Long Term Planning and Intersecting Paths

After the intense encounter with Lucille, I felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and curiosity about what could lie ahead. With Lucille now dressed and Katy seemingly oblivious to everything that had transpired, we began walking through the park, an air of faux-normalcy settling over us. The sun was still high, casting long dappled shadows through the trees, and the scent of blooming flowers hung in the air—a deceptively serene backdrop to my scheming thoughts

Katy, lean and athletic with her blonde ponytail swinging behind her, looked like a brand ambassador for outdoor fitness gear. Beside her, Lucille’s softer, curvier frame offered a stark contrast that spoke of a different kind of allure. Her dark hair, still slightly tousled from our activities, framed a face that was both cute and a mix of lingering confusion and **** acceptance.

I kept the conversation light, outwardly casual, though my mind raced with ideas. “Lucie, listen to me for just a minute, please…” I said, catching her attention. Her brown eyes darted to mine, wary but intrigued.

“I’m pretty sure that, in time, you’ll come to think of today as a… positive experience,” I said smoothly, the magic phrase slipping out with ease. Her lips pressed into a thin line; a flicker of resistance quickly replaced by a resigned nod. “And we’ll build on that positivity. Let’s make this a weekly thing—meet here every Saturday to… exercise together. You need the practice, and I need the company.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and I could see her struggling to process the command. “Oh, and just a tip,” I added with a smirk. “if you don’t want to limit our workout sessions to just your mouth and ass, you'd better spice things up at home, consider adding a few toys—maybe a strap-on. Expand your horizons a little”

Her cheeks flushed, and she gave me a hesitant thumbs-up, her compliance evident even as her discomfort lingered. It was a surreal moment, watching her **** agreement clash with the reality of her own preferences. Yet I rationalized it all. If I could reshape her mind to find joy in our interactions, wasn’t that an act of kindness? Wasn’t I freeing her, in a way?

We walked on, the park’s beauty unfurling around us, the chatter between us light but tinged with the undercurrent of my manipulation. As we walked, a figure in the distance caught my attention. An Asian woman jogged along the trail, her short, dark hair cut in a sharp, stylish bob that swung with each stride. Her outfit—a crop-top gym bra, fiery red jacket, and black gym capris—accentuated her toned, athletic build. She was a vision of athletic grace, a vibrant splash of energy against the greenery. She was doing laps, her form graceful and determined, each circuit past us a reminder of the life continuing around my dark games, each pass drew my attention more.

Before I could dwell on the jogger, my gaze snagged on a pregnant woman seated on a bench by the fountain. Her soft, radiant features and the swell of her belly were magnetic. She was lost in a book, a serene picture of maternal bliss.

I seized the opportunity. “Well, ladies, I think I’ll take a little break over there,” I said, gesturing toward the bench. Katy waved absently, her mind already elsewhere, while Lucille offered a shy smile, her unease still evident.

I approached the pregnant woman, my mind already churning with possibilities, calculating how best to wield my powers on this new subject. The sunlight glinted off her wedding ring, a key to unlocking my influence, and the ring on my own finger pulsed subtly in response, as if eager to seize the opportunity.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked, my voice warm and approachable.

She looked up, her smile polite but cautious. “Of course,” she replied, setting her book aside.

As I settled in, the Asian jogger passed by again, her presence a constant reminder of the normalcy and beauty around me, juxtaposed with my increasingly dark intentions. Her rhythmic steps seemed to echo in my head, a counterpoint to my sinister thoughts.

"Beautiful day to be out here, isn't it?" I started, making small talk to gauge her receptivity.

She nodded, her hand resting gently on her belly. "It's perfect. I'm just waiting for the babysitter to bring my daughter here.”

That was both a revelation and a complication. Here I was, ready to delve into my darker impulses, and now I had to wait. "Your second child, then?" I asked, maintaining the casual tone, my mind already shifting gears.

"Yes, a little boy this time," she replied, her face lighting up with the joy of anticipation. “I thought it would be nice for my daughter to see where her new sibling will be spending time before they meet."

As we continued to chat, my attention began to wander with each lap of the Asian jogger in the distance. Her form was a study in motion, the black capris and fiery red jacket highlighting her athletic grace. Each time she passed, my interest in the pregnant woman waned slightly, my eyes drawn more to this new, intriguing figure.

The conversation with the pregnant woman was light, touching on general topics like the weather, the beauty of the park, and how it was a favorite spot for her family. But my gaze was still drawn to the jogger. She was on another lap, and now I could see the sweat glistening on her skin, giving her an almost ethereal glow, her cheeks flushed with the effort. .

