BELINDA – BY MARGARET STUBBS
She was a quiet girl. Far too quiet for her own pleasure. Deep in her private thoughts, she imagined all the exquisite excitement she might have known had she been more relaxed, more out going and less quiet. Still, none of her fantasies of what might have been explained the sudden rush of sexual quivering. It was probably nothing more than a lonely man advertising for a local whore.
She had read the advertisement over and over. The morning had zapped past whilst she pondered – reached for the phone, punched in half the number then replaced the hand-set and returned to her thoughts. She had lost count of how many times she had half contemplated the number. If the feelings within her grew any stronger, she knew she would have to give in to one of the three choices open to her. She could either run up to her room and do the thing she often did when she felt like this – bringing herself to that glorious place of release, tear up the advert and get on with her day, or complete the number and to hell with the quiet shy life.
Once again she read the advertisement.
`Applications are invited for the position of female slave, The successful applicant will be aged between twenty-five and forty, attractive, slim and intelligent. She will be obedient and willing to perform any task requested by her master, and at any time’.
And then there was the telephone number.
Belinda turned the paper to hide the advertisement, slid quietly from the chair and climbed the stairs to her room – gathering a warm dry towel from the bathroom and taking the giant bottle of baby lotion from the shelf – she crossed the landing and entered her bedroom.
Mid afternoon in Glastree Crescent was never any less quiet or boring than the mornings. Fresh from a hot bath, Belinda wrapped herself into a white towelling bathrobe to protect herself from the ambient chill of the kitchen. Slipping the edge of a large cup, her gaze fell once more on that telephone number.
Michael had planned for this moment. He had invested time and money into this very second. It isn’t easy concealing one’s identity when one is acting but a clandestine fantasy. There is a venue to secure, furnishings and equipment to purchase and install. The landlord hadn’t questioned his desire to pay so much rent in advance; he had only shown delight at the sight of hard currency.
The phone rang sharply. Belinda cursed the drips of hot chocolate that spilled onto her robe from the tilted cup. Without uttering a sound, she listened, then replaced the receiver – her usual practice when bothered by uninvited tele-sales personnel. The annoying call had momentarily disturbed that wonderful sensation when one is slowly recovering from ecstasy, slowly sinking past cloud eight and closing in on cloud seven. Yet dearly wishing for a firm blast of hot air to gather you up and reach into those exquisitely sensitive edges of your nervous system. Then plunging you downward and upwards, left and right before finally soaring you up, up, up onto cloud nine yet again. She grabbed the phone, punched in both code and number and held her breath…
Michael drew a long slow breath, composed himself and stepped straight into his alter ego. `Yes!’
Belinda froze. She could neither speak nor replace the telephone. To her disbelief the first delicate trembling of totally uncontrolled and involuntary orgasm shook her thought process, causing all breath to leave her lungs.
He spoke with a strong purpose… `Yes! – Hello?’
Mike replaced the receiver – cursing himself for not having realised that there would be nutters, nuisance callers, odd people who would dial his number and then stay silent – but then he heard it, that faint whisper of a feminine voice.
He drew the phone quickly back against his ear. `Yes, hello. Who is this?’
`I’m reading your newspaper advert.’
`Well I wondered if you could give me some details…’
Belinda cursed herself for sounding so utterly stupid. Mike, however, held his character.
`More details? – I would have thought it quite obvious. Are you obedient, willing to fulfil my wishes and commands, do you fit the description and are you applying for the position?’
Belinda was flying, speeding uncontrollably along a dark tunnel, her heart was pumping; sweat began to trickle down her forehead, armpits and across her palms.
`Yes, yes – er – and yes!’
`Where are you, what’s your name and how long will it take you to get to Surbiton?’
`Of course NOW!
Michael was enjoying this moment very much.
`Er – I’m in Leatherhead – about half an hour I suppose.’
`It’s three o’clock – be here by two minutes to four!’
`Take down this address.’
`I don’t have a pencil!’
The shaking girl looked around her; each nanosecond seemed to last for an hour.
`Well GET ONE!’
Michael’s knees were wobbling but he knew the importance of this moment was vital!
Belinda tugged to remove her free hand from its sticky resting place. It was stuck trapped. She half stood, opened her thighs and dragged at her arm. Her robe fell open, slipped off her shoulders and down to her elbows. She cursed herself. Fighting free, she stretched the curled telephone cable across the table, changed hands and grabbed a pen from the mantelpiece.
`I’ve got one…’
`Well thank goodness for that!’
