[MF] A Run in the Valley

I woke up in a hot sweat. I was a mess.

Still in Toronto. The dead of summer. I was hard. I’d been dreaming of the same thing I’d been dreaming of all summer: the woman I met on my run.

It was a few months ago. We were outside the city, in the kind of unshaded park only Toronto seems to produce.

I was running, alone. It was 7am. I had a few nights’ 5 o clock shadow on me, and sweat glistened everywhere else. The muscles on my neck, forearms, and calfs seemed eagerly exposed, and were made all the more impressive by the definition sun and shade provide by contrasting each other.

I’d ridden the subway up to the park, and the woman had ridden it, too. The subway was the perfect mix of breezy and balmy, and we were above ground for the final leg.

I watched the woman drink the scenery in: the passing fields, the houses. I noticed she seemed overdressed, and sure enough a few minutes later she was peeling off her long pants to reveal booty shorts, and her cardigan to reveal what she was really wearing: a kind of sports romper made of cotton. One that clung to her breasts and grew taut over her ass, just over where the crease of her butt cheeks began. It was criminal.

And there she was again. Maybe 50 metres in front of me on the park track, under the only shade available: the cement bathroom rest-stop building.

She was bent over, refilling her re-usable water bottle, putting her in the perfect position to cause me to think a lot of awful things.

I jogged up, hoping to meet eyes. We did.

I was struck. Her eyes were as magnetic as the rest of her. The way she found and doubled down on her gaze at me was other-wordly.

She noticed it before I did…

I was hard.

I hoped the thick-ish waistband of my shorts would hide it or capture it, the way a friend who holds his buddy back in a bar before a fight breaks out might, but no such friend arrived, and the shape and size of my cock eventually revealed itself. I was left to talk about it outright… or outright ignore it.

“I’ve never seen that kind of a Runner’s High before”. The words somersaulted out of my mouth like acid reflux. I felt dizzy.

*What the fuck kind of thing is that to say?*

She started laughing, astonished.

“You’re lucky I haven’t gotten laid in six months… and you’re cute. In a Chandler kind of way.”

Fuck. She was Italian. I could’ve guessed but the accent confirmed it.

That realization caused the rest of her to come into sharp focus for me. An olive complexion, long, blindingly reflective black hair, and a romantic, imploring quality to her voice.

We started jogging. My speech was ragged (I don’t exactly have a six pack), lurching and choked the way someone comes erupts and spits out of a wave, but hers was strong. She glided, like a boat over a different, gently rolling sea.

Finally we stopped. She’d grown tired. I’d grown tired long before.

We sat off to the side of the path, finally far enough into what had become the Don Valley that there was shade. True brush and foliage.

It felt how summer should feel: sticky, bright, warm; a sense of nostalgia. Grass tickling ankles, faraway sounds for once sounding not like the city but like accompanying timpani, and the air… the air.

“So… what happened six months ago?” I felt emboldened by our awful shared joke by the bathrooms, and by the fact that we’d chatted like eager blind dates on the subsequent run.

“My boyfriend and I had ‘We-Aren’t-Getting-Back-Together-But-I’ll-Miss-This-Part” Goodbye Sex. And it was…! It was good.”

I sat there watching her mouth move. Sweat was still on her face and it made her lips stand out. They shone, and grew a dark red – a colour I later found myself wishing was on more women.

I wanted to test the silence that had fallen. Sometimes it gives you the answer to a question you weren’t quite sure you could articulate. In this case, the question was, “Are you still thinking about my hard-on?” And it turns out the answer was a resounding: “Yes”.

We were eye-fucking each other before I even realized it. My breathing grew just a little more coarse, and in turn, she opened her mouth slightly, betraying her sexual excitement. Once I saw the beginnings of a lip-bite, I decided I was done waiting.

I drew close, just for a moment, and then I kissed her. Our lips were slick and soon they were all over each other. We were nibbling, murmuring.

All I had to do was gently move my hand onto her thigh and squeeze, and she bit into my shoulder. Hard.

“Is this all right?” I asked.

She nodded and with the shallowest of breaths said, “Yes…” And then another part of her added, “Please…”

I paused, taking in exactly how fucking hot the situation was, and then said, “There’s a picnic table with a little more coverage just a few metres in around here. Do you want to go there?”

Before I finished my sentence she was up and I had my eyes on her ass cheeks, which bounced against the cotton sports romper. They’d tightened around her ass and the two creases became more pronounced. She’d already begun unzipping the front before I was on my feet.

Everything on the picnic table happened. Everything. Once the zipper was down to her navel, I made the incredible discovery she didn’t have a sports bra on. No wonder she wasn’t running to often. Her poor tits.

