Redbud - The Second Sex

(Touched up May 28, 2008. As always, forgive my typos, poor grammar and poor editing. Enjoy. I may make changes & hopefully improve. Might write a sequel.)

	He rounded the corner like he always did. 
	And she was there, like clockwork. He jogged this same stretch of road for two years. through two girlfriends - no, three girlfriends - and she was the most dependable. Sometimes he reached the straight stretch first, sometimes she did. The stretch of road was kept on both sides be neat lawns, hedged sidewalks and perfect, clapboarded ranches tucked one next to the other. They would run down the road, onto another, and then another until, after two miles, she would turn right and he would turn left. 
	He liked following her - slim and athletic. He liked how her hips moved so differently, a woman's musculature, and the muscular round of her swelling butt that always seemed to arch behind her, and her narrow shoulders. His cock would unbend and harden when he followed her.
	They never spoke.
	Sometimes he would pass her. Sometimes she passed him. Her hair was black. She had Asian features that he liked. She might have been half Asian. Her long black hair was braided and cinched with a bright red hair tie. His own hair was curly and dark brown. His father was from Mexico. His mother was from Minnesota. He knew that the young woman watched him, sometimes. 
	He didn't know much about her.
	He had asked another jogger once. She was a researcher; had been dating a doctor, broke up, was an over-achiever, reading when she was 3, brilliant. He was watching her now, her narrow hips and body as she ran ahead of him. A sheen of sweat covered the bare skin of her back between her sports top and shorts.  Her youthful slenderness thickened and lengthened his cock. He liked the feeling - of his body doing two things at once. He ran faster, timed his breath with his footfall and caught up to her.
	She heard him. She must have. They didn't look at each other. 
	He could smell her sweat, mixing with the oily smell of asphalt, humidity soil and leaves. Spring. He picked up his pace. She followed and passed him. He could hear her breath, regular, rhythmic and constant. Her stride didn't pound the road. Her pace was light. Quick. She was a slight woman. His own stride was heavier. He was hard. He ran faster and passed her. He could hear her behind him. 
	He could hear the timbre of her voice in her breathing and he wondered if she sounded the same when she was being ridden or if she was riding. Instead of the light rhythmic fall of her feet, the rhythmic fall of her lean body on his. The perfect repetition of her fall, legs open, divided by the cock between her and inside her. He imagined her ass, muscular and jouncing with every stride, jouncing as he took her from behind, muscular but soft, firm but round, strong but penetrated, feminine and wet with arousal, and sweat.
	She didn't slow. Her breath was even. She was passing him. He didn't look at her and she didn't look at him. She was faster than he was. He tried to keep up and pass her again. He couldn't. He ran harder. She ran harder. She was faster. She was better. They were nearing the end of the straight-stretch, the first corner. She was ahead of him. He pushed to pass her. She slowed, leaned, pushing him against the curb. He fell. He caught the first stumble with a left hand, the second with a bloodied right knee.
	He looked up. Furious. She was several paces ahead. She had stopped, bent over, hands on her knees. She was catching her breath, staring down at the pavement. But there was something else in her posture, when she turned to meet his gaze, for an instant - something about the way she was bent over, the way her back arched, the way she spat before she turned and began running again. He pushed after her.
	He would catch her - ask her what the hell she was thinking, ask her who the hell she thought she was. But there was another emotion that mixed with his anger, seeing  her slender legs, her narrow waist and bare spine. Her hand had brushed his cock before he fell. It wasn't an accident.
	She turned. Where was she turning? The woods? He followed. She was on a path. She was off. She was running too fast. She had speed. He had stamina. She finally fell to her hands and knees in a clearing, then quickly leaned back, hands on knees, breath ragged. He passed her. Stopped. Bent over, facing away from her, catching his own breath. He had to stand up. He forced himself to stand, turn, and face her. He went to her. He wanted to speak but he had nothing to say. He didn't have anything to say. He had something to do.
	And she didn't meet his gaze. She was staring at his crotch, still hard. He pushed down the front of his shorts. His cock was full and pressed against his abdomen. He pushed it down, stepped forward, a hand behind her neck, the other on his cock and pushed the tip into her opening mouth. He moved back and forth, feeling her tongue and mouth around his sensitive bulb. He was the man. She was the woman. She grabbed his ass. She sucked. Her beautiful lips, just as he had always imagined, stretched around his cock. The soil under her was rich the smell of growth and moisture. He needed this.
	He cried out.
