Belinda (20 page)

She now had a good horse and adequate water, along with some foul-tasting food called pemmican. These had been gifts from the troopers and the Indian who had whipped her, it having transpired that he was the father of the girl the fiendish Colonel had used as additional spice whilst watching Belinda's punishment. She had been alarmed when the Captain, Sergeant, troopers and Indian had surreptitiously visited the shed where she had lain recovering for three days. Alarmed because one of the troopers had grinned and said ‘We just had a whip round for you', but her obvious fear was quickly quelled by the Captain explaining that the term meant they had held a collection amongst themselves to pay for a saddle and harness and a set of suitable clothing from the fort's trading post. The fine horse itself was a gift from the Indian, and he had personally escorted her away from the fort to set her in the right direction.

‘Are you sure you don't want anything for the horse?' she had repeatedly asked him, but he had been adamant that it was a gift. She had no money but still felt duty-bound to at least enquire as a means of expressing her appreciation. In fact, her covert glances at the tantalising protrusion in the front of his buckskins had her wishing he would extract some form of payment from her.

He finally left her and headed back to the fort. Her desire to cross the desert and get to Los Angeles drove her to ride for as many hours of the day and night as she could. This not only meant she covered the distance more quickly and helped her water supply go further, but it also reduced the time she had to spend sleeping on the ground; she had seen enough rattlesnakes as she rode along to find it a terrifying prospect every time she descended from the horse. She even deferred her toiletries as long as possible due to her dread of squatting defenceless and bare-bottomed over that hellish sand.

After a few days of this unpleasant terrain the sand started to mingle with clay and weeds and, at last, she was relieved and overjoyed to see a couple of spindly trees on a small hill about a mile to her left. With a hand shielding her eyes from the relentless sun and squinting through the rising heat haze she was overjoyed to discern what looked like a white church on that same hill. She spurred the horse forward with a dig of her heels and diverted from the main trail to seek help or comfort from that sanctuary.

The building was in the Spanish style, with a cross mounted on top of the bell tower. There was a well, similarly white, in front of large studded double doors. Elated at the prospect of some fresh water, Belinda dismounted and wound the handle until a full bucket appeared. Just the sound of the clear liquid slopping over the bucket's sides cooled her blood. She drank deeply, and then emptied the remainder into a trough for the horse.

Feeling invigorated she studied the silent building as it shimmered in the afternoon heat, and saw an inscription across the arched door.
Convent of the Sisters of Little Mercy
, it read in English. She was pleased to know it was a proper religious establishment, rather than something weird like the Danish sect, and she smiled at the name. Presumably it had been incorrectly translated from the Spanish and should have read
Convent of the Little Sisters of Mercy
. She was just wondering if it was in fact occupied when a small door set into the main portal opened and out stepped a smiling nun.

Slightly built, she looked sweet and peaceful in her black habit, and the face that beamed from the head covering was gentle and caring. She beckoned to Belinda, who tethered the horse by the trough and approached.

‘Please enter,' said the nun sweetly. ‘Someone will care for your horse shortly.'

As Belinda passed through the solid door she was surprised to find so much light inside, due to the building being constructed around an open central courtyard with a latticed roof to help cool the heat of the day. There were cloisters around the perimeter and various rooms between the cloisters and the main walls. The room at the far end appeared to be the chapel itself as it was larger than the rest and was ornately decorated. Belinda noticed there was a distinct lack of religious symbols, but thought little of it. An enormously long table took up a lot of the stone-flagged courtyard, and there were many other nuns at work there. Some were scrubbing the floor, some were preparing vegetables at the table, and others were sewing or washing clothes. They whispered quietly to each other, and an atmosphere of peace and tranquillity pervaded the scene. For a second Belinda thought that if it were not for her family commitments she could have happily ended her journey right there.

The nuns appeared not to notice her arrival, until her escort addressed them in a crystal clear voice.

‘Sisters, we have a visitor.'