Her nipples stood in the exposed air like perfect brown droplets. I took one in my left hand, and dropped my mouth over the right. The mix of salty sweat, her beautiful brown nipples, and her ragged breath made me harder than I’ve ever been before. I felt pleasure in everything. My hands on her breasts, my cock straining against the fabric of my gym shorts, her hands running through my hair. Everything was pleasure and pleasure was everything.

I felt her arm move under my chest and felt a familiar rhythm from her forearm. She was fingering herself. But once the back of her hand felt my hard cock, she switched, and her hand snaked under the waistband of my shorts and around my cock. It pulsated in her hand, and I was determined to make her feel as hot as she made me.

When she began stroking me, slowly, up and down, I dropped my free hand down, under where her romper zipper ended, and down towards her pussy. It felt soft in my hand.

“I’m fucking throbbing”. She let out. The words shocked me and reinvigorated me. I began massing the outside of her with my fingers and let my thumb begin to gently rock back and forth over her clit.

“Oh my fucking god.” The words escaped her.

She began biting into my shoulder again, stifling any further moans, and worked at a faster pace on my cock.

It was all too much. I was going to fucking cum.

So I stopped. I pulled back.

I rasped, “Just hold on.” And got on my knees.

She took the hint, nodding, begging without saying anything, and shimmied out of her romper so it was down around her ankles.

I took her clit in my mouth immediately, gently sucking on it, using my tongue to apply a little pressure. Her feet shook. I was getting somewhere. I licked two of my fingers and pushed them gently against the edge of her vagina, and then in, going back to sucking on her clit, now a little harder.

She smacked the table and grabbed onto the back of my head, pulling my mouth in further over her clit and lips.

“I’m going to fucking cum – fuck! Fuck. Fuck. Hm. Hm. Hm-.”

She threw her head back and spasmed, almost losing balance on the picnic table. I held her and made sure to continue to apply pressure to her clit until she gingerly pulled my hand away.

“Oh… my god… You get yours in a minute. But I need a break. This is more exercise than the run.” We both smiled and let out an exhausted laugh.

She looked over at me feverishly, like a new energy coursed through her, and I knew she was admiring my best features. A lot of women like the veins in my forearms. My stomach’s a little wider because of beer, but hell if I don’t have great arms. Toned, a few tattoos, and nice big hands.

The fleeting glance was enough for her.

Soon she was on her knees, pulling my cock out of my shorts and licking up and down the shaft, smacking it lightly on the edge of her tongue and then timidly moving her mouth around the entire head.

I’m around 5.5 inches on a good day, but here I felt like something bigger. I felt like someone else.

She had her mouth around the head of my cock, licking me, making me warm, and then she slowly bobbed down, looking up into my eyes. I felt like I could cum. She felt it too. So she pulled back. She had stopped me right on the brink.

“I—”. She started

“No,” I stopped her. “I want to say it. I have to feel inside of you. I need to feel your pussy.”

“Yes please.” There it was again.

She took her romper off completely, leaving her only in running shoes, and laid it down below where she’d park herself on the picnic table. I stepped out of my shorts, took off my shirt, and lined the head of my cock up against her pink-brown pussy. And then I pushed in.

“Hmmmm!” The sound seemed to grow from something small into a manifestation of her sexual want. It became a purr, and I pushed myself in.

I knew I wasn’t going to last long but I wanted to make sure we’d both enjoy it, so I slowly pulled back out in order to tease her, and then used the head of my cock to my play with her clit. She was pulling at her tits and her eyes were shut tight.

“Fuuuuuck.” There was a rhythm to it, a similar rhythm to the way I pressed and pulled against her. “I want you back in-hmmmmm.”

I pushed back in, and decided to end it there. I thrusted as hard as my heart rate would allow and she began to moan, high and sharp – and then low, representing a deep urge. I was hitting her G-spot with every thrust and I was determined to last longer than her.

“I feel like you’re close.”

“I’m so fucking close,” she moaned back.

I continued thrusting, harder, teasing and pinching her tits, making her squirm, making her feel a new level of pleasure. Once she moved my hand to her neck, I knew I had full control. I slammed myself into her not ten times before pulling out and cumming all over. I couldn’t handle it.

It hit her belly button, the bottom of her tits, and all around her pussy.

“Oh my fucking god.”

I immediately knelt down and fingered her to her own orgasm, which came only seconds later. Her hips shook and rocked, at the mercy of my fingers inside of her making the “come hither” motion.

And I was in bed again. Night again. Painfully hard just thinking through the memory. I grabbed my phone, and patted my past self on the back for remembering to get her number.

“You up?” I wrote.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/fp1bnk/mf_a_run_in_the_valley