Belinda Page 3

  And then through her tears she saw a shimmering shape. Her heart skipped. It was a solitary but solid building at a junction in the road, and outside that building there was a stagecoach! Surely there would be some sort of help there, she thought as she started to hurry towards the stone erection.

  Her spirits dropped as she observed that the stagecoach had no horses attached, but soared again when she saw that the driver was in a corral on the other side of the shack, in the process of changing steeds. And best of all, jolly male and female laughter and the smell of cooking were wafting out from the building, which was obviously some sort of inn.

  She entered the gloomy room, a little unsure of herself. Although she still wore the thin low-cut gown that Lord Raven had given her, it was quite dusty and the hem was torn where she had snagged it on a thorn. Her hair and her face were also full of dust and she felt highly embarrassed by her appearance as she saw the well-dressed young group sitting at one of the three crude plank tables. They were chattering and shrieking with laughter, and hardly noticed Belinda at all.

  But really it was that sophisticated-looking group which was out of place. The inn itself was coarsely constructed, dark, and not at all clean, with a faint odour of urine clinging to the air. Behind the bar, which consisted of two planks resting on a pair of barrels, stood a dumpy little man with a miserable face that was not enlivened by the fish-like eyes, which he shifted in Belinda’s direction as she entered. He must have wondered how she had got there, but did not deign to ask as she approached.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Belinda hesitantly, but all she got in return was an almost imperceptible nod as the landlord continued to stare sullenly at her.

  ‘I’ve had rather a bad time and an awfully long walk. Is there any chance of a glass of water, please?’

  Belinda blushed with self-consciousness as the seated group fell silent on hearing her plea and her English accent.

  ‘You want to buy a glass of water?’ replied the landlord in a gritty voice as he surveyed her pure white cleavage and wondered what it would be like to put his hands up her dress.

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t any money.’ Belinda said feebly. As regards his looking at her cleavage, she was simultaneously thinking that there was no way she would prostitute herself to that horrible man with his heavy unshaven jowls. She would find water somewhere else if necessary.

  ‘This ain’t no fucking charity, you whore,’ snarled mein host, which made Belinda feel both suicidal and murderous all at the same time.

  ‘Hey hey hey!’ called out the thinner of the two men at the table. ‘That’s quite enough of that you filthy little curmudgeon!’

  Belinda noticed his accent was American yet in a sort of English way, an observation that also applied to the group’s well-cut style of dress.

  ‘If you were to address a lady – any lady – in that way in Boston,’ chipped in the darker of the two women in a plummy voice, ‘you’d be tied to a lamppost, stripped naked and horse whipped.’

  ‘Yeah, well, this ain’t no Boston, thank God,’ snarled the innkeeper.

  ‘Oh, you’re on speaking terms with God, are you?’ piped up the other man, somewhat on the tubby side but with a jolly if hard air about him. ‘Well, the old fellow’s certainly gone downhill since the last time I went to church.’

  This caused a lot of sniggering from his companions, and he too joined in the laughter. Belinda smiled as well. Then the thinner man spoke again.

  ‘Give this poor girl a pint of your very best water and charge it to my bill as a pint of your filthy beer. And do it now.’

  Satisfied with this, the owner shuffled into the back with a pint pot and returned moments later with it full of clean clear water. Belinda took it and, before quaffing from it, turned to the table and thanked the group.

  ‘Not at all, my dear,’ said the slim man in the most charming way.

  ‘Perhaps she’s hungry as well,’ whispered the brunette loudly. So far her younger blonde friend had said nothing but sat smiling sweetly at everything that went on.

  ‘Quite right, honey!’ cried the thin gentleman. A pair of tears stung Belinda’s eyes briefly. Bill, her dead husband-to-be, had called her ‘honey’, in the few words he’d had time to say to her. ‘Please, will you join us? It would be an honour to have you.’

  What delightful people these were, Belinda thought, as she sat beside the two women who had shuffled along the rough bench to make room for her. She sat down beside the young blonde, who did not seem to mind that their thighs were pressed together due to the limited space.

