Running the Hills Ch. 02

The continuing adventures...thanks so much for the feedback, glad to provide a second part. As before, I love to get comments and private feedback!

I don't know how long we stayed like that. My mind was a total blank, the buzzing in my ears and the steady warmth of the water flowing over my shoulders and down my naked body were the only things I was conscious of, for a moment. I felt my knees give out, my legs buckle, and I slowly sunk to the floor of the shower, feeling the cool ceramic beneath my legs, coming to rest in a kneeling position, as if I were worshipping the faucet of my tub.

Slowly my mind began to clear, and I felt a slight burning sensation, realized Mike still had his cock buried deep inside me. He had settled down on the floor of the tub with me, sinking down as I did, keeping himself within me the whole while. I could feel him now, pushed far up inside me, still feel his hips pressed tight against my ass, nestled against me like his body was molded around mine.

I could feel his chest against my naked back, his big arms around mine, wrapped around me tightly, holding me against him, our bodies connected. His biceps bulged as he squeezed gently, and I felt his cock swell inside me, post-ejaculatory spasms, and I almost passed out again from the sudden burst of pleasure the tiny movement generated from deep within me; nerve-endings I never knew existed stimulated by the swelling of his big cock buried inside me.

While this had been happening, from the moment he had invited himself into my home, I had been thinking, in the back of my mind about what this all meant. What did it mean about me, about who I was? What would it mean for my life going forward and for my relationship with my girlfriend, my family, my friends? What did it mean, that I wanted this man, his cock, his body, that I felt such an overwhelming lust for him - more than lust - desire. Lust was too small of a word, too limited. I didn't just want him to fuck me, or to see or touch his cock. That had been a huge part of it. What I knew that I also desired him. I wanted to feel him wrap his arms around me and hold me and be gentle with me but firm.

And all this had been hovering in the back of my mind as it all went down, lurking, all the obvious psychological cliches and the terms I'd seen online; daddies or bears or muscles or whatever. I didn't know what label applied to me, I had no idea what it meant, and I didn't really care. I had blocked it all out, pushed it down in my mind and given myself over to him, to what I felt, ignoring what I thought.

But now what I thought was pushing back from the depths. What had I done. A man's cum was in my mouth, in my ass. I had sucked his cock, had made him cum, twice. He had fucked me. Oh god. A man had fucked me. My heart raced, different than it had when he had pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the shower. I was panicking. I felt a cold sweat burst from my forehead, despite the water still washing over us.

I don't know if Mike felt it too, or was simply cramping up from kneeling on the floor of the shower, but I felt him start to pull out. He had softened a bit inside me, and he began to slowly pull his dick out of my ass, slowly, and I tried to ease off him, feeling the burning increase just a bit inside me, but not bad. Not nearly as bad as I had feared it would.

And then suddenly he was out and a rush of cool air filled me and I sank forward again, feeling very empty. I heard him move back in the tub, away from me. I didn't want to turn to him, didn't want to see the naked man kneeling in my shower who had just had his dick in me, had just fucked me and cum in me.

And part of me wanted turn to him and pull him against me once again and feel him harden against me. My mind screamed, pulling me either way. I could still feel his cum inside me, could still taste him on my tongue. But I couldn't speak.

And then he stood. I heard him behind me, get to his feet, pull the shower curtain open. I heard him grab a towel from the rack, dry himself off briefly. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time, waiting for me to turn, willing me to look at him, but I couldn't. I just buried my face in my knees like a child and waited for him to go. The choice had been made; I wouldn't acknowledge him, he would leave and that would be the end of it. Nothing had changed.

And he did. He finally turned and left. I heard him pick up his clothes from out in the living room, then moments later I heard the glass door open, then close. He was gone. But everything had changed.

It seemed like it was hours before I emerged from the shower that day. I washed myself inside and out over and over again, trying to somehow rid my body of Mike's cum, of the taste of his cock on my tongue. I gargled and flossed and scraped my tongue with my toothbrush again and again. I used the detachable shower head to wash myself out inside, spraying water up inside me, rubbing soap over my body, my asshole. I felt ashamed as it brought back the feelings.

My girlfriend came over to my house later. I heard her voice on the phone, asking to come by, I heard myself tell her it was fine, wondering if my voice sounded strange or different. She didn't seem to notice.

I saw her coming up the walk to my small house. Shannon. She was petite, Irish-American, long slim legs, the build of a cross country runner; tight stomach and small breasts, with tiny almost black nipples on perfectly clear white skin. Her hair was just as dark as her nipples, but her eyes were light and blue and seemingly always glistening, whether laughing or thinking or crying. She always looked as if a small breeze had just run across her face and briefly set her eyes watering, just enough to make them glow.

I remember vividly that day, as she came up the walk; she wore black running pants, tight, Spandex, clinging to her endless legs. A power-blue fleece that matched her eyes and set off her hair was unzipped over a white t-shirt. She had been running too.

