This story is for persons of eighteen years or over. All comments, good or bad are welcome and all will be answered.
Chapter One
When I first saw Belle, she was in the gutter being savagely beaten by some young black guy. It was three o'clock in the morning and I was on my way home, it was raining and I had my head down and didn't see them till the last minute.
Now it was something I didn't like to see at any time, a man beating a woman, the short skirt and stockings, torn, told me this and so I quickly moved off the pavement and belted him behind his right ear.
He hadn't heard me because of the rain and went down, falling over her groaning body but still picked himself up and I heard the click of a swing blade knife. I couldn't see his right hand but as that was the fist he'd used to punch the girl I assumed it was in this hand that he held the knife.
I was right as I caught a glint of the blade in the poor street lighting as his arm came up from below his knee. It would have gutted me if I hadn't turned my body at the last minute as I grabbed his wrist with my left hand. My right hand came up under his right elbow as the side of my body slammed into him. He didn't have time to think as I pushed his wrist down with my left hand and pulled his elbow up with the other.
He gave out a scream as this joint broke and I heard the knife clatter onto the road. I let go of his arm and put my right hand up under his chin and pushed his head with my left while pulling at his jaws in the opposite direction. His scream was cut off as I broke his neck and I caught him as he fell against me.
The street we were in was of late Victorian style with steps from the pavement leading down to now basement flats that used to be servants quarters in the old days. I half carried him across the pavement to where a gate was open of one of these steps and pushed him through and watched his body tumble down to the bottom.
They hadn't picked the best place for the fight for it was right next to some road works and so the gutter was filled with mud as well as water. She was lying down in this filth and she gave out a groan as I rolled her over onto her back prior to picking her up.
Her hair was matted with the mud and water, her face looked swollen in that light and I could see that one eye was already swelling up making her look like Quasimodo and her lower lip was bleeding. Her blouse was torn almost in half and one breast was out of its cup. Her short skirt was almost up to her waist and I could see her coloured panties and stocking tops, the stockings themselves having large holes and runs in them. Her shoes were lying in the gutter along with her bag, the loop of which I put my arm through and stuffed her shoes into the pockets of my jacket along with the knife.
I pulled her up into a sitting position and put my arms under her armpits and heaved her upright and swung her over my shoulder. She wasn't heavy but then I'm not a weakling and so it was easy to stand up and I set off at a fast walking pace with her draped over me to flop about and groan at every step I took.
It wasn't far to the corner of this street leading into the square where I lived and within three or four minutes, I was getting the key out of my trouser pocket and opening the front door. I kicked the door shut with my heel, treading on the usual junk mail that one's forever getting put through the letter box. I carried her straight upstairs and took her into the bedroom that was next to mine. I didn't want to lay her on the bed in the state she was in so I gently lowered her down onto the carpet before I turned the light on.
She looked even worse now. One eye was completely closed and the other was swelling up fast. She had a large bruise on her cheek and she had also been cut on the upper lip as well as the bottom one. Her brassiere must have snapped for it was just a dirty mess of cloth down by her side and I could see bruises to her chest and shoulder.
I went to the dresser which held an old bowl and jug that wasn't really an antique but was of the style they used in the days when they didn't have bathrooms. I'd had this house converted and all the bedrooms now had en suite bathrooms off of each room. I took the bowl, leaving the jug there and went into the bathroom and ran the bath tap to get some hot water.
With a flannel and towel, I carried the bowl into the bedroom and set it down next to her head and began to carefully wash the mud and dirt from her face. This screwed up at the first touch and I think she must have fainted or passed out for it then relaxed and made it easier for me to wash. I then did the best I could to her hair, getting as much of the mess out as I could and that would have to suffice until she could wash it herself later.
The blouse came off easily as did the bra and I managed to get her up into a sitting position to wash her back before washing her front, taking care again of the bruises that were now really beginning to show. The skirt came off easily enough; half pulling her panties down which I tugged back up again as they looked clean enough. The suspender belt was taken off as well as her stockings and I washed her legs and feet and dried her as best I could.
Finished, I stood up and pulled back the covers of the bed and picked her up, still unconscious, and laid her down on the clean sheet and covered her up and tucked her in. I dumped her filthy clothes in the bath and emptied and cleaned the bowl and replaced it on the dresser with the jug standing inside. The towel and flannel I threw into the bath with her clothes and with one last look at her lying there in the bed, turned out the light and went off to my own room.
I noticed then that my clothes now were not as clean as they should be, the shoulder, back and front of my jacket being muddied. As well as that being wet, both my shirt and trousers were too. I stripped off and went and had a shower before getting into my own bed to sleep.
