Within minutes of Belinda landing in Virginia and meeting her wonderful new husband-to-be, he lay dead at her feet and the thugs who had stabbed him were advancing with intent to do the same to her.
Belinda’s escape from a life of degradation and cruelty in Liverpool, her yearlong dreams as she awaited her journey to the American Territories of 1850 and her horrific voyage on a tobacco boat to Norfolk, Virginia, had all been in vain. Nineteen year old Belinda Hopeworth was now totally alone and helpless in a harsh and strange land, and was about to die a most horrible death herself…
Chestnut-haired, beautiful, with a full figure and a lively and intelligent personality, Belinda had had a happy life in spite of her mother dying from tuberculosis when Belinda was just thirteen years old. Her father and brother had run the family cotton clothing manufactory on the outskirts of Liverpool with sufficient expertise to enable them to live in a small mansion house in the suburbs, and all of Belinda’s basic needs had been generously provided for.
But being of a somewhat independent mind, she had earned herself a worthwhile amount of pin money by giving music lessons. The fact that her father had been able to afford to buy her a grand piano and a harp had helped her little business enormously, and life for her was as near perfect as any life could be.
Her little world collapsed when first her father and then her brother had been arrested and imprisoned. The business had been struggling in the face of cheap imports from the empire, and her father, an otherwise honest man, had become desperate. He had started sending the same bills twice to his larger clients, and unfortunately for him, for a while their accounts departments had been paying him double for the same supplies. ‘Unfortunately’, because if he had been caught out at the beginning it would have been accepted as human error. But when a new office manager spotted and queried the double invoicing, it had not taken long to discover that this fraud had been going on regularly for well over a year.
Soon the bailiffs took possession of the elegant house and garden that had been Belinda’s home, and, of course, her beloved and vital musical instruments. Within a few weeks she had been reduced to living in a stinking damp basement close to the River Mersey. Many clients abandoned her because her family was now classed as criminal, and those who stayed with her eventually faded away through natural wastage as the pupils achieved the required standard or became bored with music. She was a resilient girl, but in her reduced circumstances and with her family’s black record, she found it impossible to acquire new clients and quickly approached desperation.
But luckily for her survival prospects she had another talent of which she was unaware. There was something about her pretty but tragic face that attracted certain gentlemen; gentlemen who had started talking to her as she wandered the dusty streets and had invited her to their drawing rooms to provide the particular services that they were especially interested in.
Virtuous in virtually every respect, Belinda had nonetheless allowed herself to lose her virginity to a horse groom when she was still sixteen. She was a sensual girl who often had strong sexual thoughts that could take over her mind, especially when inflamed by certain sights or sounds. However her very moral middle-class upbringing caused her to fight against what she guiltily considered to be her basest instincts, and she thus had an almost permanent struggle taking place inside her. The joy of her first orgasm had quickly given way to bitter feelings of shame and self-disgust, and she had vowed never again to do such a thing if she could possibly avoid it.
It had been a shock to her to discover exactly what these well-to-do men who invited her home were interested in, but her lack of other means had led her to accept the pain and humiliation that they had inflicted on her. What she found most heartbreaking was not the physical sensation, which she had started to tolerate very early on, it was the miserable amount of money with which the gentlemen – and in two cases ladies – had rewarded her. A half a day of being smacked, spanked, whipped, caned and, most horrible of all, indecently fondled, would only earn her just enough to pay her rent and buy her a minimal amount of food for half a week.
Her worst client had been a man who had a short cane made of stainless steel, specially manufactured for him by a famous firm of sword makers to his own design. Its lash across her soft white bottom was the most vicious agony, and afterwards when almost dying with the burning pain she had requested payment he had thrown her out with the utmost contempt. He shouted at her that she was a disgusting whore, and so low was she that he would no more think of paying her than he would think of paying a maggot-infested dog’s turd.
Poor Belinda had fled that wealthy gentleman’s city centre house in tears, and bumped straight into a man who was handing out broadsheets. Taking one from him by way of apologising for nearly knocking him over, she hurried back to her basement and read the small advertisements printed on each side of the coarse paper. She became more and more intrigued as she read, for all of the advertisers were gentlemen in America who were looking for English wives to join them. And from these she chose a natural-born American of thirty-five years of age with his own home and business in Virginia, an orphan who had made a decent life for himself, a man called Bill Wandle.
Their correspondence lasted a year, the return trip for each pair of letters taking around two months, during which time she had to continue to eke a living as best she could, which mainly meant playing the submissive role to clients who wished to strip her, beat her and generally humiliate her to their heart’s content. She became partly inured to this treatment but could not wait for the day when she could set off for the magnificent new life that the wonderful sounding Bill was offering her.
At last the letter she had longed for arrived. Kind-hearted and considerate, Bill had arranged for her to take passage on a tobacco merchantman that plied directly between Liverpool docks and the small but bustling port of Norfolk in Virginia. He had done this at extra expense, partly to save her from the cramped filth and misery of the immigrant boats, and partly so as she would land closer to his home in Virginia, rather than having to go to New York as was normal with the third class passenger ships.
The four week trip would have been quite pleasant, with few other passengers and plenty of room, if a thief on board, panicking at the prospect of discovery, had not chosen to hide some purloined trinkets in Belinda’s bedding. The caning she had received from the bo’s’n on her bare bottom in front of the rest of the ship’s complement had been vicious but she had borne it stoically, telling herself it would be the last beating she would ever receive in her life. She did later have the pleasure of watching whilst the real thief – also a young woman – received the same punishment when she was finally caught. But what really stung Belinda was that nobody, from the Captain down to the passenger who had denounced her, offered the tiniest word or gesture of apology.
