It was only the day after did it occur to me that, obviously of course it was bound to obligate me, but by then I was, after all, he’d paid me and I’d taken the money, over and over.

I’d seen him before a few times on my regular runs around one of the wooded parklands I visit. We’d nodded and said hello after a few times, him also being a runner but usually heading in the opposite direction. I’d thought nothing of him until one when came across him stopped by a bench doing leg stretches. I stopped, concerned maybe he‘d cramped or suffered some runners injury so asked if he was okay. He replied he was fine. I noticed he was wearing a camera perched on his head, a GoPro.

A few minutes chat and I was ready to head off again before I cooled down too much before I was finished when he asked if I would do something for him. I said that if I could, of course, always happy to help anyone.

He wanted to film me which, initially I thought, that’s an odd request. Then he said he would pay me, which of course sent my danger radar into overdrive. Regardless, a little part of me was curious, being a cash-strapped student can make any mention of money in whatever context very tempting. He continued saying that I might not be into it though, and that’d be fine.

In another unexpected he asked if I’d be willing to show him my breasts, or boobs, as he said. Now I know what you’re thinking: weirdo, and, leave now. I’d have to agree and my first reaction was, no chance. But then, like a magician producing a rabbit out of a hat he produced quite a wad of pound notes.

Damn my student debt and the cost of living crisis, it was like a powerful magnet. He said he hoped I didn’t take it wrongly, but I wasn’t really sure how I was supposed to take it An virtually complete stranger wants me to show him boobs. He casually, or maybe not so casually complimented me for my well-toned physique, which is nice of him to say but I am not unusually fit looking in that way. It didn’t wash with me but somewhere inside I did feel complimented, though I wouldn’t have admitted it. He took the approach of nothing ventured, nothing gained, he admitted, though I wasn’t sure if he was referring to how I respond or him asking in the first place.

I felt myself soften a bit and said, maybe, but not to be filmed. He explained it was part of an art project which would appear in a gallery installation he was working on, for which also the way he films and edits that anonymity would be guaranteed.

Again, damn my student financial status, so I conceded, not right away. I didn’t want to come across as easy and the fact that I still wasn’t 100% on board but I am always interested in art projects and being asked to be part of one, whatever it is, can be an opportunity I might later regret turning down.

On a much more superficial level, I was tempted by the money.

So I agreed, so he suggested we go off the track a bit into the trees, enough to be invisible from passers-by. Again, I know what you’re thinking: are you mad! Maybe. I get feelings about people fairly quickly and this, despite how bizarre it seemed, oddly enough felt okay. After all, we’d been passing each other running for nearly a year now and were even on passing niceties terms, so we found a clearing about 30 feet into the trees.

I could tell from the light on the camera he was already filming. Not surprisingly I felt self-conscious about how I must have looked having run several miles already, my hair, the dried sweat coating me. I wasn’t exactly giving off the vibes of a glamorous model here.

I was wearing black running shorts, tight fit, a blue vest top underneath which was a sports bra, pink with a black strap crossed over the back. On top I wore my trusty utility waistcoat strapped to me like a harness for carrying my phone, water bottle, tissues, rape-alarm (yes, I have one), essentials.

Second thoughts did cross my mind but pushed them aside in favour of the trade of a few minutes of footage for cash. He handed the money over before we started. I didn’t count it but could tell it was a goodly amount. I did feel a little guilty, taking it, but I suppose if he couldn’t afford it he wouldn’t have offered. An ethical dilemma but when I decided to do something I like to see it through.

Hence, commitment number one

I unstrapped my waistcoat then realised I wasn’t sure how to start. He stood before me with the GoPro now in his hand, so I just pulled up my top to show him, well, at least my bra. I felt a flush rush across my face. I also felt clumsy, awkward. He asked me to take the top off. I thought, okay, I had my sports bra on after all, designed as a reinforced crop-top. The lens followed every move.

He then told me to show him what he actually paid for. Then it dawned on me, oh, you want to see them naked? I said he didn’t specify that to which he replied, that was just semantics while simultaneously produced a couple more ten pound notes. He grinned. Taking them now would commit me further. I took them. Commitment number two.

