Zane's Jogging Jiggle

Brazzers

Zane Walker, Nataly Ordonez Pic(s)

The morning sun cast a long, rhythmic shadow of Zane Walker as he pounded along the gravel path, his steady pace creating a familiar, almost meditative jiggle with every footfall. This “jogging jiggle,” as he’d privately termed it, was a symphony of small movements—the gentle bounce of his keys in a zipped pocket, the soft sway of his damp t-shirt against his chest. His focus was a laser beam, aimed at the distant bend in the trail where the pine trees grew thick, his breathing a controlled, metronomic cadence. It was there, in that dappled shade, that the scene abruptly shifted, and he nearly collided with Nataly Ordonez, who was frozen in a state of clear distress. Her hands were clenched, her eyes wide and fixed on a point just off the path, her usual composure completely shattered. Zane’s own rhythmic world screeched to a halt, his jiggle ceasing as he planted his feet, his runner’s high instantly replaced by a surge of adrenaline. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice a low, urgent gasp that cut through the quiet woods. Nataly simply pointed a trembling finger toward a dense thicket of blackberry bushes, her breath catching in her throat. Zane followed her gaze, his eyes squinting to adjust to the shadows, searching for the source of her terror. He took a cautious step forward, the crunch of gravel under his shoe sounding unnaturally loud in the tense silence. The cheerful chirping of the birds overhead now felt like a stark, ironic contrast to the palpable fear that had so suddenly enveloped them both.