The Runner


Thanks to LarryInSeattle for editing.



My dick is three-quarters hard before the window is halfway down. Lucky for me, or maybe not so lucky for me, there's no one behind me. I take my foot off the gas and let the car idle along beside him.

"You want your dick sucked?" I shout out the window, leaning toward the passenger side window, doing my best to keep an eye on the road as it winds up the hill along the river, and wondering if this is why the Brits drive on the left, to make it easier to proposition strangers while driving. It's a mid-summer Saturday afternoon, in between summer sessions. If he's a student, he's a grad student. Hell, he could be an instructor or assistant professor for all I know. What I know is he's fucking hot as hell, tanned, slick with sweat, running along in skimpy orange running shorts that perfectly highlight his tan. The bright green running shoes add a bit of dash to the ensemble. He's trim, lithe, but not skinny. I'd been able to get a quick look at his cock swinging from side to side as I drove past. I'd suffered a moment of panic before I was able to turn around in the next parking lot and head back up the hill, certain he'd have turned off on the trail that ducked down the hillside to hug the river bank. He hadn't. I'm observing my own actions but don't seem to have any control over them. I fucking teach here. What am I doing, rolling down my window and proposing a stranger in the middle of the campus?

He doesn't slow his pace but does spare me a glance. His chest is hairy but not a carpet. His back is smooth, legs hairy. I wonder about his crotch, hoping it's not totally bare, not really caring if it is, not expecting to ever know. I'm sure that even his quick glance will make it clear I'm a decade, at least, older than he is. About the only thing more improbable than me rolling down my window and offering to suck a stranger's dick as he runs through the campus where I work, is said stranger saying, "why, yes, I would like my dick sucked and I'd love for you to do it for me." Not happening. I try not to read too much into the fact he hasn't told me to "fuck off" or some variation thereof. I continue to idle along beside him.

"Is this how you typically look for a hook up? They have apps for that, you know." He's running, at a good pace, uphill and he's not panting. I'm pretty sure I'm in love. I touch the gas. I want to pull ahead just enough to again see his cock swaying under the skimpy shorts.

"No, this is a first." I hesitate but at this point I see no reason not to be honest. "I think I've lost my mind, to be honest. This is crazy. Take it as a compliment, if you can, that you're hot enough to cause a random dude, driving along minding his own business, to lose his fucking mind." I shake my head, needing to drop back a little to see him. "Sorry, dude. Have a good run." I quit leaning over to the right and sit back in the driver's seat. Before I can lift the tab to roll up the window, I hear him. "Thanks, but I'm almost done. Top of the hill and I'm finished." I struggle to interpret his meaning. "Thanks for the compliment and wishing me a good run," he continues as if reading my mind.

"Both were sincere," I call back, pulling my hand away from the window controls. I see him nod. I elect to keep idling along beside him, glancing in the rear-view mirror to make sure there's no one behind me. We reach the top of the hill. There are a few permit-only parking places. It's empty. I don't have a permit but that strikes me as a ridiculous concern at his point. I pull in and shut off the engine. He has the decency to rest with his hands on his knees for a minute, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose, before taking a long drink from the water fountain. Here at the top or the hill, the running trail broadens out into a small fitness area. I'm not sure if I'll be excited or disappointed to see him do a few chin ups or crunches. Maybe he'll let me spot him. I don't really expect that but I hadn't expected anything beyond, "fuck off, asshole". I get out of the car, walk around to the passenger's side and rest my butt on the rear panel.

"You live close by?" I ask, not seeing any cars or bikes parked near us. He shakes his head. "I usually cool off for a few minutes, then run back." He nods back down the hill, toward the bridge that crosses the river, two miles downstream. I nod, assuming he lives not too far away from the east end of the bridge, that would make the round trip a five-mile run. "How about you?" I shake my head. "I commute in. I live in the 'burbs'." He nods. As if I need to justify myself to this stranger whose dick I want to suck, I add, "I usually take the bus but it's a Saturday." Another nod. "For a big city the public transportation here sucks," he adds. He's looking at me but doesn't seem to be checking me out. Is that good or bad? Beats the fuck outta me. I nod my agreement. "Where you from?" He begins a series of stretches. "DC," he answers, palms touching the ground. "I love DC." This is true. "You a student? Faculty?" He shakes his head. "Just a nice place to run," he replies.

"My office is just over there." I nod toward a building, one back from the street, appalling myself with my words. What the fuck am I doing? My name is on the door of my office, duh. He'll know my name, the department I work in, my academic rank. Fuck why don't I give him a copy of my driver's license. I've seriously lost my mind.

"I need a shower."

Unable to rein in my stupidity I find myself replying. "There's a shower in the building. Lots of bike commuters." He doesn't react. "You don't need to shower for me. In fact, I just as soon suck you off just like this."

"You mean right here?"

That's not what I meant. I meant I want to suck his sweaty cock and balls. I look around. I haven't seen a car, a bike, a pedestrian. The office building I'd been working in was deserted. There's no privacy here. We could duck around the corner of the building but anyone running or biking along the trail would be able to see us, as would anyone looking from any of the multitude of windows facing the fitness area. Instead of explaining what I meant, I push myself away from the car and walk across the fitness area to the back corner of the building; at least it's hidden from the road. I turn back, not sure if he'll be following. My heart skips several beats when I see that he is. He leans with his back against the rough brick. He allows me to raise his right arm. I choose the right arm for no other reason than it's the one closest too me. I bend my head and lick a trail of sweat from just below his ribs, all the way back to the mass of dark hair from which it had escaped. I lick another, then a third. I bury my face in his armpit and inhale. Fucking heaven. My nose, my very brain, is suffused with a scent that screams, MAN, all caps, all male, all powerful and overwhelming. I turn my attention to his left side. During my ministrations, he doesn't make a sound, not a word, not a murmur of enjoyment. In normal circumstances, even in my bed with some guy I'd met at a bar that would worry me. I want to please my lovers. Today is not normal; today all I care about is imbibing him, all of him, before he runs away or we're interrupted.

