by Sam Michaels
Though it hurt, Hilda was too frightened to disobey him and hoped he wasn’t going to inflict further pain. He unbuttoned his trousers and she flinched when his engorged manhood sprung towards her.
‘Suck it,’ he growled.
Hilda tried to stop crying as she wrapped her lips round it, but Billy shoved himself in hard, causing her to gag. He held the back of her head and forced himself deeply in and out of her mouth. Hilda could hardly breathe and as he thrust faster and more violently, she hoped he would orgasm soon. Minutes later, she felt him lose his erection, but he hadn’t ejaculated. She didn’t want to disappoint him and fervently sucked to get him hard again, but Billy’s penis remained flaccid in her mouth.
‘Get up,’ he ordered, but Hilda didn’t and kept trying to pleasure him with her mouth and cupped his balls in her hand before giving them a gentle squeeze.
Billy pulled himself away. ‘I said GET UP, you fucking tart. No amount of sucking is going to make me come in a whore’s scabby mouth.’
Hilda’s legs felt shaky, but she nervously rose to her feet. As she did, Billy slapped her round the face. She held her cheek. It felt hot, burning, but nothing compared to the pain on her backside.
‘Get back over your desk.’
Hilda was quick to plead. In desperation she cried, ‘Please, Mr Wilcox, I can’t take no more of the belt.’
She saw a glint in Billy’s eyes and a wicked look on his face. That’s when she realised what turned the man on. He liked to see her beg. He got off on her imploring him to stop. She thought she was worldly wise when it came to men and had come across just about every fetish there was, but she’d never known anyone as brutal as Billy. She knew he wouldn’t stop until he’d satisfied his deplorable desires. ‘Please, don’t hurt me again,’ she said. She meant it but was pleased when she could see he was becoming aroused again. Hopefully he’d be done with her soon and the begging would be enough without the agony of the belt again. ‘It hurts so much, please don’t do it to me.’
‘Turn around, I’ll decide when you’ve had enough.’
Hilda sobbed and slowly turned and leaned forward over the desk, dreading what Billy was about to do again. ‘I’m begging you, Mr Wilcox, please spare me the belt.’
‘Lift your skirt.’
‘Please, please stop,’ she cried, her voice full of desperation.
‘Lift your skirt!’
Hilda slowly eased it over her sore buttocks. ‘Look at me, Mr Wilcox, look at the state of me, I can’t take any more.’
She could hear his breathing becoming deeper and hoped he’d finish himself off, but then she felt a searing pain and screamed out in agony. ‘Stop, it hurts so much,’ she cried, only to scream again and again as Billy mercilessly thrashed her.
‘Let me see your face,’ he hissed.
Hilda felt exhausted but managed to glance over her shoulder. What she saw shocked and terrified her. Billy appeared like a man possessed. His eyes were blazing, and spittle had formed in the corners of his lips, giving the impression that he was foaming at the mouth. Her body flinched as he swung his belt across her bottom again, and this time, she pleaded with her eyes as well as her voice. ‘Please… enough,’ she cried, desperate for him to stop.
She couldn’t take any more and slumped forwards across the desk. As she did, she heard Billy grunt and felt his warm body fluids splatter over her battered bottom. Thank God, she thought, it was over, and now she desperately regretted what she’d started.
She’d known Billy was mean, but thought he’d be an exciting lover. She’d imagined him kissing her passionately and ripping off her clothes. Not this. It wasn’t fun or sexy, it was pure sadistic torture and it was only Billy who’d enjoyed it. She could hardly move and as she rested face down, sprawled across her new desk, Billy threw some money in front of her face.
‘You’re my assistant now – you need to look the part. Get rid of your whore’s clothes and buy yourself some things with a bit of class.’
She heard Billy walk away and the door close, and finally, her broken body relaxed, and she sobbed as her heart broke. What had she done? She’d put herself at his beck and call and now there was no turning back or escaping his clutches.
‘Ha, you stupid bitch, as if he could ever love you,’ her mother’s voice mocked.
‘Go away, Mother, I haven’t got the strength for you right now.’
