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Bestowal
Date: 6/15/2016, Categories: Seduction, Author: Adamgunn
I'm winded, but I know Christie will keep going. I wave her on, and she trots down the firm sand of the Carolina beach. We've played this game all week, and I know she'll go on another quarter mile while I rest up, then turn around and together we'll race back to our starting point. I watch the muscles in her long, strong legs as she pulls away from me, and then, further up, the bottom of her firm gluteus maximus peeking out from the cutoffs she's wearing. I love the way her blond ponytail swishes first left, then right as she disappears into the haze of the early morning. For two or three minutes I huff and puff, stretching, then dip my hand into the waves and cool my face with a splash of salt water. Less than five minutes have gone by, and I sense her approach. The soft golden eyebrows, the length of her aquiline nose with nostrils flaring in exercise, the full lips surrounding perfectly white teeth, and, always, the cobalt eyes, the orbs that bore through to my soul. Below her taut neckline and long collarbones lies the perfect midriff that surrounds a navel most men would grovel to place their pinkie into. Between her neck and flat stomach, the breasts, the ones I finally know to be perfect. Even though the thick fabric of the athletic bra binds them, I realize just how beautiful they are. Perfectly round where they rise from her breastplate, they climax to the perfect zenith of the rosy aureoles, protruding from the firm flesh, and crowned by the tip of her nipple. ...
... Women five years younger than she would be proud to have any single part of this Elysian body, but they would sell all they would ever have for simply her breasts. I fall into step beside her, and tell her simply, "You're gorgeous." "I know," she replies. "You'd be all right, too, if you'd lose that life preserver." She's teasing, at twenty-seven I'm in better shape than any of my friends, studiously avoiding the beer belly that I might develop through constant workouts. For another mile we trot wordlessly past the seaside grasses covering the dunes. Finally we halt at our backpack and retrieve the water bottle. She drinks from it first, and then passes it to me. I catch a hint of lipstick in the taste, and wish I could kiss her. But I know this is meant to be the impossible dream. We kick off our shoes, and stroll into the slight ocean waves till our knees are covered in the water. I started this tradition the first day of our sunrise runs, and she now expects it. She shades her eyes from the glare of the water with her hand, and catches me admiring her elegance. "You're thinking of last night." It's a statement, not a question. "Yes," I admit. "You jerked off, thinking about me, didn't you?" Subtlety has never been one of Christie's vices. Trying to sound nonchalant, I reply, "Of course. Do you mind?" "No, if you hadn't, I think I'd be disappointed. I could be an exhibitionist, you know," she divulges. "Really? Have you ever done anything like that before?" "Once." She pauses, ...