I lay there in the dark and mused over what had happened. The fact that I'd just killed a man didn't worry me in the slightest. He wasn't the first one I'd done that to and I suppose, knowing my nature, he wouldn't be the last either. I assumed, though I wouldn't know till the morning, that she was a hooker and that he was her pimp, but that didn't give him the right to beat her up as he had been doing. It was all very well being the white knight coming in on a charger and rescuing a damsel in distress but what was one going to do with her in the morning? With this problem thought going through my mind, I fell asleep.
My name is James Henri Deauville, late of the Castle Deauville in Somerset, the family seat and home of the Earl of Brue, named after the river that flows by the castle. I'm the second son, two years younger than my brother Edward and one year older than my sister Francoise.
Ever since Edward understood that he would be the next Earl of Brue, he lorded it over me and my sister. Snooty smug bastard was always throwing this up in my face and being a bully at the same time. He made my early years hell at the private school we both went to. That was why I took up judo and later karate till one day when he sent me into a murderous mood, I near killed him as I finally snapped. Fortunately for me, the fight wasn't witnessed and so I didn't get expelled even though he was in hospital for two weeks.
My academic record wasn't good up to the age of sixteen until Edward left and then I seemed to pick up and did well for my last two years there. Following the traditions of hundreds of years while being the second son I had the choice of the clergy or the army. Having tupped most of the female staff at the castle since I was thirteen years of age I would probably have turned queer if I'd gone into the church so I went into the army.
After six years of learning how to kill people with anything from the bare hands up to the heaviest weapon that could be carried, I left. I'd refused NCO stripes and also the offer to join the Officer Cadet classes and stayed with the rank and file where I could blow off steam when I wanted to by bare knuckle fighting. I must admit that I'm quite good looking, five foot ten and solidly built but agile and fit as a fiddle. I managed to have these fights and not finish up with a broken nose or a scarred face. The judo and karate lessons had helped me immensely what with the army also showing you how to handle yourself in unarmed combat.
I killed my first man while on a posting to Germany. That was a bar room brawl and it was never pinned on me. The next two were in England; both fights were over a woman for I could never see the reason of a fully grown man battering a helpless woman. Again I escaped being identified and now I had just killed my fourth one and it would be unlikely for me to come under any suspicion for it would be assumed that he fell down the basement steps and broke his own neck.
I said earlier that I was late of the Castle of Brue and that was because I refused to go back there to be lorded over again by my brother and it appeared that my father took his side in all things where it concerned me. I only saw my sister when she paid a rare visit to London.
Though I'd blacklisted myself from the castle, I wasn't without means. My mother who died when I was fifteen had made over to me a substantial amount of money and also a house that had belonged to her mother and father in Hanover Square and also the one that she owned and used when she was in London and that was in Bedford Square where I was at present staying.
Now I am a man of moods and sometimes spates of irrationality and when like that, I move into Bedford Square as opposed to Hanover Square. It was from here that I would make forays into the East End of London and go to pubs that privately held bare knuckle fighting out in the back yard. I was always impeccably dressed and when I announced that I would fight, I would always undress and carefully fold up my clothes and I, knowing that I would fight that night, wear a pair of tight leotard type of underwear and be bare footed. This earned me the nickname of Gentleman Jim after the famous fighter of the last century.
I had been doing this off and on over the past two years, fighting bare fisted wearing only this leotard and as of yet, unbeaten so I was always on short odds now. When I was seen to enter one of these pubs, the word quickly went round and I would soon have a contender to fight in the yard.
There was only one rule apart from the one minute stoppage after every five and that was you did not kill the opponent. Fists, elbows, head, knees and feet could be used though a broken wrist or arm usually ended the fight that could last five minutes or go on for an hour.
As I said, I, up until now, had not lost a fight and I would sluice myself down from a water barrel after a fight and be given a towel to dry myself before getting dressed again. I didn't know it had become known that I always, surreptitiously or so I thought, gave half of my winnings to the man I had just defeated and so earned the nickname given to me.
As you will have gathered now that I am twenty six years of age and a man of independent means who didn't have to work for a living. I had this house of eight bedrooms in Bedford Square and one of ten in Hanover Square and I lived off the interest of the money that was in the bank. I worked out regular to keep fit and didn't indulge myself with a lavish life style or overeat and was quite happy to live alone.
There was only one person I was really in contact with and that was Jock McGregor, a Scot that I was in the army with. We'd had many a fight just to let off steam and became very good friends. He was now living in London and he always seemed to find me when I went out looking for a good fight.
That was basically my life until I literally picked up Belle from the gutter.
I got up next morning and with just a dressing gown on, looked into Belle's room and saw that she was still sleeping and left her there knowing that sleep was the best thing for her at this time. I went down to my small gym, a room that I had converted on the ground floor, and spent an hour doing various exercises and working up a good sweat before having a shower, having had a cubicle installed in my small gym. After this I went back upstairs and got dressed.