‘I’m never going away, Hilda, never. You won’t get rid of me and neither will that Billy. I hope it hurts. I hope your pretty little bottom stings and bleeds. It’s exactly what a disgusting creature like you deserves.’
Hilda closed her eyes and tried to ignore her mother’s jibes, but the woman was right. She’d brought this on herself, and she realised this wouldn’t be the only time Billy would use her pain for his own sick pleasure. She dreaded the thought of it, but at least she now understood him and next time, she’d know to beg and plead sooner.
29
Jack had been home for over a week, and though the sofa was lumpy, he found it was a lot more comfortable than the bed in his cell. Even so, he was having trouble sleeping. It was just so quiet. He was more familiar with the echoes of men shouting, groaning and even crying, along with the noise of metal clanging, water dripping and pipes ringing. The only sounds Jack could hear now were the birds outside chirping their morning song, and the sound of his daughter’s footsteps coming downstairs. He welcomed the peace and hoped he would soon become accustomed to it.
George knocked before poking her head round the front room door. ‘Morning, Dad, do you want a cuppa?’ she asked softly.
Jack stretched his arms, then quickly pulled them back as a shooting pain shot through his chest. His ribs and kidneys were still sore and causing him more pain than he’d allowed George or his mum to know. ‘Yes please, love,’ he answered, forcing a smile.
He was due to go to Manchester today for Ezzy but dreaded the thought of the rickety train bouncing his tender torso around. But unless he owned up to how much discomfort he was really in, he’d have no choice.
George came in carrying two cups of tea. She placed one on the floor in front of the sofa, then Jack moved his legs, so she could sit down next to him.
‘It’s your first day back at work. Are you looking forward to it?’
‘Yep, can’t wait,’ Jack fibbed, trying his utmost to sound sincere. ‘What are you going to do with yourself now that I’m doing Ezzy’s runs again?’
‘Well, funny you should ask. I’ve had this idea in my head for a while, and now you’re home, I think I might give it a go.’
Jack noticed she was fiddling with Sissy’s ring. Intrigued, he asked, ‘Oh, what’s this idea?’
‘Don’t laugh, ’cos this is kosher. I’ll be doing everything above board.’
‘You… going straight…’ Jack chortled. ‘Sorry, love. Go on, tell me. I promise I won’t laugh.’
George placed her cup on the floor, then her hands in her lap and looked serious. ‘I want to open a fight club for women and kids.’
Jack had just taken a mouthful of tea and struggled not to splutter it across the room. He gulped hard. ‘A what? A fight club? For women!’
‘Yes, that’s right. Too many of the women around here get knocked about by their old men. Not to mention the likes of Billy Wilcox and his gang. I’ve seen them bully women in the streets in broad daylight. It ain’t on, Dad. I want to show women that they don’t have to put up with it. They can fight back. I’ll teach them how to box and how they can look after themselves.’
Jack breathed in deeply. ‘I admire your reasons, but I think you’ll be flogging a dead horse. I don’t mean to put the dampeners on your idea, but I ain’t sure it’ll work. I can’t see the blokes round here letting their wives go to any sort of fight club. Even if they were permitted to go, most of them wouldn’t be able to afford to pay you.’
‘I’ve thought about that too. See, I reckon if I run the club during the day, most husbands would be at work. I wouldn�
��t call it a fight club. I’d use some sort of cover name, something exclusive for women and kids. I know most ain’t got a pot to piss in, but I’d make it so it was contributions. I doubt it would make me a mint, so the women could do crafts too. There’s a stall coming up next to Fanny’s near the junction. I want to rent it, and have Ethel selling the stuff the women have made. Fanny could keep an eye on her, and I wouldn’t have to pay her much. I’ve already managed to save a few bob to buy supplies and I’ve got a cupboard full upstairs that I’ve been pinching over the last few months. See, Dad, I’ve given it lots of thought, and I believe I can make this work.’
‘Well, well, I’ve gotta hand it to you. It does sort of make sense. But you’d need premises.’
