Belinda Read online

  As Timothy started to squeeze and explore Jane’s bottom and thighs, Belinda felt a pair of lips brush her ear. Marie had slipped behind her and whispered softly, ‘This is fantastic. I’m so glad we met you. I feel so worked up. Do you mind?’ And before Belinda could ask did she mind what, she felt Marie’s bosom press hard against her back and her arms encircle her waist from behind. The brunette’s hands tickled Belinda’s stomach, and then gradually worked their way down to where they could feel the start of her hair through the thin cotton dress.

  ‘You are a bad girl,’ Timothy said quietly and raised his hand high, paused, and then slapped down hard on Jane’s soft sweet buttock. She jumped, squealed, and wriggled as her face and bottom flushed red together. But she stayed in position while Timothy repeated the ritual of fondling, squeezing, pausing and then slapping her white backside.

  Marie, still holding Belinda, whispered again, ‘Look, oh look at the way the head of his cock goes purple every time she squeezes it after each smack!’ and she added to the sexual charge that this statement had injected into Belinda by dropping her right hand to the English girl’s clitoris and pressing it ferociously with the tip of her middle finger. At the same time her left hand raced up Belinda’s stomach and found the exposed breast. Belinda, thoroughly enjoying this attention in spite of herself, slipped her hands behind and prodded her fingertips against Marie’s succulent mound of pleasure.

  The two women masturbated each other with increasing passion as Timothy made Jane stand up and started to tweak and slap her thighs. He worked slowly and methodically, pausing only now and again to give his penis a few slow pulls as he studied the squirming Marie and Belinda as well as Jane. Oliver was watching intently too and was rubbing his bulging trouser front quite vigorously.

  As Timothy turned Jane to face the others, with her back to him so he could spank the backs of her thighs he gasped, ‘I’m not going to be able to do all of you. I’m going to go all the way with Jane’s bottom and then I’m going to roger her over that tree trunk! This really is superb fun, it really is.’

  Jane, standing with her dress held high and her eyes closed in ecstasy, whimpered as he spoke, a sound that was echoed in Belinda’s ear as Marie breathed, ‘Oh God, Belinda, then let me do you – please, please, please!’

  That alone was almost enough to make the hitherto reluctant Belinda come, and she nodded her vigorous agreement as they turned to face each other and embraced passionately, their nipples pressed deliciously together. Their fervent hug was interrupted by three sharp cracks, and they looked around to see that Timothy had bent Jane over the fallen tree trunk and had already started to cane the backs of her thighs. On the third ringing report Jane screamed, ‘That’s it! No more!’ whereupon Timothy, his cock bouncing in front of him, gave her one last swipe with the whippy stick, catching her expertly in the crease between her buttocks and her legs. She screamed again and spun around as Timothy threw the cane down and hurried forward. He lifted the small blonde onto the tree trunk in a sitting position and moved in between her legs, at the same time taking hold of his penis and aiming it towards the delicious patch of fur at the top of her thighs.

  As Belinda and Marie watched, Belinda felt her dress rise at the back and something hot and hard press against the valley of her bottom. She sighed resignedly and urged back against Oliver’s ample cock, feeling it against her behind for the second time that day. Keeping his tip hard against her anus he helped Marie strip her of her dress. Belinda peered over her shoulder and saw he was naked, his large figure quite in proportion with his hefty organ. She fumbled and gave it a rub of appreciation. As she did so she felt something long thin and cold slide between her legs. It was the cane. Marie had picked it up and was now using it in a sawing motion to tickle Belinda’s crease and Oliver’s scrotum.

  ‘Caught you,’ Marie whispered wickedly. ‘Now I’m going to have to punish you, aren’t I?’

  She withdrew the cane from between their legs, giving Belinda’s right buttock a vicious and very prolonged pinch as she did so. Belinda marvelled at how thoroughly the group had thrown themselves into this sort of activity, and was glad she had had enough experience in England to enable her to pretend to enjoy it with these friendly if somewhat immoral people.

