Jogging Through the Woods

I ran through the brush, stumbling, my breathing ragged as the invisible branches tore at my skin as I ran through the dark. I didn't know where I was anymore, the light of park receding as he herded me towards ever greater darkness. I only heard three sounds in my desperation, my clumsy footsteps, my pounding heart, and his steady advance, somewhere behind me. Where had he come from, I wondered.

I had been out for my early morning run, needing to be done early enough to get to the bus station and head out to work. I preferred my sunrise jogs, but work had needed me in early and this was my only choice. I hated treadmills and despite the park being closed, no one had ever hassled me here before. Until now.

I had been jogging hard, following the dirt path I knew by heart. My light that had been clipped to my glasses ensured that I wouldn't trip, and the constant hikers saw that it was worn and smooth, like soft concrete. My pace had been near my best I had felt, when something had tackled me right off the trail. I had hit the ground hard and my glasses had flown off, the light spiraling in the dark. All I saw was the outline of a large man, getting up. I got up faster and bolted, without thinking. That had turned out to be a mistake. My night vision was basically non-existent from using the light to guide my way, while my predator had been sitting patiently in the dark, for either me specifically, or the first victim to cross his path.

So I found myself stumbling, falling constantly, my knees and palms already bleeding from a dozen small cuts. The sound of him kept coming closer and I had no idea where I was when suddenly, there was no more ground beneath me. I fell into the creek hard and only by the grace of some recent rains did I not kill myself as I slapped against a few inches of icy cold water. It stung my entire body like hundred of hot needles, both burning and numbing me all at once. I tried to get up, slipping on the algae covered rocks, my t-shirt and runners shorts clinging to my freezing skin.

Then he came, splashing behind me as I clawed in the mud on the bank, as I pulled myself out of the creek. Before I could get away however, my hair was grabbed and I felt pain in my back as he punched me, slamming me forward into the mud. I sobbed, dazed, my back in agony, as his weight pressed hard into me.

"Thanks for the run, cunt. I enjoy having to work for my pleasure," he said, as he licked my exposed cheek. The other was forced into the sandy mud and rocks with his hand, holding my head down. I couldn't see anything more than an outline, couldn't feel anything other than numb and fear. I heard, more than felt, my thin runner's shorts rip open and then my top as well, torn open from the back. I was still struggling under his weight but despite being in good shape, he was vastly stronger than me. He spread my legs with his own and as I cried, put his hands hard on my back, shoving me against the ground hard as he pressed against my ass. Despite the cold and fear tensing me up, he pushed, moving one hand down to help. I started screaming again and he cuffed the side of my head hard, and pushed. It felt like my guts were being torn out as he pumped violently in and out of me.

"Take it you piece of shit, take it!" he moaned in my ear, as he spasmed against and in me and I felt heat fill my bowels. I whimpered, felt ruined, as he marked me like a fire hydrant. I felt him pull out and the hot and cool mixed and burned in my ass. I cried softly, fingers dug deep into the mud as the weight on me vanished and move away. It didn't sound far, but still stayed frozen for several minutes before I pushed myself up. My t-shirt fell away, stuck in the mud, though my shorts stayed on, only the back of them being torn open. Mud was caked on the side of my face, and I crawled a few feet before collapsing further from the creek, rolling on my back. My backside hurt so bad and I just felt like shit.

Empty.

Broken.

That's when I heard him come back. I looked and could see the shadow, but my scream was cut off by multiple slaps and then a hard choke and he mounted me again. He shoved my head against the ground hard, one hand around my throat and squeezing, the other tearing again at my shorts, this time pulling them free. Then he was in me again, choking so hard I couldn't focus, feeling his other hand punch me in the gut, once, then twice, and then hitting my breasts so hard it felt like they would explode. Every hit made my body contract on his cock, likely giving him more pleasure. Or perhaps he just liked hitting women. I sobbed, as he pistoned in and out of my cunt. He grabbed my legs and pulled them against his shoulders so he could drive deeper into me.

And then my body betrayed me. I hate myself and that moment to this day. In many ways, it was the day I was born and the die that I died. Old Sammie, she never left that creek. New Sammie did. New Sammie was a survivor, but she was broken. I was broken. I was broken when I felt that moment creeping up, that feeling, crawling along my spine. He probably mistook my screams of "Oh god!" as some proof he was a sexual god but it was me begging with the Creator to not let it happen.

But it did. I orgasmed on my rapists' cock, hard. And he knew it and hit me more, as my body twitched outside of my control. Soon he was spent, emptying his load in me. He stayed in me until he shrunk, then pulled out and stood over me. Then he pissed on my body and I knew deep down then what trash I was to him.

He left for good this time, but I stayed in the mud and dirt along the bang for much longer this time. Finally I got up, crawling, then standing, as his seed ran out of me. I limped back home and by some miracle, no one saw me. I showered, burning myself in the hot water, like a baptism of fire on my skin as I cleaned everything away and then masturbated as I punched the wall, making my knuckles bleed in guilt.

One month later, I had an abortion. By then, the guilt barely bothered me. Even my daily nightmares had numbed me too emptiness. Everything seemed dull and gray outside of that moment or my desperate reading of other's similar moments. Despite all that, despite all that trauma, I still run in the dark. The only difference now is that I post where I will be running and when, and wait to be jumped once again.