Belinda Read online

  There was a moment’s respite for Belinda as the naked Thonnig strode to the other side of the tree. His wife maintained her grip on Belinda, and her devoted husband gave Anna six slashes of the stick on her bottom, legs and back until she screamed. He returned to Belinda and felt her weals before administering a further four cuts to her thighs and, horror of horrors, the backs of her knees.

  ‘Save some for the main meeting, my husband,’ said Anna, which puzzled Belinda until Thonnig explained.

  ‘After prayers tonight we will consider the fact that you have committed multiple and blatant blasphemies all the day long. This is what I would have told you when you joined us, but you did not care. As long as you had a job going westwards you were happy. Tonight you will be tied to a wagon wheel and every member of the group will beat you in their own way. You may look forward to sticks, straps, whips, hands… everything until we feel you have purged your sins. Then we will leave you tied up until morning while we go to bed. Is good, eh?’

  Belinda did not answer that rhetorical question, and Anna released her wrists. As Belinda, her face as red as her legs, turned around she was taken aback to see that Thonnig had a huge erection, and that Anna was smiling at it.

  ‘Please kneel,’ ordered Thonnig quietly, and his wife encouraged Belinda to her knees by pressing on her shoulders. With Anna behind her, the kneeling Belinda watched Thonnig and his powerful penis approach. He brushed its tip against the poor young woman’s cheeks. Belinda looked over it into his cold eyes.

  ‘I thought it was only each other you could have sex with after correcting a sinner,’ she said with unaccustomed defiance.

  Thonnig’s eyebrows rose and he glanced at his wife. ‘You already know something about our beliefs then,’ he said as a simple statement. ‘Many interpret it that way. Our founder and mentor, Pers Laurentzen, wrote that a married couple may only have sex immediately after correcting a sinner. Anna and I have studied that passage many times, and we have concluded that he does not say a married couple must have sex only with each other after correcting a wrongdoer; just that they can only have sex.’

  Yes, thought Belinda, not for the first time have men and women interpreted religious teachings to their own ends, but her cynicism was interrupted as Anna’s strong fingers squeezed into her cheeks so that she opened her mouth to ease the discomfort, and her free hand fed her husband’s eager penis between the warm wet lips. As the solid flesh pumped inside Belinda, Anna masturbated it, slowly at first but then with increasing frenzy until all at once there was an extra powerful thrust that almost choked Belinda and her mouth was filled with salty liquid as the muscular Dane orgasmed between her lips and his wife’s hand. The couple kept that cock inside her mouth until it had fully subsided, and in the meantime poor Belinda had no choice but to swallow every last drop.

  ‘Our fellows in God will not interpret the laws to permit me to do this to you again tonight,’ said Thonnig coldly. ‘But please be assured that we will both be looking forward to giving you another – and this time unrestrained – whacking by the light of the campfire.’

  Belinda hung her head sadly at the turn of events, but moments later her attention was drawn as Thonnig cursed and Anna screamed. She looked up and almost fainted with fright. Stalking into the tiny clearing were half a dozen painted and near-naked savage Indians, with alarming bows and arrows aimed at the naked threesome.

  Chapter Four

  Belinda’s tragedy filled life was about to come to its final horrible conclusion. Of this she was certain as she rode into the small Indian camp, mounted on their leader’s horse, with him sitting behind her.

  After surprising them in the woods, the fiendishly handsome savages had chased Thonnig and Anna away without letting them gather up their clothes. They seemed to think such a joke was far more fun than actually killing them.

  But Belinda had lost all hope of their sense of humour saving her. She had been snatched by rough hands and dragged along the prickly ground through the woods to where the small patrol had their horses hidden. One of the brutes had thrown her dress at her and after slipping it on she had ridden harshly and painfully on the unsaddled horse for several hours before reaching the bonfire-lit camp. Throughout this time the leader on whose horse she was riding had kept his hand up her dress and his middle finger firmly planted inside her shaft. The bouncing horse had converted this position into a blend of agony and ecstasy, both elements being heightened by the Indian biting cruelly into her shoulders from time to time and ramming his rock-hard cock hard against her backbone.

