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The Time I Kidnapped a Stranger




Q: What's the wildest thing I've ever done?

Well, of all the tales of my sexual misadventures the one that elevates eyebrows most rapidly is probably my story about abducting someone I’d just met. I tied them up in the back of my car, drove them to my flat, and then kept them captive overnight for the purposes of torture and sexual violation.

Before the police are dispatched to commit me to a similar fate I should point out that this kidnapping was entirely consensual. In fact it was probably more her idea than mine. The kidnapping also did not take place in some darkened alley, isolated moorland, or other quiet spot chosen so that no one could hear my victim scream. Instead it took place in a Waitrose car park near Cirencester in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon. Any screams of resistance would have quickly got the attention of a wide selection of bemused shoppers.

Alice (my ‘victim’) had instructed me on the best place to park; an isolated corner near the recycling bins. Well at least it had looked isolated on google street view, but those pictures had been taken in summer when the trees were all leafy. It was March when I reversed my car between those white lines, and as I looked out through my windscreen the spot seemed desperately exposed.

‘Oh well’ I thought, as I switched off the engine, ‘Here goes nothing!’

I locked my car behind me and wandered out towards the hulking glass lego brick of Waitrose. The plan was to have a pre-kidnapping chat over coffee first, just so we could assess each other for any dangerous levels of insanity. Alice and I had been talking for a couple of weeks now, including on the phone, and we had already reassured each other that we sounded sane at least. From the slightly philosophical slant to Alice’s okcupid profile I was initially worried that she might turn out to be a dreamy hippy with her head lost in the clouds. However, our chats had reassured me that she was intelligent, switched on, and prepared to ask deeper questions about life, even if they didn't have easy answers.

‘I’m on my way’ messaged Alice as I crossed the car park. I sat myself on a bench near the entrance to Waitrose, watching the automatic glass doors slide back and forth as empty shopping trolleys rattled outwards, weighted with cornucopiae of luxuries and essentials drawn from across the earth. One was pushed by a dead-eyed woman who appeared to be in her late thirties. It also contained her sproglet, who writhed in his cage-like trolley-seat and wailed. This woman’s expression did not suggest amazement at the wondrous achievements of globalisation contained her cart, but rather a quiet wish that the end times would come sooner rather than later.

A man sat down next to me, hunched between too large shopping bags. He began staring at his phone. I adjusted my overcoat and tried not to look conspicuous given that I felt overdressed for afternoon shopping, nor holding any shopping bags or other shopping related paraphernalia.

Then Alice appeared bounding down the nearby steps, her mouth stretched into a grin and barely a hint of nerves showing in her sparkling green eyes. I was relieved to see that she looked like she did in her profile pictures. Her long mousey hair bobbed gently with each step. Her figure was verging on the petite, and a warm looking cardigan hugged her chest. Her short skirt gave way above the knees to black tights encasing a pair of thoroughly graspable legs.

All in all she looked quite kidnappable.

*

We got a coffee in the Waitrose cafe. I think it was safe to say we were the only couple there on a ‘first date’. It’s possible I am underestimating the sex lives of the various grey haired senior citizens who shared that space with us. Perhaps they were just shielding their tindering behind copies of the Daily Telegraph or were rubbing walking sticks slowly against each other’s thighs when no one was looking… thankfully I wasn’t paying close enough attention.

Alice was cheerful and inquisitive and after brief small talk about jobs, science and what it was like to be temporarily living with her parents, the conversation quickly turned to the business at hand...

“So do you know lots about rope stuff?” She asked, a little too loudly.
“Ha, yes I’ve picked up a few things, don’t yet know how to do advanced things like suspension, but I can tie a few harnesses and other fun predicaments.”

Discussion of ropes and BDSM continued at a lowish volume, but I remained concerned that some of our neighbours might have their hearing aids turned up to high.

“Yeah, I think some people are kind of conflicted about the whole being feminist and into submission thing” said Alice “But I guess I am here so I can't be that conflicted.”

“Yeah, but I think be submission can be perfectly feminist so long as you’re making independent choices about what you want to explore.” I said.

Yeah?” said Alice.

“Sure, I think if what feminism is trying to achieve is genuine equality for women, including freedom of choice, then why shouldn’t a woman feel free to choose what sexual experiences she wants to have?”

“I suppose the choice thing makes sense, though I'm not always sure everyone's choosing for the right reasons.”