‘Yes, I know. I had a word with the vicar at St Mary’s. He said, that as I’m doing something to help the community, I could use the church hall. Obviously, when I was talking to him, I missed out the bit about the fighting, and I agreed to donate ten per cent of any profits to the church. It’d be a good starting place, just ’til I’m in a position where I can rent my own space. What do you think, Dad?’
George gave the impression that this was something she felt passionately about, and he had to admit he liked the idea of her going straight. Three years in prison had given him plenty of time to reflect, and he’d spent many hours worrying about George following in his footsteps and ending up behind bars too. Sissy would have turned in her grave if he’d let anything like that happen to their daughter.
He couldn’t imagine her working for anyone. George was far too strong-willed for that, but this plan of hers seemed like a good one. It was certainly innovative!
‘Dad… what do you think?’ George repeated.
‘I think it’s a bloody brilliant idea! You’re brainy you are, just like your mother was. And I’ll tell you something else, you’re the spit of her. She’d be right proud of you.’
Jack leaned forward to pick up his cup of tea, and to conceal the tears in his eyes. The thought of Sissy still evoked emotion in him and looking at George all grown up was a constant reminder of his wife. She might look like a young man, but her face was the image of her mother’s. He flinched again as his ribs hurt, but if he was going to support George in her new quest, he’d have to get a move on and get the Manchester run done, pain or no pain.
*
Later that day, George left Ethel with her gran and set about getting her new venture off the ground. She didn’t need her dad’s approval, and would have gone ahead regardless, but she was grateful for his encouragement and pleased he’d agreed. She’d expected him to tell her she was being ridiculous, and to stick to what she knew. But he hadn’t. His reaction had surprised her and filled her with even more determination to make it work. Not just for her, but also for all the downtrodden, oppressed women who were bullied and felt they had no voice.
Her gran had thought it a good idea too. She had compared George to Joan of Arc, the young warrior, which had made them all laugh. But it had spurred a notion. Joan of Arc was nicknamed ‘The Maid of Orleans’. It was perfect, and The Maids of Battersea was born. Joan had been canonised more than twelve years earlier, so the vicar was unlikely to object to her club name.
George’s first port of call was the church. After a lengthy discussion with the vicar, the church hall was secured. Three mornings a week would be turned over for her use. He also agreed to mention The Maids of Battersea in his next Sunday service, on condition that she attended. George said yes, but a shiver ran down her spine. Church wasn’t a place where she felt comfortable.
Next, she went to meet Molly on her lunch break. She knew it wouldn’t be easy to persuade her friend to give up her secure and relatively well-paid job in the factory, but George needed her. After all, she knew very little herself about arts and crafts.
‘Let me make sure I understand this. You want me to jack me job in and teach cross-stitch and the likes to a bunch of women you haven’t yet got, and for half the pay I’m earning now?’
‘Yes, that’s right. When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound very appealing, but think of the bigger picture, Molly. This could be huge! It could grow into something amazing. We could have The Maids of Clapham, Stockwell, Tooting… everywhere! And you’ll be overseeing all the teaching. Granted, it won’t be very lucrative to start with, but you know what they say, from small acorns and all that.’
George wasn’t sure her pitch to Molly sounded all that enticing, so she tried a different tactic. ‘Look at it this way. At the moment, you don’t see the benefit of most of what you earn ’cos your dad pinches it. You work stupid hours in a job you hate, and for what? With me, once we’re making a profit, I’ll be in a position to bung you extra that your old man will never know about. You’ll be your own boss, working half the hours you do now, and you’ll be helping others. Ethel will have her own job too, which will also give your mum a bit of a break, and you’ll have me looking out for you all the time. Doesn’t that sound better than sitting next to old phossy jaw all day?’
Molly linked her arm through George’s, and after a few moments’ thought, she said, ‘You’re a hard woman to say no to.’
‘Does that mean you’ll do it?’ George asked excitedly.
‘Yes, I’ll do it, but I think I need me head bleedin’ testing!’
‘Great,’ George enthused. ‘When you go back to work, you can hand your cards in, and tomorrow, we’ll have our first official business meeting.’