  The reason the terror-stricken young woman had for thinking her life was not to last much longer, in spite of the apparent leniency towards her religious tormentors, was the hell-like scene that revealed itself as her eyes became accustomed to the fire lit gloom.

  The small camp was in a clearing in the dense forest, and consisted of a half dozen badly erected wigwams amongst the surrounding trees. A charred human skull lay at the edge of the fire, and an arm bone and one or two other human parts could also be discerned in the smoky dimness. But the real clinching horror was the upright frames of timber and leather thongs, about six of them, from which were suspended bodies in various states of decay. The mixture of male and female, Indian and white men – according to their tattered clothing – was enough to simultaneously nauseate Belinda and to terrify all hope from her fear-frozen mind.

  As they wheeled into the centre of the camp a dozen women and a few other men ran out to greet them. The absence of any children was a further chilling factor for Belinda; this was clearly not a camp of happy families, and her despair deepened dramatically.

  The screaming women in their stinking animal skin tunics gathered around the returning patrol. The leading savage pulled his finger from beneath Belinda’s skirt. He threw her to the ground and wheeled away with a blood-chilling scream, leaving her to the female savages. They fell on her at once and countless hands explored and tormented her cruelly. Some were fascinated by her fine chestnut hair, and stroked it and then yanked it fiercely. She felt hands inside the top of her dress, apparently to feel if her breasts were any different from their own, and to test if the nipples were sensitive to vicious pinching. A pair of the screeching she-devils raised her dress to poke and squeeze her poor labia. Another grabbed one of the terrified Belinda’s hands and shoved it under her own tunic where she pressed it hard against the coarse hairs that covered her genitalia.

  Belinda’s screams and struggles seemed to serve to excite the howling human pack to a fiendish frenzy, until she was just a mixed mass of pain and pleasure as their hands roamed, tickled, stung, tore and scratched at her flesh…

  At last they exhausted themselves and stood back to study their prize. As they towered contemptuously over her, she saw that some of the men had been standing and watching gleefully. They were all identically dressed; naked except for a leather loincloth at back and front with the sides of their thighs fully exposed. Their sleek black hair hung halfway down their backs. As she stared up at their muscular bodies she realised with a shock that she was actually thinking how easy it would be to put one’s hand up under those loincloths. She was also startled by the awareness that, the likelihood of death apart, her tormented body was actually beginning to enjoy the cruel attentions she was attracting from everyone she met in this fierce land. Nonetheless, she decided that she should never admit this disturbing reality lest it incited her molesters to further horrors which might leave her mutilated or even – she shuddered as she glanced at the bodies on the frames – executed.

  Suddenly it seemed that that was to be her immediate fate, for the feathered leader who had brought her in appeared and shouted a command. At once she was seized and dragged sobbing to a frame in the clearing where her dress was removed with surprising care. She was forced up against the timber frame and coarse leather thongs were attached to her wrists and ankles so she could be tied to each corner of the struc
ture with her arms and legs stretched wide. She was facing the fire and could feel the heat on her naked front. Her heart pounded as she heard the rhythmic beating of some tom-toms, and the crowd fell silent. A female appeared from the painted wigwam behind Belinda and up went a cheer. The ugly flat-faced squaw walked around to the front of Belinda and the English girl saw she had some sort of short stick in her hands. She stopped near to Belinda, and then another female approached the first, carrying half a melon skin which acted as a container for a large dollop of some sort of grease.

  The crone with the stick sat on the ground by the bowl of grease, and the small crowd moved closer with an excited murmur. Belinda temporarily forgot about dying as she saw what the stick really was. It was a phallus that was perfectly fashioned out of shiny black plaited leather. The length of her forearm and almost as thick, its full and flawless head appeared to be made of a polished stone set snugly in amongst the thongs that made up its shaft. At the other end the leather opened out into a bag that was filled with sand and whose finely grained leather surface gave a remarkable impersonation of a scrotum.