	She had bitten him, not hard, but enough. She stood, snarled her fingers in his hair and kissed him, urgently, violently. Then pushed him away and she was running again. He would take her. And she would let him, but on her own terms and he knew it. She was faster, she was better, but he was the male.
	She ran until he could hear her high pitched voice in her exhalations. She ran to a tree, and stopped. She turned, her hands back against the sides of the tree. She met his gaze. She watched him. Her breasts heaved. Her nipples strained against her sports bra. She didn't move her hands as he approached her, but she gripped the tree.
	He didn't stop until he was almost leaning against her.  She was tiny compared to him, tiny, wiry and tough. She stood on her toes and licked his throat. He pushed up her sports bra. Her nipples were like the rest of her - tiny, firm, little firecrackers. She pushed him away, hard, but didn't move from the tree. He pushed down the front of his shorts again, tucking the banding under his balls, freeing his cock. She moved her hands back to the sides of the tree behind her.
	He was on her again, pushing the crotch of her shorts aside, guiding his cock.
	"Huh!"
	Her cry was short, like high water, or a bird - an acknowledgment. She had been penetrated. The heavy bud of his cock was just inside her, the lips of her sex stretched around the stem. His hands moved over hers, holding them to the tree. She gazed at him, mouth open, sweating, legs opening.
	"Huhn!"
	Now he sunk his length inside her.  He had never felt so full or heavy - no woman felt so tight. If he looked at her belly he expected he would see the bulge of his cock inside her. He didn't look. He withdrew and thrust up hard. She gasped, another admission, and she flinched. She tried to move her hands. He held them, and thrust again, again, again. She was breathing hard. Whether from running, or being fucked, this is what he had wanted and imagined countless times.
	She felt good.
	She was pushing her shoulders against the tree, her opening toward him.  She made little cries, fluttering cries that inflamed him. Her hands slipped out from under his. She was fast. She half pushed him, half pulled him. She was trained. She could fight. He recognized her moves. He fell onto his back and she landed on top of him, her fists wrapped tightly in his top. She gave a short, hard grunt as her knees landed on either side of his hips, as her unprotected belly took the length and width of him, and more, driven by her own weight.
	She stopped, as if the breath were knocked out of her.
	New shoots, crumbling leaves, and damp roots pressed into his back. He arched, enjoying the hot wetness inside her. She gasped. Then she was fucking him. He reached for her nipples. She pushed his hands away, held his wrists above him, against the damp April soil. Her rise and fall was light, quick, rhythmic, like her running, her breath pitched in a soft counter-rhythm. He could see the bulge of his cock inside her muscular abdomen. She was enjoying the girth of him stiffly filling her- the pleasure of him slipping out of her, but not quite, then filling herself again, then rising quickly until her lips just kissed his tip, only to engulf the length of him.
	She fell and rose quickly. Her breath grew halting, starting and stopping, out of sync. He recognized the arch of her eyebrows, her mouth opening, her slight body hardening and stiffening even as she continued to slide up and down.
	No. 
	He freed his wrists and grabbed hers. 
	She struggled to free herself even as she continued to grind her sex against him. He forced her hands behind her. Her wrists were tiny. And then he had her, both wrists in one hand. Maybe she could have freed herself, but she didn't. She forced him to hold her wrists tightly. He pulled them down, behind her, between his own knees and toward her ass, forcing her to groan and tightly arch her back, thrusting her breasts and nipples upward, her head back. She struggled to grind against him but the more she tried the harder he pulled her against himself, the more she arched and stretched her taut stomach and breasts.
	She stopped moving, legs wide, sex penetrated, tits upward and abdomen stretched. That's right, he thought to himself. I'm in charge. You can be faster, smarter, more successful, but when I'm fucking you... She struggled. No. He forced her arms back, her breasts heaved and she quietly groaned. No, when I'm fucking you, you are the woman, I am the man. You are there for me. Your legs will be open when I want them to be open.
	Jesus, she was beautiful.
	He cupped her cheek with his free hand, then pressed his thumb to her lips. She opened and he pushed his thumb inside her mouth. She bit down, tried to grind against him. He held her. She bit harder. He shook his head at her. She bit harder. Her nostrils flared. He refused to clench his jaw. The pain was searing. Still, she bit harder. No! God damn - the pain! But he shook his head, not quickly, but with determination. He was going to break her, Jesus! - he was going to break this woman. 
	She stopped grinding.
	She stopped biting and the pain of stopping was worse than biting.