Then, the babysitter arrived with the little girl, their reunion cutting short my window of opportunity. The pregnant woman's attention shifted fully to her daughter, and I was **** to acknowledge the purity of the moment, my darker intentions subdued by the innocence before me.

As the small family moved away waving me goodbye, they were replaced in the now-vacant spot on the bench beside me, by a grey-haired matron who launched into an unrelenting monologue. She spoke about the neighborhood, weather patterns, and her grandchildren with a fervor that suggested she might outlast the bench itself. I found myself trapped in a conversation I had no real interest in, nodding and responding with polite disinterest.

The elderly woman's voice was a drone in my ear, but my eyes followed the jogger, her strides now slightly less vigorous as fatigue set in. Each lap seemed to bring her closer to the water fountain, her need for a break becoming more apparent.

I was about to find an excuse to leave when the jogger finally slowed, her steps now deliberate as she approached the fountain. Finally, she stopped at the water fountain, bending over to take a drink, her chest heaving gently from the exertion. It was then I saw the glint of a wedding band on her hand, the light catching it just so. This new detail shifted my focus entirely; the prospect of engaging with someone so disciplined and, now known to be married, added an intriguing layer to my plans.

I couldn’t resist the allure. If I could mold Lucille to my desires, why not this jogger? Perhaps I could offer her something—relief from routine, a secret thrill. My thoughts spiraled, rationalizations piling up like bricks in a wall to contain the whispers of guilt.

The older woman’s voice droned on, a relentless hum in the background as I watched the jogger. She leaned against the fountain, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, her hair clinging to her damp skin.

My heart picked up pace, not just from the prospect of another opportunity but from the allure of this woman who had unknowingly become the focus of my day.

Still nodding along to the elderly woman's endless monologue about her grandchildren, I leaned subtly to one side, my hand darting out to catch the Asian jogger's wrist as she walked by, pulling her gently towards me. Her eyes widened in confusion, her body tensing slightly. I put my finger to my lips, signaling her to be quiet, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Without a word, I guided her down to kneel between my legs at the bench, my actions smooth, my face the picture of polite interest in the elderly woman's stories. The jogger, under the sway of the ring, complied, her movements now deliberate, her gaze locked onto mine with a mix of bewilderment and an unnatural calm.

As she began to unzip my pants, my thoughts spiraled. Faithfulness... such an overrated concept, I mused, feeling the thrill of control as her warm breath fanned across my now-exposed skin. They preach about loyalty until it's inconvenient or until they find something better. My mind drifted to Rosa, the sting of her abandonment still fresh, even through the haze of my current pleasure.

The jogger's touch was anything but tentative. Her fingers, cool and sure, wrapped around me with a confidence that was both startling and exhilarating. Isn't this what marriage does to you? I thought smugly as her lips parted, enveloping me with a warmth that sent shivers up my spine. Turns passion into routine, until someone like me comes along to shake things up.

I leaned back, my eyes occasionally meeting the jogger's for a brief moment before returning to the elderly woman, who was now on her third grandchild's accomplishments. Each glance down at the jogger revealed her technique, more skilled than Spooky's by leaps and bounds. Where Spooky had been passive, albeit eagerly, this woman was the epitome of proactive, her mouth a perfect blend of pressure and softness, the sound of her pleasure a muffled moan as she took me in. Her tongue swirled around the head of my cock, the wet, sucking noises echoing in my ears, her cheeks hollowing as she took me deeper, her eyes briefly meeting mine with an intensity that was almost challenging.

Women leave when you need them the most, but here I am, providing a service, an escape from the monotony of marriage. My reasoning was twisted, convenient, brushing aside the fact that I specifically targeted those with rings, those bound by vows that I was now so easily undoing. The elderly woman's voice, "And then little Timmy, he's the brightest one, you know," droned on, becoming increasingly irritating, pulling at my focus.

The jogger's head bobbed with a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and maddening, each movement accompanied by the sound of her work, sending vibrations through me, her short hair brushing against my thighs, her body moving with the rhythm of her breathing, each movement a testament to the ring's power. Her skill was undeniable; she knew exactly when to increase the suction, when to tease with her tongue, creating waves of pleasure that built with every passing second. The wet sounds of her ministrations were both a distraction and a symphony, her expertise far surpassing Spooky's passive approach. This was active, engaging, and alarmingly effective.