  ‘Come along, you oaf!’ shouted the tubby man to the owner. ‘Bad news for your pigs, you’re going to have to sell some more of their swill to a human being!’

  The miserable landlord did not mind abuse as long as it was sales related, and he hurried out to the back again, returning in half a minute with a plateful of stew, which actually looked and smelt very appetising. He banged it down in front of Belinda along with a dirty spoon and went back to the bar, having taken an order for a fresh round of drinks for the group. The ladies both drank gin and water whilst the men preferred whisky and beer together. They also insisted on ordering a gin for Belinda, even though she was happy with the fresh well water.

  The stagecoach driver came in with his guard, a pair of tough but honest looking men. The driver announced that the horses were changed and they’d be off in about half an hour, as soon as he and his partner had eaten.

  While the deplorable coach station owner busied himself with the stagecoach crew, the group introduced themselves. The thin man was called Timothy and his fatter friend was Oliver, whilst the brunette went by the name of Marie and her blonde companion was called Jane. They were not married and they were, as Belinda had already heard, from Boston and were as wealthy as they were witty. They had become bored with polite Boston society and were on a slumming it adventure holiday, looking for whatever laughs might come their way.

  ‘I guess you could say we’re game for any old bit of excitement,’ said Timothy to Belinda, looking down his nose at her with a wicked aristocratic smile, which she found rather electrifying.

  ‘But pray, Belinda,’ said Marie a little haughtily, ‘if it’s not too impertinent, what’s an English girl doing out here in the wilderness without a penny or a horse? You are English, are you not?’

  ‘Yes, I’m from Liverpool, actually,’ said Belinda, taking a sip of her gin and water.

  And she told them of how she had come out in search of a new life, without mentioning her old life, and how Bill had been slain within minutes of their meeting. She also told them about Lord Raven and how she had watched the slave Rosie being beaten, albeit more or less voluntarily. Again, she omitted her role in that ritual.

  Blonde Jane, speaking for the first time, was most intrigued by the events at Lord Raven’s plantation, and went over and over the details with Belinda. She clearly found the situation quite thrilling and her little pink tongue darted in and out, licking her lips below her eagerly shining eyes.

  Chubby Oliver, with beer dribbling down his shiny badly shaven chin, wanted to know where she thought she was heading, since she seemed to be directing herself deeper into the wilderness. They were astonished enough to exchange sudden smirks when she said California, though none of them knew of a place called The Angels, in English or in Spanish.

  After some debate, Timothy advised her through heavy eyelids that her best, indeed her only, hope was to head for St Joseph on the banks of the Missouri, which was the jumping off point for most of the wagon trains. She’d be sure to find a train or a family to let her work her passage, a phrase that made Marie and Jane suppress snorts of amusement.

  ‘Oliver,’ drawled Jane elegantly with a lopsided smirk, ‘doesn’t our stage pass by that new cattle railroad to St Joseph?’

  ‘Why yes, it surely does, Jane,’ the fat man replied through gre
asy lips. ‘Passes within a couple of miles in fact, some time tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Well there we are!’ cried Marie, clapping her hands. ‘We need entertainment and she needs a lift!’

  ‘Ah ha!’ said Timothy brightly. ‘Yes! Belinda, you didn’t seem too condemnatory of old Lord Raven’s carry on last night. Perhaps if you joined in some rather modern games with us in the coach we’d be inclined to pay your passage to within walking distance of a train that’ll take you to all them wagons in about two days. How about it?’

  Belinda allowed a grin to slowly spread across her face as she looked at his handsome features. She also felt Jane’s thigh press harder against her own.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she whispered demurely, looking forward to a stagecoach ride in the right direction and many sessions of cards and I-Spy and the like. If the fun flagged she would entertain them with a selection of songs, both traditional and modern.

  Oliver startled everyone by giving a whoop of joy at her response, and throwing himself backwards against his chair as he did so. Unfortunately he had forgotten they were sitting on benches, not chairs, and a look of shock crossed his face as he fell flat on his back on the floor.

