I recently wrote a story called "The Surprise" - a non-consensual story with a twist. I deliberately picked a vague title, and so I will try to write a different tale under each of Literotica's twenty-five writing categories with the same inspiration over the next year. This is Number Five.
It all started during CoVID.
As we neared the end of the second lockdown, my fiancée and I had "the talk." With both of us working from home and cooped indoors, our relationship suffered. We had no escape from each other, and the endless sniping and arguments had worn us down. She also alleged that I had "let myself go," which was not an unfair thing to say. A lack of exercise and too much time lounging at home had increased my consumption of alcohol and snacks, and I had gained several kilograms. My clothes were too tight; I needed to sort myself out.
So, she moved out, and I became a 29-year-old, with a decent job, mortgaged house, but no partner. At Christmas, I joined the gym for the first time. My festive gift to me was two sets of exercise gear, and I went religiously three times a week. I used the stationary bikes for an hour, followed by the weights, increasing the resistance and the load as the months wore on.
Within a year, my new regimen had brought my BMI to a healthy number and the beer belly was a distant and unwelcome memory. But I wanted something a little different, and my friend suggested I look for the "couch to 5k" programme to introduce people to running. I hated cross-country at school, and my first attempt on the treadmill at the gym left me exhausted after a couple of minutes. I could cycle for an hour at 30kph, but I couldn't run at a "slow-to-moderate" pace for a fraction of the time.
However, slowly the "couch to 5k" programme worked. By the end of February, I could jog three kilometres, and that became five kilometres by the second week of March.
Every weekend, the local athletics club organised a 5km event in the park. I treated myself to some outdoor running gear and attended, completing the course in just over 32 minutes. I was in the bottom quarter of attendees, but the friendly reception I received from the organisers and other runners ensured I came back the following week.
By my fourth event, I completed the course in under 30 minutes, and by my tenth, I completed it in under 28. My times continued to improve, and I edged towards the rump of "decent" runners in the sub-26 minute category. I bought more jogging clothes as I ran during the week too, eschewing the treadmills for the footpaths and trails near my house.
It was during my fifteenth event that I noticed her. I kept her pace, staying just behind the beautiful woman. A slate gray sports bra-style top with tight, short pewter and neon shorts and wonderfully toned thighs. The excellent view of the sexy runner's tight buttocks ensured I maintained my speed, despite my lungs burning and my legs screaming in agony.
She sped up on the final ascent, as we reached the 5,000 metre mark; I nearly collapsed when I crossed the finish line, gasping as I took lungfuls of air and received my time from the officials.
"Personal Best?" She asked in a friendly, local accent. I could barely speak. I nodded, taking a moment to admire her innocent expression in her beautiful blue eyes. She wiped the stray fair hair from her face, retying it with a bobble as she smiled. "Well done. PB's are always good. I didn't push myself today really as I have a marathon tomorrow," she said.
We chatted in the coffee shop adjacent to the finish line, where most of the runners enjoyed a post-run drink. Sophia - a keen runner - introduced herself and had a personal best eight minutes quicker than me.
From that week, we conversed in the cafe after every run; she always finished just ahead of me, treating the 5,000 metres run around the park as a training jog. Every week, I was at the edge of my limits, hacking away at my personal best time. At any time, Sophia could have jogged into the distance, but she never did, and stayed to bark encouragement at me as we neared the finishing line.
She confessed over coffee that she had been on a disastrous date that week, and we discussed our mutual dislike of the online dating apps. My most recent matchmaking experience had been equally chaotic; it was another thing we had in common.
But really, Sophia ran marathons and half-marathons. She treated the jog around the park as a warm-up, whereas it was the pinnacle of my abilities and as autumn descended upon us, we had a chance encounter outside of our weekly exercise. We both arranged dates for the same day at the same restaurant. Coincidence.
"How's your evening?" She asked clandestinely as I returned from the toilet, passing her in the corridor leading to the facilities.
"Dreadful," I replied. "She's anti-everything. I've just had a fifteen minute monologue on how vaccines inject satanic thoughts into your brain. Or something."
She tittered, drunkenly swaying. "He's given me a lecture on how women biologically belong in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant."
"You'd still run a faster time than me barefoot and pregnant," I joked.
She giggled. "Your personal best is twenty-five, twenty-two. Yes?"
"Yes. Three weeks ago."
"If you beat twenty-five, I'll give you a blowjob after the coffee," she slurred, cheekily smiling as she pushed open the door to the ladies' toilets. I didn't focus on my date when I returned to the table, and Sophia entered my masturbatory fantasies for the first time when I arrived home; I thought of little else all week.
Cute button nose, fair hair, athletic body. And those wonderful, cheeky, innocent blue eyes. Her small tattoo on her left wrist of the Mancunian bee, and her tight, magnificent running clothes. Everything the Mathematics teacher did and looked like was perfection.
I arrived at the start line fifteen minutes early. I stretched my muscles and warmed up before I took my position near the head of the assembling group. I knew those behind me would overtake, but I didn't want to be held up on my run by anyone slower than me.
Sophia saw me, dressed in her skimpiest, tightest running clothes. Not obscene, just noticeable. We said nothing about her wager, but when the official started the event, I used my watch to maintain the correct pace. First kilometre at 4:50. Second kilometre at 4:55. Third kilometre at 4:58. My muscles screamed as I hit the first of two inclines, trying to preserve my steady pace. Sophia easily kept with me, but 5:12 was a poor fourth sector, and I needed to speed up.
But I had no energy. The thought of Sophia's lips around my stiff cock gave me a lift, but my muscles had nothing. Every part of me burned with pain. I drove forwards, barely able to look at my fitness watch, ignoring the fires in my legs. I approached the finish line, straining with every sinew in my body, racing towards my goal.
I overtook Sophia as I sprinted; my lungs screamed with agony as I stumbled past the timekeepers. And collapsed on the earth.
24:59.
