Olympic Sprinter is one of 26 stories collected in my e-book Fit For Purpose – Stories of Sports and Exercise Erotica, available for only $3.99 USD from my creator site. (Click here to view in store.)


Aubrey was three months out from competing in the 100m sprint at the Olympics, and she shouldn’t have been in a bar at all, let alone getting as drunk as she was. But she already had five drinks in her, and she was invested in arguing with the handsome dickhead at the bar.

“I’m an Olympic *sprinter*,” she explained. “There is no *way* you can beat me in a race!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the man, ordering her another drink. “I reckon I could outrun you any day.”

“Put your money where your mouth is,” she said. In her alcohol-impaired brain, she was thinking that running track didn’t pay well, and she could use more spending money for the Olympics. “I bet you $1,000 I can beat you in a race.”

“$1,000?” he said sceptically. “I thought you were *confident* you could win.”

“Ten thousand, then,” she said loudly, drunkenly. “I pay you ten thousand if you win. You only have to pay me a thousand. Because I’m that confident.”

“I’m pretty confident too,” he said. “I think I can beat you not once, but three times. Once tonight, and two more dates of my choice.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll beat you three times. I could use three thousand dollars.”

“Or thirty thousand if I beat you at all three,” said the man. “And each time I beat you, I get to fuck you, and demand one favour from you.”

“Fuck off,” she said. “You’ll never catch me.” She took another drink. “Deal. Whatever.”

“Care to repeat that on video?” he asked, holding up his phone, a flashing light indicating it was recording.

“Three races,” she slurred into the phone. “For each one, if he wins, I will pay this dickhead ten thousand dollars and let him fuck me. If I win, he pays me a thousand dollars. He names the date for each race, I turn up and kick his ass.” Her eyes crossed a little. “Legally binding,” she added. “No backsies.” And laughed.

He led her out of the bar, through the city, to a darkened oval. “First one to the toilet block at the other end of the oval wins,” he said. “Go!”

She started running, but she’d had far too much alcohol. She lost her balance after less than twenty metres, and fell to her knees. A moment later, the man was on her, lifting her skirt, ripping her panties out of the way, and sinking his cock deep into her inebriated snatch. She moaned as she felt him begin to rape her, but couldn’t struggle out from under him. He fucked her until he came, ejaculating up into her womb, and then he left her there half-naked and calmly walked to the finish line. She saw his phone in his hand, its light still flashing – he had just filmed everything that had happened.

By the end of the week, she had paid him his ten thousand dollars. She was furious at him, but she knew that he had filmed everything. She couldn’t bear the thought of the potential headlines: “Olympic hopeful welches on drunken bet and fucks stranger in park”. In her mind’s eye she could picture herself on all fours, face down in the grass of the oval, nude ass pointed up, his semen leaking from her pussy. She had to borrow money, and sell most of what she owned, but she got the cash together.

“You haven’t asked about my favour,” he said, as she handed over the money. “Remember, I get a favour if I win?”

“What’s the favour?” she asked grumpily.

He smiled. “No abortions.”

And to her horror, his favour was well-chosen. She got a pregnancy test, and it came up positive, and over the coming months she watched her tits and belly swell as his baby grew inside her.  

She couldn’t run track while pregnant, and had to drop out of the Olympic program. Her parents, who had invested so much in her sports career, and who now believed she had thrown it all away to fuck some stranger in a bar, kicked her out of their house. She found herself alone, unemployed, impoverished and pregnant, living in a slum.

That was when the man turned up again and asked for his second race. She was far too pregnant now to run, of course, and he would inevitably catch her quickly and rape her again. This time she was completely sober, and she had a whole week before the event to think about what would happen to her when she lost. But rather than make it worse for her, she instead found herself sopping wet on the day of the race. His cock slipped into her wet pussy easily after she fell to all fours, and she orgasmed twice before he ejaculated inside her. Embarrassed, she blamed her body’s behaviour on pregnancy hormones.

She owed him another ten thousand dollars, but she didn’t have it. Moreover, his “favour” was that she was only allowed to make money for the next year by selling sex. Broke and with no other options, she reluctantly agreed to let him find work for her, and soon she was posing for photo shoots where her pregnant tits were milked as if she was a cow, and she gave men blowjobs only for them to pull out and cum all over her breasts and belly. She worked as a whore, too, and while she was at first humiliated and degraded to fuck strange men for money, she quickly became used to being used as a sex object. Her new pregnant body made it easy – the fit, athletic her didn’t behave like a slut, but the pregnant lactating version did, apparently.

She eventually had her baby – a girl – and he gave her two whole months off afterwards to recover, with no need to work. But after the two months, she still owed him money, and she was still only allowed to make money through sex. Being a whore when she was no longer pregnant made it clear to her that this new identity was actually her, not just the pregnant version of her, and she cried again as she took her first customer in her ass.

It was the same night that he challenged her to her third race. She was no longer pregnant, and not drunk. There was no reason she couldn’t beat him.

But beat him or not, she’d still be paying him off with her work as a whore for several months yet. She’d be fucking with a fit, non-pregnant body, and she’d need to accept that her real identity was one as a whore. Or worse yet, if he lost the race, he might stop finding her work, and she’d need to pimp *herself* out, and find men to rape her all by herself.

That might explain why, less than twenty minutes into her third and final race, she fell to all fours, and deliberately pulled down her track pants and panties, and lay there, waiting for him to take his victory. She knew she was fertile, and the thought that he was about to put a second rape-baby inside her had her orgasming the moment she felt the tip of his cock touch her cunt lips…


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