“Do you really need a reason if it’s what works for you though? I mean, I think it’s also fair for someone to find the idea of a man dominating a woman to be offensive, even if it’s consensual, because there’s such an awful history of male violence against women that some people might see BDSM as somehow trivialising it.” I rambled “So, I try to be careful who I tell about this stuff, I’m not sure being a man who dominates women is an identity one should wear too openly out of respect for that. But behind closed doors if you want to be tied up and I want to tie you up then, equality wise, isn’t everyone a winner?”

“Yeah, I might be more offended by it if it didn’t also turn me on? I don't know.”

“Mmm. In some ways you could think of the submissive as actually the consumer, or person being serviced, and the person 'in control' as the service provider. It’s a shared experience but the sub doesn’t really have to take any initiative, it’s mostly the top’s responsibility to make the plans and learn the skills needed. The trick is controlling the submissive's experience and pleasure while simultaneously making it seem like you’re actually using them for your pleasure.”`

Alice nodded while sipping her coffee. Supermarket noises drifted into the cafe: the rattle of trolleys, the sporadic beeps of the checkouts, the hum of chiller cabinets. These sounds combined into kind of low roar, like the background echos at a public swimming pool.

“Have you finished your tea?” asked Alice
“Yup” I replied
“Good. Well I’m ready to go when you are!” she said
“Cool, let’s make a move then!” I said, caught slightly off guard and wondering to myself if I would ever truly be ready for what we had planned.

*

So a hot scenario might be.. We meet and have a drink, we leave and you can order me into the boot of your car, take me to your flat where you can do whatever you like but I'd love it if you could spank me and hit me with a belt or similar…

This was Alice’s message a few days before our meeting.

One slight problem with this plan was that my car was tiny and didn’t have a boot. Or at least it didn’t have a boot large enough to fit someone in without them suffering severe discomfort or permanent spinal reconfiguration. My solution was to put the back seats down...  

“In you get!” I said. I held Alice’s arm and gave her a gentle push, but she didn’t need any encouragement as she clambered in through my back doors, giggling. 

Easiest kidnapping ever.

I followed her in and produced some rope from the footwell. I started to tie around her wrists, but kept looking up to scan the car park and check no one was coming to arrest me. My car really wasn’t designed for discrete kidnappings. I should invest in a white van someday, or something with tinted windows. Anyway, as I was cinching the final knot to hold together her wrists I looked up to scan around again.

“Shit!” I said out loud
“What?” asked Alice
“Someone’s coming!”

Slowly but surely a dark haired lady was pushing a heavily laden shopping trolley towards the one SUV that was parked near us. This women appeared to be in her later years but was clearly fit enough to push a fully laden trolley to the most isolated corner of the car park. The side door of my car was still open so we couldn’t both hide without looking suspicious.

“You hide and I’ll try and look natural.” I said to Alice as the old lady approached.

Alice lay flat in the back of my car with various bits of rope strewn around her while I slid out of the back door and then leaned against the car casually, opening my phone and staring it intensely. Through the corner of my eye I watched as the lady slowly reached her car and opened the boot. Alice watched me from where she lay half-bound, grinning and stifling her laughter. Firstly, and with time defying languidity, the old lady lifted a bag of vegetables into her boot… then some bottles of lemonade… then a collection of soup tins…

My focus remained fixedly on my phone screen.

...then some toilet paper… then some cereal boxes… then a bag of chilled goods…

I checked my emails and paced up and down a little, because standing still had become too awkward for me.

...then a bag of potatoes… then some bottles of red wine…

There was no way I didn’t look suspicious was there? All the lady had to do was wander over into the next parking space and peer into my back windows. Fortunately she was occupied moving an infinite number of individual items into her boot. This inefficiency an unexpected outcome of the new plastic bag tax.

…then a multipack of crisps…and finally her trolley was empty!

“Ok she’s just taking back her trolley” I relayed to Alice who was getting bored and was trying to poke her head up from behind the front seats to get a look at what was happening.
“Quick get down she’s coming back again!”

“I think she saw me...” Alice said as the lady’s car pulled away.
“Better get you out of here before she calls the cops!” I joked, a little nervously

Now we were alone again I removed Alice’s boots and tied her feet together as well. I tied the ropes holding her hands to the metal runners of the front passenger seat.