But all unhappy thoughts fled as she leant over the ship’s side whilst it tied up amidst the bustle and the bales of cotton and tobacco at the Norfolk waterside. Bill, standing on the quay, had quickly identified her and had shouted happy introductions as he waited alone for her to disembark. She was relieved to see that he had a pleasant round face and was clearly as good-natured a man as his letters had implied.
She hurried down the gangplank as soon as it was lowered – her luggage was no more than her handbag and the full-length green and white dress and brown boots that she was wearing. Bill, abandoning all formality in his joy at seeing her beauty, had hugged her very full bosom tight to his chest, lifted her off the ground and swung her around, to the amusement of the roughly dressed but good-natured dockside loafers.
‘Belinda!’ he cried, ‘I cannot believe my luck!’
‘Oh Bill!’ she cried back, her eyes swimming with tears of joy, ‘I just know we’re going to be so happy for the rest of our lives together!’ She knew she sounded melodramatic but she was too happy to care. She had also inwardly marvelled at Bill’s strange accent, having imagined that Americans spoke like English people, but it was curiously attractive and added to his appeal.
‘Honey,’ he had called her, to her amusement, ‘my carriage is just around the corner away from the port area. I’ve been waiting three whole days for you to get here and I had to station it somewhere out of the way. But it’s all hitched up and the horses are rearing to get you back to my little old estate,’ he cried out joyfully.
A few minutes later they were sitting up in his buggy and he was just about to take the whip from its holder when two big and very rough-looking men in torn leather clothes approached from out of the shadows and gripped the two horses by their halters.
‘You ain’t going nowhere ‘less you all hand over your money now!’ shouted one of them. ‘So give it here and then you can get!’
Horrified and in fear of her life Belinda went to throw down her handbag which contained around twenty pounds in English money; her whole life’s savings. But Bill stopped her.
‘Just hold on there, honey,’ he ordered in a firm voice. ‘If we give into crime now then there’s no future for America.’ And with that he leapt to the ground and hurled himself at the nearest of the two thugs. The man fell backwards under the assault, but before the shocked Belinda could scream a warning the other man had run at Bill with a big knife. It flashed in the sun and Bill fell to the ground, clearly dead.
For a moment everything stopped. Belinda stared in shock at the cadaver of that wonderful man who had represented so much hope for her. But then the wheels of life started moving again and the two villains looked up at her. She screamed at them and threw her bag at their faces. They picked it up – but then started walking slowly towards her.
‘Can’t have no witnesses now, can we?’ said the one Bill had assailed. His accomplice, the knifeman, grinned his agreement. They walked closer. In terrified desperation Belinda snatched the whip from its holder and with a simple double movement lashed both of them across the face. As they fell backwards screaming she continued the movement of the whip and cracked it over the horses’ backs. Already nervous from the violence, they leapt into action and took off at an alarming speed up the hill and away from the port.
Just before they hurtled around the bend that would take them out of sight of the waterfront, the distraught Belinda looked back and saw the two murderers going through Bill’s clothing and then dragging him to the bushes beside the road.
Almost blinded by tears of grief, disappointment and terror, she kept the horses at a flat out gallop for several hours until, rounding a sharp bend on a hillside, the buggy turned over after hitting a pothole. Belinda flung herself free but the buggy rolled over the side of the road and hung down over a sheer drop. It was threatening to drag the terrified horses with it but Belinda was able to free their harnesses. As the carriage crashed to the valley below the horses stampeded away and had soon disappeared from sight.
Now Belinda was truly lost, alone, penniless, utterly miserable and nearly three thousand sea miles from home. As she trudged tearfully down the dusty road her mind drifted. The life she had left behind suddenly seemed more appealing than this nightmare, she thought as bouts of mourning the murdered Bill Wandle alternated with the crushing disappointment that her own new life was also dead and buried. She had never really minded the spankings and canings, she tried to convince herself, even if it did tend to involve a lot of unwelcome sexual attention. If only she had stayed in Liverpool.
A resilient girl, her spirits rose gradually as she tramped wearily along the trail, until they had bucked up to reach a level of mere numb misery. She then recalled her last visit to her brother in prison, when she had told him of her intentions of going to America, having told her heartbroken father the day before. But brother Charles had been happy for her, and had told her that they had an Uncle Albert who was well established in a town in California. It had a Spanish name which she couldn’t remember, but she clearly recalled that Charles had told her it meant ‘The Angels’ in English. He said that Uncle Albert was a very enterprising type and would be sure to be doing well. If she had any difficulties she should contact him. Charles didn’t know the address but said The Angels was a tiny town and she would have no trouble locating him once she reached there.
Now Belinda was torn. She knew from the maps of America she had studied whilst anxiously waiting for her husband-to-be to send for her that there were over two thousand miles of uncivilised land between her and the West Coast. But she also knew there were nearly three thousand miles of equally uncivilised ocean between here and Liverpool. With no money Belinda had no choice, and she staggered on towards the setting sun. If nothing better happened on the way, then she was California bound. And if there was nothing there for her then Uncle Albert could ship her home. And, she swore, she would never be ill treated by anyone again.
After another hour she had just passed a minor crossroads when her heart sprang into her mouth at the sudden thunder of hooves from behind. There was no cover alongside the road at this point and as she panicked a very expensive carriage driven by a highly aristocratic-looking man came to a sharp halt beside her in clouds of dust.
