Marathon Runner

I run marathons. Before any of you start thinking 'sublimation of sexual desires', I'd like to say it is no such thing. I quite enjoy sex when I have a steady boyfriend. I'm just not into one night stands. I also happen to like running. I've been doing it ever since I was a child.

Marathons are fun. They're long distance runs, named after the fabled run of the Greek soldier Pheidippides, a messenger from the Battle of Marathon to Athens. (I tossed that in to educate you. You may be no wiser, but you're now better informed.)

Seeing as how marathons are long distance you have to keep your training up. Miss a week or two of training and you're history the next time you try to do the long run, so I stick to my training regime. Part of that regime is running in the mountains. It would be nice if all marathons were held on the flat, but they're not. If you don't want to find yourself relegated to the back of the pack every time you encounter a hill, train on hills.

This Saturday I was up in the mountains, running. I'd parked low down and was just going to do ten miles, five uphill and five down. (Downhill needs just as much practice as uphill or you find yourself wasting energy and charging ahead instead of pacing yourself.)

So there I was, high in the sky, trotting along the road. To my right was a magnificent view, one of the advantages of being up in the mountains. There were birds and wildlife and only the very occasional vehicle would pass me.

Just ahead of me the road did a U-turn, doubling back on itself. There was a rest area at the tip of the U, which I assumed served a couple of purposes. Speedsters would find themselves slowed by the gravel and they would have room to complete the tight turn, rather than find themselves sailing out into the wild blue yonder and discovering that gravity is a bitch. The other reason would be for people who just wanted to pull off the road and enjoy the view.

Even as I approached the turn a car came purring past me and the driver pulled into the rest area. Now I wasn't paying any real attention to the car and was only vaguely aware that the driver had got out of the car. What did capture my attention was the driver grabbing me as I trotted past and pushing me up against the car.

To digress, slightly, I wear Lycra shorts and top when I'm running. Lycra tights if it's cold. Lycra is good when you're running. It's form fitting (and suits me very nicely), it stretches so you don't have to worry about zips and buttons if you buy the right things and it doesn't chafe like some things I used to wear. It's easy to put on and easy to change out of once I've finished my run.

It was also easy for a complete stranger to grab my shorts by the waistband and yank them down. My panties promptly followed. Next thing I know I'm looking down at my naked pussy (really naked, as I shave) and there's this humongous cock attacking me.

I'm not kidding about this. I mean, who would. This guy just hoicked my shorts and panties down and was now in the process of sticking me with his cock. I was appalled. I'm yammering to myself that this sort of thing just could not be happening while his cock pushed past my lips and started driving roughly home. The man had absolutely no finesse. He was just pushing his cock in and that was that.

I reacted by squealing and pushing at him and that had a great impact I must say. His cock just kept on coming and there was nothing I could do about it. Actually, there turned out to be one thing I could do. Totally ignoring any feeling I might have on the matter, my pussy decided, "Hey, a cock. Better get ready for this." I could feel myself involuntarily juicing up as that cock drove in, my passage yielding quite happily.

Just like that he had me nailed against the car, bent slightly backwards over a fender. He just held himself in me for a moment while he pushed up my top. The Lycra top was easy enough for him and to my disadvantage I had on a sports bra. No straps and clips, just nice stretchy material that provided decent support and was able to be pushed up and off my breasts with no trouble whatsoever.

With his hands on my breasts my assailant went to work. His hands mauled my breasts while he pulled his cock back until it was almost out and then drove back in vigorously. I think I might have mentioned a certain lack of finesse. He proceeded to demonstrate this yet again.

Sex-wise, I like to start slow and let things build. This guy couldn't have cared less about what I wanted. He just started hot and hard, banging away at me just as roughly as you please, his hands massaging my breasts in time to his crude thrusting.

There was I, yelling at him and hammering away at his back, doing absolutely nothing useful. There was him, silent and hammering away at my pussy, having a great time. There was my pussy, being hammered, and screaming at me, "This is great. I want more."

Much to my disgust I found my hips were jerking forward, helping to nail me onto his cock every time he stuck it to me. I couldn't stop the excitement from building. Truth to tell, I probably didn't want to. If you're going to be jumped like this it would be even worse if it was all trial and tribulation. As it was, I was doing my fair share of ravishing.

He banged me hard, but he didn't really bang me for long, all things considered. I could feel that he was getting more and more excited but there again, so was I. Still, I was amazed to find that not only was I going to climax, but I was apparently going to climax before him. If asked I'd never have dreamed that I might like rough sex, but the suddenness and helplessness proved to be a real turn on.

Then I was yowling and bucking under him, my climax hitting me with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I was vaguely aware of him groaning and jerking against me, so I guess he made it as well.

The next thing I was really aware of was the fact that I was standing under a tree, my clothes either rucked up above my breasts or pushed down around my knees. The stranger was driving off, around the U-turn and gone.

I hastily straightened my clothes and continued running, fuming. I was so going to have him arrested and charged. I tried to think of what the cops would want to know. What did I know about the man?

Um, he drove a car. Shit. I hadn't noticed the number plate or the model. I think it had four doors and I'm pretty sure it was a dark colour. What about the man himself? Well he was taller than me. Geez, I'm five foot six. Everyone is taller than me, even Tom Cruise. His face? I hadn't really been looking at that. I did notice that he had a big cock. Yeah, like that would help. I could imagine the cop's reaction to that little titbit. "Was that big while erect or not-erect, Miss?" "Ah, erect." "I'm sorry, Miss, but we can't really ask a line-up to show us their erections."

On second thoughts, maybe I'd skip the police and put the whole thing down to experience.