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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.”