At that they all stopped what they were doing and excitedly gathered around Belinda. They were all of about her age and beautiful, but again Belinda saw little significance in this. She was amused rather than alarmed when they started stroking her body and hair with murmurs of admiration. They felt the silky blouse and the rich wool of her long skirt, and whilst there was nothing improper in their attentions, Belinda was more than a little flustered to find that the situation and the gentle contact was beginning to arouse her. She would not have felt so much at ease had they been men, of course. But they were all very sweet and gentle, and Belinda felt relaxed and at peace.

Suddenly the cooing and touching stopped as an imperious voice boomed, ‘I see we have been blessed with a guest.'

All the nuns turned and looked towards the chapel, where a large and older nun stood. She too was dressed in the same traditional black and white habit, but her higher rank was symbolised by a string of large rosary beads hanging around her neck and an enormous starched headpiece that projected in every direction. Belinda detected that the other nuns held her in a high degree of awe.

‘You are called?' she asked Belinda, with a hint of a Spanish accent within a voice that was rich and deep.

‘No, no,' Belinda replied hurriedly. ‘I've just crossed the desert and I hoped I might be allowed some rest and shelter here before moving on. My horse and I are quite exhausted.'

The gathered nuns giggled like excitable schoolgirls at this silly answer.

‘No, my child,' said the dominant nun. ‘I meant, what are you called? What is your name?'

Belinda blushed deeply with embarrassment at her mistake as she told her.

‘Do you wish to sojourn with us a while, Belinda?' the nun enquired.

‘Yes please, sister,' she replied meekly, a little overawed by the woman's presence.

There was a gasp from the nuns and one of them whispered sharply to Belinda, ‘Salmacis! The name is Salmacis!'

Belinda's blush went from crimson to purple. ‘Sorry – Salmacis,' she corrected the error in little more than a whisper. ‘I didn't know that was your name.'

‘Do not worry child,' smiled the nun called Salmacis. ‘We all make mistakes from time to time. That is, after all, why most of us are here.' She clapped her hands sharply. ‘Sister Maria! Sister Dolores! Show our guest to a cell and make her feel at home. I will speak with you later, Belinda.'

The nun who had brought her into the convent and another one-stepped forward as the others drifted away, some with barely concealed disappointment. Obviously it would have been more fun to settle a visitor in than return to their chores.

As Salmacis swept away into another room beside the chapel Sisters Maria and Dolores guided Belinda to a small side room, which was indeed a cell. It was windowless and bare, with just a single narrow bed of rough wood covered with a thin blanket. The only light filtered from the central courtyard via a small barred window set in the door.

Once the door was closed the two nuns surprised Belinda by giggling and tickling her under the arms and on the back of the neck. In the half-light Belinda laughed at such good-natured fun, and didn't resist when the banter resulted in her being pushed down until she was lying back on the bed. The skirt rucked-up and nimble fingers raced over her stomach and up and down her legs from booted ankle to knee. Belinda, not too sure about all this but wanting to be polite, tried to tickle them in return but they were too fast for her and kept skipping back out of range. After a few minutes she stopped trying and simply lay on her back smiling up at the sisters. The three of them were slightly out of breath, and a strange electricity suddenly filled the tiny room. The laughter subsided and the smiles faded. Each of them knew what was to happen next. Sisters Maria and Dolores moved in close again, but this time their twinkling eyes had a glint of desire and intent in them. It was a look that Belinda recognised, but instead of being alarmed she found her heart thumping with suppressed excitement. The two nuns knelt beside the bed as though preparing to pray.

She did not resist when the resumed tickles turned to sensual caresses on her legs. As before, they worked their way beneath the skirt from her ankles to her knees, but this time they continued their journey as they intently watched her for any reaction. Sister Dolores eased Belinda's thighs apart and then cupped her vulva in her cool palm. She smiled slightly at Belinda's tiny gasp of pleasure, and pressed a little harder. At the same time Sister Maria undid Belinda's blouse and slipped her hands inside the silk to squeeze both her breasts. Though totally taken aback at this unexpected development Belinda smiled her sheepish encouragement, and urged her aching breasts up into the waiting hands. She suddenly stiffened and sighed, and Sister Maria licked her lips and watched avidly as her colleague's hidden hands started to work beneath the skirt.

