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Not a Walk in the Park

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The night was finally cool. Thankful for the breeze, I tied my shoes up and stretched on my driveway, preparing for my evening run. I’d been using the treadmill in the air conditioning of my home for days because of the excruciating heat. Running outside is always much more pleasurable for me, especially cross-country. I jogged slowly up the avenue and entered the park. There were few people in the park as it was nearing dusk. I noticed a woman with two children heading back to her car, and an elderly gentleman with a small dog.

I quickened my pace a notch and focused on the trail ahead of me. The paths through the wooded section of the park offered a challenge as I would break into a full force run and have to avoid the obstacles, as well as climbing hills and steep declines in the terrain. There are few things more exhilarating to me than pushing myself to my limit in the forest. It’s not only trying, but a little bit dangerous, and I truly enjoy the thrill. Running late in the evening ensured that there were no children on bicycles or people with dogs to get in my way, and I loved being alone in the wood.

Running has always provided euphoria for me. With endorphins flowing and the breeze through my hair, I feel my best; lost in the beat of my sprint going faster and faster until there is nothing left in the world except my body and the trees as they blur in my vision. I neared a steep hill that sharply inclined and turned; it had always been my favourite part of the path. I could push hardest here, and I knew every step of it. I broke into a hard sprint, pushing and pushing until I was oblivious even to the sound of my own breath, as I reached the top I drove harder into the corner, and I went down hard.

With my chest heaving, I just lied there for the moment. I thought I’d tripped on a rock or stick that some careless child had left in the middle of the path that I knew so well. It was near enough to sundown that there was little light left in this part of the park where the trees obscured the streetlights. As I caught my breath, I realized that it wasn’t a stone or a stick that had brought me down, it was a person.

Friends and family had warned me about running in the park alone at night. Wrinkling my brow, I had always explained to them that I was a big girl and I could take care of myself. For the first time, I wasn’t too sure about that. He said nothing, this stranger that had tripped me. Screaming was the only thing I could think to do, but I still hadn’t caught my breath entirely and my chest hurt from pushing myself, and from falling hard to the coarse ground. Although I tried to shout, all that escaped me was a soft cry.

Roughly, the man grabbed the back of my jogging suit and pulled me to my feet. He looked at me. Fear gripped me and I froze, standing there, locked in his gaze. The darkness cast too much of a shadow for me to make out his features well. The only thing I could think of was to run, and I can do that skillfully. If I were able get free, I know he wouldn’t have been able to catch me. Turning, I tried to dash, but the stranger caught me again and threw me up against a huge oak. Panic gripped me as I tried to struggle. I raised my fist and struck at him, but he grabbed me by the wrist, my knee instinctively came up, but it connected with nothing. With my free hand, I attempted to hammer fist him in the side of the head, but he blocked. I screamed in frustration, he only smiled back at me. I swung my fist at him again while trying to pull my weight to free myself, but that time he caught my hand. The more I fought to be free, the more my back rubbed against the rough bark of the tree, and the tighter the man gripped my wrists. He took both my wrists and pulled my arms straight out to the sides and forced his body up against mine. Drained from my run and from trying to fight, I could do little as this man held me tight against the tree with his body. He let go of my left wrist, but I couldn’t move. Reaching behind himself, he pulled a rope from his pocket, or perhaps tucked in the waist of his jeans. He tied my wrists together deftly.

“Don’t hurt me!” I pleaded. He only sighed.

Tears began to roll down my cheeks. I wanted to go home. I wanted nothing more right that second than to be jogging back up my driveway safe and sound. I asked myself repeatedly why I didn’t listen to the warnings about running alone in the park at night.

“I just want to go home,” I begged softly “please let me go.” The stranger said nothing.

Finally, from deep within I found the power to scream out piercingly. Finally, the stranger spoke to me.

“I don’t want to gag you, don’t make me. I can make you scream better than that.”

“What are you going to do to me?” I demanded. His reply, once again, was silence. He seemed to be securing the ropes around my wrists behind the tree.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME YOU BASTARD?” I shouted as I tried to pull my arms free of him.

For a moment, I couldn’t feel his hands on me, and I began to struggle even more. My hands were immobile, and though I kicked, it did no good. A sense of dread came over me, and I sobbed, like a baby. I wondered if I was going to die tonight.