She opened the door without knocking and came in, smiling at me, and I almost threw up. Those eyes, those perfect white teeth, that beautiful fair skin, that hair. What had I done. She could never know. I promised myself. She would never know, and it would never happen again.

But I knew that if I spoke a word to her she would know. She would know something was wrong and then she would ask and I wouldn't be able to lie to her. I couldn't let her talk. I stepped to her and kissed her mouth, heard her laugh quietly, taking her unexpectedly, and her lilting laugh turned into a soft moan in her throat as my tongue found hers, her thin red lips parting easily. She was always worked up after exercise. I felt her hands on my back, moving over me, and I began to relax, the familiar touch so welcome. Everything would be okay.

I kissed her again, harder this time, my hands moving up under her fleece, up her back, feeling the t-shirt, slightly damp from her run, tasting the hint of salt on her lips, needing her, needing to take her, to put myself in her and cleanse myself. I pulled her against me, feeling her small body in my arms. So different, I thought to myself, and dashed the thought from my mind. No different. This is normal. This is how it should be. I crushed her body against mine and she moaned again, her hips grinding against mine through our clothes, feeling her hands at my waist, undoing my belt, then stopping, moving up under my shirt, roaming over my body. Like his had.

Stop.

I felt the clasp of her sports bra, quickly popped it open as she stepped back momentarily, seeing her face flushed, her pale cheeks reddened, beautiful, her eyes glowing as always, her lips parted. She pulled the fleece off, then the t-shirt followed. I avoided her eyes, looking instead at her body, seeing the white sports-bra follow the rest of the clothes to the floor.

Her small breasts were perky and round on her slim frame, her nipples already hard, dark points on cupcake-sized mounds. Her running pants were low on her slim hips, and as I stared, she hooked her thumb in the waistband and flexed it, teasing me, her eyes flashing, the tip of her tongue snaking out of her mouth playfully. I didn't feel like being playful. I needed to have her, quickly. She would make it right.

I stepped to her, kissing her again, on her lips, her neck, her shoulder, roughly, hearing her gasp in my ear. She enjoyed it as rough as I did. I smelled the familiar scent of her shampoo, tasted her skin, the same as always. It would be alright. She moaned softly as the tip of my tongue found her earlobe, knowing exactly where to kiss, and then her hands were back at my waist, finishing the job on my belt, then my pants, pulling them down off my waist in a single motion, then down to the floor. She kissed me on the lips, hard, and then she was on her knees in front of me. A sudden panic flashed through my mind. Had I washed enough? Would she taste me and know? Would she smell him on me?

And then her hand was in my boxer briefs, pulling me out, and her mouth was on me and I didn't care what she smelled or tasted or knew. Her tongue drew slowly, languorously over my cockhead, moving around the sensitive rim, her small fingers wrapped around the base of me, slowly stroking me as she gently sucked, knowing that the slower she went the faster I would cum. I felt the familiar sensations, the building of tension, felt her soft warm tongue moving over me, her tiny hand moving on me, pumping at the base of my cock, a soft moaning in her throat vibrating through me, and I heard myself moan. Then her free hand moved between my legs and pressed against the spot behind the base of my cock and I almost died, feeling the same sensation I had felt when Mike had fucked me, the same rush of pleasure, feeling Shannon's finger pressing against me as she sucked me and I pictured him behind me once again, inside me, thrusting into me, grunting, filling me. I felt her fingers on me, moving up behind me, closer to my asshole and I knew she would know, knew she would somehow feel him there and I had pulled back, my dick popping from her mouth loudly, a string of saliva and precum from the swollen glistening tip of my cock to her lips, hanging obscenely.

She looked up at me, questioning, silent, so I pulled her up and pushed her down in the same motion, pushed her down onto the couch, onto her stomach, her arms going out at her sides, one hanging off the side of the couch, her fingers trailing along the floor, and then I was astride her body, finding the waistband of her running pants and jerking them down over her beautiful tight round ass, peeling them off her slim legs, down off her body, leaving her laying there in nothing but the black spandex athletic thong she wore to run. The thin black band of fabric split her ass, her pale clear skin free of blemish or mark. She turned her head to the side, resting it on a pillow, and I could see her looking back at me through her hair, tousled and laying over her face.

I moved up onto her, pinning her body to the couch with my weight, my legs on either side of hers, pulling the thong aside. I could see her clean-shaven lips between her firm thighs, her round bottom flushed. She was waiting for me. I needed this. This was right. I grasped my cock, felt it throbbing, and pushed it roughly between her legs, hearing her gasp as my head pushed against her lips, parting them, feeling her hot and wet inside, and then I was in her, pushing up hard, pressing her down into the couch.

She groaned loudly and spread her legs wider, one foot dropping down to rest on the ground, her toes splayed, and I thrust downwards, one foot on the floor, the other at her side on the couch, pushing down with as much leverage as I could get, slamming hard into her small body. I grabbed her hips on either side, pulling her up off the couch as I pushed forward, slapping my hips against her tight ass hard, as hard as I could, fucking my girlfriend as hard and as deep as I could, fucking her, telling myself over and over again, with every vicious thrust, that I was fucking my girlfriend and I was loving it and it felt good and right and it did. It felt so good, and I slammed into her, hearing her cry out, loudly, hearing my own grunts and moans, hearing our bodies slapping lewdly together. I saw her hand snake up under her lithe body as I pushed against her, grinding my hips against her ass, feeling myself move within her, watched as her fingers found her clit and worked herself frantically.

