West of Boston: Runner

They were both soaked. He helped her stand because she could barely put weight on the ankle.

"Do you want to keep some dignity, Runner?" he asked her, "or should I sling you over my back?" She laughed through her discomfort and he noticed her bright smile and the laugh dimples by her mouth were still there. The rain made her jersey cling to her tight breasts and showed the seams of her sports bra. Her shorts stuck to her, the line of her panties obvious and making her legs look even longer. He crouched so she could hop on his back and wrap her arms around his neck.

"I'm heavy," she said. "You don't have to do this."

"You have no one else," he said. "It's not a problem. I'll take care of you."

She didn't say anything. She leaned forward on him to help balance her weight and he felt the warmth of her body and its soft parts against him. He enjoyed the sweetness of her breath. Once, she told him she would try to walk if he would put her down, "You keep the rain off," he said. "I may not be a weight-lifter but you aren't heavy." The water was plashing on the road about them. The water dripped from them both.

At his townhouse he put her down in the foyer long enough to be able to pick her up in his arms. "I don't want to bang your head on the ceiling." He turned and carried her up the half-flight of steps to the kitchen. He went down the hall to a closet and brought back a bath towel. He said, "I'll make hot coffee."

While the coffee dripped he put her foot on a chair and brought an ice pack from the freezer. He wrapped it around her ankle and told her to massage it.

"Thank you," she said. "I haven't had this kind of treatment in a while. It feels very good."

While they talked his voice was quiet, but his dark eyes showed eagerness. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. He poured coffee into mugs and added cream and cinnamon. He sat next to her to look again at her ankle.

"The ice feels good," she said, sipping at the coffee. The swelling was already going down. He sat back and asked her "What did you mean about special treatment?"

"It probably doesn't seem special to you," she said.

"You're just very different from my husband." She rushed ahead to apologize for Fred. "Oh, he's very nice, but he … he waits for me to take the lead … on things … and …."

"And sometimes you'd like to be told. You don't want to be strong all the time," he said.

"Yes," she said, quietly, looking in her coffee and swirling it. "It's tough to get up in the morning when all you can think of is how long the day is going to be.

"Fred, bless his heart, is no help. Whatever I want is fine with him."

He waited before he asked: "Do you really want someone to take care of you? To decide?"

She knew their conversation had taken a turn. She looked into his eyes again. "I think so," she said, then she looked out over the lake. "I mean, yes.

"I have a lot to learn I imagine. But for such a man I think I could do anything."

"A man like that," he said, "will expect it."

She looked back at him. The air in the room was charged. Something electric flowed between them, an unspoken promise.

"Why would a man do these things for me?" she asked.

He ran his hand on her calf. "He would be getting things he needs from you: power, fulfillment, and because it's you, joy."

"What would a man like that want of me?" she asked. She was so intent she was leaning toward him.

"Your trust that gives him power," he said. "Your complete effort to accept his will. A love that will fulfill you both."

When she spoke again, she was talking of Fred, and her voice was low, steady, and on the edge of passion. "I am so tired of protecting him, of trying to make him think I'm happy." Her eyes filled.

"It's alright, Runner" he said.

"Thank you," she said. "In spite of my ankle, and being wet, I feel good. You make me feel good."

"Well, you're not good," he said, looking at the water beneath their chairs. "We both need showers and dry clothes." He stood and picked her up again, one arm around her back and the other beneath her thighs. She put her arms around his neck and held to him up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom.

She whispered. "I feel safe."

"You are," he said. He brushed his lips across her forehead. He again felt the soft places on her against his chest, his stomach, and his hand beneath her thigh. He wondered if he would get hard in his running shorts and hoped not. Even wet, she smelled good.

He sat her on the edge of his bed, turned the bathroom lights on, and laid a fresh towel on the vanity along with a hair dryer. From the closet he brought her a white terry robe.

"I'll help you to the shower," he said, "then leave you to yourself."

He helped her to stand. "I'll wait in here. If you need me, say so."

He led her into the bathroom. She leaned against him and placed her hand on his chest. She propped herself against the vanity and gingerly balanced on her sprained foot. She winced.

