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Friday, 7 September 2018

The Woodland Runners

By Michael Johns from Janus 103
The perspiration was running into her eyes. It was hot. Her breasts bounced beneath her thin T-shirt. She would have to stop soon. The track ahead shimmered under the heat of a blazing August sun. She swung off the track and into the shade of the trees. The steady slap of her running shoes was muffled by the leafy detritus under her feet. She shivered slightly at the drop in temperature in the shade.
She ran a little faster. Her T-shirt was clinging damply, almost obscenely to her body. Her friction-irritated nipples were jutting embarrassingly. She had ignored the blatant stare of a man jogging towards her on the track. She ran on. The silent woods absorbed her soft footfalls.
Half a mile further, she heard the wispy hush of running water in the distance. As she loped steadily nearer, the sound grew louder. As happens so often, the tinkling sound of running water evoked in her an urgent need to pee. The enveloping trees suddenly opened into a small sunlit glade where the stream musically wound its way over a gravel bed. Her need now became urgent. She looked quickly around to confirm her privacy and lowered her tracksuit-bottoms. The primitive pleasure of answering nature’s call in the open air delighted her. Crouched, she was conscious of the soft waft of a cool breeze kissing her rump. After the humid confines of her ‘bottoms’ she felt joy in the sense of release. The dulcet tones of the murmuring steam issued their delicate invitation. She succumbed!
Seating herself upon a mossy fallen tree trunk, she gladly removed her trainers and socks. Her feet were so hot from the miles she had jogged. She moved the three yards to the bank and slipped off her tracksuit-bottoms and top. Revelling in the freedom of the air she raised her arms as if in ancient praise of the sun. She stood like a golden-bodied dryad, pagan and glorious. The sunbeams caressing her lean nakedness, she released her hair from her running bands and let it tumble over her shoulders. Naturally light brown, it was bleached almost yellow from the sun, unlike her pubic thatch which drew a dark emphasis to the base of her belly. Her body was toned from exercise and bronzed from most of it being taken in the open air. Strong shoulders tapered to her slender waist and she bloomed erotically at the hips. She had taut globular buttocks that were divided by a narrow secretive cleft, and strong, runner’s legs.
Happily unselfconscious in her sylvan privacy, she stepped forward into the shallow running water. She gasped with shock at its coldness. The swiftly running clear water must have come from a nearby spring for the sun’s warmth had not tempered its bite at all. Facing upstream, she quickly sat, then lay down on her back. The icy water threaded through her toes, thrust its cold fingers into her hidden crevices. She shivered. Her hair was spread in an undulating fan beyond her head by the strong current. Her cold, hardened breasts stood just above the flowing waters like little rounded rocks, each pinnacled by a small pink flagstaff. She tilted her head back below the rushing water. Looking up, through the water, she could see the distorted shapes of the trees which surrounded her hidden bathing spot. So unusual was the view that at first she did not properly register the fact that interposed between the trees and herself, there was a blurred figure of a man looking down at her.
Resisting the temptation to see him as a dearly loved, familiar figure, she consciously allowed herself to enter her own long-term fantasy of being alone in a place as wild as this, confronted by a male stranger. It did not take much effort of will on her part to click into the state of mind she so often imagined. All the ingredients of her hottest daydream were here in reality, and suddenly she found herself responding just as if she really were potentially in danger.
In a fright that was hardly simulated, she shook her head free from the water, her hands moving automatically to cover her breasts and crotch. It was The Man. She recognised him immediately. The one who had leered at her breasts as she ran past him. He must have followed her. Followed her to this lonely spot and spied upon her. His eyes glittered at her vulnerable nakedness. He was tall, dark and muscular. He grinned at her discomfiture.
‘Go away, you bloody peeping pervert!’ she yelled at him. Angrily, she stood, reaching for her T-shirt. Casually, he hooked it away from her with his foot. He stared, silently challenging her next move. ‘What the hell do you want?’ she shouted. ‘You’ve had your jollies — now leave me in peace!’
She leapt on to the bank hoping to make him step back. He held his ground. Within feet of him, water pouring from her nude body, she felt exposed and vulnerable. His silence, his stillness, menaced her. She fought down a rising panic. Oh, why had she stripped herself off like this?
The illusion that he was a stranger was now complete.