Dark complexioned, black-eyed and sharp featured, dressed smartly in black with a top hat, he beamed down at her.
‘I say!’ he cried, ‘A beautiful damsel clearly in distress! My dear girl, do climb aboard and let’s hear your story!’
And with that he jumped down and helped Belinda up. An experienced girl, she did not miss the significance of his patting her rather sharply on the bottom as she climbed aboard, but she had come to expect that sort of thing from almost every man she met.
He did not touch her after that though, and she poured out her sad story to him as they trotted along in the shiny black buggy. He showed great sympathy, and told her she must return to his tobacco plantation for the night at least. Very English, his name was Lord Raven and he claimed to be the biggest and the best slave owner in Virginia. He said he had maids and butlers, all Negroes, but if she was interested in staying on he would welcome an English housekeeper to run the household.
‘But let’s see how you fit in!’ he shouted cheerfully as, at dusk, they drove through the arched timber entrance of his vast plantation and started the hour-long trot along his drive to the house.
Later that evening Belinda was delighted to find herself sitting with Lord Raven at his table, dressed simply but decently in a thin floral-patterned low-cut gown that had been fished out for her from the loft. She was pleased at the way in which it showed off her full soft bosom to the best effect. The tobacco plantation’s house was quite sumptuous and the dining room was beautifully furnished with a number of natural wickerwork and cane chairs and side tables. The large polished wooden dining table had a small banquet heaped upon it and she ate heartily of a refreshing fruit called a water melon followed by a choice of meats which included beef, duck and pork as well as boiled potatoes and cabbage – all very comfortingly British. This meal was luxury to Belinda after her recent experiences and Lord Raven was a generous and entertaining host. She felt more than just a surge of gratitude as she looked at him. In spite of, or perhaps because of, the suggestion of a sinister nature behind his handsome smile, Belinda could not help feeling greatly attracted to him, in an innocently romantic way. She kept pondering what her answer should be if he were to make any advances towards her. She hoped he wouldn’t, because she suspected that she could be eventually persuaded, and she really preferred to avoid that sort of thing until she was married. His face was handsome if a little sharp-featured and autocratic now that she could see it in clear dust free light, but he had dressed immaculately for dinner in a black velvet jacket, patterned cravat and thin black trousers of an uncertain silky material, and there was little about him to repel any healthy young woman.
It seemed he had no family, and the only other person in the room throughout the meal was Wallace, the very dignified Negro butler, a large and comely man in spite of the grey hair at the sides of his bald pate. As he cleared away the remains of the meal, which had ended with some very nice cheese from the plantation’s own farm, Lord Raven stood and poured Belinda and himself a French brandy. She had refused wine with the meal, not being accustomed to it, but she happily admitted to having a particular penchant for certain spirits and liqueurs. She had forgotten that she had acquired the taste from the groom who had plied her with such drinks before taking away her virginity in the stables back home.
Once Wallace had removed all traces of the meal from the long table, leaving only the pearly tablecloth in place, he stood back and coughed politely. Lord Raven consulted his ornate gold pocket watch and looked at the servant.
‘Is Rosie waiting?’ He asked Wallace.
Wallace smiled. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Has she been waiting throughout the meal?’ continued the master.
‘She sure have, sir. And she know what to expect too, sir.’
‘Oh excellent!’ beamed Lord Raven. He saw that Belinda was a little puzzled but did not say anything to enlighten her except, ‘You might enjoy watching this, my dear.’
Still unsure what was happening, she nonetheless managed a bright face of polite interest.
‘Well, bring her in, man!’ he said sharply to the kindly faced butler who immediately left them. He returned after a moment leading a devastatingly beautiful negress of around nineteen or twenty by her bare upper arm. In common with the rest of his lordship’s slaves that Belinda had observed working on the estate when she had arrived, she seemed to be healthy and well nourished if not quite overfed. Her attire was easy to describe – barefoot, she wore a plain short-sleeved shift of thin black cotton that reached only halfway down her thighs. Her full round cheeks shone beneath the sparkling chandelier and she looked quite nervous, thought Belinda with concern.
Wallace positioned her before the master.
‘This Rosie, sir, like I told you about.’
Belinda noticed Lord Raven’s sharp eyes roam over the girl’s full firm body, lingering where her large breasts pushed the black cotton tightly outwards. She didn’t blame him, for Rosie was a very attractive girl.
‘Rosie,’ spoke her master, making her jump a little, ‘Wallace tells me you don’t want to work in my fields any more.’
Poor Rosie looked alarmed at that way of expressing her intentions and was about to reply but Wallace silenced her with a glower.
‘But,’ continued Lord Raven, ‘that you would like to work in the house as a maid, replacing that idle sow Flower that I was forced to sell. Am I right, Rosie?’
The girl, eyes down, nodded and whispered, ‘Yes master.’
‘Now then, you can look me in the eye, Rosie; I want you to tell me what you expect to get out of working in the house. Don’t be afraid.’
Rosie looked to Wallace for confirmation that this was all right, and he nodded.
‘Master, I a good worker in the fields and all but I like to work in the house because I got the skills and the temperament. And also the house servants they get bit better food and much better beds.’
‘But you know what else they get, don’t you Rosie?’
‘Yes, master,’ she replied, lowering her eyes once again.
‘Then tell my lady visitor what else you’ll get if I let you be a maid.’
‘I gets beat regular, master.’