“For the full experience shall I tape up your mouth?" I asked "Or do you want to be able to talk during the journey?”
“Up to you.” Replied Alice
“Tape it is!”
I wrapped non-adhesive bondage tape around her mouth and head; around and around, covering the bottom of her face almost completely.
“Can you say ‘stop the car’?” I asked
“Tttrrmmmpp ddd aaaarr” was the noise that emerged
“Ok, good enough.” I said, deciding that any distressed noises she tried to make would be reason enough to pull over.

Now I had a stranger tied up and gagged in the back of my car. At this point any cars pulling up beside me or any pedestrians walking by could have easily glanced in, seen that I had a girl tied up in my car, and been rightfully alarmed. In anticipation of this problem I had brought a sheet with which to cover my victim. Unfortunately once my hostage was sheet-enshrouded it made it look like I was transporting a dead body in the back of my car instead of a live one.

Not a dead body. I promise.

Still, I decided the sheet-covered-dead-body-look drew less attention than the tied-up-and-gagged-hostage look, so I left her like that, got in the driver’s seat, and told my sat-nav to guide me back to Oxford.

“What have you gotten yourself into?”  I said to my sheet covered hostage.

She quietly tugged on her ropes. I calmly drove my car.


*
It is an odd sensation driving a car with a person tied up in the back of it. Driving is an activity that benefits a certain amount of calm concentration, and I like to think I did a good job of focusing on the task at hand. We pulled away from Waitrose and I navigated the series of roundabouts that took us out of Cirencester and into the rolling English countryside. Despite my professional focus on not crashing or running anyone over, there was still a voice in the back of my head that was silently screaming “OMFG there’s a girl tied up in the back of your car! How the shit did this happen!”


Once on a straight stretch of road I decided some kidnappy banter was in order.


“Well someone’s in trouble now!” I said “What am I going to do with you I wonder?”


These was silence from under the sheet, so I continued “You’re going to be my little slut to play with. I’m sure you’ll make a great little fuck-toy when I get you back to mine. Once I’ve beaten you into shape a bit that is!”


The continued silence from the boot made my words feel creepier than they usually do. I’d found gagging her really sexy at the time, but the resultant quietness made it hard to gauge if my banter was going down well, or if Alice might be developing terrifying doubts while left alone under a sheet with her thoughts.


“...So much trouble!” I trailed off


We drove along in silence for quite a while as I focused on roundabouts and slip roads and overtaking lorries on the dual carriageway. A bit of me started to worry that Alice might have fallen asleep and I feared she might react with horror on reawakening to find herself tied up in the back of a stranger's car.


“You ok back there?” I asked
“Mrrmmm”


I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if that was meant to be a ‘mhmm’ or a ‘hmm?’...


“You ok? Not fallen asleep?”


“Mmm mmnh” came the response followed by further silence.


*


The journey mostly passed without incident. I made sure I stuck to the 50 mile an hour limit while passing the Swindon police station, as it would have been a very bad time to get pulled over for speeding. I was fairly sure the only law I was actually breaking was that my passenger wasn’t wearing a proper seatbelt, but it was still a situation that could take quite a lot of explaining.



Eventually I reached the Oxford bypass, almost back to my lair. Unexpectedly the sat-nav on my phone told me to take the next exit. I had not been using this sat nav for long and I had yet to develop a healthy skepticism over its advice. Rather than thinking ‘No that’s not the way to my flat’, I instead thought ‘Oh, this must be a new shortcut!’ and I obeyed the infernal machine. I quickly found myself in the quiet suburbs of North Hinksey going in entirely the wrong direction. Then I remembered I had just told my sat nav to take me to ‘Oxford’ and not to my actual address. “Crap, just need to turn around” I muttered to myself. North Hinksey seemed surprisingly busy with traffic so I pulled off into a cul-de-sac and attempted a three point turn. The road was really quite narrow and that was when a local pushing a wheel-barrow started approaching along the pavement.


With a bit of kerb scraping, and a burst of acceleration that I didn’t know my tiny car was capable of, I zoomed away from the peaceful village of suspicious onlookers and rejoined the Oxford bypass. A few minutes later I reversed into a parking space in front of my flat, heart beating at a confused pace. My parking space was also not as private as I would have liked it to be; this kidnapping lark was a tricky business! God knows how anyone kidnaps anyone in real life. I unlocked the front door then opened my boot. I did not want to take the risk of trying to carry a tied up Alice into my flat; getting dropped on the floor was not on her list of kinks, so I untied her feet while keeping her under the sheet. Next I untied the rope that I had fastened to the front seat, then hurriedly led her across the driveway by her bound hands and through my front door.


