin around, with a soft, wet squelching of his digits through my body, caressing me with a degree of expertise that seemed almost to surpass his years, and even the service paid to my clitoris seeming exceptional.
I was falling, fast, I realized, and yet somehow never fast enough, and just when I thought my devastation could go no futher, here came his head, dipping down between my thighs, and preparing to excite me to an extent I couldn't even conceive of only hours before that morning.
He kissed my pussy, and I whimpered, and every nerve in my body seemed to light up with sensation. My buttocks clenched, and my spine arched up from the bed, and my fingers curled tightly up into the sheets, clinging onto his drenched bedspread for dear, sweet life. And he began to consume me, to push his warm tongue deep into my body, to lap and to lick, to taste and to touch, as though I was the most delectable thing in the world he'd ever had the pleasure of consuming.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I moaned, staring down my writhing body at him, his head bobbing in between my thighs, each touch of his lips and tongue up against me sweeter than the last, and the extent to which my torment might progress driving me up the wall with desire.
I closed my eyes, struggling harder than ever against his efforts, and without really meaning to I began to wrap my legs around his head, practically strangling him as I pulled him deeper and deeper into myself, and yet his efforts only growing more and more intense as the moments ticked along.
And then, at last, he hit my sweet spot just the least bit too hard, and I found myself spiraling out of control, my body rippling with an orgasm that came smashing into me like a freight train. I screamed, and pulled him into my body tighter than ever, and nearly burst my own eardrums by the time I at last came drifting downward. My body spent and ravished to an almost unholy degree, and my head spinning as he carefully extricated himself from between m
y quivering thighs.
And now it was his turn...
I watched, in a sticky, exhausted haze, as he climbed up onto his knees, and began to peel his way out of his jogging shorts, as well as the tight, agonizing little black man thong he had apparently been wearing underneath the thing.
My eyes went wide as I gazed at his thick cock, swaying toward me like the branch of a damn tree, the tip seeping lightly with pre-ejaculate and making my body tense up with anticipation, knowing that taking him in was going to be no easy task.
But of course, I only had a partial idea of just how difficult fitting him into me was going to be...
Now, he was lifting my body upward, positioning me onto my hands and knees, arching my spine and thrusting my splayed ass wide open out toward him. My first clue that he was getting ready to take a very alternate route to the one I'd been expecting was when I heard the cap to the lube click open, and a generous glob of the stuff being squirted out into his hand.