‘You get beat, Rosie. My slaves who work in the fields rarely get beaten, slaves are expensive and my neighbours who treat their vassals with too much violence and too little food find that they lose a lot of them both to disease from malnutrition and infected whip marks, and from running away. No slave has ever run away from my plantation, so I also save on guards as well. Ill-treated serfs don’t breed so successfully either. But inside the house regular beatings are an essential part of my personal pleasure and therefore form one of my requirements.’
Lord Raven was addressing Belinda as much as Rosie. Belinda’s heart was pounding a little at the scene that was being enacted before her, though she did not know if it were caused by fear or excitement.
‘And you still want to be a maid even though you get beaten? The choice is yours, Rosie.’
Rosie nodded, her head down but her eyes raised to look at her aristocratic owner. He turned to Belinda.
‘Well, my dear, you’re in for a little treat. I know most women like to watch this sort of thing.’
Belinda was undeniably fascinated. She had a good inkling of what was coming, and it would certainly be a wonderful luxury for her to be a spectator rather than the victim. She also found Rosie’s well-built body and shining skin coupled with her well-trained submissive personality equally intriguing. And she was just as breath-taken to notice, as Lord Raven stood up, that his tight-fronted trousers were bulging most impressively. Her toes flexed in her shoes and her thighs squeezed together as an instinctive reaction to her thoughts, reflexes that made her blush as she noticed them and fought them down.
Lord Raven went to the grandfather clock and retrieved a barber’s shop strop from beside it. As he turned around and both women saw the hard leather Belinda felt the flesh on her own bottom tingling.
The master stared at Rosie. He had the strop held in both hands across the front of his trousers, and Belinda could see he was pressing his penis with it, an observation she tried to ignore.
‘Very well, my girl,’ he said coldly. ‘Pass this entrance test and you’ll move in as maid this very night. Fail it and you’ll be back in the fields at sunrise.’
Rosie brightened a little at that and nodded. Belinda was quite impressed to note such a simultaneous expression of joy and fear on a human face, but Rosie clearly felt confident about getting the promotion she wanted.
Lord Raven turned to Wallace who stood by impassively. He raised an eyebrow to the manservant, who immediately moved towards Rosie.
‘How’s sir having the girl?’ he asked as he gripped her arms firmly.
‘Let’s try her as she is for starters, Wallace,’ came the reply, and Wallace pushed her towards the nearest edge of the table. Standing tight behind her he pushed her down over the table and then went around to the other side to face her. He gripped her wrists and pulled them, her wide eyes staring into his. Her thin dress stretched tightly across her full bottom and rode up so that the top half of her thighs were clearly to be seen. As Lord Raven took up position sideways on to the girl, Belinda noticed with consternation that not only did the aristocrat have a whopping hard-on, but that the butler had pulled the girl’s hands closer to him and had them pressed firmly against the front of his grey striped trousers.
Lord Raven asked Belinda to hold the strop momentarily whilst he removed his jacket, and Belinda felt its weight in her hands. About eighteen inches long, an inch and a half wide and nearly a quarter of an inch thick, the feel of it in her hands once again made the skin of her legs and bottom tighten as it brought back vivid memories for her. She was once again glad to be watching rather than receiving for a change.
The slave girl’s owner retrieved the hard leather from Belinda, smiled at her and then wheeled around and cracked it into Rosie’s bottom. The girl gave a shocked gasp as the crack echoed around the room. Wallace was still holding her close by the wrists, and her hands stretched out wide as a reflex reaction to the strop. Wallace beamed and pressed them in closer so that as they shut they automatically squeezed his bulging front and he rammed himself against her palms.
‘Yes, very nice,’ mused Lord Raven, ‘but now let’s raise the dress a little, shall we?’
Wallace released his grip on the girl, and the master made her straighten up. He then bent in front of her, took hold of her hem and pulled the dress up around her waist. Her full thighs and bottom were a very dark golden colour, Belinda observed as she watched with her breathing becoming faster and shallower.
Lord Raven beamed at Belinda’s obvious interest, causing her heart to flutter romantically as she guiltily averted her eyes from the obscene but exciting display, and he then bent Rosie over once again. Her ample but firm buttocks stood up like great golden globes and the tightly stretched skin shone brightly beneath the chandelier. He looked at Wallace’s trousers.
‘You want your freedom, Wallace?’
Wallace grinned. ‘I sure wouldn’t mind, sir,’ he said, and started to unbutton his fly.
The plantation owner turned to Belinda. ‘He has a rather large penis, my dear. When it becomes aroused it can get caught up inside and cause him some distress which is no fault of his own. I trust you don’t object?’
Belinda’s eyes sparkled. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,’ she said with a knowing smile and a shrug, her forced casual manner coming from a combination of wanting to impress this handsome nobleman and the increasing confidence obtained from the unaccustomed intake of brandy. Lord Raven leered lecherously down at her cleavage and then turned back to the table.
The butler finished undoing his buttons and reached in with his thumb and forefinger and pulled out his enormous erection. As it came free it burst upwards and stood there pounding against his waistband, very close to the prostrate Rosie’s face. With a heavy sigh Wallace again took the girl’s hands and made her grip his mighty black penis. Belinda was highly excited by now, and her hands dropped onto her lap, where she used the upper one to try to conceal that the lower was pressing as close as it could to her clitoris through her thin cotton gown. She had long ago found she could divert or diffuse her most sinful thoughts by complete or partial masturbation, and had indulged in this quite often as a safe alternative to real vice. She could see no moral wrong in this; even the Bible had only condemned the practice by men and had not mentioned women doing it. It was obviously a perfectly acceptable form of release from dangerous thoughts, especially as it involved no other person.