I locked the door behind us while she hovered in my hallway, hands tied and not knowing what to do with herself. I led her up the stairs and into my bedroom, pulling her along by the rope around her wrists. I could feel her wet cunt through her tights as I forced her onto my bed, leaning over her I muttered into her ear “You’re mine now slut.”


I took my time undressing her, untying and re-tying her limbs. I tied her spread-eagled and face down on my bed, ass exposed; I had promised her the belt and the belt she would get! I stood over her, still fully clothed, and felt my belt gleefully sliding through the loops of my jeans. Folding it in half I left it resting across my hostage's shoulder blades and ran my hands down her back and up the slope of her delightfully smooth ass. I made the first spank a hard one and she gasped, the solitary red hand-print stood out well against her white skin, and it invited more….

*


Alice took her spanking like the perfect pain slut she aspired to be. My hands beat down on her ass until it was wrapped in that familiar red glow, a newly primed canvas, ready for painting with the heavy brush strokes of my belt? No. First I thought it could use some further texturing with my flogger. The pale skin of her back and shoulders was quickly patterned with a multitude of thin red lines, which spelled out words the most primitive of languages... a code that read: ‘Mine!’

My flogger did it’s stingy work until, having satisfied myself with the sounds of her whimpers, I finally retrieved my belt from where Alice had let it slip to. I let the leathery folded end of it slip gently over Alice’s body, watching as her blushing skin twitched in fear of its touch. I flipped the belt up into my other hand, aimed, and swiped it down cruelly. Rewarded with my favourite slapping noise and its accompanying groan. I beat her furiously with my belt until bruises started to show; every good meal should be well tenderised before consumption after all.

I removed my trousers and my hard cock forced its way out of my pants. I crouched in front of where she lay, arms tied out either side of me, and taking hold of her hair I lifted her face off my sheets. After slapping her cheeks a little I ran my thumb down to her lips and she began sucking it eagerly. Still grasping her hair I pulled her head backwards and her jaw downwards, and then slowly I inserted my cock into her mouth, which she took in even more hungrily than my thumb.

Alice wriggled against her ropes, frustrated by her powerlessness as I fucked her face and my balls danced against her chin. My spare hand found my belt to lash her with from this new angle, just to add injury to insult. After I’d had my fun with her mouth I let her head sink back into the sheets. I ran my hands down over her abused body to find her soaking-wet cunt. Sheathing myself appropriately I eased myself onto the bed between her splayed legs and watched the rope digging into her ankles as she continued to struggle.

“Do you want me to fuck you slut?” I asked, still toying with her.
“Yes!” She groaned
“Yes Sir!” I spanked her again, a motion that was now almost automatic.
“Yes Sir! Please fuck me Sir!” She said
I placed my right hand firmly on her shoulder as I entered her, slowly at first, pushing deep.
“Do you like being my little fuck toy?” I whispered in her ear
“Yes sir” she said, teeth clenching as I begin to fuck her harder.

I grasped her by the hair again and used her just as I knew she wanted to be used.

*

It has been remarked by some that it takes me a long time to cum, but I never know what baseline I am compared to. I can’t remember how long I took with Alice, perhaps the hours of building excitement foreshortened the main performance, but I still remember being very sweaty by the end of it.

Well I say the end of it…

“What? You don’t think I’m done with do you?” I said to her as she lay there bound and exhausted. From my bag of tricks I produced a long white object with a bulbous end and a power cord… I plugged it into the wall and switched it on. Alice whimpered as she heard the sound of my magic wand vibrating frantically…

“The night is young! And there’s nowhere for you to go after all!”


*

The End

How I built my hardpoint

So I have been tinkering around with bondage for a few years now; mostly tying pretty girls to my bed, or tying them to themselves, or, if I’m really lucky, tying them to other pretty girls. However I wanted to expand my bondage in a more vertical dimension, which meant having a secure overhead ‘hardpoint’ to tie to.


At this point I'm not knowledgeable enough to attempt full suspension type bondage, and I know this can be dangerous and requires badass rope skills, but I have some other, less extreme, schemes in mind that made this project seem worthwhile!