His foot was on her shirt, preventing any quick grab. His eyes followed hers to her panties, daring her to outreach him. She tried a quick push and a step around him but found herself wrapped in his cradling arms. He bent his head and kissed her. His breath was warm and his desire hot. She could feel his hard urgency through the thin cotton of his running shorts as he pulled her to him. She jerked away and struggled, squealing for him to let her go. He held her fast. He was a strong man and she could not free herself from his powerful grasp.
In a kind of whirling dance she found herself pulled over his knee as he seated himself on the log. The log where she had sat so happily only minutes before. The breeze that had so kindly wafted over her carefree nudity then was now a cruelly inquisitive visitor, prying into her exposed places, making her quiver from head to toes. His left hand held both her wrists, arms twisted high behind her back. She could not struggle. His other hand was pressing, patting and pinching at her bottom. She bit her lip to stop the cry that arose at his invasion.
She was frightened. A cold, icy weight dragged at the pit of her stomach. She felt helpless in the hands of her silent captor, at his mercy. Who was he? She told herself she did not know! Despite her terror, odd echoes from her dark fantasies surfaced in her mind. Self-created images that had lubricated fingers, bringing her midnight satisfaction many, many a time. Amidst her fear a small tendril of excitement stirred in her breast. Naked, defenceless, she was in his power. He could do as he wished. Deep into the woods there could be nobody to hear her, nobody to aid her!
Leave me alone!
She felt his palm spread across one flinching cheek, sensed it rise, felt the momentary tension of his gripping arm and his belly against her hip. His hand crashed down, hard on her stunned bottom. She heard the noise of the impact before she felt the shock, and then the furious stinging. She twisted, seeking to escape but merely playing into his hands by causing her other cheek to rise to receive its punishment in turn. Her spasmodic reaction to the second smack repositioned her bottom ideally for his purpose. She gritted her teeth. He spanked harder. Time after time, his hand rose and fell, though the tempo slowed after his first hectic smacks. Now, after each one he paused, savouring the sound of his palm meeting soft girl-flesh. Listening to her losing her battle to stifle her cries. Allowing time for the spasming muscles to quiet before he smacked her again. Then again. Then, after a pause, again. And again. And again
She could feel her bottom growing bigger. It was a single core of pulsing heat. She could no longer differentiate the exact area that he was spanking. Her rear had become nothing but a burning pain, constantly renewed pain! Her legs now kicked reactively at almost every slap. She twisted and uselessly tried to turn her naked body to avoid his crashing palm. Crack! She knew her gyrations were exposing everything to his hot eyes but no longer cared. Crack! Modesty had been driven from her mind. Crack! Still, her dark tormentor had not uttered a word.
She began to cry out in earnest. Shrill evidence of her suffering. He laughed, delighted. She felt his rampant length pulse with a quickened beat beneath her. She tried to lift away from it, sensing that her tormented wriggling was providing him with extra stimulation yet still unable to prevent herself from attempting to escape from this indecent proof of his excitement.
Her buttocks strained to rise: he hammered them down with cruel efficiency. She relapsed into prone submission, head hanging, hips sinking into his lap. The furnace heat in her bottom began to spread into her crotch. Her cries became less strident, less a plea for mercy, and grew instead more urgent, demanding not cessation but culmination. She started to slither on his knee from the lubrication that was now seeping from between her thighs. Her point of delirium was approaching. As if recognising this, her chastiser applied a final rapid dose of extra-hard slaps that had her bottom and legs responding in violent quivering agitation.
In a single smooth movement he repositioned her belly-down across the mossy trunk. Her bottom, covered in crimson blotches, twitched in the air. Dropping his shorts he pushed himself into her, his vibrant shaft finding a warm, wet welcome within her body. She heaved herself back at him. His hips and belly rammed against her hot bruised buttocks, and she yelped! The sex that followed was of animal ferocity on both their parts. Her hunger, her lust, seemed at length to become fully primordial in intensity. And then, returning to her human self, she had the thought that she had never, ever, come so violently; as if some power had entered her and made her, in her orgasm, absolutely one with the power of nature — absorbing her into the primal force that had created and was sustaining the world about her…
Some minutes later as they recovered their breath she followed his speculative gaze to where it dwelt on a willow dipping its branches into the water. Thin green wands grew in profusion. Thin green wands that would make pliable, stinging switches. Reaching up, she kissed him passionately. ‘Darling, if you’re thinking what I believe you are,’ she sighed, ‘I hope you parked our car close by. I’ll be in no state to walk very far!’

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