Lord Raven once again took up position sideways on to Rosie. He closely examined her raised buttocks, stroking and pinching them both gently and cruelly. Then he suddenly thrust his hand fiercely between her legs and rammed it upwards to crush her clitoris with his strong fingers. Belinda was simultaneously alarmed and thrilled at this, and pressed herself through her dress again and tried to stroke the damp vulva hidden therein. She felt sure now that Lord Raven would try it on with her that night, and she was wondering whether to allow him access to her jealously guarded treasure as a precondition for marriage and the life of a lady on a rich plantation. As we will learn, Belinda’s high morals were tempered by her equally high intelligence and the practical nature that came with being born into a factory owner’s family.
Standing to the left of Rosie, Lord Raven raised his right arm. His free hand pressed the prominent bulge at his groin. He shifted position slightly and lashed the strop down so that it struck the girl’s right buttock from the side. She screamed once and Belinda saw her hand jerk and crush Wallace’s cock tightly. The butler thrust himself hard into her palm.
The master of the house then walked to the right side of Rosie. Standing square on to her bottom, he raised the strop above his head and then it shot downwards in a curve to strike her left buttock from the side. Rosie screamed and writhed. Wallace ground into her palms fiercely.
Lord Raven continued to strap the girl coolly and slowly, changing position and considering his aim between each stroke. He concentrated on her golden buttocks at first, but as they turned darker and darker he worked his way down the backs of her thighs to her calves. And all the time Wallace held her by the wrists and her hands gripped his gigantic baton.
In spite of her efforts to remain detached, Belinda was becoming overwhelmed by this fantastic scene, and was unable to prevent herself from masturbating quite blatantly through her dress while the men’s attention was fully on the slave girl. She stopped dead, however, when Lord Raven suddenly turned and looked at what she was doing with a superior grin.
‘I am delighted to see you are gaining so much pleasure from this, madam,’ he smirked. ‘If you are to stay here perhaps you should have a go as well? You will need to get used to it.’
Firstly covering her own unseemly masturbation by pretending she was brushing some crumbs from her lap, Belinda’s heart pounded with terror. It was one thing to just sit and watch certain goings-on that one had no power to prevent, but to actively take a part was a rather different matter.
‘I… I’m not sure I should…’
‘Come, come, madam!’ cried Lord Raven, his black eyes glistening above his thin smile. ‘If you are to become a permanent part of this household you must surely learn to fit in with our ways, must you not?’
Belinda’s heart once again thumped, but this time with excitement rather than terror. This extraordinarily sensuous man was either confirming his earlier offer of a position as housekeeper, in charge of people such as Rosie, or perhaps he was even hinting at marriage – into the aristocracy! She had to show that she could control staff in the customary manner.
Already full of suppressed desire, and her clitoris aflame from the near-orgasmic state she had brought herself to, Belinda needed no further prompting. She jumped up and snatched the strop from his lordship’s hand before he could react. He and Wallace watched with joyful faces as Belinda gripped her hem from down by her ankles and pulled it right up so as to clench it between her teeth. She wore no knickers, and her marble white legs and thighs were fully exposed above her calf-length boots, as was her white vagina showing through her chestnut hairs. The dress held high, she proceeded to rub her clitoris fiercely, interrupting this every twenty seconds to aim at and lash the backs of Rosie’s thighs until she screamed for her to stop. But Belinda, watched by the two delighted men, would not stop until she suddenly arrived at a long shuddering orgasm. When she opened her eyes she found both men and Rosie, who was now standing, staring at her. She suddenly felt extremely embarrassed. She could not believe she had behaved as she had.
Lord Raven chuckled a little sinisterly. ‘Yes, very good indeed Belinda. But when I said it was time for you to have a go, I did mean to have a go taking it, not giving it.’
Belinda nearly died of shame and fright. But the whole electrical charge of the evening sustained her and she did not resist when Lord Raven sat her on the table and raised her dress.
‘Rosie,’ he said gravely, ‘you are now a maid in this house, and Miss Belinda is a maid too. She therefore had no right to beat you. Her crime will be cancelled by you.’
Before Belinda could protest Rosie took the strop from her master, and as Wallace’s arms encircled Belinda’s waist and his hands slipped down to squeeze her vagina, the young girl got her revenge. She was cruelly unfair as she lashed Belinda with that wicked piece of hard leather, ignoring her screams and beating her thighs with a strength that Belinda had not used on her.
The pain was indescribable, relieved only by the black manservant fondling her clitoris, and it was not until after her legs were completely numb that the laughing Lord Raven dragged Rosie off and ordered her to her room; she was to be up at dawn cleaning and scrubbing the kitchen floor with cold water.
As the grinning girl left and the stinging subsided, Belinda’s agony was replaced by a warm sexual glow, and when the Lord smiled at her and told her with a wink to go up to bed, she went willingly, infatuated as she was by that handsome and powerful man.
She lay in bed and tried not to masturbate in order to save herself for her new master’s. She did not know that downstairs, after she had left the room, Lord Raven had smiled as he approached Wallace, and that Wallace had smiled back. The white master slowly pulled out his own considerable penis and grinned as Wallace took hold of it. He too gripped the butler’s mast and they stared at each other as they mutually masturbated with long gentle strokes…
As the sun dawned and the alcohol and the arousal wore off, so did the truth dawn on Belinda. Lord Raven had not joined her, and she was glad. She felt sick at the thought of how that horrible man had so manipulated her human emotions as to turn her into a beast like himself. And she could see that working for him was only to be a matter of being a regularly beaten maid without the dessert of being the wife of a wealthy nobleman. Deciding this was not what she was seeking, and feeling bitterly remorseful at her behaviour the night before, she realised she must continue west as she slipped from the room and away from the estate before anyone else was awake enough to spot her.