Just the one. I firmly offered. He was fine with that. I eased up one side of my sports bra and exposed myself there among the trees. He closed in with the camera onto my nipple in particular. I felt shockingly self-conscious, especially as it actually felt a kind of flattering.

He wanted both now, both boobs on camera. My response was: greedy! Having clearly noticed my hesitance his hand appeared bearing a couple more tens. I accepted them without thinking. Commitment number three. Now who was being greedy?

Preparing myself, I pulled up my bra now giving his lens, and him a full unhindered view of partly naked me. I pulled my bra back down after only a few seconds later. He objected, rubbing two fingers together reminding me of the money I’d accepted. I was tempted to return it, but instead I gave in, not so unwillingly, I admit.

His next request was even bolder, wouldn’t it be easier just to remove the bra completely. He was very convincing because the next thing I knew I was doing just that as though somewhere in the past minute I’d missed a step in negotiations. It’s just my boobs, what harm could there be.

Off it came leaving me feeling somewhat exposed but also a little relieved to feel the air around them after they’d been trapped so firmly for my run. Hem-lines marked my pale skin unattractively red, although he didn’t seem phased. In fact he seemed enthused, so much so he ventured to touch me while still holding the camera in the other hand. Instinctively I slapped it away.

More cash miraculously appeared. Again with little or actually no thought, I took it. Commitment number four.

His fingers gently brushed one nipple, then the other, then squeezing, then teasing, tracing circles over my boobs as though they were his personal canvas making my nipples stiffen against my will. It felt oddly exciting, it felt weird yes, but thrilling, here topless in the woods not 30 feet away from a public footpath hidden amongst the foliage with someone I hardly knew.

He kept filming and my nipples kept reacting, as was the rest of me. He caressed me now, lifting one boob then the other while making satisfied sounds as he did. I wondered how this actually looks from the camera’s perspective, a disembodied hand fondling me against a backdrop of greenery.

After a few minutes I went to retrieve my bra but he stopped me. More cash appeared. Not as much this time, understandably I suppose, as he’d already handed over quite a bit. I asked what was it for and he suggested that, if I was willing, would I, in his words, show him my ass. Ass, not arse, not bum, not rear, not posterior, but ass. That word always makes me laugh inside.

At this I wasn’t sure, but, as proved already he could be very persuasive. He kept filming throughout. I took the cash. Commitment number five. It seemed simple enough. I turned around, aware of still being topless; bent over a little pulled them halfway down my buttocks.

He ‘requested’ I pull my shorts down further to show a bit more, justifying it by saying surely he’d paid enough for that much. I did it, giving him and the camera what was no doubt quite a view of my black knickers with pink waistband. I craned my head, watching him move the camera closer, then, what felt like slow motion, his hand slipped over one buttock then the other, down into my shorts feeling my skin along my thighs. His touch was warm, soft, and although I didn’t recall agreeing to his touching me there, I didn’t stop him. Instead, felt aroused.

Commitment number six. Even though no monetary agreement had been transacted I suppose one could call it a freebie.

Without thinking I bent over more, and found I was by now letting him pull my shorts down further, down to my knees. He complimented my bum, or in his words, ass; cheesy, I thought. His touch moving over my ‘ass’ like a potter’s would over clay, practised, exploring not just my skin but the elastic of my knickers. We’d moved on quite a way from just lifting up my top.

Without prompting he slipped a few more tens into my waistcoat pocket and told me to take my shorts off. I paused, but then found myself doing just that. Off they came leaving me stood here topless in just knickers and running shoes. Immediately his hand was between my legs and leaning me over again, still with his camera in one hand. I balanced myself against the trunk of a tree.

Before another word passed between he was squeezing my pussy through my knickers from behind, each finger unceremoniously exploring my sex, intimately now taking advantage. My legs shaking.

I breathed in deep, the woodland air infiltrating my lungs, refreshingly so. His fingers slipped aside my knickers and slid in me to where I was now unprotected by any material barriers to find me bare and smooth. A finger then two slipped inside me, I was aware at how wet I’d become during all this. I felt self-conscious, embarrassed, and excited, and unable to stop him or myself. His fingers went deep, gently, indulging as they did, making my hips move in time with them. He was still filming, and now it was very close between my thighs. If this kept up I would inevitably have an orgasm, right there and then in the woods, semi-naked, with his fingers inside me.

