He liked to watch them run. There’s nothing more graceful than the female form in motion, the way the muscles in the legs flex and tighten, how the breasts rise and fall in perfect conjunction with each step and breath. He liked to witness one of the few examples of true perfection, a glimmer of beauty in an ugly world.

He got a place where he could watch them run, a little cabin overlooking the trails they frequented. From the beginning of spring to the end of fall, they came, dressed in their short shorts that left their gorgeous, powerful legs on display, and their tight little sports bras that could never fully hide the bounce of their breasts.

The only problem was winter. Every year a draught that left him aching for spring when the snow would melt and the trails would clear and the runners would return to their natural habitat.

He’d wile away the months watching videos, old worn out tapes of Olympic runners. They were the cream of the crop, cheetahs among the graceful gazelles, but watching them on the old, grainy VHS tapes on his small television wasn’t the same as watching them in the wild.

When the tape finally saw its last playing before the old VHS player ate it and mangled the spool, he’d had enough. It was on one of his rare trips into town to buy a better television that he saw something else that caught his eye.

It was a treadmill. The salesgirl told him that she used the older model, but it was an incredible machine for personalized exercising.

“You’d run on that?” he asked her, his interest piqued.

“If I could justify buying a new one, in a heartbeat.” Even under her slacks and loose fitting uniform polo, he could tell she had a runner’s physique.

So he bought it. And three hours later, under the cover of dark, he took her too.

It was a crime, covering up her body under her heavy down coat and thick woolen gloves and scarf as she left work, trudging through the slushy parking lot to her car. She didn’t see him, the softly falling snow distracting her from the predator lurking behind his van. She was fit and young and athletic, but he was bigger and had the element of surprise, muffling her cries for help with his hand and dragging her into his vehicle. She just had time to recognize the picture on the box she was slammed into before he pulled a hood over her head. The same treadmill that, mere hours ago, she had happily sold to the man who had taken her.

He left her, bound and gagged, in the van while he set up. Even still bundled up, she was freezing by the time he retrieved her. The sweat she’d worked up struggling for hours before she was too exhausted to keep it up had soaked her clothes, and the below freezing temperatures chilled her to the bone. But she would warm quickly.

Her teeth chattered uncontrollably when he untied the dirty rag tied in her mouth, so much so that she could barely ask him what he planned to do with her.

“Strip,” he commanded. The hunting rifle resting across his lap was all the motivation she needed to do exactly what he said.

Shivering, she took off the heavy winter apparel that hid her gorgeous form from him. The scarf, the gloves, the jacket, the sweatshirt, the polo shirt, the shoes, the socks, the slacks, the undershirt.

“Everything.” He didn’t have the colorful little shorts and tight sports bras he liked to watch them wearing for her, but he had never seen a girl run in the nude before, and that idea excited him very much.

First her bra came off, and he was very intrigued to see that her nipples were pierced, a fashion choice that he had never even considered before. She tried to cover her breasts and the little silver bars that pierced her small pink areolas with one hand while she attempted to remove her panties without taking her eyes off of him.

Yes, the idea of her running in absolutely nothing appealed to him very much. He stroked the gun in his lap with his left hand, his right rubbing the other formidable piece between his legs. “Get on the treadmill.”

She did as she was told, taking the first tentative steps onto the machine.

“Run.” He unzipped his pants, taking his member out.

Her fingers hovered over the control panel, her eyes darting between it and him, afraid to take her attention away from him for too long to figure out how to operate the machine.

“Run!” he commanded again, his tone more urgent.

She slammed a few buttons and with a whirring sound, the belt started to turn. Like a fawn taking its first steps, her bare legs stumbled to keep up. She quickly found her footing as the treadmill sped up, and she broke into a graceful gait.

It was glorious. This wasn’t the view stolen through binoculars as they ran through the trails. This wasn’t the grainy footage on his TV. It was real, and so close he could get up and touch her if he wanted. He could see the definition in her muscles as her legs pumped like pistons. The sweat started to form, making her elegant body glisten. Her ass, oh what a sight. He’d never be able to look at a runner in shorts without resenting her again for covering such a beautiful sight. And her breasts, not confined in a cage of a bra, bounced freely with every powerful step, the little piercings in her nipples sparkling in the light.

“Faster!” He stroked his penis in time with her pace, his breath quickening just as hers did. They were perfectly in sync, and he had never felt more alive.

She jammed at the buttons in a panic, the belt speeding up under her bare feet, forcing her to run faster for him. “Please,” she begged between ragged breaths, but he wasn’t listening. He demanded that she run, so she ran. She held onto the support bars to keep from falling as she ran faster and faster, her eyes now glued to her feet so she didn’t stumble and trip. But she heard him. She heard his commands to run faster, and then she heard his cries of euphoric pleasure, and she knew, just as she could go no faster, that he had gotten what he wanted.

She pulled the emergency stop cord and the treadmill shuddered to a halt. She collapsed, looking up at him as he stood over her, the head of his cock still dripping cum onto her naked, sweaty body.

“So beautiful.”

She was too tired to resist him as he tied her back up. He fed and watered her before locking her in the cellar for the night.

Outside, the snow continued to fall. The trails were closed, and it would still be months before the runners were able to return. For the first time, he didn’t care. He sat in his living room all day, watching his winter runner. He’d had to tape her fists into balls to keep her from trying to slow down or stop her runs early. No, she ran when he wanted her to run. To ensure that she didn’t ever step off the glorious machine, and keep her motivated to not collapse, he’d tied fishing line to those ingenious little piercings she’d so helpfully put in her nipples. Whenever she started to lag behind the pace he set for her, her bouncing boobs would be stretched taut, and she’d cry out around the thick wooden dowel he’d tied between her teeth to keep her from complaining. But every time she’d force herself to run a little faster and keep going, all for him.