Anyway this is the story of my hard-point building adventure, presented in the form of instructions for repeating my feat... if you wish to be so foolish. (They don’t teach you this shit on blue peter after all!)

*DISCLAIMER- This is probably a bad idea. Don’t do it.*

How to build the Tuttlesmith Hard-point


You will need:

A sturdy and secure beam in your attic that is positioned conveniently above your bed:

(Failing that you can install something that spans a bunch of ceiling trusses like this. Using individual weak-ass ceiling trusses is a definite no no!)



You will also need: Something to drill holes in your ceiling with. Some straps designed to withstand at least double a human’s weight, which can be dangled through those holes, (I went for some hammock supporting straps from amazon). And finally something to cover over the holes with.
(Amazon better appreciate the free advertising!)




Step one: Put down something to catch the dust...

A rubber sex sheet is not necessary for this, but if it’s the nearest thing to hand then it seems like a viable option...



Step two: Figure out where to drill the holes!

Safety note: when bumbling around in an attic it is important to remember not to fall through the ceiling. Take care locating sturdy wooden ceiling trusses to stand on and don’t put all your weight on one truss. (Ideally put down boards to spread your weight). Make sure you can maintain your balance when wielding random tools. Peel back any insulation to access the ceiling panels but wear gloves and a dust mask as fibreglass is itchy bad.

Locate (/build) super strong beam. Wrap straps around this beam and let them hang down to figure out where they hit the plasterboard below. Check there is no electrical wiring or other sensitive stuff anywhere nearby where you plan to drill that could make you dead, then drill little wee holes to act as markers in the ceiling. (I wanted to drill up from below with the big circular drill instead of down from above as there’s a greater chance it will make a mess when exiting the panelling than entering)



Step three: BIG DRILLIN TIME!

Go back to bedroom and locate guide holes made above ^.

Equip electric drill with circular whizzy thing (matching the diameter of your hole disguises)… Test the drill trigger, watch it buzz, and feel afraid.

Before driving a powerful electric drilly thing into plasterboard above your head it is wise to appreciate that bits of plaster will probably fly everywhere including into your eyes if you are unable to resist looking up at the carnage you are creating. Therefore some kind of eye protection is advised…



I mean a creepy gas mask is definitely unnecessary, but you’d be surprised the number of things that baby comes in useful for...

 (Other uses for creepy gas mask include but are not limited to: Cutting onions. Freaking out your house mate. Spraying anti-mold spray into high places above your head. And even surviving nuclear/chemical/biological terrorist attacks.)

Find a safe place to stand (use a ladder if ceiling is high… Standing on the bed like I did is probably not ideal, but if you’re a reckless mo-fo like me just try not to slip on any oily patches on your rubber sex sheet…) Also always keep the ‘safety’ switch toggled on the drill until you’re ready to use it!

Locate big central drill bit into little guide drill hole.

Say “Here goes nothing!”

Pull the trigger and drive that sucker home. (Careful now)

Plasterboard may resist and drill head may stop spinning. Grit teeth and continue to wreck your ceiling by pulling the drill out a little and then pushing it back in again…

Say “Oh jesus what the fuck am I doing!” out loud and plasterboard rains down around you, spraying everywhere and far exceeding the spread on your rubber sheeting.

Feel relief as you finally breach the ceiling that was much thicker and tougher than you expected.



Marvel at the amount of mess you have made in such a short time:



If the first hole wasn’t too traumatic, carry on and drill another one!

Step four: HIDE THE EVIDENCE

Insert desk cable organiser things into the holes you have made and hope your parents never ask you “Why do you have two weird disks in your ceiling?” (Covering  hard point holes with fake fire alarms may be an alternative but two fire alarms above my bed seemed excessive…)



Step five: Get it all dangling...

Return to attic. Loop straps around big beam to get an appropriate length and dangle through the holes.


  

Discover you looped one strap around once more than you did the other: Return to attic and readjust so that it doesn't look stupid.

Continue to not fall through the ceiling.

Step six: Tidy

Replace hole disguises (with some difficulty). Get vacuum out and try to deal with the massive amounts of mess you have made.

Step seven: Sleep

Go to bed and go to sleep while enjoying the self-satisfaction of having achieved something combined with a quiet unease as to whether you have just significantly decreased the value of your property.