  The black-eyed crone proudly held the phallus aloft and the savages cheered and screeched. She looked at Belinda and grinned in a sickening way. She reached into the bowl of grease, scooped up a handful, and started massaging it into the leather penis. The crowd shouted with ribald delight as she made much of masturbating the baton, and she rubbed more and more grease into it until it glistened obscenely in the firelight.

  When she appeared satisfied with her work she tested it by lying back on the ground, lifting her tunic and inserting the slippery length slowly inside herself for about a third of its length. Belinda was disgusted, and then she struggled fearfully against the bonds as the crone withdrew it with a cackle, stood up, and approached her.

  The beat of the drums intensified and the gathered savages shrieked excitedly as the crone stroked the gleaming phallus up Belinda’s thighs until its lustrous cold tip pressed against the entrance to her vagina. A man moved into the light of the fire, and Belinda numbly saw he was carrying a short thick whip, like a flexible black billiard cue. He showed it to Belinda, and then moved behind her. She knew what to expect. It was pointless to protest.

  The savages fell silent and gawped. The old crone pressed the artificial monstrosity firmly against Belinda’s defenceless vulva. It was held there as the first agonising lash struck her back, and as she jerked forward its huge head opened her and slipped partially inside. She gasped at the intrusion, closed her eyes, and braced herself bravely for the next stroke of the whip. As it bit into her shoulder she spasmed again and the monster slid deeper and deeper.

  The tormentor with the whip steadily and unhurriedly worked his way down her back to her firm white buttocks. The enormous dildo was fully inserted and the crone slowly fucked her captive with it. Her raven eyes sparkled evilly in the shadowy light. Belinda barely felt the vicious whip now; she was totally absorbed by the leather cock sliding up and down inside her and stimulating her swollen clitoris. The shiny stone head also gave her a wondrous yet almost overwhelming feeling of satisfying fullness. She was almost delirious from the excess of physical sensations when the crone cruelly pulled the phallus away, leaving her empty and gasping for more. The beating stopped too, both of her back and of the tom-toms. She breathed deeply and tried to calm herself, but suddenly a hard body pushed fiercely against her from behind. She felt a leather loincloth, but then with a fumble this was raised and a large but real erection pressed between her tender buttocks. Another Indian whooped and jumped in front of her. He lifted his covering and proudly displayed his cock. It was powerfully erect too, and Belinda felt her legs weaken from a cocktail of trepidation and desire. The savage behind her seemed content to prod his helmet against her bottom. She swooned with unwanted desire, and through lowered eyelids watched the savage in front approach and enter her fully with one irresistible movement. She tried to deny him the satisfaction of knowing how beautiful he felt, but it was useless. She screamed with ecstasy as she came more fully than ever before in her young life. The Indian leered triumphantly and rammed harder and harder until he exploded inside her clutching depths.

  All of Belinda’s fears were gone and forgotten as the savage orgy continued through the night. She was enjoyed by all the strong young warriors as she stood tied in the frame, and was also enjoyed by most of the women. She even had the pleasant change of watching some of the younger squaws being stripped and lashed with the same instrument that had been used on her. She was proudly amused to see that they did not take it as well as she had.

  Gradually the orgiastic mayhem subsided, and the camp fell into a state of drug induced and satiated slumber.

  Belinda opened her eyes and was astonished to find that daylight was just breaking. She had actually managed to fall asleep in her horribly uncomfortable position, and she now felt the dawn chilling her naked body. As she looked around she saw the tribe were asleep on the ground in various positions.

  Suddenly she remembered the bodies in the other frames around the camp’s perimeter, and her state of arousal was instantly replaced by unmitigated terror. If the bodies had looked ghostly in the firelight, in the grey of morning they looked positively stomach churning as the stark reality of their mutilated and rotting state was revealed. It took every ounce of willpower to avoid screaming hysterically as she realised she too would soon look like those wretched cadavers.

