Cara liked to take a run every morning, right after the sun came up, and when the fog was still lingering over the earth and no one else around. It gave her great pleasure, to be out alone in the usually busy world, alone with the cold air around her. Her headphones played Beethoven, feet padding on the path next to the street. Her dark brown hair was tied in a ponytail that hung slightly past her shoulders, swaying with each step. Her breasts bounced within the sports bra with each step.
The air was a little cooler this morning; perhaps it was her imagination, a sort of sixth sense saying that something was out of sync in her world. Or it could be that winter was approaching, the leaves starting to fall off of the trees, the sun starting to come up a little later in the day. Although running, Cara's cheeks were chilly. Pink and flushed, but chilly nonetheless. If this were a premonition, it would prove to be accurate, because as she was rounding a turn on the path a man dressed all in black suddenly popped into her vision. Cara was startled, and didn't know how exactly to react, her body did multiple things at once, somehow seeming to start and to keep going at the same pace. It ended up as a little jump to the side, her arms stopped their rhythmic movement for just a couple swings and she kept running forward, though this time in a panicked run rather than leisurely.
Behind her now, the man in black turned and started running after her. He didn't have the running experience she had, but he could still sprint as quickly as anyone, and his muscular legs helped give him an extra start as he bounded after his prey. Closer to her, just a few steps now, he took one leap and tackled her to the ground, landing heavily on top of her soft body. Before she could scream in surprise and fright, he cupped his hand over her mouth, and out of one of his pockets he grabbed a pair of handcuffs. It took little strength to roll Cara on to her stomach. He shoved her face into the dirt with one hand, muffling her screams, as he grabbed her arms with his free hand and somehow managed to shackle the flailing wrists together.
Cara felt a sharp prick at her throat, and realized that he was holding a knife.
"Now be quiet," he said, "Or else you'll never make another sound ever again."
She whimpered into the ground, trying to nod her head in understanding. The man eased his weight off her small body and pulled her to her feet by the arm. His fingers dug into her skin through her sweatshirt, and the knife poked at her throat as he maneuvered her into the woody area next to the path.
They walked a distance into the park, until the street was no longer visible through the trees. Cara's eyes began to tear, she thought he was probably going to rape her, and then kill her.
The man pushed Cara's back against a tree, holding her there with his hand on her chest while he felt through his pocket for the handcuff key. With a firm grip on her wrists, he pulled her hands behind the trunk and secured them there.
Cara stood quivering in front of him, looking into his face with a defiance she didn't feel. She saw an older man, probably in his late fifties, with pepper colored hair and hard features. He had a thick graying moustache on his upper lip, which curved up when he smiled lightly at her.
"There, there," the man said softly, reaching up to caress her face. She twisted away from him, and he caught her chin in his hand, rubbing her captured cheeks. "I'm not going to hurt you as long as you cooperate."
Cara tried to force herself to relax, to accept the inevitable. She allowed her body to become slack. She feared the almost imminent rape, but at the same time felt a little excited at being in the power of this man.
Fantasies that Cara had had in the past had included play-rape. A couple of former boyfriend's had done it with her, but her husband didn't like the idea. She had tried to push the fantasy out of her mind, but still thought about it from time to time. But this was real rape, why would this be turning her on? She looked at the man's body, eyes taking in his well-formed chest, the black shirt clinging to the muscles in his arms. She thought that he was attractive, and in a normal circumstance she could see herself being interested in him.
"Women fantasize about being raped by men they'd have sex with anyways," said a voice in her head. She had talked to friends about her fetish, and they had agreed that it was a turn on.
And now it was happening.
The man released her face and moved his hands underneath her shirt, pulling the bottom up over her breasts. He pulled the sports bra up as well, the tightness of it pushing her breasts downwards. He smiled at her nipples, which became erect in the cold air, and pinched them lightly with his fingers.
