(Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, portraying characters over the age of 18. Please do not attempt this. This work of smut was inspired by a conversation between two consenting adults with vivid, fantasy-focused imaginations. It is intended as a scene planned between consenting individuals.)

You walk by the full length mirror in the entryway of your apartment. You can’t help but admire the image reflecting back. You are strong and sleek, having been running for months now. The program you found online has really been showing results and you are proud of the body you’ve built. Spandex fabric hugs the soft curves of your body, creating a silhouette which leaves little to the imagination. The material lifts and accents, bunching by design under your butt to lift and tighten it, cushioned to shove your tits together and create extra cleavage. Breaking away from checking yourself out, you pull on your running shoes. This isn’t your typical time of day that you go for your jog, but your phone died in the middle of the night and your alarm never went off. Stupid technology, but we can’t seem to live without it. You curse at your phone as you slip in your fitted earbuds and fire up your running playlist, placing the device in an armband Velcro-ed around your bicep. Finally you clip on your waist pack, which holds a water bottle and has a zippered compartment that you keep a can of pepper spray in.

It was a stressful day at work, having started off on the wrong foot missing the alarm and it never seemed to improve from there. You were looking forward to leaving the problems on the door step, letting them run from your body and onto the ground with every bead of sweat. Near your apartment complex there is a park with excellent trails. They are complex and winding, with challenging portions. You rarely see anyone else there and that’s exactly what you need right now. Dua Lipa’s “Levitating” begins to play right as you make it to the entrance of the trail. You feel the rhythm enter you, closing your eyes and bobbing to the beat. It’s almost dark, so you don’t feel self conscious as you begin to dance while you jog, moving down the trail. Flowing from one step to the other in a way that would make a river jealous of your freedom of movement. The world melts away and you feel peaceful, only the music and where you place your next step on your mind.

That’s why it must have been so surprising to suddenly find yourself on the ground. I had enjoyed watching you, from your apartment, to the trail, daring myself to see how close I could get without you noticing. It was too easy with your headphones in, I could have been right behind you and you wouldn’t have noticed. I worked down a side path, and I knew I could get ahead of you. I ran these trails much more often than you. I’d admired the work you put in to carve and hone your body. I wanted to admire your work up close. So when I saw the opportunity arise with your atypical evening jog, I took it. Which takes us to you on the ground, a look of bewilderment in your eyes as your stare into mine. Your wrists pinned to the earth by my grasp, an earbud faintly playing a few feet away as it had been dislodged when I tackled you. My full weight seated on your hips, you try to kick away but you aren’t making any progress.

I secure your wrists together with the zip tie I already held, so I can keep your arms elevated with just one arm. You’ve been screaming at me to get off of you and I can’t help but laugh at how futile that exercise is. You wanted to take this trail to be away from everyone else. You know no one is coming. Still, I cover your mouth with my hand and shush you, because I crave the look of panic you give me when I do. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be sweetheart. You can’t win, surely you feel that. You’re tired from your run and your day. You’re mine now, for a little while.”

I take a length of rope out of my backpack and add it to the zip ties around your wrists. Then, I stand you up and lead you by the rope to a nearby tree, securing you to it. Even covered in twigs and dirt I can’t help but be taken aback by how sexy you look. “You really are a piece of art. I’m going to take my time feeling every bit of you.” I loop the remaining rope around the tree and your body, anchoring you at your hips and your ankles. Helpless and on display, I run the back of my right hand down your cheek, turning it over and grasping around your throat. My left hand feels for your thigh and follows its shape upwards to the point connecting it to the other. The warmth from between your legs betrays the fear in your eyes.

The tight, sweaty leggings peel satisfyingly down your hips, catching slightly on the rough tree bark as I pull them down past your firm ass. My face is inches from your pussy, still modestly protected by your colorful cotton panties. Your hormones are intoxicating, and I lean forward to kiss you. You try to buck your hips into my face, but the rope pulls taught and stops you just short of hitting my nose. “So close, I like that you’re feisty. Don’t bite off more than you can chew though, sugar.” I pull a pair of scissors out of my backpack, opening and closing them a few times to hear the satisfying metal sounds as the blades scrape against each other. “Now hold very still.” I instruct as I run the edge of one of the blades across the fabric right over your quivering cunt.