  His companions and Belinda looked worried for a moment until they saw he was unhurt. Then they all exploded into hysterical guffaws and shrieks of laughter. Oliver, still laying flat on his back, tried to glare at them but then he too had to burst out laughing…

  The stage thundered along through the lower passes of the Appalachians, a most uncomfortable mode of travel. At first the group was sleepy from the heavy lunchtime drinking and they mainly dozed for the first couple of hours. Then, realising they were wasting precious Belinda-time, they had tried to play strip poker, a game Belinda had never heard of but had agreed to try to learn, but the cards kept bouncing all over the place and off the makeshift table they had made out of a leather valise balanced on their knees.

  ‘Somebody ought to invent playing cards that can be used under these adverse conditions,’ observed Marie as she passed the gin bottle to Belinda.

  ‘Should be quite easy really,’ sniffed Oliver. ‘They just have to put thin magnets on the backs of each card and you use a metal plate to play on. Simple.’

  ‘You are a cretin, Ollie!’ laughed Timothy, flicking whisky into his friend’s face. ‘Magnets on the back? All the cards would stick together, you’d never be able to deal them or fan them or…’

  ‘I’m getting sexy,’ interrupted Jane, looking at Belinda as she took the gin bottle from her. Belinda blinked with surprise at that, but her clitoris twitched involuntarily, causing her to blush at her own reaction. ‘Can’t we have the strip without bothering about the poker?’ continued Jane. ‘It’s just nicely squashed in here. We could take it in turns to stand up and let the others have a good feel. Me first!’

  And up jumped blonde Jane, standing in the tight space between the facing seats. The two men were on one side, and Marie and Belinda were on the other.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Jane,’ sighed Marie. ‘We’ve got each other forever, but we’ve only got Belinda for a couple of days. I say she stands up first.’

  ‘Oh yes, why not?’ said Jane pleasantly, and sat down again.

  Belinda had been following the last few remarks with some astonishment and trepidation.

  ‘I’ll be master of ceremonies,’ announced Oliver, and when nobody objected he continued, ‘First of all, for greater comfort for us as well as heightened pleasure for the ladies, all gentlemen herein assembled are to get their cocks out.’

  And the two Boston women watched excitedly as first Timothy and then Oliver undid their large fly buttons and opened their trousers wide. Belinda was too taken aback and embarrassed to say or do anything except stare as Tim and Oliver, after much rummaging around, produced two powerful penises. They were both very big but Timothy’s was pale and circumcised whilst Oliver’s was dark and quite thick in diameter.

  The women watched as each man masturbated slowly for a few seconds, and then Oliver continued, ‘Marie and Jane, you are both so sexy that my cock wants to see every bit of you right now. Slip off those dresses please or I’ll throw you to the driver.’

  Belinda, by now reluctant to tear her eyes from those handsome and wealthy pricks, nonetheless turned around to watch Jane and Marie. There was no room for them both to stand up, so they took it in turns to hoist their long dresses to their waists, kneel up on the hard bench seat and pull the gowns off over their heads. Both women had beautiful figures and, Belinda was pleased to note, like her they wore nothing underneath. She was now quite content with the turn of events, as she saw no harm in watching the behaviour of these strange Americans, especially as they didn’t involve her. She could easily convince herself – and often did – that it was only wrong if you actually did something with someone else. But watching and, in private, masturbating, were entirely different matters.

  Marie and Jane now sat naked on the narrow seat. Marie’s nipples were strong and dark brown, which contrasted nicely with Jane’s which were soft and bright pink. Marie fondled her own breasts as she looked at Belinda while Jane licked a middle finger, slipped it inside herself and made little moaning noises. Belinda watched with a small smile, as that of an old lady tolerating some high-spirited but harmless urchins. She was trying to ignore the tingling that was developing in the region at the top of her thighs.