Just as Belinda was beginning to think she was about to embarrass herself by coming in front of two such devout young ladies, the hands between her legs disappeared. She could not deny her deep disappointment. But they quickly returned at the hem of the skirt and began to fold it back. First her shapely calves were exposed, then her perfect thighs, and then the skirt was raised above her waist to show her full glory; her gentle fold peeping from its nest of chestnut hair. All three females sighed heavily as Maria bent to suck Belinda's nearest nipple into her mouth and Dolores stroked the damp chestnut curls with a strong middle finger. Once again Belinda soared towards her orgasm, and once again she was denied as the two nuns released her and swapped places. Dolores rolled Belinda's nipples between her fingers and thumbs whilst Maria bent low again to run the tip of her tongue up and down between Belinda's sex-lips until she was writhing ecstatically on the bed. She was loving the gentle female attention. Men had the advantage of possessing penises, but they all seemed to be so cruel. Some women were cruel too, she reminded herself, but nonetheless there was a tenderness about females in general that was appealing to her more and more.

Once again, and when she was least expecting it, the hands and mouth left her and the two nuns straightened up. They both gripped their habits and raised their eyebrows.

‘Yes…' pleaded Belinda softly in answer to their silent question. ‘Please…' She could not resist touching herself between her thighs as the habits slowly rustled higher and higher. Their thighs were like porcelain, and the tension had Belinda breathing deeply as the black garments approached crotch level. Feeling almost faint with excitement she held her orgasm back, ready to let it explode as soon as the erotic vision of the nuns' vaginas came into view.

To Belinda's eternal shame the only explosion that did come was caused by the cell door crashing open to reveal, framed in the doorway, a furious-looking Salmacis.

That evening at sunset the mortified Belinda was taken from her cell and delivered to Salmacis. The austere nun was sitting on a wooden throne in the room next to the chapel, which appeared to be there for private worship. Sisters Maria and Dolores were standing at each side of the throne, their heads bowed in shame.

‘You may leave us,' Salmacis said to the nun who had collected Belinda. The door closed and the domineering nun sat studying Belinda for a long and unsettling period. ‘Are you ashamed of yourself, Belinda Hopeworth?' she finally asked.

‘Why should I be?' replied Belinda defiantly.

‘Because you enter our home,' her tone was strong but calm, ‘and within minutes you are frolicking with two of my sisters.'

‘They started it.'

Sister Maria looked up. ‘That is not true, dear Salmacis—'

‘Silence!' snapped the nun, raising her hands. ‘I will not have such bickering in my house!'

Belinda had nothing further to say. She fiddled uncomfortably with the front of her skirt.

‘Kneel,' ordered Salmacis with undeniable authority. Belinda was about to ask why she should do anything she was told, when she decided it would probably be better to appease her quickly and then get away as soon as she was able. She knelt just in front of the nun's knees with her head bowed. From beneath her eyelashes she saw the knees part. ‘Come closer…' she heard. She hesitated a moment, and then shuffled forward until surprisingly sturdy thighs gripped her sides. Her breasts squashed against the seat of the throne and hands lay her head on the lap against which she was tightly pinned.

‘You know you must be punished for your wantonness, don't you?' came the rich voice. So should the two nuns, thought Belinda, they started it all. She tried to respond but the hands held her head firmly, and when they sensed her resistance subsiding they gently stroked her hair. ‘It is for your own good.' The voice was almost hypnotic. Belinda breathed deeply and relaxed. She sensed movement, and then felt her skirt being raised. The still air was cool on her thighs and bottom. She knew what to expect, and clenched Salmacis' habit in readiness.