Hot Girls Hike Alone #2
I splashed water on my face and checked my laces, dialed up a Stevie Nicks playlist and set my running app for half mile alerts.
I started with an easy pace, more of a jog as my knees loosened, hips warmed and muscles woke up. The air was humid and the terrain was varied enough so that I had to really pay attention to the root systems. Trail running is slower than road running and I felt like I was moving at a sloth’s pace.
My breathing felt good. The sun peeped through the holes in the foliage, and I felt the temperature dapple on my skin – cool, warm, cool, cool, warm – as I ran under a canopy of pines. The automated running coach in my ear spoke over Gold Dust Woman to tell me my pace and that I’d hit a half mile.
Time to dial it up.
I was on a Georgia mountain in a state park. The forest was littered with red pine needles, and the inclines were harsh enough to make my thighs tick like an old engine cooling off, but not so harsh I couldn’t do them. It was the perfect amount of hard for me.
Caleb had gracefully strode up the inclines yesterday like a fucking gazelle.
I was breathing hard, sweating hard, and my fitness app alerted me I was at 80 percent heartrate.
But fuck me, the view. At top of the world.
I felt like I was on the face of forever, and the trees’ branches were fingers I could peep through to see the aquamarine lake below.
Moss-covered rocks hosted chittering squirrels and my feet squelched in dark mud next to secret mushroom fairylands.
And the best part?
I got a big downhill after this incredible peak. Whoo hoo!
I hissed as the first drop of sweat rolled down my butt crack and kissed my sore asshole.
Yeah, that was not as bad as the time I had chapped nipples in a marathon, but worse than losing a toenail.
Running keeps your body sexy in most ways. It’s fucking gross in other ways.
At the top of the incline I had a moment of pause. I took in the view, inhaled deeply and slowed to a trot. A rogue spike of cool air made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and I felt a little thrill of fear, like I was being watched. The entire forest was silent, all birdsong dropped off.
This was bear country, so I didn’t stop, I just inhaled and hoped I could run downhill faster than whatever might have been watching.
I probably couldn’t, but there was a picnic shelter a couple of miles up, and I was likely faster than the dad bods pimping around a grill. That’s all I needed.
Was that wrong to say?
All’s fair in survival, peeps.
The slope around the mountain was pure joy. Mostly down, all lovely, all on Stevie Nicks belting her world domination. The next two miles went so fast I was surprised when the tracker warned me I’d hit three and a half miles. Any trepidation I’d felt had burned away with the run.
The picnic area was around the bend. I had one good uphill left in me, and this was going to be it. My butthole had stopped screaming at me, mostly it was numb, and the roots were pretty tame here. My heart felt like it was going to explode.
Seriously. Fuck uphill.
But half a mile, another four minutes. OK, maybe five. OK, maybe six.
Whatever. I had this. No worries.
I didn’t realize I was in actual danger until it was too late.
* * *
Newtons’ third law is that a body in motion tends to stay in motion, so when my attacker grabbed my hydration vest, my chest snapped back but my body kept its forward stride. My feet went out from under me, and I landed hard on the ground on my back.
When I was a little girl I fell out of a tree and landed on my back.
Every ounce of air blew out of my lungs, and my little body lay there on the grass arching up like it was possessed as my sternum spasmed and my brain tried to tell it we need to take air in now, damn it.
The first breath was a giant, whooping, screaming moment that was so terrifying I laughed and immediately climbed the tree again, a small dark pool of fear in my tummy as I did.
This was like that feeling -- if I’d fallen out of a tree into a car wreck. I couldn’t breathe, and my head was swimming as my shoulders locked. I was utterly coherent as my attacker wrapped his forearm around my neck and dragged me into the forest.
My primary focus was on the black smears of muck catching between my socks and shoes as my feet left divots in the earth.
I could hear a dog barking in the picnic area, and it all got grey.
* * *
A grey-out is like being in the early stages of wasted. You’re coherent and you know everything everyone is saying. You just aren’t really with it.
I was face down on the ground, the fecund smell of summer earth and damp rotting leaves so heavy in my nose on my first exhale that I thought I might puke.
I whooped in my big breath and tried to scream but it was a thin, tinny sound. He cut it off quickly. He had a knife, and he held it to my cheek.
“I will take out that pretty eye,” he whispered. His voice was gravelly and desperate. “And everyone who comes to help.” I stilled.