I felt the razor sharp edge of a knife against my throat as I the attacker came back into my field of vision. My eyes grew wide and for the first time since I was a child, I prayed. Every single nerve ending in my body was active and acutely aware. I could feel the bark against my back, and the soft breeze that blew against my skin, it was like I could feel every single molecule on the edge of the blade that threatened to cut into the soft flesh of my neck. The warmth of his breath pressed against my cheek like the oppressing heat of summer and the quiver in his hand felt like an earthquake inside my heart. My fear took me beyond words, there was nothing left to say.

He moved the blade down to the neckline of my t-shirt beneath my jacket. I felt the tear of the fabric as if it were my own skin and a silent scream inside my brain deafened only me. I welcomed the silence now, and prepared myself for my own death. Suddenly, I was back in times when there were no cares, responsibilities, work, or anything but playing happily on a spring day. I remember smiling. Was this what was meant to have my life flash before my eyes?

Reality snapped in again when the knife ripped its way through the sleeves of my jacket and he peeled the upper portion of my clothing from my body. I gasped. He stared at me intensely. There wasn’t murderous rage in the face that stared me down, only an expression I’d seen few times in my life; it was lust. I felt the knife again at my navel; he trailed it softly to the waistband of my jogging pants then pulled hard – tearing the cloth straight down my left leg. Down on his knees, he tore the right leg of my jogging pants the same way, tugging hard on the bottom; I stood there naked before him. My muscular runner’s body was covered with a thin layer of sweat, and it was shaking.

Walking tight up to me, he placed his hard body against me and kicked my left foot to the side, spreading my legs before him. His face was inches away from mine. I screwed my eyes shut and drew in my breath. Although I expected him to strike me, he did not; he just stood there for what felt like an eternity, pressed up against me with his foot tight up against mine so I couldn’t move my legs together.

“Stay.” he said with an edge to his voice as sharp as the knife that he still held in his right hand.

I remained there, not breathing, eyes shut, terrified.

“I said STAY!” he repeated.

“I didn’t move,” I whimpered, then burst into tears again.

His eyes narrowed, I felt it more than saw it, and then he moved away from me. Around the back of the tree he went, and I turned my head, my eyes followed him.

“I told you to STAY.” He said sharply.

Roughly, the perpetrator grabbed my head taking a handful of my hair. He wrapped something around the back of my head. Around my eyes, he tied a blindfold of soft material.

“Please…” I sobbed “please.”

“That’s it, BEG.”

“NO… stop… let me GO!” I cried uncontrollably, losing my breath in the sobs. He stood back then, silently, and let me cry. After several minutes, my throat was raw, the blindfold was soaked, and I was beginning to feel nauseous. My feet slowly crept back together, hiding myself as best as I could in such a vulnerable position.

Calmly, I asked the man “Why won’t you let me go?”

“I’m not done yet.” He replied. I felt him come up to me again and kick my foot to the side once again. I felt his hand against my inner thigh and I begged again softly for him to untie me, though I knew it would do no good. This man was going to rape me. I choked on the thought. How could anyone want to violate me like this? Why would anyone take me forcefully against my will? I became more angered than scared, because he meant to take something that was not his to take: me.

“You fucking BASTARD!!” I screamed at him. I swear I could feel him smile. The bastard prick was smiling.

“Fine then, go ahead, I don’t care” I said sharply, with a last-ditched attempt at some reverse psychology. Before the breath of the last syllable was out of my mouth, I gasped rigidly and screamed as I felt his fingers force hard up into me. It was painful, brutally painful, the way that he shoved and pushed into my space. A thrill raced through my belly, and up into my breasts, down into my thighs. God help me. Please.

“You don’t care eh?” I could feel the bastard smiling again. It amazed me that I knew just what his face looked like as he violated me. The smug, satisfied look of having tripped me, tied me, and now taken me. It disturbed me that he was taking so much pleasure in this brutal violence, but what disturbed me more was that I was getting wet.

My sobs changed to soft moans as he forced his fingers brutally inside me, I couldn’t believe I was feeling this way, my head told me that I should scream and struggle and cry, but my body told me to relax and enjoy the incredible sensations that were flowing through me. Fighting it, I could feel myself nearing orgasm, but God, I couldn’t cum for this cruel, vicious, man, but unfortunately my body had another agenda.