I pondered the irony of it all. They wear rings as symbols of commitment, yet it's those very symbols that make them so **** to me. The sensation of her mouth, the way she expertly brought me to the brink before pulling back, only to dive in again with renewed vigor, was a dance of pleasure, each movement perfectly timed to draw out my climax.

My pleasure was building, but so was my internal justification. I'm not the villain here; I’m just revealing the truth of human nature. Everyone cheats, in one way or another. I just make it... inevitable. I rationalized my actions as some form of liberation, a break from the chains of monogamy, ignoring the **** at play, the absence of true consent.

The elderly woman's voice was a distant buzz, "He won the science fair last year, you know," her words meaningless as I focused on the sensations. They think they're safe, bound by love or duty, but all it takes is a little nudge, a little push from someone with the right... incentive. My thoughts were a cocktail of cynicism and self-justification, the moral compass spinning wildly as I neared my climax.

As the pleasure peaked, I couldn't help but clasp my hand on her head, trying to keep my face neutral, but the intensity was too much, my mouth betraying me with a silent "O" of ecstasy. "Ahh, fuck," I whispered under my breath, my body tensing, my release imminent. The jogger, sensing my climax, intensified her efforts, her tongue lapping at me, her mouth not relenting even as I began to spill into her. She took it all, gulping relentlessly as I kept flooding her mouth, her skill ensuring no drop was wasted, her movements never ceasing, prolonging my pleasure to its absolute limit.

The elderly woman, catching the shift in my demeanor, asked with concern, "Are you alright, dear? You look a bit... flushed."

I managed a strangled, "Just... allergies," my voice a pitch higher than intended, the absurdity of the situation almost making me laugh, the contrast between the mundane conversation and the act beneath the bench a perfect encapsulation of my twisted existence.

The elderly woman, reassured by my "allergies" excuse, finally took her leave, her monologue fading into the distance as she walked away, leaving me in a strange, still silence. As the haze of release ebbed, my senses sharpened to the muted hum of the park. I turned my gaze back to the jogger.

She was still kneeling, her posture one of passive waiting, though now her presence felt even more arresting. On closer inspection, she wasn’t as young as I’d first thought—perhaps in her thirties—but her vitality, her confidence, lent her a timeless allure. Short, jet-black hair clung to her damp forehead, framing a face that balanced fierce determination with an almost serene detachment.

Her fiery red jacket hung open, its bold color complementing the sleek capris that hugged her toned legs. She shifted slightly, sitting back on her heels. One hand still loosely cradled my now deflated member, the other wiping away what remained of our moment with a calm, unhurried precision. Her fingers brushed her lips, and, without hesitation, she brought them into her mouth. The gesture was so casual, so matter-of-fact, it felt almost disarming in its intimacy.

The juxtaposition of her actions with the dreamy detachment of her expression struck me. She looked as though she were simply resting after a long workout, the park her stage, this moment an effortless part of her rhythm. Her dark eyes roamed lazily over the scenery, then flicked back to meet mine.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile, soft but teasing. “Oh, did you enjoy that, then?” she asked, her words unexpectedly tinged with a crisp British accent.

For a moment, I was caught off guard, disarmed by the delightful dissonance of her Asian features paired with that distinct lilt. The accent only deepened the mystery of her, adding layers to her already magnetic presence.

I struggled to form words, still dazed, but before I could respond, she straightened gracefully, standing in a single fluid motion. Her body unfurled like a dancer’s, each stretch revealing the taut lines of her muscles beneath the fitted fabric of her capris. She arched her back slightly, her arms reaching towards the sky in a gesture that was both natural and mesmerizing.

When her eyes met mine again, they sparkled with something playful. She glanced down, brushing a stray streak of my essence from her lip with her thumb, then slipping it into her mouth with a deliberate slowness that sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through me.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked, her tone light and teasing, the words laced with an easy confidence that made me feel both spellbound and utterly lost.

I opened my mouth, the question forming somewhere deep in my mind—What’s your name?—but no sound emerged. She glanced at her watch, breaking the spell with a quick, practiced movement, and smiled again.

“I need to do ten more laps,” she said briskly, her tone now as casual as if she were discussing the weather. With a small wave, she turned and began to jog away.

I sat frozen on the bench, my thoughts racing. The fiery red of her jacket became a distant flicker as she rounded the first bend, her movements rhythmic and precise. My pulse quickened with a sudden pang of regret, the weight of what I hadn’t said pressing down on me.

Her name. I didn’t even ask her name.