Step eight: Awake

At about 3am get hit in the face by a falling white plastic hole-disguiser that decided it didn’t like being in your ceiling that much after all.

The next morning drill several holes in it in revenge (using a small hand drill, and your knees carefully deployed in a vice like manner). Repeat for non-offending plastic hole-disguiser. Push them both back into the ceiling.




Return to the bloody attic with a hammer and nails.

Go to hammer the first nail into offending hole-disguise and watch in annoyance as the hole-disguise falls back through the hole. Realise that using a hammer and nails is quite hard when balancing on attic ceiling trusses.

Go back down the ladder, put hole-disguise back in hole, go back up ladder. Nail that mutha-fucker in there properly this time.



Repeat for second hole-disguise (Including the going-up-and-down-ladder bit because yes you accidentally knocked that one through the hole as well).

Add some glue around the sides of the hole disguisers just to make sure they're not going to fall out and hit you in the face again. Then put the insulation back as you found it. Get out of the damned attic before your knees give out on you from all the crouching. Go back into the damned attic because you left your drill up there.

Continue to not fall through the ceiling.

And finally…



Profit!

(Rope bunny acquired separately; sadly they do not magically appear as soon as you build a hard-point!)

Scrumping


    

Below is a teaser of my first attempt at writing some straight up erotica. It's been through many revisions over the years and a few different ebook covers. I first posted this story I extended it and put it on Amazon as a 99c ebook, but then Amazon took it down without any notice or explanation... It may have been down for ages, as I'm afraid I have not been paying much attention to Harry's creative ambitions lately, but I found out the other day this book somehow become the subject of a podcast. It was strangely terrifying to hear your work reviewed in that way, but it was good to hear the book bringing laughs to strangers. Their ringing endorsement that it was 'fine' and that it delivered what it set out to deliver has motivated to put out an improved second edition on Smashwords, complete with new cover art. Enjoy responsibly.

 

Disclaimer

This work is not an aspirational tale, its purpose is to arouse and drag you into the story. The behaviour of the characters does not meet good standards for consent and communication and the author does not endorse their reckless actions and manipulations. He does, however, hope that they turn you on.


This story contains elements of threat and dubious consent.


Scrumping


It was September in Massachusetts and the warmth of late summer sun had tempted Laura out of her house and onto her bicycle. The first flushes of autumn colour were showing in the trees and something in her heart floated up and lifted her feet forward as they turned the pedals. It was a Sunday; worrying about work could wait until tomorrow and for now, she could do whatever she pleased. The soft air blew over her face and her auburn hair danced in her slipstream as she rolled onwards, out into the shining world. 


Laura’s dress was a poor choice for biking; too short, fragile, and liable to stain. Nevertheless, she loved it. The white fabric with red polka dots matched her freckles to a tee.  As the warm breeze found its way through its thin fabric and teased her skin, her knuckles tightened on its swept back handlebars. She knew her bike made her look like a terrible cliché with its wicker basket and light-blue paint job, but that just made her even more obsessed with it. She rang her bell as a nervous chipmunk watched her pass from the roadside. 


Leaving behind her regular neighbourhood, her aimless pedalling began to take her on an unfamiliar route, running past thick fields of maize and the occasional brick-red barn. Next, the road dove into colourful woodland that stretched away on either side of her like an endless rusted blanket. 


After free-wheeling downhill for a while, the woodland broke into lines of overgrown apple trees weighed down with lucious and reddening fruit. The sight of this bountiful orchard made Laura salivate slightly. She stopped and looked around, a mild perspiration cooling her forehead. Seeing no one she reached up and picked an apple from a low hanging branch. Sugary juice ran down her chin as the skin broke beneath her teeth and it tasted so sweet and refreshing eaten there in the mid afternoon sun. She felt there could not have been any apple more delicious than the one clasped in her palm.


I should make an apple pie!’ 


The idea came to Laura as she took a last bite and flung away the core. She had never actually made an apple pie before, but there were so many delicious apples here that they practically commanded her to pick as many as she could fit in her basket. Detaching its wicker frame she hid her bike in some bushes near the road and plunged deeper into the orchard. She wanted to gather the fruit out of sight, just in case anyone should drive by and stop to ask her awkward questions. Some voice in her head kept declaring that this was kind of like stealing, but she brushed it aside. 


‘There are so many apples!’ she thought ‘They’ll probably just fall on the ground and go to waste anyway!’ 