I kneel in the grass, disregarding the fact that doing so may ruin my pants. Even on Saturdays I don't go to my office in jeans. I jerk his running shorts off. Although he remains silent, he does work his legs up and down until the shorts fall around his ankles, orange cuffs above green shoes. I bury my face between his sack and the inside of his leg. His musk is richer here, deeper, dropping from a tenor to a baritone but every bit as enticing as his pits. He's not shaved. I send a silent prayer of gratitude off into the ether. I lick and suck one side then the other, holding his now hard cock up with one hand. I lick and suck his sack. I stare at his cock but instead of taking it into my mouth, I turn him with my hands.

I spread his crack with both hands. I'm not totally out of my mind. I'm not into scat. I lick the sweat from the top of his crack, investigating with my nose. All I smell is musk. I lick lower. Nothing but sweat. I deem his asshole acceptably clean and tongue it. I'm not sure but I think, finally, I hear a soft, swallowed, moan.

"No fucking."

"I didn't ask you if you wanted to be fucked. I asked you if you wanted your dick sucked," I remind him as I turn him back around. His cock points skyward. A bead of dew sparkles in the sun. I dig in my pocket for my phone. "I want to take a picture, just of the head of your cock, your precum. No face. Okay?" He hesitates. "I want to see it. If I feel it shows too much, will you delete it?" I nod. "Yeah, of course," I assure him. He nods. I position the phone, hit the button, move slightly and hit the button again. I stand up and lean close, my cheek next to his and show him the photos. "Nice," he murmurs. "I wish you could send it to me." I don't bother to tell him I could; all he needs to do is give me his number. He knows that. I put my phone away and go back to my knees.

I kiss the head of his dick, tonguing away his excitement. I play my lips and tongue over his cock. Part of my mind is screaming, "hurry up, you'll get caught" but I can't seem to convince my body to move any faster. After kissing my way to the base of his cock, I press my nose into his pubic hair, inhaling, loudly. I grab his ass and he slides his cock over my cheek. Not wishing to scratch him, I turn my head, and let him slide his cock in the cradle of my parted lips. I press the tip of my tongue against the shaft. I wait for him to turn to me, wait for him to seek more. When he does, he puts a hand on the top of my head. I allow only the head of his cock past my lips. His fingers clench when my tongue pushes beneath his foreskin. I pull it taut with my lips, then push it back. I deep throat him. I hold him in my mouth and throat, getting him wet, humming around his cock. As I pull back, I suck and push my tongue hard against the shaft and follow with a twisting hand.

I kiss and lick my way down, then back up the underside of his shaft. I slide his foreskin back and kiss the V on the underside of his crown before flicking it as fast as I can with the tip of my tongue. This earns the first full-throated moan of the morning. I roll my head and my eyes. His head is thrown back; his eyes are closed.

I deep throat him again. Then again. And again. Each time I move at a glacial pace, going down and coming up. Holding him deep in my throat, I feel my mouth fill and spit beginning to hang from my chin but I don't gag. I hum around his cock. I stroke and tease his V. I pause to kiss his cock, to breath deep his musk, nose buried between his sack and leg, to lift his sack and lick behind his balls, to suck one nut then the other into my mouth. I take the time to do all these things.

I do so in spite of, or possibly because of, the person I spotted peeking around the corner. My companion has not noticed. He's mostly facing away that corner. I'm sure his face is not visible, less sure about my own. I can't seem to find room in my mind to enjoy sucking his cock and to worry about being watched. I keep an eye on the interloper. Everyone has a cellphone. Watching and recording are entirely separate beasts. I consider beckoning him to come over but decide not to. None of these musings interrupt the slow, steady sucking, stroking, and kissing of the runner's cock.

There's a small rock digging into my knee. I ignore it. My jaw begins to fatigue. Fuck it. Spit is falling of my chin and onto my pants. Fuck that as well. I don't care. I don't care if the cops walk up. I'm not sure even then I'd be able to stop sucking the dick in my mouth. I'm lost, stoned on the taste, the smell and the feel of his cock in my mouth, and his hands in my hair.

He surrenders to his desires first.

His other hand finds my head. His hips begin to move. I allow him to take control having, to my mind, won, having broken his will power. I let him fuck my mouth. I fish out my phone. I've never done this, never even considered it but suddenly it's all I can think about. I pull back enough to gasp, "Cum on my face." Then I let him resume fucking my eager mouth. I use the selfie mode, willing to stare at the camera in order to ensure I don't miss the shot. Perhaps his eyes are slightly opened. When I hold up the camera he begins to thrust faster. My mouth is a cunt and cunts don't gag. His cock slams into the back of my throat and then into it. Slobber flies; I can see it on the camera, but I don't gag. He doesn't cum on my face. I'm not upset. How can I be? His cock fills my throat, swells and erupts. I keep my tongue hard against the shaft to feel the waves of cum being pumped out of his body and into my very willing mouth and throat. Only nearing the end, does he pull out of my mouth. I open wide, showing the camera, possibly the world, my cum-filled mouth as the last feeble spasms of jizz land on my outstretch tongue. I swallow for the camera, then milk his softening cock with my mouth for as long as he'll let me.

He pulls up his orange shorts, turns, and begins running back down the path, ignoring the man standing just around the corner, cock jutting from his jeans.

The runner ignores him. I don't. I have a full charge. Plenty of space on my phone and a raging appetite.

I lick my lips and smile at the interloper.

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