Belinda scribbled and confirmed each line as she wrote and then stared at the ear piece as Michael barked that she should not be late – before abruptly hanging up.
The stunned girl gazed at the extraordinary tangle and mess. She was naked. Her robe now dangled inside out from the telephone cable, one end disappearing unbelievably into the wrist of the right sleeve and even more unbelievably, appearing again from the neck! Her cup of hot chocolate was spilled over the table and onto the floor. God how she needed relief.
The excited girl dashed up the stairs and grabbed the baby-lotion, leapt onto her bed and squeezed a generous amount on her hands and spread-eagled herself over the beckoning sheet. She was there for just a brief moment before floating into her favourite place.
She knew she should have taken those extra few seconds to go back into the house and get the map. She couldn’t ask anyone, they’d know, they’d realise. It would be obvious. A bored, lonely girl, asking for directions in the middle of the afternoon! It would be that horrid moment again – that moment after the ‘first time’ when the whole world knew you had just done it. And the first period, that’s the worst of all. Everyone knows you’ve got the curse! You can feel them staring at you. And now she was going to be late – the very thing he had told her specifically would make him angry, reducing her chances of becoming his slave. And then she saw it! The road name, by chance she had arrived at the right place and only a few moments late!
She parked the car and stepped onto the pavement; her legs bowed under the weight of her slight body. Her knees braced in an attempt not to bow completely and collapse like some antique rag doll. Each step towards the alley became more difficult. Her legs were full of heavy lead and her ears boomed with the noise of pumping blood. At last she slumped against the door frame, bit her bottom lip nervously and pressed the bell push.
Michael glanced around the room. Everything was in place, the folding screen was across the far corner, the radio was tuned and the volume set. A quick check in the mirror – into character and slowly (musn’t rush) down the stairs.
The door opened. Michael was taller than she had expected, she had imagined him to be no more than five seven or eight. She hadn’t considered that he might be dressed totally in black – black suede shoes, tight black trousers, black roll neck sweater and black blazer.
He turned and walked with purpose up the staircase, Belinda trotted behind in her childlike attempt at not getting lost. By the time she entered the lounge he had seated himself and crossed his legs. She stood vacantly in the doorway.
How could he just sit there and ignore her? Belinda drew a deep breath and stepped towards one of the three sofas surrounding the coffee table, forming a peripheral square, completed by the huge fireplace on the fourth side. She slowly lowered her behind towards the comfort of the cushion.
`Did I say you could sit?’
The half terrified, half orgasmic creature raised herself back upright,
`Come here and be quiet – I’m listening to the radio.’
Belinda crossed the short distance to his chair and stood obediently looking at him, awaiting his next bark.’
`Turn around! I have no wish to look at your face Barbara!’
`I’m Belinda.’ she mumbled.
Oh shit! She didn’t have a clue how to behave, she hadn’t a clue what was expected of her. She wished she could just go back up to her room and spread another handful of baby lotion over her aching breasts and other, more urgently suffering bodily parts. Anything rather than this.
`Are you wearing underclothes?’
`Go behind the screen and take them off.’
Should she run, should she dash screaming from the flat, would her legs actually carry her that far? What was she doing? This couldn’t be happening! Her wetness embarrassed her.
She quietly laid her best under-wired bra on the chair behind the screen and refastened her shirt buttons. The clock within her ticked faster and faster during the moments of decision. Should she step out of her tights and pants? Should she expose her utmost secret to the air of the room, to his knowledge? Even if he didn’t look, didn’t check, he would know that she had obeyed and presented her body to him, naked in all but her denim shirt and black mini-skirt. She would know that he knew! That was the real matter for her mind to grapple with. He would know that she had made herself naked and ready for whatever he had planned and she would know that he knew! A total and absolute gift from her to him based on his command, and she didn’t even know him. Fucking hell! She hadn’t even been allowed to sit down, didn’t know his name, hadn’t a clue who he was or what he might be. Yet here she was sliding her tights and pants to the ground, leaving her little pussy completely exposed to this stranger and his weird fantasy.
Belinda crossed to the chair and stood, once more, with her back to the seemingly disinterested Michael.
`Spread your legs, place your hands on your head and look up to the ceiling – now!’
Belinda found herself obeying without question – why? She didn’t know, all self control had been removed, stolen, taken away by force, and yet there had been no force.
A hand gently touched something! A soft gentle hand, a warm hand. She half turned. The bastard! He wasn’t even looking at what he was doing! He was intently listening to the radio whilst using her as one would a kitten, a fluffy toy, a set of worry beads, a doll! She pulled away.