I cooked and ate breakfast and then made some more coffee and took this up to Belle, adding some Paracetamol to the tray. This time she stirred when I entered the room and she looked a damn sight worse this morning that she had when I washed her the night before. One eye was completely closed and the other one half. There was a livid black and blue bruise going red around the edges on her left cheek and both of her lips were puffed up and swollen. I couldn't see the rest of her body for it was still covered up by the sheet.
Christ!' was the first word she slurred through those thick lips. The bastard really hurt me this time.' I could see her struggling to get the one eye open and it was only a thin glitter that I could see. `Who are you?'
James Deauville,' I replied, and you are here, safe in my house.'
`Where's Errol?' she asked with some anxiety in her voice as her head went from side to side. I assumed that this was the name of the man who had been beating her up.
You don't have to worry about him,' I said. He fell down some steps and broke his neck.'
Good,' she said and closed her eye. God I feel awful. As though I've been run over by a truck.'
`I've some coffee here and some Paracetamol if you would like some?'
`Yes please,' she mumbled. I had thoughtfully put a couple of straws on the tray for there was no way she was going to be able to hold a cup to her mouth. She struggled to move and I helped her up into a sitting position, the sheet falling away to reveal her breasts, which were quite full and would be a real handful, and the bruises that were now quite apparent. With one hand supporting her back, I placed two tablets between her lips and held the cup with the other, guiding the straw to her lips. She greedily sucked at this and gave a gulp as she swallowed the tablets and sucked up half of the cup of coffee before pulling her head back.
I eased her back down onto her back and couldn't help but look at her breasts as she did so.
Thank you,' she whispered. For the coffee and helping me last night,' and she closed that eye and seemed to drift off again. I reluctantly covered her up again and went downstairs with the tray. I turned on the radio to listen to the news but there wasn't any mention of the black man's body being found. I tried reading the newspaper but my thoughts kept going back to the woman's bare breasts up there in that bedroom next to mine.
I hand fed her that afternoon with soup, having broken up some bread to add to the bowl, glad to see that her lips were losing their puffiness. She had two bowls before she said enough and gave me a semblance of a smile.
I need the toilet,' she then said and I wasn't sure what to do about this. Can you help me out of bed?' she asked and that was all that I could do. She was a bit wobbly on her feet at first and I helped her into the bathroom and didn't seem to mind that I could see her almost naked. I stood her with her back to the pan and she used her hands to slide her panties down and nearly fell over, but I steadied her and helped her to sit down.
`Aaaaah,' she sighed as she let her waters flow and you could visibly see the tenseness drain out of her as her shoulders went down at the relief of being able to empty her bladder.
`Can you pass me some toilet paper please,' she asked without the slightest sign of embarrassment at me being there while she did this intimate thing. I tore off a yard or so, not knowing how many pieces a woman used to wipe themselves after having a pee. She smiled her thanks, though it looked more like a grimace as she took the paper and put it between her thighs to wipe herself.
I helped her to stand up and pulled up her panties for her, my nose quite close to the bush that I hadn't seen the night before.
`Are they my clothes?' she asked, looking at the heap in the bath.
`Yes. Rather dirty and most not fit to wear anymore.'
`Did...did you, er, see to me last night?'
`Well I'm not quite sure on what your definition of seeing to you means, but if I am reading your question right, yes. I got you away from that man and brought you here. You were a right mess and I washed you and put you to bed. As to the male definition of seeing to you, the answer is no. Nor did I take advantage of you either if you didn't quite understand what I meant.'
`Thank you,' she said as I helped her to move out of the bathroom but she stopped when she saw the mirror and I felt her sag a little as she saw what she was really looking like.
Oh Christ!' she whispered as she saw herself in the mirror with that one eye. He really went to town on me this time, didn't he?'
Well he won't anymore,' I said, pulling her away from the mirror and out into the bedroom. He's done this before?' I asked as I led her back to bed.
`Yes, but not as bad as this,' she said quite calmly I thought.
`Well he won't anymore,' I said again as I helped her into bed, her breast brushing my arm as she got in.
`He didn't fall down the steps did he? You killed him.' It was flatly stated and there was only one reply I could give to that.
`Yes, but we won't talk about it now. Just you get some rest and we'll talk later.' I tucked her back up and left the room, my insides full of turmoil to try and answer several questions that were then now crowding into my mind. It was her breasts that kept coming up in my mind and I could see through the puffed up eyes and swollen lips that she was also a very beautiful woman and it was beginning to affect me.
I went and had a shower but that didn't help me as I again tried to read the newspaper downstairs, my mind going off at a tangent of that woman lying upstairs in bed. I got through to the evening and cooked myself a meal which turned out to be tasteless before I prepared a simple dinner for her, scrambled eggs and soft buttered bread which I knew she would be able to swallow without too much movement of the mouth which I knew from experience, would be a trial in itself.