A thin path between the grass led her in between gnarled trunks and laden branches. Laura wasn’t quite sure what impulse drove her deeper and deeper into that old orchard; there were apples everywhere, all in easy reach, and yet something pushed her on, an indistinct thrill making her heart beat faster. Ahead of her one particular tree stood out, bathed in autumn sunlight and overflowing with well-reddened fruit that beckoned with an enticing shine...


*


Laura snapped another firm and smooth apple from its delicate stem. Her basket was almost full to its brim.


‘I should go’ She realised, having picked enough for five or six pies, and then she spied the most perfect apple of them all. It was a modestly sized fruit with a smooth unbroken skin, spring green and lustrous red, and it was dangling just above her head. 


Laura reached upwards to pluck it...


“Those aren’t yours,” said a stern voice behind her.


Laura jumped, losing her grip on the basket and sending her loot rolling all over the grass.


“Hiiii!” she said, turning, her voice high pitched and failing to disguise her guilt.


Standing a few metres away was a young man. His jeans were well worn, with holes that weren’t a fashion statement, and his dark maroon T-shirt did little to hide his muscular body. Despite his obvious youth, there was a rugged hardness to his features; a thick stubble encased his lower jaw and hard eyebrows hung like cliffs over his brown and brooding eyes. He stared at Laura silently while she squirmed, skewering her with disapproval that could have bored through granite. After brushing some tangled hair out of her face she fondled it nervously….


“There were just so many gorgeous looking apples here!” she said, trying to fill the silence “I thought no one would mind if I picked a few before they fell down and went to waste…”


The man stared fixedly at her while Laura’s eyes darted between him and the surrounding orchard, looking for an excuse or an escape, her hands flapping like a fish caught in a net.


“I was going to make apple pie, I could make you some! Do you like apple pie?” she stammered.


“Nope” came the curt reply.


“Who doesn’t like apple pie? Oh well! I’m really sorry if these are yours! I can pay you for them? Or I can give them back?” Laura’s eyes were wide and shining as she waited for the verdict. The man scratched his head, face still locked in a steely frown. He glanced down and took a slow step forward. 


“You think cos you’re pretty you can just do whatever you want and get away with it don’t you?”


Laura stepped backwards and felt her wicker basket press against the back of her legs. “You think I’m pretty?” she replied, face lighting up with a nervous smile.

 

“I think you’re a lot of things,” he replied. His eyes traced her body down... and up... then locked on her eyes once more. He seemed to relish the incriminating silence; the only sounds around them were the insects humming amidst the quiet seclusion of the apple trees.


“I’m going to give you two choices,” said the man, apparently reaching a decision.  “Option one; you can skidaddle like a cowardly little crook, and then I better never see your ass here in my orchard again…” 


Laura inhaled sharply; there was something about the way he'd lingered over the word 'ass'. 


“...or option two: you take the punishment you deserve, then you can walk away with as many apples as you can carry.”


The word ‘punishment’ hit Laura’s adrenaline-stretched mind like a comet. She couldn’t describe what exactly she was feeling, nor order her thoughts fast enough to make sense of them. Her eyes involuntarily flicked over the stranger’s body.


“I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am… but you’re wrong,” she mumbled


“All I know is you’re the kind who likes to take what isn’t hers," he said, almost smirking at her predicament. "If the punishment gets too much you can stop me whenever you like, and leave without any apples. Stick it out and you can walk away knowing you earned them fair and square.”


Laura went to say something, but the words didn't come. Conflict moved across her features.


“Or you can skulk away like a little failed thief,” he continued, “and I hope the shame will keep you awake all night… ”


“Okay…” she muttered


"What was that?"


Laura’s greeny-blue eyes finally held his gaze. “Okay fine! Punish me!” she said, her eye’s rolling in defiance.


“Good choice.” said the man. A smile crept into the edge of his mouth, then he fixed his face in a freshly serious expression. “Now I’m gonna be rough with you, because that’s what you deserve. You may get scared, but I’m a man of my word and if you take all the punishment you’ve got coming then you’ll walk out of here carrying a full basket. If you tell me to stop though, I’ll stop, but you’ll walk away with nothing.” 


Fixed to the spot Laura processed his words. She felt a weight leave her hand as the man snatched away the last apple she had picked and gave it a cursory wipe on his shirt. 


“Now open your mouth.” he said.


