I’m really missing my laptop, but despite this there are a thousand filthy thoughts whirling around in my head so I’ve attempted to get some of them down on paper. A friend has predicted that the amount of erotica I post will increase while I’m at my parents’ house over Christmas, so this is the first of those. A tribute to guys in running gear who I want to do bad things to…
You’re training for a marathon, and it’s so much fun. I’m proud of you, of course, but the actual marathon itself – to me – isn’t the end goal. The end goal is the sex.
The t-shirts and shorts you wear to go running leave more of your skin exposed, leaving me more tempted to lick said exposed skin. Even when we’re in inappropriate public places, and especially if you’re sweaty. It’s delicious, salty man sweat, and it’s mine. Usually it’s mine because I get to lick it from your neck when we’re lying in a messy tangle of limbs after sex, covered in sweat and spunk, but this – by all logic in my oh-you-look-so-fucking-hot-like-that mind – should be mine too.
You’re doing push-ups on the living room floor when I walk in, naked but for a new skirt and my heels. You’re topless too, so I take great pleasure I walking over and pushing down lightly on your back with my right foot . The pressure means you have to work harder – you begin panting slightly – and my heels make pretty red marks on your back. I tell you how many push-ups you need to do while I’m standing there. You fuck me afterwards – hard and fast, my arms braced against the wall while you take me from behind, your hands on my hips so you can pull me back on to your cock.
I feel your new strength when you hold me down when we struggle-fuck. It’s noticeable when you spank me too, the blows falling with a little more force than usual, the bruises and marks you leave on me lingering longer. The time you lift me up and carry me into the bedroom from the kitchen – because I’ve been reading you smut while you attempt to cook us dinner – maybe wasn’t solely down to you getting stronger, but you definitely find it easier than when you’ve tried the same move before.
After you’ve come inside me, I tell you to do sit-ups, as that’s what I distracted you from for a quick fuck in the first place. I stand over you, while your come mixes with my wetness and drips down the inside of my thighs. Every time you finish a sit-up, your face ends up pressing into my cunt and you take a lick. However, you using my body as motivation to work harder… before you get through the sit-ups I’d ordered you to complete I’m already describing what we’re going to do next.
It’s not the only time we do this, of course. A few months into your training, I tell you that I’ll give you a blow job every time you beat your personal best for 5k or 10k runs. You rise to the challenge eagerly, and take great pleasure in telling me to get on my knees every time you come in, proudly announcing your next time. I am only too happy to oblige.
In summary? Your marathon-training inspires some fabulous sex. Now, pull your shorts down and bend over the kitchen counter. I want to see if you can do a mile run with your vibrating butt plug in.
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.