"Okay?" he asked gently.

"Maybe I should wait to shower," she said.

"You need a shower," he said firmly.

She looked at him. She reached out and took his hand. "Thank you," she said. "I'll try."

"Yes," he said, and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

He was getting his own clothes together to clean up after she was done when he heard her call. "Please?" he heard her say.

He opened the door slightly. "I'm here," he said.

"I need your help," she said, "with my balance."

"What is it?" he asked, watching her shape through the translucent shower glass.

"I need you."

"You're weird, Runner," he teased, then more seriously: "Think about what you said."

"Please?"

He had an overlarge shower in his bathroom. It had a massage nozzle and a hand shower and a large seat. He opened the shower door. She had her back to him, the warm water pouring down her body, her sprained foot held just off the floor. He looked openly at the lovely curve of her rear, the water pouring down her crack and off her cheeks.

This was the first time he had seen her naked in daylight. She had the hips of a woman and, as lovely as she was, she probably wouldn't approve of herself if she quit running. Her shoulders looked soft but strong. The dimples on her lower back made his breath catch.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She was quiet, her head tilted down as if thinking or embarrassed.

"Answer me," he said.

There was a pause as she took a deep breath. "I want someone who loves me for myself. I want to be myself."

"I want you," he said. "I want everything you will give." He took a deep breath. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she said, "Never before…. But I do trust you."

"I want to touch you," he said. Her head remained down. He could see her take a deep breath.

She asked, "Will you let me wash … you?"

"Are you …," he began, then realized she would not be asking if she was uncertain. The water was pouring down his arm, his hand still gripping the valve.

"And Fred?" He was checking with her. She turned slightly toward him. He could see the soft curve of her breast and the point of her nipple. He felt his erection grow harder. She had placed her hand over her groin.

"Fred … doesn't make me feel this way," she answered quietly. "I'm so tired …," she began, and paused, looking for the thought, "of running from my heart, and toward … nothing."

"This time," he said, "there is no going back."

"Yes," she whispered, then she looked at him and said it louder: "Yes."

He removed his wet clothes. He stepped into the shower behind her. As the warm water poured over them, she leaned into him. He felt his erection touch her back, just above the separation of her cheeks.

"I want to keep you safe." he whispered. He reached around her, stroking her breasts, fondling her nipples, her little points of electric hardness beneath his fingertips. He squeezed and pulled at them. He felt the quick intake of her breath.

"Yes." she said. "I will do whatever you wish. I want … your way."

As she leaned against his right arm, he slid his other hand toward her sex. She shuddered as he stroked her mound, the water pouring over his hand and the little strip of her wet pubic hair. He cupped her so his middle finger was at her cleft. He drifted it into her slit where her moisture was. He heard her begin to croon. She turned her face into the side of his throat and began kissing his wet skin.

"I will not ask of you," he said. "anything you do not want nor need."

"Alright," she said. He put his arms beneath hers and lifted her in the air. She put her hands out to balance against the wall. Neither of them spoke as he lowered her so her sex was just above his penis. She spread her legs, and he felt his cock nestle at her cleft. The only sound was of water and their breathing. Neither spoke.

He carefully lowered himself onto the seat with her on his lap. He spread their legs, hers on top of his, so she was open to him. He lifted her slightly, again from beneath the arms, so she could place him at her opening. He slid forward on the seat, and she lowered herself onto him; the feeling of tightness, sexual heat, and fullness was exquisite for them both. The warm water poured over them. She tilted her head back and her mouth fell open as she began to move herself on him.

He spoke into her ear: "Touch yourself."

She began to move her hand down, then stopped: "I haven't …."

"You want this. Don't make me repeat," he said.

She lowered her hand to her groin. He could feel her fingers brushing against his shaft as she stroked herself. His hands were holding her breasts where, once again, he grasped her hard nipples and pulled and twisted at them. Each time she rose and fell on him, she would shudder and plunge him as deeply into her as he could go. His hands were balancing her, and the strength of his arms beneath hers was helping her to bounce faster on his cock. It was as if he were using her to stroke himself.