I saw the dark spot on the couch cushions beneath her where she had lain, saw the stain from her there, heard her moan softly and then curse and I knew she was cumming, knew she only cursed when she had lost control, and I pushed hard up into her a final time and bent over her body, my arm wrapped under her, around her waist, pulling her tight against me and bending over her so that my chest pressed against her back, just like he did, just like Mike as he came inside me and the mental image put me over the edge and I grunted loudly, my cock pulsed hard inside her and my I felt my cum spurt. We came together, hard, loudly, and then collapsed down onto the couch, sweat-covered and slick, our hips locked together, my cock buried inside her, kissing her shoulder gently.

I fucked Shannon again that night. Much more gently, slowly. Taking our time. There were no images of Mike intruding as I came, no reminders of how it had felt to have his cock in my mouth, in my ass. Nothing. The urgency I had felt so desperately that afternoon was gone. I was cleansed of the morning. It was a mistake. That's it. One that wouldn't be repeated. I was in love with the beautiful, fair Shannon, who slept beside me so peacefully, her raven hair fanned over her pillow, breathing quietly in the night. Nothing had changed.

Things went back to normal, somehow. I told myself they did. That I wasn't thinking about Mike when Shannon was sucking me or kissing me, or when I was inside of her, that I wasn't thinking about him each time I came. I tried to tell myself that it didn't mean anything, that I was fucking my girlfriend, that's what mattered. That what I might be thinking about didn't have anything to do with it. I told myself that I wasn't thinking of Mike whenever I went jogging, that I wasn't hoping I'd see him coming over one of the hills. But I never did.

Twenty-three days later, he showed up at my front door.

I was home alone, but I still panicked. The doorbell rang, I opened the front door, and there he was, on my front stoop, inches from the screen door. I don't know who I was expecting, people didn't really come by unexpectedly, but I wasn't expecting him. My heart nearly exploded in my chest, I couldn't breath, everything came rushing back. I couldn't speak, couldn't move, everything I had been fighting for the past few weeks returned all at once, and I didn't know what to do.

"Can I come in?" His voice was just I remembered, low and smooth and firm, and I could only nod. Somehow I reached out to pull the door open and he stepped inside. He wore jeans and a navy blue t-shirt that fit his torso perfectly, showing off his big chest without being ridiculous, the sleeves framing his biceps, tapered around his slim waist. "I couldn't stay away."

I couldn't respond, my heart was in my throat, trying desperately to remember if Shannon was due home at some point soon, if she was stopping by after work. I couldn't remember. And then he was on me and I didn't care. I didn't fucking care. All those thoughts and memories and feelings came back in a rush and I didn't care if she walked in on us right now. He kissed me, hard, his tongue instantly in my mouth, finding mine, his hands ripping my shirt off over my head, feeling his arms pulling me against him, his shirt coming off, our bodies together again, our chests bare against one another as we kissed, smelling him, feeling him, hard against my hips through his jeans and I wanted him so badly.

I pulled back and dropped to my knees, tearing his jeans open, yanking them down to the floor over his big legs, his thigh muscles defined and taut, his cock bulging lewdly in his tight boxer briefs, and they came off too. His dick almost slapped against my face as I released it, the swollen head rubbery and thick, inches from my mouth. I leaned forward and grasped him tightly around his base and he gasped, and then I lowered my mouth onto him. I moaned loudly in my throat, my eyes shut tight, trying to suck him deep into my throat, gagging hard, my eyes watering, almost choking, and he pulled back, his hand on the side of my head, on my cheek, telling me to relax. I slowed, feeling my throat open, my breathing becoming easier through my nose, and I moved back down on him, pumping his shaft just like Shannon did for me, hearing him moan loudly as I settled into a slow, steady rhythm, feeling his cockhead swell against my cheek.

As I sucked him, lovingly, slowly, I reached down into the shorts I was wearing, finding my own cock, swollen and hard and dripping, and I started stroking it, groaning around Mike's dick. I could feel him gently thrusting, almost involuntarily, knowing he didn't want to choke me again, knowing he couldn't help it, knowing I was turning him on and the thought almost made me cum, but I pulled my hand away somehow, concentrating on the feeling of his cock in my mouth. I pumped his base just a little harder, faster, felt him respond, spasm hard in my hand, against my tongue, and then I reached up between his legs, just like Shannon, rubbed behind his balls, heard him grunt loudly and then I pushed up, pushed a finger up inside him and I heard him swear loudly, once, and his cum flooded into my mouth, spurting, hard, over and over again, his asshole contracting around my finger, squeezing me as he came, and I swallowed all of it.