  In desperation she tugged and tugged against the bonds that held her, and her heart pounded when she felt one thong give slightly. Scarcely able to believe there was any chance of successfully freeing herself, she continued giving the strap sharp tugs in different directions. It soon fell away, and her hand was free. Terrified that she might have been seen she watched the sleeping Indians, trying to control her breathing, which sounded loud enough to wake the whole state. All was well, and she was just able to reach her left wrist and undo the bond there. It was then a matter of seconds to release her ankles. She felt physically sick as she picked up her dress and tiptoed stiffly towards the surrounding trees. If she was spotted now she would not get another chance and would end up dying like those other poor souls. Fortunately there were no dogs to raise the alarm, and the horses were on the farthest side of the camp.

  Fighting down the terror-inspired nausea lest the sound of her vomiting aroused one of the sleepers, she made it to the cover of the woods. She turned and peered back anxiously through the greenery, but the camp was still quiet. It’s a shame to leave such sophisticated company, she thought bitterly, but I really must be heading west. She didn’t let fear turn into excitement, however, until she had tiptoed for a few hundred yards and then, still naked and with her dress clutched in one hand, she ran for her life, not knowing where she was going but not caring as long as it was away from that hideous camp and its demonic inhabitants.

  Chapter Five

  Once again Belinda was on horseback, but this time there were some significant differences compared with her last ride.

  For one, she was sitting behind the rider instead of in front of him, and secondly this rider was a civilised rancher who was taking her to safety rather than torture and death. It’s the little things in life that make all the difference, thought Belinda with a smile as they galloped along.

  Tom McLaren was a big man, both in character and physique. Well built without a hint of fat, he was returning from a successful trip where he had arranged a buyer for as many cattle as he and his neighbours could deliver to St Joseph.

  He was dressed in the traditional cattle rancher’s style; light brown leather waistcoat, check shirt, denim trousers and leather chaps, topped off by a black wide-brimmed hat. He had almost run Belinda down when his black stallion and accompanying packhorse had come galloping around a bend to find her in the middle of the track by the woods.

  She had told him of her horrible experience with the Indians, and he had been very concerned.
He assured her that all the regular Indians were very peaceful just then and that what she described sounded more like an infamous pack of heathen murderers that had been exiled by their own people, who called them the Devil Men. He was amazed at her skill and fortune in contriving to escape, but was not surprised to hear the Indians had allowed the Danish couple to go. It seems it was the traditional thing for the Devil Men to take only one prisoner; the youngest and best looking woman or man in a group.

  At first Tom’s main attraction was that he was going some six hundred miles in a westerly direction, a journey he said would take around twelve days of hard riding. She liked Tom, and had decided to give his offer of a job as housekeeper helping his wife a trial run. If it worked out, fine. If it did not it would at least be a sophisticated break in her Spartan quest for her uncle.

  For five days Belinda sat behind Tom, her bare vagina below the long dress pressed hard against the constant movement of the horse’s broad back and her hands wrapped around Tom’s waist, just above his thick leather belt. To her surprise he made no moves towards seducing her, let alone beating her as seemed to be the standard in this harsh country. When they slept on the uncomfortable ground at night he kept well away and always respected her privacy.

  All of this had a reverse effect on our heroine, who had become accustomed to sexual abuse and had now begun to expect it. Her desire for him grew and grew, and she began to find her frustration caused her more pain and misery than any of the beatings to which she had become inured. She resorted to masturbating beneath the coarse blankets he’d loaned her from his ample panniers, but her agony continued. Had there been an older and wiser person to confide in she would have learnt that her turmoil, confusion, and inner conflicts were hardly surprising, given that she was not yet twenty and had seen her secure and comfortable home life destroyed and replaced with vagrancy and cruelty.