Their excitement that had been building since he found her beside the road now made them come quickly, together. Even as he moaned with the approach of his own orgasm, he could hear her gasping with each thrust. She reached between her legs to touch her clitoris, his shaft, his balls. She whined as she came. He could feel the sperm exit his body in hot ropes and he gritted his teeth and groaned with each spasm.

They held their embrace, his shrinking penis locked into her, and the slow leak of their fluids washed away in the warm water. Their breath calmed. "Thank you," she said.

He waited a minute longer. "We skipped a step, Runner. When you commit serious errors, you shouldn't have pleasure until they've been corrected."

She was silent. "Do you agree?" he asked her.

She was quiet. He waited. "Yes," she said softly.

"And accept?"

She took a breath and let it out. "Yes."

"If I am to protect you," he said, "I can't ignore it when you put yourself in danger. And you knew better. Leaving your keys put you at risk. Letting me take you home when your mother-in-law was available was dangerous."

"I understand," she said. "It was wrong, but I am with you now."

"And I am with you," he kissed her. "We are both very lucky."

"The punishment is not for the outcome," he said. "You should get ready."

"I've never done this," she said. He felt her shiver. "Teach me."

"Dry us off," he said, "and then we'll go into the other room."

He helped her out of the shower and to get her balance against the vanity. He draped a towel over her and she began to dry him. "May I kiss you," she asked.

"Yes," he said. "I would like that. And that you asked."

Each time she dried a section of his body, his arm or his pectorals or his thigh, she would cover it with light kisses. When she reached his groin, his penis had begun to firm again. She stopped.

"May I…." she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Make me hard." She held him with her hand and licked around the crown of his cock with her hot tongue. Then she swallowed the head of his cock. He didn't need to look to know she had brought him back to full erection. She finished drying him, stopping to lick and suck his cock a second and third time. Then he took the towels from her.

"Are you warm," he asked. He could see the little beads of water still on her skin and knew the air of the regular rooms would feel colder to her.

"No," she said.

"It doesn't matter," he told her. He took her into the bedroom. Her nipples were fiercely erect, whether through arousal or chill he didn't know, and they puckered around the hard little nubs that invited his mouth. But he waited. He had her kneel in the middle of the room. In this position, the pressure would be off her gimpy ankle.

He brought a hassock and placed it in front of her.

"Lean across it," he said. "Don't look up. Don't say anything.

"You're safe. I will take care of you.

"But you have endangered yourself. Do you understand? I have to punish you. Do you agree?"

"Yes," she said.

"Yes, what?" he asked.

"Yes, I understand and accept, Morgan," she said.

"I am going to spank you. It should be thirty strokes. Because you are new, I am giving only ten."

She was already tensed up. "Thank you," she said.

"Part of the point is the self-discipline we learn together. You have to trust me and do your best to handle what I give you quietly. I'll help you. But you have to make every effort to keep from flinching, or from crying out. Will you try?"

Her answer came slow this time, "I have never really been spanked. I don't know if I can bear it, Morgan."

"I'll keep you safe, and secure. I will be sure you can bear what I give you if you trust me."

"Thank you, Morgan. I trust you, and I accept."

"Relax. It will be easier." he said gently.

"Do you like having your hair brushed, Runner?" he asked. He showed her a lovely, pearl handled brush and ran it across her scalp then brushed her hair tenderly.

"That feels very good, Morgan," she whispered.

He held the brush in front of her. "You see the handle?" he asked. The grip of the brush was shaped like a short, narrow phallus. He turned the brush and, touching the inside of her thighs with it to direct her to spread her legs, he ran the brush handle along her sex. He ran it back and forth several times. She began to move her hips to feel it better and closed her eyes. Then he removed it.

"It smells of you now, sweet and warm and wet." He moved so she would be able to see him lick the handle. "And the flat of the back of the brush is used for punishment when you need it," he said.

Her elbows were on the hassock. Her breasts hung down from her chest and he touched each of the hard nipples with the back of the brush. He admired her shiny hair, the gentle curve of her back into her buttocks, the curve of muscle down to her long thighs. He knelt beside her and slid the cool head of the brush across her ass cheeks. She may be a runner, he thought, but her hips are those of a woman, heart-shaped.