Belinda trudged all morning in a westward direction towards a vast mountain range. She was deeply upset by the previous night’s promiscuous events, and she helped to keep her spirits up by singing Greensleeves and Annie Laurie, as well as humming and la-la-ing some of the brighter piano exercises she used to teach. She found the increasingly mountainous scenery breathtakingly beautiful, but deep depression returned as soon as she remembered the reality of her situation. To be destitute in a strange and hostile land was infinitely worse than being destitute back on the streets of Liverpool. She did not know how many miles still lay ahead of her, but she knew it was most of them. Perhaps she had been silly to slip away from Lord Raven’s house without asking for some food or money for her journey, but she had been afraid that such a man might refuse to let her go. She started to cry as she dragged her feet through the dust. And worse, although she had eaten well the night before, her long walk had brought her appetite back with a will, and above all, she was very, very thirsty.
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 greasy 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 behind, 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?’
On the obese side though he was, there was nothing intrinsically wrong with Oliver’s looks, and certainly nothing wrong with his long broad prick. And anyway, the overwhelming sexual lust that had temporarily taken control of Belinda’s body and soul would have made even that awful innkeeper acceptable at this point in time. She sighed inwardly; she told her conscience she had tried to be good but everything was stacked against her and she begged forgiveness. She nodded as Oliver started to stand.
‘And I want you from behind,’ he whispered wickedly.
Belinda no longer cared as long as he got it over with, but there were practical considerations to be borne in mind.
‘But there’s no room…’ she breathed, unable to complete the sentence.
But Oliver was on his feet, balancing himself against the swaying carriage wherever he could get a grip. He took hold of Belinda and roughly manoeuvred her to face the door. Then he bent her forward so her top half went out through the open window and was exposed to the rushing air, the dust, the grit, the noise and the dizzy sensation of the ground dashing past at close quarters.
She felt her dress being raised again at the back and then a lovely warm feeling as his cock lay in the valley of her pillowy white bottom. The driver glanced backwards and down as she caught his eye, and she had enough self-possession to find it gratifying that he did not know what was going on inside.
He looked forward again and cracked the whip over the horses. This triggered a conditioned response in Belinda, and her already wet vagina felt like it was flooding. There was a sharp pressure from behind and Oliver’s enormous tool shot between her legs and into her. Once inside he moved back and forth viciously, the powerfully sized prick filling her more than she could remember ever having been filled by that groom. And the overwhelmingly beautiful sensation in her clitoris as the head of that superb cock slid up and down contrasted deliciously with the crippling pain across her stomach where Oliver’s weight pressed her down against the window frame of the door as the world flew by oblivious to what Belinda was experiencing.
She felt the orgasm growing within and Ollie pumped harder in perfect rhythm with the increasing intensity of the feeling. God that fat man could fuck! And as she started to come she felt that he too was starting his climax and she closed her eyes tight against the stinging dust.
A strange and wonderful feeling went through her as her orgasm – and his – shuddered through her body. She suddenly felt as if she were flying free through the air, yet the sense of weightlessness was counteracted in the weirdest way by an agonising increase in the weight of Ollie pressing her against the wood. Perturbed, she opened her eyes and was aghast to find that the stagecoach door had swung open under their pressure and was swinging freely with the two of them leaning across it. She just had time to scream her terror before they both plummeted headfirst to almost certain death on the rushing ground below…
It was fortunate for their lives, if not their dignity, that the stagecoach had at that moment drawn up outside the staging post where they were to spend the night.
The two of them fell to the stony ground in a bundled heap, Oliver with his trousers down and Belinda with her bare bottom up. As they realised they were unhurt they blinked and almost died of embarrassment instead of impact. A miserable looking woman and her two equally ungracious children stared down at them – and their exposed parts – in disgust. The driver’s and the guard’s screeches of laughter did nothing to help, nor did the applause, cheers and cries of ‘Encore!’ from Timothy, Marie and Jane as they peered out from the coach.
But the woman started to scream abusively and, grabbing a cane from where it was leaning against the building, rushed at the two prone figures and started lashing at their naked rumps, shouting frenzied insults. She was not joking and they both found the shock of the lash severely agonising until the stagecoach crew and Oliver’s friends dragged the hag off – but only after they had enjoyed the spectacle for a few minutes.
As they picked themselves up, Oliver glared at Belinda and said calmly, ‘You won’t find that in the Kama Sutra, but it’s the way we always do things in Boston.’
After dinner they found the presence of the old virago who ran the station so oppressive that they bought some bottles of spirits from her and wandered well away from the buildings to start a camp fire and have some fun of their own.
The woman’s foul disposition made the previous innkeeper seem as happy as a clown who had just inherited a circus. Her unpleasantness was far more positive than his had been. She had continually criticised the group throughout their meal, and when they bought a drink she demanded to know why people needed such things as alcohol, and didn’t they know it would poison their souls as well as their bodies. When Oliver asked how come she sold the stuff she went berserk, which was when they beat their retreat to the safety of the savage land around them.
In spite of her bruising from the fall, Belinda felt more at peace than she had for many a month. The moon was the biggest she had ever seen and the camp fire kept the chill of the night away. They were seated by a tiny copse. One trunk was lying on the ground beside its stump, which helped to create the illusion that they were in their own private enclosure. She didn’t begrudge her companions their bit of fun with her that afternoon in the stagecoach, but she had decided that she wanted no more of that sort of thing and would walk or seek alternative transport the next day.