I slip the blade into the leg opening and cut through the shortest strip of fabric on your right right hip. The front of the panties fall forward offering a little tease of the neatly groomed landing strip hiding within. I repeat the process on the left side and the fabric falls between your legs, still pinned to the tree by your ass so they don’t fall completely to the ground. I toss the scissors to the side, placing my hands on your thighs. My thumbs seek your labia and I spread them, exposing yourself fully to me. You protest and squirm, but I couldn’t care less, your beautiful pussy is all I can focus on. Unable to resist any longer, I place my mouth over your the top of your mound and suck. My tongue flicking back and forth over your clit. My hands wander, one retrieving the panties I carefully cut from you and placing them in my pocket, the other slipping into your soaked cunt, easily burying two fingers knuckle deep inside you.

You can’t help but moan as I unrelentingly stimulate your clit and your g spot. I want to make you orgasm, take this from you too as a mental souvenir. “Pleaseeee…. Stooooppp” you let out so weakly that I doubt even you believe that you mean it. I’ll always remember how pathetic it was, I want to always wear that feeling that I had in that moment. Goosebumps began to form on your flesh, and I knew I’d soon get what I wanted. “That’s a good girl, it’s ok, you can cum for me. Like I said before, don’t bother resisting.” I smile as I feel your pussy contract and clench around my fingers. Your knees go weak and the ropes strain as you surrender your weight to them. The moans grow louder, reaching a crescendo and echoing through the empty forest around us as the orgasm rolls over your body. Your hips shake and I can hear you whimper up above me.

A single tear runs down your cheek. I grab your face and turn that cheek towards me, and I lick the tear off of your face. “Everything that drips from you just tastes so good, can’t let that go to waste.” Your sports bra is a front clasp, lucky me. I make short work of the fastener and free your breasts, an act long overdue. I’ve seen your nipples poking before, but nothing can replace that first moment seeing them in their full and vivid detail. Your bumpy areola, the shape of your breasts, the protruding nipples, all better than anything I could have hoped to imagine. I pinch and pull your nipples, savoring the shocked squeak you let out as I do.

I get lost in the moment, my beautiful prey bound to the tree, so helpless. I go to kiss you on the lips and you remind me that I should never let my guard down with a trapped animal, as your forehead connects with my nose. I feel back as the sting subsides. As I kneel in front of you still recovering you spit on me and laugh. I don’t feel any blood coming, but I’ll definitely feel that tomorrow. “I warned you not to bite off too much. What did that get you. Do you feel any less helpless than before?” I grab onto your hips and feel the canister in your pack. I had forgotten about your self-defense spray, how little it had helped you when it mattered. Now I’d use it back against you. I smiled wide as I pulled the can from your pack, laughing and wiping your spit from my face.

I take left hand and squeeze your throat, controlling myself as best I can to not completely choke you. I very much need you conscious for what comes next. I take the pepper spray canister and press it against your cunt, forcing it up. It begins to part your lips and you start to beg me to stop. You tell me that you’re sorry. All lies. You aren’t sorry and that’s ok, neither am I. The canister enters you and I begin to pump it back and forth. The ridges of the grip providing texture, your pussy greedily and happily accepting this strange object, too dumb to know it’s being used for my entertainment. I thumb the safety on the side of the spray, and my heart races.

I remove the canister from its new wet sheath, and make sure I’m aiming it downwards. “It’s been lots of fun finally getting to know you, but I think I’ve had enough. You’re a bit too spicy for my tastes, sweetheart.” I press the safety and then the trigger, and the stream starts immediately. Stinging liquid ejects from the canister and covers your cunt. I only spray for a second, but the damage is done. I watch the expression on your face as your body registers what has just happened. You scream at your pussy lights on fire, the capsaicin permeating your pores and aggravating your nerve endings. My eyes even begin to sting a little as the fumes rise to meet our faces, but nothing compared to how you must feel on your exposed mound. I take my index finger and I begin to rub quick aggressive circles on your inflamed clit, causing you to cry out more than before. You writhe and wiggle violently, begging to be let go. To make it stop. For relief.

I step away and admire my work. The leggings around your ankles, your red pussy stinging and exposed. Your tits bouncing as you shake and convulse, desperately hoping that your movement will ease your pain. I wish I could see the moment you are found and helped, but I have really overstayed my welcome. I settle for a picture on my phone, and then I disappear down the trail, your panties in my hand, proud of my work, inspired by your beauty.