She was awake when I went up with the tray which also included some orange juice freshly squeezed for that was the way that I preferred it as opposed to the container type that was sold in most shops.
Hello,' she said with a lopsided smile, one half of her face coming back towards its normal state. I thought you'd forgotten about me.' It was these few simple words that hit me the most for she, in spite of how she looked now, was somehow something very special to me. I cannot remember what I said in reply but set down the tray and helped her to sit up in the bed again, my eyes being drawn once again to the breasts that were revealed to me. She saw where my eyes had lingered and she smiled but didn't say anything at the time.
She was now able to sit up on her own and she balanced the tray on her lap and was able to feed herself with the forkfuls of scrambled eggs and nibble at the buttered bread fingers. The orange juice was easy with the straw except when the pith blocked the end of the tube which I cleared for her.
Thank you again,' she said, I think you did tell me your name but I can't remember what it was.'
`It's James. James Deauville,' I said quite happily sitting there on the edge of the bed to see her sitting up with the sheets around her waist.
Thank you James, thank you. My name is Belle. Belle Towers. My father had a weird sense of humour,' she said in a way of apology for what she had been named. Though most people call me Dumb Belle.'
`What?' I said, not really believing what she had just said.
`Dumb Belle. That's what they call me. It's because most people think I'm a bit thick, but it's really because I always seem to speak with my mouth before my brain gets into gear. It quite often drops me in the shit like the other night. I told him, Errol, where to get off.'
`Was he your boyfriend?'
`Hell no! He was my pimp!'
Now that rocked me back on my heels that she was implying that she was a prostitute.
That...that black fucker was your pimp?' I asked astounded that this grotesque figure before me that I believed was quite beautiful beneath was in fact a whore. Then I'm glad I killed him.'
`You said he fell down some steps! I remember you saying that quite distinctively.'
`Well, I've never really taken to men who bash women about. He pulled a knife on me and that was it. I dumped him down some steps and it will be thought that he fell on his own and broke his neck,' I said quite lamely at the finish.
`You actually killed the bastard because of what he was doing to me?' she asked in awe.
`Well, I just didn't like what he was doing to you,' I said in my own feeble defence.
Well I think it was a very gallant action,' and she reached up and pulled my head down to hers and kissed me. Then she cried out and recoiled and I thought it was something to do with me but she had put her hands up to her lips and her eyes had pain in them. Bloody hell,' she said as her tongue flicked out and ran round her lips. They still hurt.' She saw the look of anguish in my eyes and laughed. It wasn't you, it was just that I didn't realise how sore my lips were.'
I accepted this and asked her if she'd have enough to eat and drink to which she replied that what she'd had was fine. I then left her stammering that I hoped she would be much better in the morning and I cursed myself after I had left the bedroom for being so tongue tied.
I'd fucked my first woman when I was thirteen, in one of the many rooms in the castle. She had been at least six years older than me and was most happy to take the cherry from one such as me. That she was one of the maids made no difference to me for I didn't know then that what one of the masters of the castle wanted, he got. By the time I'd gone through most of the female staff, including the odd girl that worked in the stables, I began to get the come on from some of the male servants to which I declined. I found out later what I had missed in having male sex at that time.
But it was Belle that put me back to being once again a trembling adolescent facing his first time at being given the opportunity of having sex with a person of the opposite sex. I'd now seen her almost naked, well, except from that brief glimpse of when she'd gone to urinate.
She'd aroused me I must admit, but I didn't know quite how I should behave. I'd taken her in as a Samaritan and now I felt that for some reason she might reward me for my endeavours by giving me her body.
I left her in some confusion and took the tray and dirty plate and glass downstairs and washed them up. I also had to have a large brandy as I tried to get my thoughts together. I, two nights ago had killed a man saving a woman from a beating who had turned out to be a pimp chastising a whore of his stable.
I wasn't that green to know that this kind of thing happened in the city that there were many of his ilk that lived off the immoral earnings of women under their control. That Belle should be one such person didn't seem to jell with me at all. To me she was just a woman being savagely abused by a man and it was that that made me act as I did. That old Chinese saying crept into my mind that if you ever save a person from death, you are responsible for them for life. The other side of this coin was that they then were beholden to you for the same period.
I had liked that impulsive kiss that she had given me even though it had hurt physically to give it, it was the thought behind it that troubled me. I didn't want her to think that she should be beholden to me for many reasons and when I tried to count those reasons, I only came up with two. One was that I liked my life as it was without the complication of a woman and the second was what would she want from me? These things and others were being tossed about in my mind when I fell asleep in my own bed.