Dawn Run: Mud, Sweat, and Wet Bench

The morning air hung thick and humid, clinging to my skin as we began our run. Andrew, my love, always found solace in the rhythmic pounding of our feet on the dirt road, a shared pursuit that forged a connection deeper than words. The sun, still low on the horizon, painted the world in hues of apricot and rose, drying the mud clinging to the roadside and causing tiny beads of sweat to prickle on my brow. It was a beautiful, languid start to the weekend, one that felt both fresh and full of promise.

We pushed through the open gate of the nature reserve, the scent of pine needles and damp earth filling our lungs. The trail, dew-kissed and crunchy underfoot, led us deeper into the heart of the woods. The trees, tall and ancient, cast long, cool shadows, offering a welcome respite from the morning heat. As we slowed our pace, simply enjoying the serenity of the forest, Andrew took my hand, his large, warm grip a comforting weight in mine. He drew me close, his presence a silent invitation. A simple smile answered his unspoken desire, a signal that launched the inevitable cascade of sensation.

Our parents were visiting, a fact that always seemed to diminish our intimacy. The thought of their prying eyes and judgmental whispers made Andrew hesitant, unable to fully indulge in the passion he craved. It was Sunday morning, and he hadn’t released his grip on our shared joy for days. He began to massage my bottom beneath my clothes, his fingers tracing the curve of my hips, sending shivers down my spine. The movement caused my thighs to brush against his crotch, a tantalizing tease of what was to come. I leaned in, pressing my lips against his chin, a silent plea for release. I ground against his hardness, my body aching for the touch, the scent, the sheer pleasure of his presence. Moans escaped my lips, involuntary cries of anticipation, as the heat built within me, a delicious torment.

“What?” I asked, a defensive edge creeping into my voice, as he slipped his hand down the back of my pants.

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound, “That’s my zip.”

A wave of sheepish embarrassment washed over me. Unknowingly, I had stumbled into a moment of illicit pleasure, a bizarre encounter with a zipper. I quickly turned away, desperate to avoid his gaze, and reached down to massage his crotch with my hand. His chuckle morphed into a moan, and his hand descended further, his finger brushing against my secret cavern.

“Wow,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

“What now?” I asked seductively, knowing by the way his finger was sliding over my delicate skin that I was becoming increasingly aroused.

“I didn’t realize zips turned you on so much.”

I playfully slapped his shoulder, eliciting another burst of laughter, and pulled him closer. This time, I could feel his erection for real, a powerful surge of heat radiating through my body. His other hand found my breast, lifting it from beneath my bra, and we both reveled in the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of skin on skin contact. The world narrowed to just the two of us, lost in the exquisite sensation of our shared intimacy.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the trees – an elderly gentleman, strolling along the trail. My face flushed crimson, and a desperate wave of panic washed over me. We had been caught, exposed, vulnerable. There was no hiding now, no escape. I instinctively pressed my face against Andrew’s shoulder, seeking refuge in his protective embrace. He immediately withdrew his hand from my pants and pulled me against him, shielding me from the unwanted attention. The man passed by without a glance, thankfully oblivious to our transgression.

The thought of our clandestine encounter ending so abruptly was unbearable. My love, however, was too far gone to resist the pull of the moment. He scooped me up into his arms, mimicking the heroic pose of a swashbuckling hero, and began to run, pushing us further into the depths of the forest. We raced along a side trail, scrambling over fallen logs and dodging thorny branches, until we reached an alcove with a weathered wooden bench. With a swift motion, he pulled down my shorts and panties, leaving me exposed on the damp, sandy surface.

The initial sensation of the cold, gritty ground beneath my skin was jarring, quickly overridden by the burning heat of his touch. He knelt before me, his eyes filled with a primal hunger, and began to kiss all around my secret, exploring every inch with exquisite care. The first sensation I noticed was the cool, dampness of the sand, but it faded as his warm, wet tongue began to lick at my pearl, igniting a fire within me. A throbbing sensation grew stronger with each passing moment, a thrilling ache that demanded release. I cried out, a primal scream of pleasure and anticipation.

“Love, have me!” I tugged at his arms, urging him to move faster, to fulfill my desperate need. He responded instantly, pulling me closer and closer, his body pressing against mine, amplifying the intensity of our shared desire. Then, he did something unexpected – he pulled down his zipper. With a wicked grin, he nodded his penis at me, a silent invitation to continue.

I giggled, a hysterical sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and took his erection in my hand, laying back on the bench and opening my legs wide. It felt strange, surreal, yet undeniably exhilarating. How we managed to make love on that old sodden bench, surrounded by the whispering trees, remains a mystery to me. All I remember is the burning sensation of his hard rod thrusting against my womb, igniting a feverish heat throughout my body, and the flashes of light that danced behind my eyelids. Then, the release came, a monumental wave of pleasure that crashed over me, leaving me breathless and spent.

We ran home on jelly legs, our bodies aching with exhaustion and exhilaration. We snuck through to the shower, desperate to wash away the mud and the evidence of our wild encounter before our parents could discover our secret. The day ended as it began, in a blur of shared pleasure and stolen moments, a testament to the enduring power of desire and the intoxicating allure of the forbidden.

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Dawn Run: Mud, Sweat, and Wet Bench

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