I think we were now beyond what had been agreed. Suddenly, a chemical rush surged through my hips, contracting my muscles, strangling my breath. I shook inside then out, trembling head to toe as I did, flooded with an orgasm, the strength and suddenness of which took me by surprise.

He gripped my waist supporting me during this, after which he guided me over to a fallen trunk perched horizontally about three feet off the ground and leaned me over it, still in just knickers and running shoes. More money appeared and not so surreptitiously slipped into my waistcoat, I had no idea how much. Commitment number seven.

I felt the rough bark beneath my hands while still reeling after the carnal rush. Here I was, virtually naked, broad daylight, not the run I was planning this day.

He unfastened his jeans while, amazingly, still filming and pulled out his cock which stood definitely hard and proud. I was overwhelmed by the turn of events; my legs were still trying to find their feet post orgasm.

He yanked aside my knickers slipping two fingers inside me again, the force almost lifting me onto tip-toe. But then it wasn’t his fingers any more but his cock poking my sex, seeking a way in, which eventually he did. I hadn’t taken all that in before he was already embedded. Bare, thick, stretching my wetness. I surrendered to the motion of his hips against mine. I felt the tip almost ‘pop’ inside then push all the way. He stopped, adjusting himself and his camera which he still skilfully held. I hope the auto-focus works well, and he has anti-shake on it.

We began fucking, fucking real time, fucking big time, fucking hard against the fallen tree, his coat having been strategically laid over it, not overly comfortable but being somewhat preoccupied by now, it didn’t figure. I was going with it; he was going with it; both of us were going for it. My whole body quivered and sometimes shook uncontrollably at every thrust accompanied by his deep grunts and various incomprehensible vocal encouragements. I wondered if a plane flew over would they be able to see two people fucking in woodland like animals on heat.

After an unmeasurable time he pulled right out, waited, giving me a moment to catch my breath. He grabbed and pulled my knickers right down and off, urged my legs wider apart me now with my ass in the air and was inside me again, easily now, hips open, fucking me intensely. I held on for dear life hoping this tree holds up under the pressure as it creaked and shook with every thrust.

I heard myself moaning in time to his grunts. I felt both his hands reach around and grab my breasts and wondered, where’s the camera? I was facing the path, not 30 feet or so away through the not-so dense foliage. Someone walked past and I could just about make out them out, we both kept quiet, he slowed his pace until they were well gone then continued  even more vigorously. What if they’d casually glanced over, or had an over-curious dog not on a lead?

He was really going for it now. I was just hoping this bough doesn’t break when another orgasm overwhelmed me, a cascade of exhilaration almost unbearable demanding my full and unfettered cooperation. It seemed to go on for longer than normal. Just at that moment he went rigid behind me, his hips pushing himself as far as was humanly possible inside me releasing what was undoubtedly a hot flood of cum taking me by surprise, not at his orgasm which was inevitable, but by what was clearly an unnaturally large amount. He seemed to cum for ages, way longer than I thought natural or possible, and even before he’d finally come to an end I was feeling it trickle down my thighs.

I went limp just as he’d finally finished filling me with what felt like pints of the stuff, limp yet floating, such a peculiar sensation. More cum was trickling down my legs. I’d remembered just then how glad I was to always carry a plentiful supply of tissues on runs.

Only when I’d slumped down onto the relative safety of the leafy ground did I notice what had happened to the camera, he’s strapped it to his head and let it carry on recording. Now that, I believe, would have to be some shaky footage at best. I looked up, now it was his turn to be limp, and not in his legs like I was.

He thanked me, which felt weird, even weirder than what we’d just done. He stood a decent distance away to let me dress as I slipped myself awkwardly back into my running kit. Before parting he assured me once again anonymity was guaranteed. We exchanged emails so he could send me a copy of the edit, that is, if I wanted. Obviously I did, whether I’d be able to watch it was another matter, perhaps in time I’ll feel brave enough.

After a time and after which he’d gone, I set off running, oddly enough feeling intensely energised, my previously jelly legs now springing with every step. No doubt it was just adrenalin and later, once safely home, I’d crash, which as it turned out was exactly what happened.

© Emmaleela


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