Dive into the bush after the jogger

From Create Your Own Story

You leap after the runner and sail joyously through the air like a terrier, the sun on your shoulders, the flowers springing abundantly, fertilely from the manicured earth along the path, little nuclear families ambling across the hilly grassy sward, doomed balloons in toddling little mitts, sticky with not-enough cotton candy. One or two of the nearer parents glance at your flight, hold their children closer as they spy your pink rocket popping free of its denim sheath in its eagerness to find purchase in an even pinker, less denimy one.

The woman yelps as you crash into the thicket. You land on top of her, bearing her down and pinning her to the earth. She struggles futilely, and you take a look around. This bush is way more spacious than it looked from the outside. Lots of head room too, it seems. You consider the possibility of establishing a man-cave here. You could plug your man-pliances into the streetlamp a little down the path. You could invite your drumming circle. Maybe smoke a little.

You notice the runner's white shorts caught on a leafy branch rather high up. O pants that were but a moment hence snugly hugging her running hips! Returning your attention to the struggling runner, she indeed is still pantsless. Your hands hold her arms down just at the elbows and your toes planted on the ground keep your shins firm against her thighs, holding them down and apart. Your cock, aimed at her tits, bobbles between her legs from her efforts, stiffens a little harder. She's strong. If you lose your footing she could probably throw you off.

She has quite a thick bush. You feel a bit faint with desire! Dear oh dear. If you keep watching the shaggily bewitching manner it shakes from the tussling of her hips underneath you, you might lose your hold. You pull your gaze from the runner's sporran d'amour. You'll look again when she calms down.

"So! What are you going to do to me?" She struggles less but she doesn't seem to be calming. There's an excited gleam in her eye. It doesn't seem exactly sexual. "Are you going to fight me?"

"What? Fight?"

"Yeah. You know? Punch in the nose? Put up your dukes!" The growl in her voice prompts you to check you have her arms down firmly. Her hands are bunched into fists, just about nose-sized, wrists flexed.

"No I'm not going to fight you! I'm going to fuck you!"

"Fuck?"

"Yeah. You know? That whole penis-in-vagina thing?"

"I know what fuck means! I wouldn't call it fucking, though. You'd be raping me."

"Well, now, um. Isn't that a bit strong? Rape?"

"Yeah. Rape. You know? That thing where you fuck people against their will?" When you don't reply, she says, "But, whatever. Go ahead. Pretty boring idea if you ask me. I mean, like I've never been raped before!" Her eyes go wide and she starts laughing. "I mean, let me tell you, you had better be a pretty good rapist, because I have been raped by the best. I'm talking Greek God best. With all the size you'd expect from a Grecian god, might I add," she adds conspiratorily, all but nudge-nudging you. Images of bronze male bodies with physiques like marble statues traipse through your mind's eye. They mount the runner and she takes notes. Her handwriting is exquisite, but garlanded with extravagant captials and descenders with untamed loops. It makes you feel a bit inadequate.

She continues, "I mean, wouldn't that just suck? Here you go to all the trouble to rape a complete stranger -- though, you have good taste in rape victims, if I do say so myself -- I mean, woo-hoo!, amirite? -- you go to all that trouble and not only, not only is it a totally third-rate, forgettable rape, but then when you're done, she gets up and kicks your ass." A wild expression (rather wilder than those descenders) crosses her face, her eyes hold yours, and she seems about to levitate off the ground to get at you. You find yourself squeezing your toes hard against the earth to keep her on terra firma.

Then she relaxes and looks away at something to your left. You keep your eyes on her while she chatters. "Or maybe I'd get my dad to do it. He's what you might call Head Guy around here. The park, I mean. He knows everything that goes on around here, I mean everything. My last boyfriend -- I use the term loosely -- well, daddy didn't appreciate his stalking method. I admit, I'd seen better myself. So, daddy glued a lot of bark to him, tied branches to his arms and leaves in his hair, and he's still standing in the park to this day! The squirrels are ever so fond of him. He's a real success as a tree. I just get so happy for him sometimes." The way she says happy makes the word sound like it was originally from the language of some feral creature. Like a wolverine.

"Well, look. My name's Daphie. It's pretty clear you want to be my boyfriend. I'd be cool with giving you a shot. Your heart seems mostly in the right place. And I suppose being a piss-poor rapist is kinda different. Cute, even. I have to warn you, I am maintaining my virginity, and I expect to be wooed like a lady. But, seeing as you've taken some.. liberties, I think the only thing to do is accelerate the courting process. That'll require some knuckle-action. Naked knuckles. Once that's out of the way, we can discuss how you'll service me. Whaddya say?"

Status
Health Horny Location:

Daphie's Bush

MP 0
Level 1
Retrieved from "http://72.14.177.54/CREATE_YOUR_OWN_STORY/Dive_into_the_bush_after_the_jogger"
Personal tools