My hands went to her hips and held them tightly. Jesus, she felt good.“The others always want to be on top, mostly,” she said breathily, her hands...resting atop mine. Her modestly plump breasts moved hypnotically on her chest. “You know, we’re all so competitive.”“Others?” I sounded strained, but only because of the way she was riding me, smooth and steady. My hands took hold of her breasts, which made her sigh.“The other fighters,” she explained as if it were completely normal. Her breath. Up and down, but in a way that said they were firm.The closer she got, the more you could see her tight, fit body, a dancer’s physique. This Trixie had pride, I hate proud, haughty cunts. Her pink running outfit showed as plain as if spotlighted in the scattered, overhead illumination of the jogging path. Her hair was pulled tight on her head; doubtless, she had it in a ponytail. I could see she had a full figure but not fat. A thin waist, I could imagine a round ass, but not fat, damn she was. More

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