In a Few Words
Collected Short Stories of Devon Layne
What I’d Like to Do with You
©2014 Elder Road Books
Originally published at StoriesOnline.net
YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. Yeah. The pretty blonde who’s run past my campsite three mornings in a row, just after I’ve stepped outside with my morning cup of coffee and settled in my chair with a good book. You wear the yellow tank-top cut just above your navel with red running shorts that are just short enough to show your butt-ledge if you stop to stretch or make a sudden turn—something I’ve seen you do each morning. You’re serious about the run with gray Saucony shoes that look like they have a few miles on them.
The first morning, it was pure chance that I stepped outside just in time to see you rounding the bend ahead of me and running my direction. I’m pretty sure it was, anyway. I glanced up over my reading glasses and coffee cup to see your muscled legs pumping and your ponytail flopping from side to side. I’m not a big fan of underwear that shows under clothes that are too small to hide them. But if you didn’t have that black running bra on under the little tank-top, I’m sure your generous breasts would be hurting from all the bouncing they’d be doing.
I just sighed a little and went back to reading, catching you out of the corner of my eye as you passed again on the trail loop opposite me. Then I heard your feet scuff on the trail as you came back, apparently unaware that the trail does a full loop and you could just continue on. You were about fifty yards on up the camp road when you stopped and did your stretches. I looked around and there didn’t seem to be another soul stirring in the campground. That’s when I saw the first flash of your little ass as you bent at the waist before you straightened, stretched your hands in the air, and ran on. You disappeared around the bend.
I thought it was a strange coincidence that you rounded the bend again the next morning just as I took the first sip of my strong black brew. It wasn’t the same time as yesterday. I’d lazed in bed reading before I got up and campers were already lighting their fires. You certainly lit mine. Still, you seemed serious about running as you did three laps of the camp road loop, catching my eye each time. I had to wonder if you were wearing anything under those damp shorts that clung to your front and rode up in back. The indentation of your navel between the waistband and your crop-top was like a target to my lustful eye.
I was up early this morning. The storm last night brought down branches, one of which nearly crushed the tent in the next site over. I wandered around picking up some of the deadwood for my fire tonight, my coffee cup in one hand. I was near the trail as you ran by. You have startling blue eyes, riveting my gaze from just a few feet away. You smiled and I saluted you—with my cup. Not more than thirty steps down the trail, you stopped and stretched, never looking back. Still, you had to know that I’d be watching. How could I tear my eyes away as your ponytail bobbed from side to side and drew them toward you? Did you take a little longer than necessary, bending at the waist with your legs together, your hands clasped behind them? And do runners usually pick a foot up with one hand and stretch it over their heads. That did nice things for my view. Today it was out and back, out and back as I sat and waited for you, my book forgotten.
Tomorrow? Hmm. Why don’t we stop these pretenses? Only you and I are stirring in the dawn light. I’m sitting there waiting.
You come running along like any other morning. I have an extra cup of coffee poured, the pot sitting nearby on my camp stove. You take the cup and glance around for a place to sit. Seeing the picnic bench is still wet with morning dew, you opt for my lap. You sigh as the hot liquid touches your lips and settle more deeply in my lap. I start to say good morning, but you hold a finger to my lips. No words are spoken as you shift your butt on my stiffening interest. I set my cup aside.
I find your legs as smooth and silky as they appeared when you ran past. Did you really find time to shave before running? My left hand slips around your waist, pushing the short top up a bit so I feel your skin and taut muscles. My right continues to explore your legs up to the hem of those little shorts and push it higher.
You bend, stretching to set your cup on the bench and pressing the soft fullness of you breast into the back of my hand. I turn my hand to face your tit and you freeze, breathing deeply to push it more firmly into my grasp. As you slowly sit up, my hand comes with you, dislodging itself only long enough to find its way beneath your shirt and back to your softness. You melt toward me and our lips touch, our tongues still tasting of coffee slide together, explore, and mate.
I push that black sports bra up, freeing the twin globes from their binding. Your nipples begin to harden and a small moan escapes into my mouth. Your new position leaves just one cheek on my lap, the other high enough that my left hand can slip beneath the waistband and find only the smooth skin of your ass beneath its touch. That answers one question.
You have one hand behind my head as the other moves between us to find the staff you are seeking. A little tentative at first, as if you might still question whether this is a good idea. You grip more firmly, the question resolved in your mind. As you stroke gently, I lift the hem of your crop-top and bend to take a pink pearl between my lips, squeezing lightly before licking it to hardness. Unable to kiss my lips, your mouth descends to my neck and I fight off chills and feel the gentle sucking of your lips against me. That will leave a mark.
Not satisfied with the layer of clothes—my sweats—between your hand and my cock, you push them down, smearing the first dewdrop of come escaping from its eye. Keeping my lips on your nipple, my hand glides down your flat stomach and beneath the band of your shorts. You shift again to open your treasure to me and my hand bathes in your liquid. You thrust toward me and my fingers sink effortlessly into your depths. Fearing your moan will wake the camp, you clamp down on my shoulder.
We have moved into the throes of passion. My hands push your shorts down as you push at my sweats. You lift your hips and with a wiggle that causes my fingers to repeatedly plunge in and out of you, your shorts reach your ankles and you step out of them. Then, facing me, you kiss me as you straddle my manhood and guide it to your waiting inferno. The first touch is almost too much for either of us to bear. Your fingers clamp down on my cock to prevent me from joining in your orgasm. It is my turn to moan into your mouth as the sharp sting of semen flows back to my prostate. Still gripping me firmly, you sink onto my cock, slowly letting your pussy expand to take my girth. When you think you have it all, you release your grip and drop still farther onto my impaling pole.
You pull back from me, searching my eyes with your luminescent blues. I fall into their depths and crash against the rocks of your soul as you rise and fall on my cock. You crest again and barely get your lips to mine to stifle your scream, your tongue plumbing the depths of my mouth as my cock explores the depths of your pussy. Your tits press into my chest and I grab your buns to help you rise and fall on my cock.
As you ascend the slopes yet again, I rise with you and we frantically try to muffle the other’s pleasure as jets of my sperm fly upward to your waiting vagina. It has been a while. Seems I’ve been saving this for you and you are not content until you have drawn every drop of the past few weeks’ abstinence from me. You collapse on me as I continue stroking your back and butt, dipping to kiss your tender nipples yet again. Both of us, unwilling to let this instant in eternity pass from our grasp. Your pussy twitches around me and finds yet one more pulse from my cock.
Slowly, the morning brightens and the sun rises far enough to glint in your eyes. You push yourself gently away from me and pull your sports bra back into position, hiding those glorious orbs from my questing eyes, hands, and lips. Your shorts, still caught around one ankle are pulled up. You hesitate a moment before covering yourself completely and grin at me, then the sparse hairs of your pussy are hidden again from sight. You lean forward and place a smile on my lips with your own.
With a deep breath, you step away and jog back to the path and I hear your footsteps recede. Out and back. I pour myself another cup of coffee, my first having gone cold. As I sip, I hear you returning. You don’t look over at me as you run past, but I see the glistening stream of our fluids still flowing down the inside of your thigh. I hear the camp begin to stir.
But that’s tomorrow.
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