  She jumped out of this absentminded thinking as she felt a sting on the front of her leg. Marie had flicked her with the stick.

  ‘Get over that tree trunk beside those other two fornicators!’ she snarled, very realistically, and Belinda and Ollie shuffled over as ordered. Belinda bent beside Timothy and Jane who were screwing slowly. Jane’s legs and arms were wrapped tightly around Timothy to stop herself from falling off the trunk. They both watched as best they could as Marie started to calmly and scientifically cane Belinda and Oliver. The only sign that this was a sexual experience for Marie was to be observed in the way she kept her free hand pressed against her prominent vagina as it lay deeply hidden in her dark bush.

  Oliver shrieked so horribly at each resounding crack that Belinda was sure he would have to ask to be tied down, but he maintained his position until Marie had finished. Belinda herself found Marie’s strokes across her bottom and legs to be very stimulating, and she did not have to simulate any agonised sounds; Marie was vicious and as she progressed with the beating Belinda screamed as loudly as Oliver. She did, however, have the small comfort of a bump on the tree trunk that pressed hard against her slit, and each stroke of the stick served to press her hard against it.

  By the time Marie stopped both Oliver’s and Belinda’s rumps were ablaze. She might well have carried on all night had not Timothy, now finished with Jane, taken the cane and bent her over so as to give her some of the same.

  ‘Hold me!’ she shouted as she was pushed over the rough wood, and Oliver happily obliged by nipping around to the other side and gripping her wrists tightly. As Timothy slashed the cane at Marie with the frenzy of the newly converted, Jane took Belinda by the breasts and pressed her to the ground. She climbed on top of her and their legs intertwined. They worked their thighs hard against each other’s vagina and mauled each other’s breasts while the sound of the cane rained deservedly down on Marie’s naked backside, with the stick and Timothy’s rising and falling arm silhouetted against the enormous moon.

  They were all tired and sore as the stagecoach bounced along the next morning, but none of the young Bostonians had any regrets about the evening’s entertainment, and such enthusiasm as they could muster was used to praise Belinda, to her great embarrassment, for the education she had given them. However, that was all behind her now and she had an exciting future awaiting in Boston. She felt she could now look forward to a life free of sexual taint, until the right man took her for his wife.

  ‘I can’t wait to get to Boston and start working in a decent job,’ she said with her girlish excitement, but was concerned to find that they replied with less enthusiasm. In fact it was received with a certain uneasiness.

  ‘Yes… that might, ah, prove a little awkward,’ said Oliver without looking at her.

  Belinda felt a sickening lurch in her stomach.

  ‘We were talking it over last night…’ continued Oliver, and then he hesitated.

  ‘You see, Boston is a funny sort of town,’ said Timothy. ‘Everyone has their place in the social order.’

  Belinda’s biggest shock came from Marie. ‘You’re just not our class, darling. You’d never be allowed to mix with us you know.’ And she said it as if she fully supported that system!

  ‘You wouldn’t like it,’ chipped in Jane with a hint of sympathy. ‘You’d only be able to work in a very low position.’

  ‘Like letting people whack your arse for money,’ sniffed Oliver sarcastically and somewhat hypocritically.

  ‘It just wouldn’t work,’ added Timothy, his hands giving a wide-open gesture of ‘hard luck but that’s life’.

  The tears that sprung into Belinda’s
eyes at this genuinely heartless and shallowly snobbish rejection prevented her from speaking further, but a minute later she was saved from further embarrassment by the stagecoach slowing down and the driver shouting, ‘St Joseph’s railroad!’

  As Belinda wandered away from the coach in a daze she was further mortified to hear beautiful friendly little Jane saying to the others, ‘Goodness; just imagine us going back home with that in tow!’

  Chapter Three

  Exhausted, heartbroken and in a state of great moral confusion as she was, Belinda’s spirits initially soared when she arrived at St Joseph in Missouri, on the border with Kentucky. For there on the banks of the mighty river that gave the state its name, were gathered a dozen giant steamships and covered wagons galore amidst such a scene of lively commotion far in excess of anything she had ever beheld in the Liverpool docks.