She spat in her hand and offered it to Molly to shake, but Molly turned her nose up, and both girls broke into a giggle.
‘The only thing that bothers me is my dad. He ain’t gonna like it,’ Molly tutted.
‘Oh well, sod him. If he’s got anything to say about it, you tell him to come and see me,’ George said boldly. She wasn’t worried about men like Mike Mipple. In fact, she wasn’t bothered about any man!
30
Fanny had been caught up in Molly’s excitement and had watched with pleasure as March passed in a flurry of activity for her daughter and George. But her husband wasn’t too pleased with what was going on and missed Molly’s pay packet. He’d gone to take his angst out on Ethel, but Fanny had stepped in and had borne the brunt of his discontentment. Now she was doing her best to conceal yet another black eye.
‘That bunch there please.’ A slim blonde woman pointed.
Fanny handed over the bunch of flowers and noticed the woman was staring at her eye. ‘It looks worse than it is. I was tickling my little ’un and she accidently whacked me in the eye,’ she lied.
The woman raised her eyebrows and looked disbelieving, not that Fanny could blame her. She was running out of excuses to cover for Mike’s violence.
‘It looks painful.’
‘It’s not too bad,’ Fanny answered. ‘That’s a lovely bunch you’ve chosen. I’m sure they’ll be much appreciated.’
‘They’re for me actually. A little present to myself for my birthday. I thought they’d brighten my desk.’
‘Oh, they will that. Happy birthday.’
‘Thank you,’ the woman answered and dug in her purse and paid for her flowers.
Fanny smiled politely, and slipped the tuppence in her pocket, then bid her farewell. She felt terrible about stealing from Jane Wilcox but reasoned a few pennies here and there wouldn’t hurt. After all, Jane could afford it, which was more than could be said for herself. Mike was pretty much taking all her wages, which left little or nothing for Charlotte’s needs. The odd few coins she pocketed wouldn’t be missed by Jane, and with them and Ethel’s earnings from sitting with Dulcie, it went a long way to feeding the Mipple household.
Still, it wouldn’t be long before Ethel would be working full-time. Molly had told her that The Maids of Battersea had created enough stock to open for business, and this was Kate’s last week on the basket stall next to hers. From what Fanny had seen, Kate had never turned over much business, and had been moaning for months that the rent was more than she took. Th
e end of Kate’s lease had been perfect timing, and once Ethel took over the stall, Fanny felt assured she would no longer have to steal from Jane.
In between customers, she took the opportunity to rest her weary legs. She sat on her stool and looked at her dear innocent child. Yes, Ethel had all the physical attributes of a woman, but her mind had always been that of a child. She was smiling now, happily playing with a peg doll, but Fanny recoiled as she recalled the memory of Ethel’s petrified face the night before.
Mike had never gone for any of the kids before, so it had come as a shock to Fanny when her husband went to give Ethel a back-hander. Luckily, Fanny’s screams had stopped him, but Ethel had been left standing in a puddle of her own urine. When Fanny had knelt to clean it up, Mike had kneed her in her face, hence the shiner she was now sporting.
Fanny gently touched her swollen eye. She could take the slaps, the kicks and punches, but she’d never allow that man to beat any of her children.
*
Hilda walked away from Fanny’s stall admiring the bright yellow daffodils. She planned on putting them on her desk, exactly in her eyeline of Billy. She’d much rather look at the pretty spring flowers than his evil face.
She’d once believed that working in his office and having a desk would make her respectable, but now she’d come to loathe her desk for the insufferable pain it represented. Billy’s office had become her torture chamber.
‘You saw her, didn’t you? You witnessed that woman put the money in her pocket.’
Her mother’s voice was in her head again, but Hilda tried to ignore it.
‘I know you saw her steal that money… You won’t tell Billy though, will you? No, of course you won’t, you coward!’
‘Shut up!’ Hilda shouted. She didn’t want to hear it. Yes, she’d seen the woman pocket the money and though she didn’t know her, she knew the stall belonged to Billy’s mother.
‘Coward… coward… that’s your problem, Hilda, you always betray the people who look after you.’