Read Online Belinda by Bryan Caine - Free Book Online Page A

Liverpool and in America. Perhaps it was some divine punishment for her family’s crime. But here on the trail she was treated as one of the group, and the others shared the chores with her equally. She had no sensation of being a servant and developed a certain affection for the strange sect. There were, however, two incidents that livened up the monotony of the early days of that ever-westward journey.
    Due to lack of space Belinda had to sleep in the open, though she was well provided with enough blankets to make this a pleasure rather than a penance. But on the Thursday, just as dusk had eaten away the last of the daylight, there was a sudden cloudburst and everyone scrambled for their wagons. Anna, the wife of Thonnig, the man who had given her the job, shouted at Belinda to get in with them quickly, and Belinda scurried to jump aboard and throw herself into the tiny space which was already full with the prone bodies of the two adults as well as the teenage boy of the group, their son Jens. He too usually slept outside but had leapt in ahead of the others when the storm broke. It was pitch black in the tiny wagon, and Belinda had no idea which body was which as she squeezed uncomfortably between them.
    In spite of the discomfort, they all soon fell asleep as the rain lashed outside and the wind whipped through the canvas of the wagon. But in the middle of the night Belinda woke with a start to feel a hand gripping her leg just above the knee. She knew it was no accident because the hand was under her long skirt, and as she lay there hardly breathing, the hand moved further up her thighs. She had no idea whether it was the father or the son, but she dared not move or cry out for fear of causing trouble. She would have simply removed the hand from her leg but her arms were trapped by the press of bodies, and to move them would have caused a disturbance. Her experience of life so far told her that whatever happened she would be the one who was blamed.
    Having made that decision, she further decided that she had no choice but to lie back until this horrible little incident was over, and still pretending to be asleep, she found herself unwittingly luxuriating in the tickling sensation as the roughened fingertips stroked their way higher and higher. Her breathing became difficult to control as those illicit fingers brushed the lips of her sensual vulva, and she once again desperately tried to work out which of them was doing it, though without success. She gave up and settled back for what had now become a lovely secret fondling when she gave a sudden sharp gasp. The intruding fingers, after first exploring inside her moist pit, now gripped those sensitive lips and pinched them, quite hard at first but then with increasing viciousness until it was all she could do to stop herself crying out. The fingers were so strong that she felt her vagina was being crushed by a pair of pliers, and she wanted nothing more than to relieve the agony by screaming loudly. Her secret tormentor relaxed the vicious grip for a few moments to play with her clitoris and explore inside, but just as Belinda was beginning once more to relax and savour the sensations the hand suddenly grabbed her entire vulva and twisted it savagely. Belinda could stand no more and was just about to shriek out her agony when the hand suddenly released its grip and slid gently back down to just above her knee. Once there it gave one firm pinch and then disappeared.
    Belinda spent most of the next day carefully studying Thonnig and Jens for a clue as to which one it had been, but eventually gave up the exercise as futile. It did amuse her to think that at least one of this dedicated religious group had done such a thing, but then she recalled that some of the gentlemen in England who used to pay her to be beaten had been men of the cloth.
    On the very next evening the tranquil life on the trail was disturbed yet again. The four wagons were in their usual square