  It was three days after she had left the stagecoach and had climbed onto the empty cattle train as it slowed for a sharp curve close to where her former ‘friends’ had dropped her off. It had been a miserable journey due to the lack of food and only the occasional chance to grab a drink of water by jumping off and back on each time the train started to move away from its watering points. And when the locomotive finally came to a shuddering screeching halt north of the tiny township called Kansas City she still had a whole night’s weary walk to undergo before she reached St Joseph.

  She mingled with the crowds, the swirling dust and smell of human and horse flesh almost suffocating, but the overwhelming impression was in the way the atmosphere was electrified by the constant cracking of whips; whips being cracked in the air out of high spirits or as demonstrations of skill. Whips were cracking over the backs of horses and oxen. A gigantic black man was being whipped on his back at one place, whilst further on Belinda passed a bare-breasted adolescent blonde who was also being lashed on her back by a man who might have been her father. In each of the latter cases an amused crowd stood around watching and cheering.

  Belinda wondered if she had died and woken up in hell as she plodded on, looking out for a family or group that might help her. But they were all incredibly rude. Some just swore and shoved her away roughly, whilst others were very coarse, loudly offering to take her on if she sucked them all the way to California, and then laughing uproariously. Belinda decided she would save those sort of options for last; there must surely be some decent people going west who would employ her as a servant on the journey.

  And then, after trudging around the mighty gathering of covered wagons all morning and half the afternoon, she saw a sight that gave her wretched soul an uplift. A very religious-looking group with four wagons, each apparently owned by stern faced men with beards and their equally solemn wives. They were all dressed simply in black. There were no children to be seen, except for a teenage boy on one wagon and a girl of similar age on another, and the group looked ready to be on the move. They were scanning the crowds, as if there was something they were seeking before they left. Belinda, with nothing to lose, but also without any hope in her heart, approached the nearest man of the group.

  ‘Excuse me, sir…’ she said hesitantly, and trembled as he looked down fiercely from the wagon. The combination of her weariness, the abysmal behaviour of those Bostonians, and the thought of the enormous journey ahead had sapped her confidence.

  ‘I… I’m English and I’m stranded and I have got to get to California.’

  The man looked at her coldly. ‘We are Danish and we are stranded and we have to get to California too. We are of the very strict Pandervest religion, and we do not permit any work on the Sabbath. This can be arranged when you are at home, but on a long arduous and perilous journey such as this there will be things to do every day. We had arranged for a good girl to help us but she has not arrived and we can only see blackguards all around us looking for work.’ He stared at her. He was a handsome man in a severe sort of way. ‘But now I see the Lord has sent us an honest looking girl who is desperate too. Does that mean you wish to travel with us as our servant – especially on the Sabbath?’

  Belinda could hardly believe her luck. Her eyes shone and her head nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Very well,’ he continued, ‘but we are a devout group and we have certain conditions for outsiders who are bound to break the Sabbath. I had better tell you them all…’

  But Belinda didn’t care. She was on her way to her uncle in California under the protection of a decent civilised group of families, and that was all that mattered.

  ‘You can teach me as we journey!’ she cried out. ‘Whatever it is will be fine with me!’

  ‘When can you leave?’ asked the man, and he almost smiled when Belinda shouted, ‘Now if you like!’

  ‘If the good Lord likes, then now it will be,’ he said in a wise tone of voice. He indicated to her to climb aboard, and his unsmiling wife, seated beside him, helped her up as he turned and called out the news in Danish to his companions. They restricted themselves to a few grunts of approval and, with Belinda safely aboard with those strange but decent folk, the four wagons moved down to the waterside to board the next ferry. They were to make the river crossing that afternoon, and then set off in earnest at daybreak the next day – Tuesday.