The gin she had been drinking all afternoon, and which she was drinking now, also contributed warmly to her feeling of relaxation and wellbeing, and after a while, in response to probing questions about her life in England, she opened up and told them all about her tribulations.
They seemed very sad to hear about her father and brother, and did not condemn them in any way. But they were more than interested to hear of how she had scraped a living on the streets of Liverpool. They all found her accounts very exciting, and Jane in particular wanted Belinda to go over the best bits in great detail. Her audience’s great interest in her tales was clearly illustrated by the way the dancing firelight showed up their wide shining eyes.
‘Heavens,’ breathed Timothy. ‘You mean there are actually people who get sexually aroused by administering corporal punishment to girls?’
‘Well,’ said Marie, ‘I can quite understand that, Tim. I’m getting aroused just hearing about it.’
‘Oh God, so am I!’ cried Jane in a fierce whisper.
‘Well, if you must know,’ chipped in Oliver, a look of sleepy drunkenness on his shiny unshaven face, ‘I had it done to me once.’
Everyone, including Belinda, looked at him in surprise; not shock, they were all too sophisticated for that.
‘You mean you did it to a girl once, surely?’ said a puzzled Timothy.
‘No, not at all,’ continued Oliver with a smug smirk. ‘A certain society hostess whom we all know, a few years older than I, made me the offer. She invited me for a walk in her grounds one night. Then she took hold of my cock and “Ollie” she said, “you’ve got a great big penis and a great big backside”. She was gently pulling me through my thin pants as she spoke, and then she made me the offer: I could have all the sex I wanted with her as long as she could strap, smack, and cane my bottom as much as she wanted. Well, I definitely favoured her – you’d agree if I broke my word and told you who it was – and I thought she wouldn’t have the strength to make any serious impression on my derriere. But heavens, she had a strong right arm! I had to let her tie me down in the end else I couldn’t have stood there and took it.’
Jane’s eyes flashed. ‘And did you enjoy it?’ she asked intensely.
‘It was awful!’ shrieked Ollie. ‘But then afterwards, every time I thought about it I got a rock hard-on. In the end I went back to her for more. And got it!’
There was a long pause after he finished, broken only by eerie bird cries in the distance.
‘All this debauched talk is making my heart thump quite alarmingly,’ Jane eventually broke the silence prettily. ‘Tell me Belinda, did you find it exciting or was it terrifying?’
‘Well,’ said Belinda, quite enjoying being the expert, ‘at first I just couldn’t believe the flaming pain. But then it got just like Oliver said; whenever I thought about it I became so overwhelmed by the sensational fire in my clit…’ her voice faded quickly as she realised what she was admitting. ‘You just get used to it…’ she concluded hurriedly.
There was an even longer silence as the group digested what they had been hearing. At last Timothy spoke.
‘Well, judging by the look on Jane’s face, not to mention Marie’s and Oliver’s, I’d guess we’d all be in favour of trying some of this out ourselves. I personally, ladies and gentleman, have got a hard-on that could be used to break the ice in the Hudson River.’
‘Yeah,’ added Oliver, now fully awake, ‘mine wouldn’t have to break the ice, it’s goddam hot enough to melt it!’
Marie laughed delightedly and clapped her hands. ‘Oh golly, I’m so excited I don’t know what to do or where to start!’
‘What shall we do, Belinda?’ asked Jane, snuggling closer to Belinda and caressing one of her soft breasts through the thin cotton gown. ‘You know all about it.’
Exciting as Belinda found Jane’s touch, she moved away firmly. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I agreed to do what we did in the coach but that’s it. No more.’
‘But you’re going to need a lift tomorrow as well if you want to catch a wagon train to the West,’ gloated Marie huskily.
‘No, I’ve thought about that and I’ll just have to manage one way or another. After all, I am a music teacher from a good family. There are more important things to a lady of my standing than what might or might not happen tomorrow.’
‘Oh come on, Belinda, for God’s sake!’ cried Tim impatiently.
‘No,’ she replied firmly.
They all glared at her.
‘I don’t see why you want to make such a nightmare journey to California,’ said Jane gently, ‘when you aren’t even sure of what awaits you there. Poor Belinda; why don’t you come back to Boston with us? We would find you decent employment to begin with, wouldn’t we Timmy?’
An excited smile flooded Timothy’s face. ‘Well of course we would, if she showed herself to be a true friend,’ he said, staring at Belinda in a way that made her tremble all over.
‘And then after a while,’ chirped Jane, ‘why, you could save up and start earning your own living giving music lessons again. Boston is a very cultured city and there’s a big demand for music teachers.’
The four Bostonians watched Belinda carefully for her reaction. She was clearly impressed with this suggestion.
‘And I’m sure a woman of your charm and intelligence would be running her own Academy of the Musical Arts within a year. Especially with our backing,’ said Oliver in a very persuasive tone; not at all nice – just persuasive.
‘Yes, but would that mean I’d have to be dirty with you all the way up to Boston?’ Belinda said at last. ‘It must be a week or more to get there.’
This was met with an immediate chorus of ‘no’ and ‘of course not’, and it was Jane who added, ‘Just give us one wildly fanciful night tonight, and we’ll leave you alone all the rest of the way.’
She smiled longingly in a way that excited Belinda and made her worry, not for the first time, about the way she always found herself easily stirred by a good-looking girl. But she had little time to brood on the realization at that point in time. The unaccustomed day of gin drinking was making her bolder than she would normally have been, and the offer of a bright and cultured future in a civilised city seemed to be a goal she would certainly sacrifice one more night for. After all, necessity had driven her into strange and unwelcome situations many times already in her life. And she didn’t think this little group posed any real threat to her as regards inflicting pain. ‘Well… all right then,’ she said cautiously.