	But the look in her eyes changed and slowly, she began to suck. She slid her mouth back and forth over his thumb. And she didn't move. His first thrust was hard and made her grunt. She let out a long moaning exhalation but continued to suck, gazing at him, waiting. He sat up, brought his knees under him so that she was impaled on his lap, her wrists still held behind her, her back still arched. He took her right breast into his mouth, all of it, and sucked. She took some quick breaths through her nose. Her breast, the part of her that was soft and delicate, that always would be, that was her womanhood, tasted of salt and another scent - maybe perfume. He let it slide out of his mouth until he only sucked on the nipple. He pressed it between his teeth.
	She sucked, she moaned, and she ground herself around his penetration. He held her nipple between his teeth, not hard, but painfully. She continued to struggle, then quieted, stopped, tongued his thumb. He let go of her nipple and she whimpered. Her nipple was distended, red, aroused. That's it, he thought to himself, little woman - you know your place.
	He thrust again, still holding her wrists, forcing her to arch and present her tight belly and nipples. He thrust hard, holding himself deeply before he thrust again, hard and deliberate. She sucked his thumb again, her head moving back and forward. She gazed at him as he thrust, the look, he knew, submissive. Each time she began to move, he shook his head.
	"Suck," he whispered.
	She did. He thrust into her. He could see the bulge in her belly, the nub of his cock far up inside her. He thrust again, again. She was stiffening. Her slight frame was arching further, if that were possible. She was cumming. She had stopped sucking.
	"Suck," he whispered again, as he thrust into her.
	She sucked. Her eyes rolled. And then she snapped and pulsed. He held himself deeply inside her, without moving. She sucked and convulsed around the maleness imbedded inside her. He could feel her, every spasm, every time her small opening gripped his cock and released. She wasn't breathing. She didn't make a sound. She sucked and she came. And then, with a long groan, she grew still.
	He withdrew his thumb, the base was swollen, marked with her teeth. Saliva dripped down her chin. He let her sit up, still holding her wrists. She gazed up at him, then licked his chin, licked his neck and the hollow of his throat, tasting sweat and maleness.  She was slight. He stood up easily, sliding his cock out of her, now wet and glistening with her breaking. He still held her hands behind her, by the wrists. She gazed up at him, waiting. 
	He looked at her, looked at her tits, at her narrow waist and hips, and let her know he was looking, possessively, lasciviously  - a male. He took hold of a tit and squeezed, pulled it, her eyes fluttered. So she was an over-achiever? She was accomplished? She was smarter and more athletic? He yanked down her shorts, down midway around her thighs, staring at her narrow hips and the tuft of her pussy. He turned her away from him, took hold of her unraveling braid, pulled her head back - his other hand still holding her wrists - and pushed her to her knees, bending her over.
	"Huh!"
	He sunk himself in her upturned opening. She gasped, back arched, mouth open. He arched and sunk his full length, his width, his engorged arousal  fully into her taut abdomen. She let out a keening breath, back arched, ass up, facing away from him. He fucked her. He fucked her until she grunted with every thrust. She was brilliant?  He fucked her upturned belly. She was a woman. He fucked her sex and held himself insider her, bursting, filling her womb with spurt after spurt of his juice. 
	He fell forward over her. Her check fell into the rich, back soil. The smell of cum, earth, torn leaves and streaked thighs laced their breathing.
	They stayed like this, her ass jutting upward, his body over hers, until his cock finally slipped out of her, languid and soft. She turned to face him. They kissed, tenderly, without speaking. She licked his lips, he licked and kissed hers, tasting soil and salt. Then he stood and she did. She pulled up her shorts, making no pretense to clean the fluids between her thighs and inside her; then pulled down her jogging bra. Her cheek was dark with the rich earth she had been pressed against; and leaves were tangled in her hair.
	This was what she had wanted, but had never found.
	And this is what he had desired, but no other woman had wanted.
	He glanced back at the way they had come. The fresh shoots around them were matted down and driven into the soil. It was spring. The forest smelled of fecundity. He began the jog back to the road. She followed, then passed him. She was the more graceful, the more talented, the more athletic, but maybe she was his. Now, when he watched her slender hips and waist, he knew the fluids of his arousal were inside her, mixing with her lithe motion. He had proven himself.
	They reached the road.								
	She continued to run ahead of him, faster and fitter. Then, at corner, this time, she turned left.
	She slows. 
	She waits for him to catch up - smarter, faster, more talented - the woman.
	
