Runner's Prize
Copyright© 2026 by INtrinSicliValud
Chapter 4
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4 - Young and driven to succeed, Tigh Raines has everything. A barren upscale apartment. His father, the company head, providing far too much advice. And a laser-like focus on the future, one that has no place for the rain-soaked beauty on an isolated park bench. She’s sobbing; he stops. Heat ensues.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Romantic
“Your husband—” I gulped with enough force to slow her fingernail’s gentle swirling—”um, does he know?”
No idea why that was the question my brain chose to send fluttering from my lips. Like a logjam on a winding, mist-shrouded river, a million others fought to break free. Double major. Top of her class. Dressed that way, or as she had been, since her clothes continued thumping in the spinning dryer.
“Of course he knows.”
After a curt chortle, she took the nail away again, and I swear the loss of that minor touch echoed in my soul. With a groan, the dark-haired ... dancer crumpled into the chair. When she curled up in its creaking brown leather, the robe’s hem lifted, exposing most of her legs. Heartbeat hammering and the room doing this strange blurry pulsing, I stood transfixed.
“That asshole!” she continued. “He’s been smoking and snorting the money away for years.”
“But isn’t...” Oh, so many more questions bubbled to the front and in a shaky tone, I chose one of them. “I’ve heard what else goes on in those places.”
“You mean sex?”
Although she shrugged, her eyes stayed on mine, despite the unmistakable bulge in my shorts. Then again, she’d be used to that reaction.
“They have rules,” she continued. “On stage, only we can touch. Customer touches, they get booted. In a private room”—she looked around, gnawing on her lips—”same rules.”
“So, you’ve never—”
“Ai, Tigh.” She smiled. “We’re adults. We’ve got a little leeway. Have I given handjobs? Sucked dicks? Si, if the guy was cute enough and paid well. But fucked, no.”
Yep, mind blown, words failed me when she quieted, those suddenly intense brown pools scanning my face ... and still not my shorts. After a deep breath, she nodded.
“Dios mío, with those pretty eyes ... Fuck, bebé, I feel like it’s confession and I’m your naughty parishioner. It’s kinda hot.” Tinged with nervousness, a curt giggle left her. “Okay. One time, right when I started, I went to a guy’s hotel. But he was an Arab. You know, stinking rich. Gold everywhere. Hmm, made five grand.”
Slender cheeks darkening, she laughed. It was a twinkling sound that somehow had me grinning despite the utter shock flooding my brain.
“Fat fucker didn’t last fifteen minutes,” she mumbled before taking another languid drink.
Knees quaking, I couldn’t move. It took both fists to get the sloshing coffee to my lips. Never needed caffeine so much in my life. Heightened by her proximity, every motion grabbing my attention, the exhaustion of a restless night had become a drag on my soul. Yet I remained fixated on her.
“And today!” Shrill, her voice made me jump. She clenched her teeth, and those eyes blazed with anger. “Well, yesterday, that pendejo discovered my savings.”
“Oh, so that’s—”
“Si. My savings. And I’m pissed.” She again clenched her pearly whites, that time so hard her pointed jaw trembled. “Remember what I said? Pushy moms. We were high school sweethearts. To her, Arturo seemed perfect. He had a business mind.” She scoffed. “When he wasn’t whacked out of his skull. But I had no other choice, and, well, here I am.”
“I’m sor—”
“Not your fault, mi ángel.”
Eyes suddenly hooded, she again flashed me a smile, and damn if heat didn’t swaddle my heart. A silence stretched as those narrowed lasers, peering above the rim of her mug, stayed on me. When she shifted, lowering the coffee, my gaze shot to her bare thigh.
“You like them, no?” She giggled, a cute, playful sound, while running a palm along her leg. “Not bad for an old lady. They’ve survived pretty well.”
Although I nodded, a faint echo of dad’s warning slithered into the deepest corner of my mind, and I looked out the windows. A murky orange glow intensified across the glistening skyscrapers. But her reflection in the rain-streaked glass held my attention.
After draining the last of her coffee, she leaned to place the mug on the table. As her impressive bust swayed, the robe opened enough to reveal a healthy amount of pale olive skin. Both my shorts tightened and pulse quickened. When her sparkling eyes caught my glance and she grinned, my heart raced faster.
“One dance, bebé,” she whispered, unfurling from the chair. While her barefoot curves padded closer, my throat clenched, and at the soft touch of her fingers on my arm, I jolted. “Just for you.”
When the terry cloth over her firm chest pressed into the back of my t-shirt, I held in a groan. Why? No idea what her game was, but here’s the thing: I didn’t want only a dance. Nope, no clue what else I expected from her. After all, she was married, doper hubby or not. Oh, the throbbing ache in my shorts and deep in my pelvis placed their votes. Alright, duly noted, yet...
With the aromas of shampoo and delicate soap swirling into my nostrils, and her hair tickling my neck, every muscle within me came alive. When I glimpsed her dark-cheeked, wide-eyed visage in the window, we both gulped in unison. Yeah, she also sensed it: unease at what might happen.
To this day, I’ve no idea what made me do it, but another of those decision-points had been reached, and I spun to face her. No plan, I was simply reacting and my pulse thumped. Although I hadn’t meant to scare her, when my hand shot forward, she yipped.