There were cheers from her companions, not without a hint of gloating.
‘What shall we do then?’ asked Marie breathlessly. ‘You’re the expert.’
Belinda felt a flush of deep shame and embarrassment at that remark, but she had to admit that Marie was right. Compared to these innocent fun lovers she was, alas, the one with all the experience. She blinked back the tears that were forming and rallied her spirits.
‘I think it’s best if we make a game of it. I think Timothy should be the one who does it to start off, he’s definitely the type, but what shall the game be?’ She looked at the others expectantly, awaiting suggestions. But they were all staring at her. She thought a moment, and then brightened.
‘I know,’ she said with a happy smile. ‘Timothy’s a dead strict gentleman and we’re his household servants. And he’s not too happy with our work so he says he’s to punish us. And we have to put up with it because he pays double the wages of anyone else, and anyhow there’s no other jobs going either. That’s a very popular one back home.’
Timothy beamed his appreciation of the idea, whilst the two girls and Oliver made lots of excited noises about it.
‘And I suggest you have to send one of us back to get that old woman’s cane from outside the inn. Right?’ Belinda’s future was at stake here and she was not going to risk spoiling her chances by holding herself back.
‘Right!’ grinned Timothy.
‘Well, go on then!’ Belinda had to prompt him, and at that he jumped up as quickly as his slightly inebriated state would allow and faded into the shadows. They were just beginning to wonder where he had gone when he made them all jump by suddenly striding into the makeshift camp from behind them, saying angrily, ‘Right, all household staff stand up!’
They quickly got to their feet, Jane first and Oliver last, and Timothy stood there surveying them with realistic contempt.
‘Right you inferior scum, it’s Friday. That means it’s pay day and, as you know, before I pay you your wages I have to consider how to pay you for everything you have failed to complete to my satisfaction since last week.’
He studied them haughtily. He was playing his role so well that Belinda felt the skin of her bottom tingling and tensing.
‘And I have to tell you,’ continued Timothy, ‘that I am not a jot happy with any of you this week. Jane, go and fetch my cane at once.’
‘Not the cane, master!’ cried Belinda for effect.
But Jane was already gone, running as fast as her long dress would allow.
‘How dare you interrupt me, Belinda!’ thundered Timothy. ‘Come here!’
Belinda hurried to stand in front of him. Staring into her eyes, he moved his hand forward and pressed it against her soft vulva, holding it there for a few seconds and then rubbing gently but firmly up and down. Both he and she found her thin cotton dress added to the smoothness without blunting any of the sensation, and she pressed herself hard against his hand. After a minute he removed it, placed both arms around her waist and pulled her tight to him so that his penis, bold and hard, was rubbing up and down her slit. His hands slid up her back, and then one of them moved around to the front to gently squeeze her nearest nipple. With a couple of deft movements he had expertly flopped her right breast out through the plunging neckline, and was caressing it in the cool night air when Jane came hurrying back into the camp circle. She approached Timothy holding the cane out towards him with great reverence.
Timothy released Belinda. She stepped back, leaving her fleshy white breast exposed, the pinkness of its nipple enhanced by the firelight.
Timothy tested the cane by swishing it through the air a few times. Belinda noticed Jane’s tongue dart across her dry lips as she watched this display with sparkling eyes. She realised at that moment that although she was predominantly inclined towards men in matters of romance, she would rather have a sexual encounter with Jane than with any of the others.
‘Jane!’ called Timothy sharply and beckoned her to follow him. He went and stood by the tree stump and unbuttoned his trousers. He pulled his penis out and solemnly showed it to the ladies and Oliver. He then ordered Jane to remove his trousers, which she did, taking care to lick the tip of his stalk as she bent down.
‘Jane, you’re a very naughty maidservant, but you’re not the worst. I’m going to let you off with a spanking across my knee, and then you can help me deal with the rest of this idle bunch of layabouts.’
Her tongue was still toying with his glistening tip, and he took hold of her silvery-blonde hair and pulled her head firmly into his groin as he smiled pompously at the others. Marie and Oliver were watching with bright-eyed anticipation, and Belinda was very impressed by Timothy’s act. He certainly caught on quickly for someone who had never played this sort of game before. She found herself envying Jane for having Tim’s potent piece in her mouth, and at the same time she envied Tim for having Jane’s intimate attention. She felt powerfully attracted to that pretty young lady.
Timothy pushed Jane’s head away, and the wet point of his penis shone brightly in the flickering light. Belinda felt her body being overtaken by lust as she recalled how he had masturbated in the coach earlier that day. And now he sat on the tree stump with his cock pounding dramatically as it stood up from his lap. He kicked his trousers away from his ankles, gripped Jane by the wrist and pulled her towards him, causing her to utter a cry that was a mixture of alarm and excitement.
‘Right my girl!’ he cried. ‘Get that dress up high please!’
Jane obeyed immediately, pulling her full dress up to her waist, and Belinda and the other two saw her beautiful satiny white bottom fully displayed towards them. Her vagina was close to Timothy, and they saw him lean forward slightly and kiss her fluffy blonde pubic hairs briefly. He then pulled her down across his bare lap and settled her into position, which included grabbing her nearest hand and making her hold his prick as best as she could. Her face was close to the ground and she looked very serious as she keenly awaited this new sensation.
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!’