THE JOGGER By Geoff Toates She was asking for it. She had it coming to her. We both agreed on that. The prissy little bitch deserved everything she got. Day after day, in the early morning and again in the early evening, she was jogging past our house in tight black lycra shorts like those ones you see on the sports cunts at the Olympics and that. She had a black top with some kind of badge on it, white socks and black trainers. Her hair was this sort of reddy-brown colour and worn quite long. Her legs were out of this world and her arse – it looked like it wanted to eat you, and sometimes it had begun to eat her shorts.
She looked like a hot slut, but she’d half-turn as she ran past and smile and maybe even wave like she was lady fucking bountiful, with her pretty fucking face that would turn up its posh little nose at a greasy big cock while her tight little tits bounced. Cunt. Kelly and me talked about her. Kelly said she’d heard the girl was just 18 and ready to go to university, she was extra fucking clever and could be a genius scientist, a fucking female Einstein, but she was also a demon long-distance runner who could win a medal at the Olympics, and maybe she couldn’t do both. Well, thanks to us she didn’t have to make that choice.
One evening she went past as usual. She smiled and waved when she saw Kelly and me unloading the van. I said to Kelly, “That cunt wants doing.” “You up for doing the slag, or are you just hot air?” she asked. “Course I’m for real. Are you up for it?” There was this big grin spreading on her face and her eyes lighting up. “You serious? Of course I am. That slut reported me when I was spray-painting the new teacher’s car in my last year at school. We’ll do everything to her – together – won’t we?”
Kelly is younger than me and she does take some things personal. Well, after that we started talking about how we could do it. In the end we settled on picking a bit of her route along this back road that doesn’t get much traffic. It goes through woods and there’s a sort of parking place and an overgrown ditch. We’d hit her in the van, try not to do it too hard, and bundle her in the back. There was no problem about what to do with her when we got her back to the house. We could shove her in one of our big boxes just in case anyone was watching, carry her in, and then put her in the cellar. We bought this house with money from a couple of jobs we did for a guy in Singapore and it had a cellar cause there used to be wine in it. Now there would be this fucking genius cunt.
We had it well planned for next morning. It was raining a bit but that didn’t put the jogger kid off. She went past happily, not knowing it was her last run like. We got the timing just right and there she was, arse cheeks working away ahead of us on the right stretch of road. We lined up the target and went for it.
That kind of job takes a lot of skill. I’d done a couple in the past in Malaysia, one to deal with a rival to my employer, and the other to take this sweet little teenager, the daughter of a magistrate who was causing a lot of trouble. The boss sent the guy tapes and pictures of his beloved daughter, and he changed his tune entirely. Didn’t get his daughter back, mind you, but by then the danger had passed. There was also this job I done in Australia, they flew me over special as an expert. Some prissy lawyer was working for a bunch of poor people and holding up a huge development. You’ve guessed it, the developer paid for the job. Only he wanted Miss Blondie Applearse alive for him to play with a bit before she got to reinforce the concrete in one of his office blocks. I got her for him and had a go on her as part of my pay. By then she was screaming and crying which really turned me on. Never done one purely for pleasure, though. You need to get it just right. I didn’t want her breaking a leg or whatever, still less getting topped, but then I didn’t want her just with a few bruises and running off through the woods yelling for help.
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