Like clockwork. Every morning at ten past five, she runs by the coffee shop window. It is where I first saw her nearly a month ago, jogging, not really running, at a moderate pace, dressed in her running shorts and a tee shirt. I was surprised that she was not in a two hundred dollar spandex running suit, as was the style amongst the attractive, well-to-do runners that I had seen elsewhere. And, she is certainly attractive; there is no quibbling about that. In a few years, she will be the girl that stops conversations when she enters a room. You know the type, I am sure. The girl whose beauty is so powerful that every single person in the room stops whatever they are doing and looks at her as she enters. But that will be in a few years, when she learns the techniques of charm, make up, and grace. For now, she is just (and I use that word loosely) an extremely attractive young teen who likes to run in the morning --just the prettiest young thing that I have ever seen in my life, and seeing her each morning gives me a hard-on that won't quit until mid-day. How can I describe her and do her justice? It's not really right to describe her as petite, because I think that implies being short as well as small framed. I can't be certain, but she appears to be about five feet four inches, and surely does not weigh one hundred pounds. She has blond hair which she wears in a pony tail when she run, an oblong face with high cheek bones and a very light complexion. I have not seen here eyes up close yet, so I don't know what color they are, but I have seen her smile, and that, in and of itself, is enough to stop a conversation. As for her physical features, I can't tell because her tee shirt is pretty loose on her chest, and I only see her for a few seconds as she runs by the window. How can any one person be this beautiful?
What's my story? Noting much, really. I have spent the past three years in the Missouri State Penitentiary serving time for beating the hell out of my boss after I discovered him fucking my wife while I was working overtime in his factory. That he was related to the judge in my case didn't help a lot, but I didn't find that out until about three months before I was released. But I think that little bit of knowledge may have helped along my release. I guess, while I was in there, my wife decided that she should divorce me, which she did, and ended up getting everything we owned switched over to her name only. So on the day I got out, I had nothing but the clothes on my back and the three hundred thirty nine dollars cash that I received from the state for my thirty cents a day good behavior incentive. I am supposed to report to my parole officer at some point, but I decided that I would come west instead. Maybe I'll call him one day. At least it is warm here, and doesn't threaten to snow all the time. I managed to pick up some extra cash as a relief driver on a straight through from Little Rock to L.A. but had to say good bye when his next run was to North Dakota. I hate cold weather.
I have been beating the streets looking for a job, any job, but whenever I get close, it seems the other applicants don't have "violent tendencies" or criminal records. I did manage to stumble across a vacant room with an unlocked door in this apartment building. I don't really understand what this room is, or why it has furniture in it, but it works for me. No one has asked any questions of me; I don't think anyone has even seen me in here.
It has been three years, four months and two days since I last had sex with a female, my ex wife, that is, on the day before I was asked to work a double shift. Since that time, I have had to make do as most of the others in my cell block have done, exercising my right hand and arm. Prison time is such a waste of humanity. It accomplishes nothing from a rehabilitation standpoint. What's to rehabilitate? Was I not supposed to get angry to discover my boss fucking my wife? What I did learn, it's curious, was how to make the newest version of "knock-out drops." Simply by combining rubbing alcohol, a popular brand of spray lubricant in a red can, and one other ingredient on a rag, and holding it over someone's nose and mouth, not only do they pass out completely, but when they awaken, they don't remember anything about passing out. I know it works because I watched one of the guys do it on a guard. He was out for at least ten minutes and when he woke up, he just found himself in a corner, not knowing why he was sitting down on the job. This is why, today, I am not in my usual seat in the coffee shop but rather, I am standing across the street in the shadows of a building, watching where Miss Beautiful comes from and where she goes to.
It's unbelievable. I watched her for three days, and each day her path is exactly the same. She runs by the coffee shop, continues another block and then turns right and runs directly past my apartment building, continuing on for another three blocks before she turns north again. The side door to the apartment building is ten feet from the end of the driveway which she runs across. Even the weather is cooperating. It has been misting rain since just after midnight and the streets are a little slick. The rain clouds obscure whatever moonlight there might have been on a clear night, and the nearest street light is a half block away. As dark as it is out this morning, I could be wearing neon and no one would see me.
I can hear her coming now, her footsteps on the sidewalk rhythmically landing, almost like a clock ticking. I am pressed against the side of my apartment building, dressed in black, the scented rag in my right hand. I sense that she is near and the time is right. I take one step from the alley, extend my hand over her face and cover her mouth, pulling her to me in one motion as she reacts ever so briefly and, startled, inhales a full, deep breath. Instantly she is limp in my arms and I simply carry her to the door, enter and go directly to my room. There are no tracks or drag marks; no part of her body has yet touched any part of the alley, the door or the hallway. In my excitement, I forget to lock my door, but return to it as soon as I have placed her on the bed. In less than a minute, she is naked before me. Oh, I am in heaven. She is more beautiful than I even imagined.
Her breasts are tiny, not much more than the top of the bun of a Big Mac at McDonald's. Her nipples are tiny too, the colored part and everything about the size of a nickel. Bright pink, too! Her waist, as you might imagine is flat as a pancake, no fat on her, no sir. But below--ahhh--light brown pubic hair, almost blond like her head, so soft and fine I can see right through it, yet there is plenty there. It's not wide spread like my ex wife's was. Heck, I can cover it all up with my palm. Her pussy lips are tight, still; she's gotta be a virgin.
I begin rubbing her breasts and to my surprise, she begins to react. I am startled that the knock-out stuff maybe wearing down but then I realize that she is reacting to my stimulation subconsciously. Her nipples both become very hard and pointy as I continue to caress them. I'm too anxious, I know, but it has been a long time. Screw the tits, I tell myself, get her wet and do it. I move my hand to her crotch and probe her lips. Moisture! Unreal! I slide my finger up between the lips and discover her clit is swollen. Does this happen when girls run, I wonder? No matter, I am glad. I slip it down and probe her cunt. Moisture there as well.
I push her legs up to her belly and lower myself down onto them. Supporting myself on one hand, I grab my cock with the other, move it up and down her slit until I know it is in the right spot and then begun my push inwards. Oh yes, she has a cherry-- oh HELL YES! I back off a little and give it another thrust, much harder this time, and suddenly I feel myself gliding into softness that is warm and wet and slippery. But the look on her face registers her pain, even if she doesn't know it. Tears are falling from each eye as I begin thrusting in and out of her. My God she is tight! What a cunt. Such a change from my ex wife. This feels like I have a flesh lined glove clamping on my cock. Honestly, it is hard to move inside her, and I am so horny that I know I won't last long. I can feel my cum boiling in my balls now. I make a final thrust into her and feel my cock shooting hot jism into her. That feels soooo good. It has been a long time. Too long. I pull out of her and slip a hand towel under her hips to catch my cum as it drains back out of her. I need a beer.
I have been sitting here looking at my unconscious beauty, at her face, at her body, at her pussy as my cum still seeps out of her. I just can not imagine any person being more sexually exciting to me than she is. I wish that I could keep her forever, but I know that isn't possible. I mount her again and my entrance is much easier. She is a wonderful fuck; it's really a shame that she can't be awake to experience this. I can feel my cock hitting the bottom of her cunt, banging against her womb, and I wonder if I should try getting in there as well. I decide that busting into her womb is too dangerous, she could bleed a lot and then there would be trouble.