Thankfully, he stopped seconds before it happened, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The soft breeze in the wake of his body told me that he’d walked around the tree again, and I wondered what he would bring out of the bag or whatever it was that he’d hidden back there with his rope, knife, and blindfold.

He was in front of me again. This time I hadn’t moved, I hadn’t pulled my feet back together in defiance of his rape. I stayed exactly where I was, in anticipation. My breath was shallow, as much with excitement as with anxiety. Despite every attempt to focus on escape, or dissociation, or something other than what was happening to me, I waited for him to touch me again, I wanted him to touch me again.

I felt the air displace before I felt it – and I screamed. The whip cracked sadistically and I felt the sting right between my legs. I cried out harshly, and then I came as I’d never came before. I felt the hot liquid gush down my thighs, and I sobbed as it ran. My sobs didn’t stop even as I stopped cumming.

“MORE.” He demanded.

I shook my head, no. The whip cracked again, this time on my inner thigh. I sobbed again, and came again. I sobbed for being tied and helpless, I sobbed for being weak, I sobbed because my body was responding to this stranger, and I sobbed because it felt more amazing than anything I’d ever felt in my life before.

I heard the whip drop to the ground, and for a split second before I gathered my wits, I was disappointed. His hand grabbed my hair and wrenched my head back, scraping it against the rough bark of the tree that I was bound to; I could feel his breath on my face again. He was fumbling around with his other hand; I knew he was undressing himself.

In one harsh movement, he jerked my head back and slammed his rock hard penis into me – and it happened again. My body decided to enjoy it despite the number of times inside my head I told myself that this was rape, it was brutal, violent, vicious and wrong. He let up on my hair slightly and I protested again, but this time I wasn’t certain that I was protesting against him fucking me, or the fact that he’d let up his grip on me. I was disgusted with myself. How could I feel this way? Oh God, what was happening?

He slammed harder into me; no one had ever fucked me like this before. No one had ever fucked me with such intensity, with such perfect rhythm, and with such force, that it hit me in places that I didn’t know existed. My pussy gushed. There must have been a puddle beneath me. I could do nothing but sob in pleasure, the kind of pleasure that lives on the borderline of pain. It was so intense. It reminded me of a drip of hot water out of a tap, it feels cold and refreshing in the first instant that you feel it – before you realize that its actually burning. The shear force of the experience had me so overwhelmed it was as I was lost in some place I’d never been before, a place where nothing else exists but sensation, feeling, pleasure, and sweet pain. A feeling of starbursts going off inside my entire being that was both as vast as the Universe, and as small as the tiniest particle known to man. It was like floating on an ocean of sweet and sour, hot and cold, of everything that ever was and everything that ever will be. He could have removed the blindfold then, I wouldn’t have seen anything anyway. Even his actions were not existent anymore, only the intensity. Every emotion known to me ran through, I laughed and I cried, and I begged him to stop, then I begged him for more, and I felt like the Universe was me, and nothing else in the world existed at all.

I felt the whip again, on my thighs, on my ass, and it drove me farther and farther into that Universe where the starbursts are, where I can fly in the stars, where the edge was breached and I was in freefall. I began to crave it, the next snap, and the next precious sting as his whip kissed my skin. Fleeting thoughts of dawn breaking entered my head, and a new day where I would do all those things that I do, like laundry and calling my best friend on the phone, feeding the cat. What a bizarre thought, yes Jenny, I got raped last night and it was the most wonderful awesome experience of my life. Crack!

When I felt the gushing subside, and my whimpers ceased, I was sitting with my knees drawn up underneath my chin, untied. The morning light shone through the trees. The world smelled beautifully fresh, and it looked clear, crisp, and perfect. I thought of how I came to be here at all, yes, I was running. I was going for the ‘runner’s high’, that wonderful euphoria that happens when I push myself beyond my own limits. I smiled softly, how could I help smiling softly, when my limits were pushed beyond anything I’d ever imagined. Running, that’s for pussies. I laughed.

“What’s funny?” he asked. I looked at him, examining his features now, for the police report. Handsome. Beautiful eyes. Soft, full lips. Another ironic thought happened in my head, what a report that was going to make.

He leaned over and kissed my forehead, stood, and walked away.

I watched him as he walked; yes, I had better tell the cops he has a sweet ass too. He turned, came back, removed his t-shirt and slipped it over my head.

“Would you like a ride home?” he asked.

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