  The first few days passed uneventfully; just a matter of trundling along all day, making as much progress as possible through the beautiful green and woody countryside and making camp at night. Belinda now felt that hell was far behind her and that everything would be all right from now on. She had been feeling that there must have been some innate wickedness in her soul that somehow showed through and made so many men want to defile her; she could think of no other reason for the strange reactions she inspired, both in Liverpool and in America. Perhaps it was some divine punishment for her family’s crime. But here on the trail she was treated as one of the group, and the others shared the chores with her equally. She had no sensation of being a servant and developed a certain affection for the strange sect. There were, however, two incidents that livened up the monotony of the early days of that ever-westward journey.

  Due to lack of space Belinda had to sleep in the open, though she was well provided with enough blankets to make this a pleasure rather than a penance. But on the Thursday, just as dusk had eaten away the last of the daylight, there was a sudden cloudburst and everyone scrambled for their wagons. Anna, the wife of Thonnig, the man who had given her the job, shouted at Belinda to get in with them quickly, and Belinda scurried to jump aboard and throw herself into the tiny space which was already full with the prone bodies of the two adults as well as the teenage boy of the group, their son Jens. He too usually slept outside but had leapt in ahead of the others when the storm broke. It was pitch black in the tiny wagon, and Belinda had no idea which body was which as she squeezed uncomfortably between them.

  In spite of the discomfort, they all soon fell asleep as the rain lashed outside and the wind whipped through the canvas of the wagon. But in the middle of the night Belinda woke with a start to feel a hand gripping her leg just above the knee. She knew it was no accident because the hand was under her long skirt, and as she lay there hardly breathing, the hand moved further up her thighs. She had no idea whether it was the father or the son, but she dared not move or cry out for fear of causing trouble. She would have simply removed the hand from her leg but her arms were trapped by the press of bodies, and to move them would have caused a disturbance. Her experience of life so far told her that whatever happened she would be the one who was blamed.

  Having made that decision, she further decided that she had no choice but to lie back until this horrible little incident was over, and still pretending to be asleep, she found herself unwittingly luxuriating in the tickling sensation as the roughened fingertips stroked their way higher and higher. Her breathing became difficult to control as those illicit fingers brushed the lips of her sensual vulva, and she once again desperately tried to work out which of them w
as doing it, though without success. She gave up and settled back for what had now become a lovely secret fondling when she gave a sudden sharp gasp. The intruding fingers, after first exploring inside her moist pit, now gripped those sensitive lips and pinched them, quite hard at first but then with increasing viciousness until it was all she could do to stop herself crying out. The fingers were so strong that she felt her vagina was being crushed by a pair of pliers, and she wanted nothing more than to relieve the agony by screaming loudly. Her secret tormentor relaxed the vicious grip for a few moments to play with her clitoris and explore inside, but just as Belinda was beginning once more to relax and savour the sensations the hand suddenly grabbed her entire vulva and twisted it savagely. Belinda could stand no more and was just about to shriek out her agony when the hand suddenly released its grip and slid gently back down to just above her knee. Once there it gave one firm pinch and then disappeared.

  Belinda spent most of the next day carefully studying Thonnig and Jens for a clue as to which one it had been, but eventually gave up the exercise as futile. It did amuse her to think that at least one of this dedicated religious group had done such a thing, but then she recalled that some of the gentlemen in England who used to pay her to be beaten had been men of the cloth.

  On the very next evening the tranquil life on the trail was disturbed yet again. The four wagons were in their usual square formation, there being too few to form a circle. Thonnig and his son Jens were chopping more wood for the fire whilst Belinda, Anna and the teenage girl Helle were clearing up after the evening meal, all working with quiet solemnity.

  Suddenly Thonnig spoke sharply to his son in Danish and the boy replied in a tone that clearly carried a note of insolence. A shocked silence fell over the little camp as Jens and his father glared at each other. Thonnig said something quietly to Anna, and she left her chores and went to their wagon. Belinda felt chilled when she saw Anna return moments later carrying a long cane with a walking stick handle. It was obvious what was about to happen and Belinda felt upset because Jens was a nice boy, the only cheerful one in the whole group. If she had thought it would have done any good she would have offered to have taken the caning for him, but knew there was little point in interfering.