`OBEDIENT! – My advertisement specifically requested applicants to be obedient!’
She would have apologised, the apology began to form on her lips but too late. He barked…
`Undo your skirt, lay over the arm of the sofa and present yourself.’
Once again Belinda obeyed, not knowing why. It was as if someone had taken control of her brain. Michael stepped forward before she could do anything more than lower the side zip holding the skirt’s fabric together. Two hands grabbed the hem and pulled the flimsy garment to the ground, then shoved her forward across the padded arm. He then placed a firm hand into the small of her back, forcing her downward and into the upholstery of the settee, and then brought his right hand down, open handed, across her buttocks.
The girl’s legs shot out sideways forcing her weight even deeper into the upholstery. Her stomach and the sofa arm forming the only support, stopping her from collapsing completely.
His open hand compressed her flesh, throwing great ripples of shivering, hitherto rock firm bottom skin, outward, in every direction from the point of painful contact. Belinda scarcely had time to draw half breaths before the next of many, many chastising blows fell onto her helpless and self exposed flesh.
THWAP! SPLAT! SMACK!
Michael had realised the most important part of his fantasy, she had come to him willingly. She had exposed herself for his touch without even knowing him. She had gladly obeyed and spread herself on his command, over the sofa for punishment, and now, now she was taking it and he was giving it. He gazed at the flesh, the form, the exposed inventory of girlish parts – the obvious invitation of wetness. She could not hide her pleasure from his gaze, and wonderfully, she didn’t even know whether or not he was looking right into the shadows of her secret.
The hand continued falling forcefully. Twaaack! He could contain himself no more, he had to make certain that she knew how exposed she was. This would be the ultimate.
`Get up! Stand up!’
Belinda obeyed without question.
`Spread your legs and bend over.’
What was he going to do? She didn’t even care any more. Her ecstasy had reached a peak and was still zooming upward out of control.
`I said spread them – wide! – Now touch your toes!’
His hand forced into her lower back once more, pushing her opened cheeks upwards, towards his eye-line – and she knew it. She could feel the physical reality of his stare searching right up inside her. And now! Now he had pushed the denim up and over her head, turning the shirt inside out and down her arms – hood like, trapping her whole upper body within it. His gaze was all over her like a flood of burning heat. She was certain she could feel his eyes touching her, following the contours of her bare breasts, buttocks, thighs and more, much more.
`What the hell! She exploded in orgasm. He had stung her bottom with something. A bee? A wasp? Whatever it was she wanted more, more and more – at least until this continuous orgasmic climax finished.
Michael raised and flipped the cane fifteen or sixteen times onto the willing young buttocks before deciding to take a rest.
`Top of the stairs – on the right. Go!
Belinda climbed the stairs holding her criss-crossed glowing bottom. The door opened into a small, bare room. There was a wooden bed on which lay a thin hard mattress. The floor was of simple bare boards. She threw herself onto the bed, spread herself out and began slowly running her hands across her neck, down over her breasts, pausing for some moments at their peak and then moving on downward – gradually floating back past cloud seven, up towards cloud eight and then exploding in all directions leading to cloud nine. She had arrived. And then she saw it. How come she hadn’t noticed it when she entered the room? She felt ashamed and abused, yet excited in the knowledge that she had just performed the most personal and private of all sexual acts, right in front of his obviously eager eyes. Performed it with vigour and total enthusiasm, right in front of his closed circuit television camera. He had planned all of this and she had willingly invited herself into the spiders web – and then created and performed her own orgasm just for him.
Michael smiled in self satisfaction. It was good watching Belinda bring herself to such a height of relief, especially in the knowledge that it was he who had been the cause of her excitement, that she had not been aware of him watching her do it and that he was now in total control of both her mind and body. He reached forward, turned off the closed circuit television monitor off, gathered up his collections of canes, whips, tawses, martinets and paddles before heading for the stairs. He began his preparatory thought process… I don’t believe I gave her permission to have an orgasm. I must start the way I mean to carry on.
Michael’s voice travelled up the stairs and filled Belinda’s ears… `Belinda! Bare your bottom, bend over the foot of the bed and prepare yourself for the thrashing of your life.’
They say that a woman, unlike the average man, can be made ready for an additional orgasm very shortly after her last. Belinda readied herself and was indeed anxious to receive whatever Michael had in mind. Her own mind filled with nothing but anticipation of her next climatic spasm. She would come this way again.