"Tell me when you are ready," he said, "and I will begin." He had already decided that, for their first time, he would not use the brush until the very end, if at all. He laid it on the hassock in front of her eyes. He reached behind him for the feathers he also wanted for this first time, and he placed those next to the brush.

She breathed deeply and said "I'm ready," and again, "I'm ready, Morgan."

He raised his hand half way and brought it down on her cheek solidly. His palm smacked, and in the small room it was surprisingly loud. Her flesh trembled and her alabaster skin immediately pinked.

He did the same to her other cheek. It had been a long time since he had done this, and he was glad he had not forgotten how to restrain himself. He waited until her breath relaxed before he began again. "These will come quicker, Runner," he said. This time he took full strokes, once on each cheek, close together. The quickness of the second surprised her and she yelped. Then she put her head down.

"Why did you lower your head?" he asked her.

"I made noise, Morgan," she said. "and I think I moved." He waited.

"I'm embarrassed."

"Be patient. You're learning," he said. "There are many people who can't do this at all. Should we try again?

"Try to be disciplined as much as possible," he said quietly.

"Yes, Morgan. I'm ready," she said, the tears rimming her eyes.

"This time, begin to count. That was four. I'm adding ten so we can get this right. We have sixteen to go."

"Yes, Morgan," she said, her determination in her voice.

He ran his fingers across her cheeks, gentled his touch along her flesh and the lips of her sex. She understood what he wanted her to do immediately and spread her legs further apart. He kneeled between her legs and he took her.

He slid his cock into her and heard her groan with the joy of desire and their fucking as he sunk to the root in her. He moved in her, slowly and without stopping, pulling nearly out and then, at the bottom of his stroke, grinding himself against her. He took her hair in one hand. He was glad he had just come. He raised his hand again, and this time as he pulled out of her he used a full swing of his arm.

The smack of his palm against her was loud. He felt her tense with the sting, and then relax. She was gaining confidence and he told her so. He switched hands. She moved back into him, joined with him in sexual rhythm. He struck her other cheek. The pink of where his hands slapped against her flesh was beginning to surface on her skin. He caressed her, and her skin felt warm. The joy he felt was for her, and the sense of fulfillment was more than sexual.

He struck again. As much as possible, without losing his penetration, he varied the rhythm and pace of his blows and the location of them on her buttocks. She counted each slap, unhesitatingly. He encouraged her each time.

When he got to twelve, he heard her voice crack. He waited before he struck again. Her sex was pliant and wet and she moved on his cock eagerly, but her voice told him he should hold off. He couldn't see her eyes, but when he reached beneath her to touch her breast, he also picked up the brush from in front of her and she tightened, aware of what he was about to do.

He told her she was doing well, that he was proud of her, that she was strong, that he would keep her safe. Even through the hurt, she smiled over her shoulder at him, and he could feel her arousal. Tears were in her eyes and one had rolled down her cheek. He asked if she was enjoying herself.

"Yes, Morgan, I want to do it for you."

"I like loving you," he said. She was fantastic. He knew he would have to be strong with her. If he didn't resist the temptation to be easily manipulated and gentle, she wouldn't get what she needed from him. He understood what may have happened to Fred who had forgotten or didn't know to love her in the way she needed. Instead, Fred worried that something would happen to take her away, and he had lost her.

Morgan kissed her and rubbed softly at her reddened ass. He reached for the white feathers in front of her and teased her stinging skin with their exquisite touch. He felt fluid at her lips and on her thigh. He told her to bear down.

"These last will be fast and hard and will land on tender flesh," he said. "You will not forget your keys, and you will not put yourself in needless danger again."

He was teasing her clitoris lightly to keep the tension of their lust slowly spiraling toward a peak. When she started to move with increasing passion, he increased the pressure of his touch. He began to thrust hard into her. They were both ready to come again, and he took her clitoris between his thumb and forefinger and twirled it in time with their faster fucking. She raised herself high off the hassock, her head thrown back. He could see her breasts jouncing with each of their thrusts.