  ‘Excellent, ladies!’ cried Oliver. ‘Keep our guest entertained while Tim and I explore her hinterland. Stand up girl!’ he added sharply to Belinda, whose face drained of colour.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she asked coolly.

  ‘On your feet, woman!’ he repeated with some annoyance, his face turning almost as purple as the tip of his cock.

  ‘I don’t think you quite understand,’ retorted Belinda. ‘I don’t mind what you all do for fun, but I’m not inclined to join in. I did, after all, come to America in search of a new start in life.’

  ‘So you used to do this sort of thing back in merry old England, then?’ Tim put in quickly and perceptively.

  ‘Ah ha!’ cried Oliver with a fat grin. ‘What d’you say to that, then?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have to say anything,’ stammered Belinda, blushing violently and briskly removing Jane’s hand from her leg.

  ‘I think we’d better get the driver to stop,’ snarled Marie. ‘English women obviously don’t know the meaning of the word gratitude. If she can’t stand a little bit of fun in return for a ride and a meal and lodging then it’s best she gets out and walks.’

  ‘Hear bloody hear!’ jeered Oliver whilst Tim and Jane made similar noises of agreement.

  Belinda was horrified at the thought of being dumped in the passing wilderness. She hesitated.

  ‘Oh, come on old girl,’ wheedled Tim. ‘Just as far as the next coach house. You can stay overnight and tomorrow you can do what you like. How’s that sound?’

  Belinda considered. She sighed. She nodded. She had little choice. She stood up and faced the ladies, to raucous cheers and whoops from her new friends.

  Jane and Marie played their part with gusto. Each one leant back as much as possible and gazed into Belinda’s face whilst playing with their breasts and stroking their thighs with extravagant movements.

  Belinda gasped with surprise as she felt a hand at each of her ankles. Glancing quickly behind she saw that Tim was starting to tickle her legs. Her knees banged involuntarily together at the sensation of the two hands stroking their way up towards her thighs. Standing inside the lurching stagecoach, looking down on two beautiful girls masturbating whilst a handsome man’s hands stroked their way up her inner thigh, it was not surprising that Belinda should secretly feel, for the first time in a couple of years, that she was approaching heaven. Her morals had been suspended due to the overwhelming nature of her plight and circumstances, and when Timothy finally grasped her vagina from beh
ind, pressing the flat of his hand hard against it whilst his middle finger drummed against her jumping clitoris, she knew she was truly in paradise. She moaned and abandoned all her mental resistance.

  By the time Jane and then Marie had also enjoyed a turn at putting their hands up Belinda’s dress to fondle and tickle her concealed sex she was almost delirious with desire.

  ‘Oh my god! Oh my god!’ she heard Timothy groan, and when she turned around she saw he was masturbating faster and faster, his lust having taken control of his willpower. With the speed of an experienced member of an emergency service, Oliver whipped out a large white linen handkerchief and spread it over Timothy’s shirt to protect it, and Belinda, inflamed, turned to face Timothy and pulled her dress up to her waist exposing herself fully for the first time since she had met this group. Her lovely triangle of dark hair glistened deliciously and the burning sensation all around it increased as Timothy groaned intensely. The speed of his fist accelerated furiously and in a few seconds he roared, arched his back and shot powerfully. His pure white seed spat into the air. Some landed on the thoughtfully positioned kerchief, whilst even more splattered into Belinda’s cleavage and in her hair. At the same moment she spun around to see Jane and Marie bring themselves to simultaneous orgasms.

  The two ladies slumped in their seats. Tim’s penis throbbed slowly downwards, stopping at half mast. Only Oliver’s powerful piece remained ready to give Belinda that which she was in little condition to resist. He smiled up at her as he fingered himself. ‘I do hope you don’t mind, dear girl,’ he smiled, ‘but it’s now time to give you a good hard shagging.’

  ‘I, um, don’t really want to go that far…’ she stammered in alarm.

  ‘And you ain’t going to get very far with that attitude neither,’ sneered Oliver. ‘You’d rather get out and walk?’