The Harem on the Hill (Part LXXXI) (Patreon)

"If you prefer," you say, forcing your eyes off the jiggling belly of the otherwise slim jogger.  "We could continue your workout back at my place."

The brunette cocks her head, aims her eyes, then shoots you down.  "If you weren't who you were, I'd slap you."

"I meant at my gym."

"Mmm-hmm."  While it's clear she doesn't believe you, her smile belies any pretense of offense.  "I'll bet that works on nine out of ten girls.  Too bad I'm number ten."

"If you weren't a ten, I wouldn't invite you."

"Oh, brother."  The pretty twenty-something rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, but her smile nevertheless widens.  She was eating this up faster than the winter treats currently bouncing over the waistband of her summer shorts.  "Sorry to bother you.  I'll let you get back to admiring the scenery."

The Spandex-clad beauty turns and, with a knowing glance over her shoulder, slowly jogs away...affording you a perfect view of her pert posterior.

"What's your name?" you call after several seconds of staring.

"Tracy," she says, pivoting back.

"When can I see you again, Tracy?"

"I'm here every morning.  Feel free to join me."

"I told you, I don't like jogging."

Tracy shrugs, takes a few more strides, then freezes.  "Shit!"

"What's the matter?"

"My motivation's leaving."

Fifty yards away, Jada Jenson, the chubby social worker, is folding her picnic blanket.  The neon red that runs the length of her otherwise pale appendages suggests she probably should have left a while ago.

"That's what happens when you don't nip a problem in the bud."  Tracy shoots you a sly smile, takes one last look at the packing plumper, then sprints away.  "See you!"

Meanwhile, the disheveled blonde huffs up the shallow hill leading to the parking lot.  After pausing at the summit to catch her breath, she continues the trek to her vehicle--a banged-up Subaru hatchback about the same age she is.  Probably her first and only automobile.  A gift from her parents for her "sweet sixteen," perhaps.  You imagine they were proud.  She had so much promise.  Now she was a twenty-eight-year-old shut-in getting fat on fast food.

Before Tracy can loop back, you stroll toward your Escalade parked a few spots from Jada's jalopy.  The civil servant's ass, packed tightly into grass-stained sweats, dangles from the hatchback as she stows her blanket, magazine, and a half-eaten bag of potato chips.  Reemerging from the vehicle as you pass, she gives a startled yet pleasant "hello."

Entering your SUV, you watch as Jada drives off in a cloud of exhaust smoke.  Her Subaru's suspension sags on the driver's side like a boat listing to port.

Time to head home.  You have preparations to make.

Who will be the next to join your Harem on the Hill?