Late Summer; just before Fall equinox. His favorite time of the year. Leaves changing color. Air getting cooler. Dusk falling just as his homeward bicycle ride takes him through the forest. Dusk always appears unusually long during these two weeks. Long shadows and stray sun rays playing with the greenery; glimpses of wildlife from afar.

Much-needed solitude of the forest after a long day at the office. Time for self-reflection, meditation, enjoyment of nature... and to ogle that jiggling set of boobs.

Come again?

Full stop; just enough force on the front brake so the bike doesn't flip.

He turns around. Eyes confirm what he absent-mindedly observed from in front: what a delectable posterior in those anthracite leggings. That salmon hoodie, however... not exactly his cup of tea. But these luscious, thick thighs... What was that less pleasant detail again?

He pedals, catches up with her. Full stop using his rear brake in the curve, kicking up dust, blocking her way. Spectacular—or so he thinks. Although stopped, she keeps skipping on the spot. Questioning look.

“Nice shoes,” he grins. “Wanna fuck?” Always wanted to try this stale pick-up line.

She keeps skipping on the spot, rolls her eyes. “Piss off!”

“Too bad,” still sporting his smirk. “Hoped to tap that delicious ass.”

She chuckles, “I like men who talk turkey but my husband's waiting. With dinner. Can you cook?”

“So what?” he replies. “Fiancée's home too. Pregnant. Who will ever know? Just the two of us.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Filthy pig. Get lost!”

“C'mon!” he tries, bravado persistent. “Just a quickie. Five minutes, not even. He'll not even notice the delay. Can just say you took a short detour. Improving your cardio and stuff.”

Her expression changes. Irritated. “So what's in it for me, then? You'll never get me off in that time. Forget it. One last time, bozo: fuck off!”

“Really? You've never had a real man, then?” he presses on, testing his chutzpah.

“Hubby takes at least ten minutes. Been at it for seven years. Damn well knows what he's doing,” she tries to shoo him away. Adds, for emphasis, “Makes me cum hard. So hard I forget my own name for a good half-minute.”

“Ten minutes? What's taking him so long? He's never heard of the elusive clitoris or what? Bet you never allow him to come inside you,” he replies. Tries to read her expression: shame, anger, provocation but also confession. “Bet you'll beg me to fill you with my load in those five,” checks his watch, “Nah, four minutes? If you can still talk straight, that is.”

Her expression changes. Vexed to red-hot angry. She stops her skipping, steps to him. Takes his face by his chin, squeezes her fingers together so his lips form a fish pout.

“Shut it before I rip your dick off!” she snarls.

In response, he offers his best smile. Looks funny through his mistreated mouth. “Why don't you get a proper feel of it?” Takes her free hand, places it on the crotch of his skin-tight bicycle shorts. “And now gimme that kiss. You want it too. I can tell.”

Angered by his persistent self-confidence, his sheer audacity, she looks at him. He reads confusion in her eyes: growing lust mixed with rampaging rage. Too easy to fathom, clearly not used to direct confrontation. Easy prey.

His face still in her iron grip, he slides his hand into her hood. Pulls her by the neck; a peck on the lips. She's trembling. Tears in eyes. Fighting with lust. Just one fleeting kiss and yet...

“Impressive, isn't it? Still wanna go home and miss out on this? Not curious if I can keep a promise? The fuck of your life in, uh, three minutes now.”

Her eyes roaming over his entire face, seeking something to hold on to. He hears her heavily swallow. Tears of hatred. Tears of inner turmoil. Tears of regret. Decision taken long ago.

“Fine, then,” she hisses. Turns around, slides her leggings down mid-thigh. Bends over, supporting her weight against a tree. “But I can't have your filthy cum in me when I get home, you hear me?”

Dismounting his bicycle and freeing his erection from the skin-tights, he replies, “Yeah, whatever.”

Adjusts the angle, shoves his entire length into her with the first thrust.

“Holy fuck,” she pants, “Never been filled so much.”

“Told ya,” comes his smug reply. Begins to fuck her with long, powerful thrusts.

She moans in rhythm with his thrusts, “Fuck. Why. Am. I. En. Joy. Ing. This. So. Much? It's. Just. So. Good.”

He presents her his index and middle finger. “Here. Lick this. Gotta be wet, yes?”

Her cries replaced by hums on his fingers. Once coated with slobber, he places them on her clit.

Takes her just a faint touch in combination with his superior shagging to push her over the edge. She cries out her husband's name as her legs shake and her pussy contracts on his cock.

“Funny name. One minute, see?” he contentedly chortles. “Ready for round two?”

“Yes!” she begs. “Please keep fucking me!”

“Atta girl,” as he picks up his relentless thrusts, applies more pressure on her clit, induces an immediate second orgasm, more powerful than the first.

She keeps pushing back her hips during the entire length of her climax, seeking to take his entire meat into her aching cave.

“Wow, you almost came during an entire minute, babe,” he comments. “Longer than with your hubby. Two minutes left. Want one more?”

Hardly able to catch enough air. Gasping, she tries, “Yes! Fuck me more!”

He chuckles as he pulls out. Turns her around, helps her out of her pants and flings them over a nearby branch. Then, lifts her up and presses her against the tree as she wraps her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck.

His hands on her buttocks support his thrusts.

“Want to come a third time?” he asks.

“Yes, please make me come again!” she pleads.

“But I won't last much longer,” he whispers in her ear.

“Come with me,” she moans. “Fill me up with your dirty baby juice!”

“Thought so,” grinning as he gives the final thrust. An eruption deep inside her, triggering her final climax.

As their mutual high subsides, he puts her on her feet again. Hands her the leggings. Comments, “See, wasn't so bad, now, was it?”

Catching her breath, her face reads annoyance all over. “Fuck, Hubby's gonna kill me if he finds out,” tone free of guilt—rather exasperated.

“Yeah, but you got the fuck of your life, innit? Also, it was you who told me to cum inside you,” he provokes.

“Oh, shut up, you good-for-nothing Lothario,” she replies, visibly pissed.

“Why don't you just admit it?” he chuckles.

“Oh, I'll drive that smugness out of you, asshole. One more word and I'll kick you in the nuts, pork!” Anger sounds genuine.

Still unimpressed by her tantrum, he insists, “Come on, just say it. Say you just had the best fuck and you love the feeling of my spunk in your cunt.”

The kick comes fast and well-aimed. He immediately collapses into the characteristic fetal position, holds his hands protectively over his nuts. Whining in top C, pianissimo. No vibrato. No applause.

“Serves you right, pig!” she barks, then spits in his face.

Once dressed, she takes her two first steps, halts, hesitates, comes back. Kneels beside him, tries to catch his gaze.

Flushed cheeks. She adds sheepishly, “But you were right. Best fuck ever and I love having your cum in my pussy...” Hesitant pause. “...asshole.”

As she resumes her jogging round, his whimpering turns into more low-pitched moans again. “Totally,” he gasps, “totally worth it.” Huge, stupid smile.