Jogging Vixen Ch 01

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It's been a long time since the last story I submitted, I felt it was about time I added something new.

I hope you enjoy this new series which I look forward to updating as regularly as I can.

And always remember to read responsibly.

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She has a ritual. Every day she runs, working out muscles along her thighs and calves. Every day she's out there when the sun is beginning to set and brings about that warm glow to cover the world. Every day, I watch her from my bedroom window fantasizing about what I want to do to her.

The first time I ever saw her, was when I was eighteen. I had just moved to a new house in one of those prebuilt residential areas meant to house a thousand people with very little space between homes. It was supposed to be a boom-town scenario, with families from all over coming to live there and make a proper neighborhood.

Instead, it was just our house, my mother and I. A lonely little building surrounded by a scant few trees and shrubs, with a wide cul-de-sac supporting our singular home. It was nice, though, because I got to go exploring the countryside around our home. All sorts of interesting bits of landscape leant itself to my travels and imagination, while also giving me ample opportunities to experiment with myself in the beauty that was nature.

As for the woman, she was absolutely stunning. Tall with a lean build from spending so much time working out, she wore her hair long and dark red to contrast beautifully with the light bronzing of near flawless skin.

What I loved the most, though, was watching the way her hips stretched out the nearly transparent material of her yoga pants, and how her sports bra barely helped contain the heavy mounds of breast-flesh that bounced and swayed with every stride.

She was poetry in motion.

Every time I watched her, I could feel myself getting aroused. Not just horny, but thoroughly aroused through every part of my body. I could feel the whole of my skin and muscles flushing with that ultimate desire to bed her and love her like no other man could.

It became an all consuming obsession, until the only thing I could think about was that woman, jogging out front with her body nearly on complete display.

It turned from just watching her the first few weeks, to sitting naked next to my window. Leaning back, cock in hand fully-hard and aching for attention, I would rub myself long before she would appear out front, ready for the moment when her beautiful form would slip out from behind the trees into full view and grace me with that image of perfection.

It didn't take long before I was shooting ropes of young seed across my bedroom wall and leaving a sticky mess of my thighs and hands.

A week later, and I wasn't content to just wait for her to jog past. My every thought was about her, remembering the way she looked as she would bounce along the sidewalk. I spent hours naked in my room, stroking and pumping my young shaft until I thought I was going to rub it raw.

Fantasies emerged. Simply things at first, having her naked in my bedroom, having her naked in the living room, being outside when she would jog past and catching a glimpse of her naked breasts. Each time I wanted more, and my fantasies continued to grow from there. Each time it was something more perverted and sickening until I started to think I was going mad.

My obsession finally took me to planning. Fantasy wasn't enough anymore, I wanted to have her. I wanted to possess her the way any man would want to have a woman. I remember the first day that I decided to move beyond just masturbating at my window, I was filled with a trembling excitement. My entire body was sweating so hard I thought I would drown where I knelt.

This was an escalation of all my previous thoughts, my sessions in my room becoming something entirely different.

Naked, hidden in the bushes near the sidewalk but just far enough away I wouldn't be heard, I waited for her to come into sight. My cock was made of stone at that point while I gingerly stroked it, though I had to be careful, being as close to cumming as I was.

It wasn't too much longer before she came up the street. From where I knelt I could see her large nipples sticking out from the sports bra, clearly visible thanks to her own perspiration soaking the fabric. I wanted to think of her as a slut, so proudly displaying herself and begging for a good fuck, but I couldn't.

Then she was there, in front of me. Only a brief moment, but she was so very close. I wanted to reach out and touch her, wrap my hands around her breasts and squeeze until the fabric ripped. I wanted to hold her down and rub my swollen length between her sweaty thighs until I burst in streams and gallons of seed against her sodden mound.

I groaned out loud as I came then, pumping my seed onto the ground at my knees. My whole body shook and jerked as I kept squeezing my spasming cock, losing track of the world and where that woman went.

It took me far too long to regain my senses, and by then, she had already disappeared back down the street. Still, I had made the first of my own personal steps towards taking what I wanted, having my way with an older woman like her.

A few days later, my courage restored, I decided to be bolder.

Naked again, this time in my front window, I stood there proudly with my hand wrapped around myself. Slow strokes, nerves buzzing with energy, I watched as she jogged up the street. I knew she would see me, she had to see me.

