Chapter 1: The attack
Copyright© 2008 by obohobo
Sex Story: Chapter 1: The attack - To save herself from a term of imprisonment after she had viciously attacked her mother, Louise is indentured into the service of their neighbour. Same start as Louise (obohobo 2002) but follows a different path.
All the neighbours undoubtedly heard the loud altercation between May and her daughter, Louise, that had been going on for some minutes, but only I dared to interfere. Louise's angry voice rose loudly above her mother's and, knowing Louise's propensity for violence, I opened the connecting gate between our gardens and crossed the lawn to May's house. Two high-pitched screams emanated from the kitchen and on passing the window I saw May slumped on the counter her hands covering face. Just as I arrived at the front door it opened and Louise stormed out, turned and shouted back at her mother, "Perhaps now you will do as I sodden well tell you!" Seeing me she spat, "And you can keep your snotty nose out of it." I felt like punching her in the stomach but didn't.
I am Eric Laxley and at 29 I am reasonably well off and have my own thriving landscape garden design business. My parents died in a plane crash four years previously and I inherited the house and enough compensation money to set myself up in a business which I enjoyed doing. I'd already done a two-year course at an agricultural college, worked for another established firm of landscape gardeners for two years and, when I got over the shock of my parents death and the compensation came through, set up on my own. Besides this I have a love of wood and craftwork. Mostly this is for my own enjoyment but I also use my talents helping others either for a nominal charge or no charge at all. My other love is natural history. I am a keen member of the local Wild Life Trust and often project digital images of my animal and bird photographs to them as part of their winter programme.
May is in her fifties, fairly plump and when not harassed by her daughter, is of a jovial disposition. Her husband died of cancer a decade ago and even while my parents were alive she and I were on good terms. Since their death May has become almost a surrogate mother to me and in return I do a lot of repair work on her house.
Louise is totally different in character. She inherited her mother's tendency for plumpness but her nature is sour and demanding; her tongue sharp, her temper quick. Because of this she's never had any real friends and all the jobs she tried lasted only a few weeks at most before she was asked to leave. As a child she learned that by throwing a tantrum she could get what she wanted from her father and unfortunately did not grow out of the habit when he died and continued to bulldoze her mother in the same way. Even as a not unattractive teenager, her caustic comments kept all but the bravest boys at bay, and those that did venture near, were soon stung or cut to pieces by her sharp tongue. As a boy I learned to keep out of her way and nowadays tried to work on the house when she was out.
Now, at 25, Louise has become more introverted and aggressive to others. Her father's long battle against cancer with May nursing him twenty fours hours a day at the end meant there was little money left after the funeral and to help pay the bills, May took two part-time jobs one as a waitress in a local cafe and the other as a school cleaner. Neither paid very well and Louise's demands kept them in debt. Several times I tried to help her financially but May always refused direct payments but accepted my doing work that saved her money or foodstuff when I had excess. In return I had the occasional meal with her when Louise was out.
Entering the house, I found May sitting on the floor, screaming in pain, her hands covering her face. A plant cane lay tossed on a chair and an upended amaryllis pot strewed its contents across the floor.
"My God, May, what has she done to you this time?" I gently removed her hands and was aghast at the sight. Two livid weals, one across each cheek extending from mouth to ear. Already they were ridged and a deep crimson colour and her face had begun to swell.
"She wanted salmon for tonight's meal and said I could only afford cod," sobbed May.
"You mean she welted you for a plate of fish?" I was incredulous. Stunned, I put my arms around her.
In disjointed words and with tears flowing down her cheeks, she went on, "One thing lead to another and she started on at me again for being the worst mother in the world and then I lost it and told if that was the case to pack her bags and leave. She said it was her home and I should be the one to go. That riled me, as she's never done anything to help pay the bills so I told her to get the hell out of it. She'd worked herself into a real temper by then and wrenched the plant stick out of the pot and slashed me."
I tended the weals with witch-hazel and a salve and gave her a couple of paracetamol. Settling her sobbing gently in a chair I phoned Ernie Hargreaves, a friend of us both who was also the local policeman. Ernie was a typical friendly local bobby. Now nearing sixty and looking forward to retirement, he knew everyone in the village and always stopped for a chat to any he passed by. He of course knew Louise's escapades having seen May with black eyes and bruises on more than one occasion and had given her at least two unofficial warnings about her behaviour. Ernie is also a noted naturalist, and we belong to the same Wild Life Group. We know each other well and although off duty he came round immediately.
Seeing May's face he immediately suggested Louise be arrested and charged with GBH (grievous bodily harm). May, he said, should be taken to the hospital and examined by a police surgeon. He suggested that for further photographic evidence of the severity, should it become necessary, I use my old film camera to photograph May's face and to take more photos at intervals during the day. Ernie suggested that Louise would most likely be sent to prison for at least three months.
Despite her pain and anger, May had no wish to see her daughter imprisoned and have a criminal record. What was to be done? We all agreed it would no longer be safe for May to live alone under the same roof with her daughter, yet May refused to sanction her arrest or being sent to a psychiatric institution. "She just needs a strong man to control her," she stated with a sideways glance at me. I doubted if I would be the one who could do it but it would be nice to tan her arse and get her to feel some of the pain she'd wrought on May and make up for the snubs and verbal abuse I'd taken from her. Physically I would be able to do that but the laws of today, would not allow her to be thrashed like she should be, but...
"How long will she be gone?" I asked.
"She took the bus to Shrewsbury and the next one back to the village isn't until 1 o'clock and the one after that is at four," answered the still weeping May.
"Then we have most of the day to plan what to do."