Free Belinda by Bryan Caine Page A

she hummed to herself her mind once again returned to Friday night, when she had consoled the beaten Jens. She felt her clitoris tingle as she remembered that long cock and its healthy meaty taste, but she had also been intrigued to notice that his hands were quite chunky, whereas those that had molested her in the night had been distinctly of a slender form, just as Thonnig’s were. But in spite of all her experiences in life, she found it hard to accept that such a devout man could have done such a thing. Perhaps he had done it in his sleep?
    Her thoughts were interrupted by Thonnig himself appearing and climbing down from his wagon, the first of the group to appear that morning. He was dressed of course, since they all slept in their clothes on the trail. She blushed as he approached, sure that he had been reading her thoughts.
    â€˜Come, please,’ he said, and walked out of the square to the greenery beside the trail.
    Belinda followed nervously, and when he stopped she caught him up.
    â€˜I need to urinate,’ he said in his guttural Danish voice.
    Belinda stared at him in astonishment. He looked irritated and pointed to his fly.
    â€˜We cannot use our hands,’ he said stiffly. ‘At home it is easy, we go naked in the house from midnight on Saturday to midnight on Sunday, so toilet is not a trouble. But here is not so easy, that is one reason why we have servant, yes?’
    Belinda was mortified, but felt she must comply. She stood behind him and reached around to undo his buttons.
    â€˜Hurry, please,’ he said quietly, and she rummaged inside and pulled out his cock. She knew immediately from where his son Jens had inherited his generous proportions.
    In all that had happened in her relatively short life, this was the most humiliating moment so far. Holding a penis was one thing, but to be such a personal body slave as to have to help a sombre religious maniac like Thonnig to urinate was so shameful that Belinda had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut to prevent the tears from rolling as her head pressed against his black smelly jacket.
    She aimed his penis away and felt it swell in her hand as it filled and jetted out noisily onto the rich wild grass. It was a long piss and at the end she had to shake it vigorously and put it away again before they walked back into the wagon square together.
    Belinda’s face was burning as she resumed her chores, and she was aghast at the thought that she would have to do the same – and worse – for the other members of the group. As she toiled away at her forlorn task of scrubbing the cooking pots with cold water and sand, she tensed when she saw one of the women come out of another wagon. But to her relief the chisel-faced female walked out of the square and disappeared for a few minutes. On her return she simply gave Belinda a look of contempt and climbed back into her canvas home.
    Obviously, thought Belinda, it’s only the men who will require assistance. The women presumably could manage without offending against their strange laws. But one by one the remaining men of the group surfaced, and they either ignored her or gave a look of scorn as she laboured on a Sunday. In each case they left the square for a couple of minutes and returned, putting the finishing touches to doing up their trouser buttons.
    As the last man returned from seeing to himself, Belinda pushed her hair out of her face with the back of her wrist as an angry suspicion gnawed away at her brain. Frowning, she looked round to glare in Thonnig’s direction, but she found he was already giving her a worried look and immediately and guiltily averted his gaze as she looked at him. She felt a little satisfaction when she observed a slight flush rise to his gaunt cheeks.
    So that was it. He was the monster whose hand had so cruelly tormented her in the night, knowing that his poor son Jens would get the blame if there was a complaint. But his perverted nature had slipped