His elbow braced in the dirt, the point of a knife right under my lower lid.
Air came in short gasps, as I felt him push my shorts down with one hand.
“Please don’t,” I whispered. My attacker stilled and the knife moved from my eye to trace my shoulder.
A flick of his wrist left a thin line welling up, like a paper cut.
It was so fast it didn’t hurt until he grabbed it, knife hilt in hand, gleaming steel sticking out of his palm while my blood pooled under his finger. I cried out of instinct.
He squeezed my shoulder while whispering, “Shhhhh’ against the back of my head.
His body lay on mine, and between his weight and the hydration vest I’d worn, I started to get really scared.
Not just that he was going to violate me in the fucking forest, but that I couldn’t breathe.
That fucking terrified me in ways I couldn’t articulate.
I felt a little crazed in my panic – not having enough air, or mobility made me want to scream my face off but my brain was trying to shove down the urge to scream as surely as the man’s body was shoving down my ability to fully inhale.
His hands groped in my underwear, and he groaned at the dampness in them.
“You fucking whore,” he whispered. I shook my head and cried into the dirt as he flicked the very tip of his blade against my collar bone, another thin line of red welling up.
His fingers pushed inside of me, and I was wet.
I was still slick from Caleb’s cum and primed from our quickie.
My vulva was thick from the stimulus this morning, and the blood flow from the run.
I could feel my walls suck onto my attacker’s fingers and I wanted to scream, buck, kick him in the face, but my breath hitched as shame-tears fell and he pushed a third finger in.
“You want it so bad,” he said, and I shook my head as my body quivered. He moved over me and shoved his large fingers in my mouth. They tasted of dirt, and blood and cum and me, and I sobbed as he shoved them to the back of my throat as roughly as he’d shoved them in my mouth.
“All alone out here, you fucking want it,” he said in that gravelly whisper. I looked over my shoulder; he had a mask completely covering his face.
“Let me go, I won’t tell anyone,” I said softly. “Just please don’t…”
He moved the knife to my lower back, just before my exposed ass, and I whimpered, chills covering my body, anticipating the pain.
The fear was so all-consuming my muscles quivered from being tense.
I didn’t want him to cut me anymore. I really didn’t.
It was terrifying to be unable to take a full breath, and the impending violation in the dirt with the possibility of more cutting was enough to break me.
Tears rolled down my face, and my breath hitched as I tried to hold back great, wet sobs.
The man grabbed my hands and trapped them behind my back with one hand and held the knife against my ass.
I made a fist and shook my head.
He let out a long breath and moved the knife. I felt him reach down between us to unzip and pull out his cock. I let my hand relax and put my forehead to the ground, as fat tears plinked the muck, I felt the firm flesh of his bare cock.
He didn’t cut me, he pushed the head of his cock into my pussy, and positioned one leg over mine, so he could thrust in deep using my arms as a counterbalance.
With his free hand, he pushed my face into the muck. I panicked. “No!” I yelled before he slammed my head down and yanked my arms back. I tried to thrash, tried to move my head, tried to buck and get air. I didn’t even care if he fucked me at this point, I had to inhale.
And, oh, he fucked me. He thrust in and up so hard and fast I felt my bladder swell, as I bucked back and caught small air.
“Please, I can’t breathe,” I whimpered, as I got a mouth of air.
“Cum and I’ll let you breathe,” he said shoving my face back into the ground.
That command made my panicked brain want to cum. If that’s what it took to get air, that’s what I wanted to give him. It was too overwhelming to examine the logic and the utter betrayal of my body in the moment. I felt myself respond to him, push back, flex as he thrust.
His hips cocked, and he yanked my arms almost out of the sockets, battering me from the inside as my brain panicked and I made small shrieking noises to the ground.
I was panicking, out of body, out of mind. My pussy throbbed and I felt seconds away from either pissing my pants or orgasming, and on the verge of another grey-out.
“You’re doing so good,” he said. “Cum now.”
And that was enough.
My brain relaxed as the need for air increased and I choked on dirt and leaves when my body convulsed, I felt three hot gushes from my pussy as the mother of all orgasms took me over.
“Holy fuck, you just squirted,” he said. “Oh fuck. I’m gonna cum. Oh fuck…”
He let go of one hand and I tapped the ground three times as he was cumming. I felt him pull out immediately, a moan in his chest as he spewed all over my ass.