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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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- This story is part of the Ravished in a Flash 2.0 Tournament
- It competes in R16
- Theme: Cherry Picking
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In the Cherry Orchard – Ravished in a Flash 2.0 R16
More tart than sweet.
Way up there in the tall tree, my feet on the rickety ladder, a woven basket full of bright, glistening fruit on my left arm, I’m chewing the moist meat of yet another juicy cherry. One, two, three, four. Once it’s four cherries in my hand, into the basket they go. Unless there’s a very fine-looking one—then it’s straight to my mouth!
One, two, three, four. My basket is getting heavy. Herais is up on her ladder too—I catch the glimpses of her light brown tunic through the greenery. I suck the last tasty droplets off the pit, and I just can’t help myself. A heartbeat later the tiny ball flies past the plain, earnest face of Arbuscula.
‘Fool!’ The tall, long-armed, fair-haired German stripping the low-hanging branches isn’t a girl of many words.
‘Quit dawdling and get me another basket, you snail!’ I yell, easing myself down a few rungs.
‘Right away, Calliope!’
‘I shall need a new basket soon too,’ Hidden by leaves, the uppity Herais says in her heavily accented Latin. She must think there’s another life waiting for her someplace else. By Castor, those pork-hating, chicken-worshipping Jews are so weird. Germans are even weirder. Big, yellow-haired, scatter-brained savages, they live in the gloomy forests where they dance around bonfires and sacrifice living men. Arbuscula always denies it, but she would, wouldn’t she?
Arbuscula grunts as I hand my fully laden basket over to her.
‘Get down, wenches!’ The all-too-familiar gruff voice of Eros the vilicus, the one who administers the villa in the absence of the dominus. I slide down the ladder all the way to the ground without looking over my shoulder, seeing out of the corner of my eye Herais climbing down, taking great care not to spill a single berry from her basket.
I spin to face them, only to find out that Eros is no longer the most senior man at the villa, or even in this orchard, and bow from the waist along with Arbuscula. Herais joins us in a couple of heartbeats.
Our dominus is back from Rome or Greece or wherever, looking fine in his snow-white tunic with two broad purple stripes. He motions for us to stand up straight.
He must be twenty-one or twenty-two now. Does he still carry on with that red-headed she-wolf of a concubine he bought himself in Britain when serving as tribune? There’s his secretary, the vilicus, the vilica and a few more slaves. I can’t but notice Trophimus the lorarius with his ever-present whip.
‘Three servile Graces, Eros!’ The dominus says with a laugh. ‘I am minded to enjoy one of them straight away. Which one, I wonder...’
Wait, what?
‘Everyone strip!’ Eros barks at us.
‘By Castor!’ I mutter under my breath, whipping off first my tunic, then my breast-band. Arbuscula does the same. Herais follows, hesitant, her dark eyes round like serving platters. Jews must have strange ideas about nudity, too.
We stand naked before the dominus, our cherry-stained lips silent. To the left of me, Arbuscula fidgets from foot to foot, her face reddening. Is he going to go for her narrow hips and broad, spear-chucking shoulders? I am in the middle, looking boldly into his eyes. If he wants me, I can take it. Herais, eyes cast down, stands frozen on my right. Full lips, large tits and dark curly hair of her race, smooth olive skin… The young Jewess is pretty, I can’t deny that. Must be why she’s scared stiff.
‘This one!’ The dominus points at Herais. She opens her mouth, but I grab her arms and shush her. Oh well.
‘Back to work, you two!’ Eros says. Me and Arbuscula, we get dressed in a jiffy, not looking at one another.
The dominus rucks up his tunic, freeing his cock, then pumps it a few times. An empty basket on my arm, I scoot up the tree.
‘Turn around, bend over and grab her ladder,’ the man tells Herais.
Terrible-eyed, Herais does as she is told, slowly bending forward at the waist, gripping the wooden rung a little below me, shuffling her feet apart.
One, two, three, four. The first cherries fill my basket.
The dominus steps forward. His hands slide up her legs and over the cheeks of her arse. From above, I watch her naked body stiffen as he shoves his prick into her.
The long, thick, hard prick that took my maidenhead.
Herais gasps sharply, quivering with tension. I know how it feels when it scrunches into the cunt.
One, two, three, four. I watch his prick pierce her cunt repeatedly, going to and fro between her buttocks. Herais is grunting softly, her head hanging low between her arms.
One, two, three, four. The dominus flings his head back as he pounds the girl, his hips snapping against her arse. Is he looking at me? I lick my lips and twist a fine cherry off its stem. My teeth pierce its skin. It squirts oh-so-deliciously in my mouth. Uhh, I’m far from dry.
Then he’s done.
‘That was… refreshing,’ he wipes his cock on the girl’s hip. ‘Let’s go, men!’
Gods I need a fuck, I think as his party departs. But first things first. The Jewish girl has fallen on her knees, wailing loudly. Arbuscula throws Herais’ tunic over her juddering shoulders.
‘There, there…’ I join them, hugging the just-fucked girl. Arbuscula is wiping her tears. Jews and Germans, so weird—but they’ve nothing to quarrel over.
‘I’ll run away, I swear!’ Herais sobs. ‘I’ll run away!’ Me and Arbuscula, we shush her.
She will run away.
She won’t go far.
