Belinda (3 page)

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?'