Swallowing my excitement down, my fist pumped hard and quick down my cock. I watched with painfully rapt attention for the look on her face when she saw me, standing there. I watched as her eyes narrowed, then widened. I watched as her mouth opened in shocked surprise then her eyes darted away and her cheeks flushed. Most of all, I watched as her nipples seemed to swell beneath that thin material, showing that she liked what she saw.

Her pace quickened, and I came against the glass of our front window. There was so much of it that I was afraid moments later, that I wouldn't be able to clean it all up. It ran down in long streaks and pooled against the sill, looking like someone had jumped on a lotion bottle and exploded it across the window. I did my best to wipe up the sticky mess, before falling weak-kneed onto the couch and dozing.

Lost in my nap, I didn't hear the back door opening and closing. What I did hear was that sharply audible gasp and my name being called out by my mother as she stood there across the room, covered in sweat that made her sports-bra transparent and her skin-tight shorts, sheer.

"What are you doing?!" she cried out, hands on hips as she stared down at my naked body.

Shocked into stiffness from head to toe, I was suddenly facing the object of my desire and she was seeing me for the pervert that I was.

"I-I'm sorry!" It was a feeble thing to say, because I wasn't.

Mind and body finally got on the same page and I made a quick retreat back to my room. There I hid away until night came and went, and most of the morning had passed.

Out of habit I stood near my window and wait for her, but as I expected, mom didn't go jogging. Disappointed and feeling horrible that I had been discovered more than my display in the front window, I went back to sulking at my desk or across my bed, all intentions to masturbate leaving me and my cock unwilling to even think about getting hard.

The second day passed much the same, and again my depression continued. Days three and four were little more than dark moments of my life that I would have loved to forget. By the end of the week, I had almost given up ever seeing my mother jogging again. Instead, I was looking for something new to fill my time with, as I hadn't even talked to her since the day she found me in the living room.

Passing by my window while getting changed to go out hiking, I happened to catch a glimpse of movement outside.

There, out in the front yard, was mom in her jogging outfit. That glorious, beautiful vixen of womanly perfection out front, but not jogging at all. Instead, she was knelt there on the lawn, tending to her garden giving me ample viewing down the deep cleft of her breasts where the fabric of the bra couldn't conceal.

I nearly came in my pants then and there, and found it difficult to think of anything, let alone what I was planning on doing.

All thoughts of my recent depression pushed aside, I was beside myself with excitement. I wanted to pull my cock out then and there and start stroking myself until I couldn't walk, and I wanted to go out there and stand next to her, apologize to her and let her know that I didn't mean to do that.

I chose the latter of the two and made sure to readjust my young meat so that it wasn't too obvious. Then with my eyes averted and every part of my body thrumming with excitement, I stepped out into our front yard and slowly walked up in front of her.

"Mom?" I quietly probed, seeing what kind of footing we were on.

Not looking up, she continued to tug at weeds and move the dirt around until she seemed happy with the way it looked. "Yes?"

I was stuck for a moment, not really sure what to say. Granted, I was also fighting so hard not to look down her shirt or stare at how hard her nipples were. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she shot back rather quickly. I wondered if she hadn't rehearsed this scenario in her head a dozen times since the other day, trying to find the best way to keep us together without giving me the wrong impression.

"For... " I wanted to say for getting caught, for her finding out that I was stroking my cock while watching her. "For doing what I did."

"And what did you do?" Again she had the reply ready, this time lifting her green eyes upwards to look at me.

I couldn't read her face, couldn't tell if she was either disappointed or angry at me. I swallowed, feeling my throat and mouth suddenly dry. "I... I was playing with myself."

"Is that all?"

"No. I... I was playing with myself, thinking about you." And I nearly came then and there as I admitted it openly to my mother. The woman who had given birth to me, who was my singular sexual fantasy, was now aware that I had been sexually fantasizing about her.

We were both silent for a long time. I fidgeted a bit, feeling my cock nearly bursting as I stood there unable to do anything by stare down her sports bra. Seeing her kneeling there, her body sweaty and barely covered by anything more opaque than a wet Kleenex, was driving me crazy.

"What were you thinking about?" she finally asked. Her voice was small, held just above a whisper by something I could only guess was curiosity, perhaps even a little lust. The question, though, took me back. Hearing that from her mouth made me reflexively reach down to squeeze my swollen shaft through my pants.

"About... about seeing you naked."

She swallowed, I could see her throat moving with the changing play of shadows along her neck. "Did you want me to see you naked, too? Is that why you stood in the window, to show me your... your cock?"