Slowly Laura dropped her lower jaw, still not entirely sure what the hell she was doing. The man shoved the apple in there until it flattened her tongue and caught behind her teeth.“Now keep it there” he instructed. She could feel the heat coming off his body as he moved closer. His eyes were still locked on hers as he reached around behind her head and grabbed a thick fistful of her hair. She didn’t resist as his other hand slowly gathered up her two thin wrists and pressed them behind her back. She could feel the skin of his hands bore the hardness of a man who worked with them for a living.


“Now walk.”


A strange calm fell over Laura as the stranger forced her down the thin path that led deeper into the orchard. Adrenaline still buzzed all her senses, but something within her throbbed in confused excitement as she let the firm hands holding her wrists push her along. 


There was a rock-like quality to this man. Maybe it was his confidence, or his sternness, but it inspired fear and trust in equal measure. Although she did not know his name she did not completely think of him as a stranger either. In her mind, she had named him “the apple-man”, which was a title that demanded reverence despite its absurdity.


Her saliva collected around the apple wedged in her mouth, making swallowing feel strange and awkward, though she did it regularly to prevent herself drooling. A tumbled-down barn appeared through the trees surrounded by the detritus of rural life; piles of wood for the fire, an axe planted in a heavy log, and a long deceased tractor rusting silently amongst tangled weeds. Laura paused for a moment, trying to take in the scene, but the stranger pushed her forward roughly, making her worried she would lose her balance. 


He forced Laura through the open doorway of the barn and the darkness enveloped her. Inside, there was a rich smell of fermenting apples, tempered with the musty odour of sawdust and linseed oil. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see a large cider press occupying one corner of the barn and a number of wooden barrels stacked against the walls. The apple man walked her to a spot where a large barrel lay on its side, wedged in place by various small boxes and a big wooden post that reached up into the barn’s cavernous ceiling. He positioned her in front of this barrel, then released her hair and reached up to grab one of several coils of rope that were hanging from the rafters.


Looking back at him, Laura knew that this might be her last chance to run. She wanted to ask what he was going to do to her. But with her tongue trapped beneath the apple, all she could manage was something that sounded like “Ommgn omm uomm...” 


She gave up trying to speak. The idea of spitting out the apple to do so didn't pass consideration; it might break her thrilling enchantment, and she was transfixed by the man as he ran two parallel strands of rope through his hands and deftly produced a single loop.


“Arms out in front of you”


Wordlessly she presented her arms, palms clasped together. He passed his loop of rope over them, tightened it, and began to wrap the strands around her wrists so they coiled up her arms, python-like. She tensed against the hard, scratchy fibres. After some further twists and threading of the rope between her wrists the apple man tightened the cords and tied a final knot. Laura wriggled her hands to prove to herself they really were tied, that this wasn't all a strange and thrilling illusion. The ropes held fast; too tight to wriggle free. 


In the cool of the barn, Laura could feel her cool sweat on her bare arms, and yet her body was running hot with a fire that she was trying desperately not to acknowledge.


By pulling the rope that trailed from Laura’s wrists, the apple-man guided her forward so she was facing the barrel. Placing his hand in the small of her back he pushed her onto it. Her body had nowhere to go but downwards onto the uncomfortable looking wood. The dark oak staves felt very solid under her elbows as she draped herself over them. She suspected the barrel was full of cider from the way it held firm underneath her, and her thoughts were briefly a confused mixture of thirsts. 


Her attention was drawn back to her wrists as the apple man pulled the ropes tight and began securing them to the sturdy oak post in front of her. Her arms were stretched out, all chance of escape was being cut off, but Laura made no move to resist. She almost welcomed the certainty of the hard wood and the tight rope, but her heart beat fast in her chest nevertheless. The apple-man produced yet more rope from the rafters and, bending down, he slipped its strands around one of her ankles. A strange sensation of total exposure crept up her legs and across her back. It was almost like a tingling, but rooted somewhere deeper. She noticed the wetness in her underwear and bit down on the apple to stifle a moan.


The apple man tied her second ankle and pulled on the rope to spread her legs apart. With all her limbs bound that tingling feeling of helpless exposure intensified and Laura realised she was trembling slightly. She tugged against her new restraints, trying to move right, left, backwards, forwards, but thwarted in every direction.


“Struggle all you like,” said the apple man calmly, “there’s no escaping your punishment now.”