The Cotton Spinner

She felt and heard him tear some material. Moments later, she realised, it was her underwear that he had torn. She felt a cold breeze on her ass, and then he grunted loudly in her ear as he fumbled with his trousers. He rasped evilly in her ear.

“Hold still bitch! You are mine now.”

She left his manhood press against her virgin lips, he had wedged his hand down between her legs and roughly prodded at her opening, scratching her with his coarse hands and sharp nails. She felt him press hard against her, felt her maidenhead tear as he penetrated her virgin pussy and pressed her hard against the table in front of her. He pushed himself deeply into her body, and she tried to cry out, as a wave of pain tore through her. He grunted and let go of her neck, as he tried to sink his cock deeper into her unwilling pussy. He roughly seized her hips, and pulled her bottom against his penis. She slipped her hand out from under her stomach and clutched the handle of the knife as her assaulted her, driving into her body and grunting in time with his thrusts.

She half turned her torso to look at him, he was holding her hips, his eyes closed and his head bent back, looking at the ceiling. She moved a little and turned the knife over in her hand. She would only get one chance at this, for failure would mean certain death. She steeled herself and drew on all the courage she could muster, then stabbed upwards and backwards at him. The knife struck his side, just above the pocket of his waistcoat, and sank deep into the flesh underneath it. He cried out in pain and surprise as the steel bit deep into him. She twisted the handle of the knife and pulled it free, as he roared in pain and staggered backwards from her. His hand clasped his side where she had cut him, and he pulled his blood-soaked hand away in surprise. He looked up at her, as he stumbled back against a row of shelves and fell to the floor. She stepped forward, nervously. He looked up at her, through pain-fogged eyes and whispered.

“Help me” in a small trembling voice.

She stepped forward and kicked him, hard, in the groin. He bellowed in pain again and toppled on his side. She stepped away from him and threw the knife down onto the table. She adjusted her torn clothing to cover herself as decently as possible and quickly left the room.

She staggered back to Loom 4, where George stared at her in shock. He threw the lever and the loom ground to a halt. He climbed down from his seat above the spools and rushed to her. She collapsed into a faint and he just caught her before she went down. He cradled her in his strong arms and brushed her dishevelled hair off her face. He gently patted her cheek and she came around. Her eyes fluttered for a moment and then she smiled a strained smile up at George.

“Jenny? What happened? Did he try something?” He asked her, concern wracking his voice. Several of the other floor workers gathered round them, and George called to one.

“Go check the corridor, the storeroom. Find out where McMillan is and someone get Mr Jacobs.” The man hurried away and another ran from the spinning floor toward the main office.

Moments later the man came back, this time with a portly gentleman in a fine suit and hat. He knelt down beside George and Jenny and took her hand.

“My dear, tell me what happened. I’m Mr Jacobs, I own this mill. Take your time, and tell me your story.” He told her kindly.

Just as Jenny was about to begin, the other man came running up.

“I’ve found McMillan! He’s in the storeroom, off the corridor back from the washers, Sir. He’s bleeding badly. I think he’s dieing.”

“Very well, son.” Jacobs turned to him. Go down the road and inform the constable. I’ll take care of the young lady. Off you go, quickly!” he shooed the boy away with his hands and turned back to Jenny. Her tears were rolling down her cheeks and he patted her hand.

“It’s going to be alright, my dear. You’re not in any trouble. This isn’t the first time we have had trouble with him like this. Everything will be fine.”