A Criminal Act of Poverty

"I promise," Jo took Chrissy by her hand and walked her along a narrow corridor to a locked room, She opened it and ushered her in, turning on a light She closed the door and then locked it. The windows were covered over and the room contained a freshly made-up bed an armchair and a dresser with a pitcher of water, a bowl and a towel.

She let Christine sit elegantly in the armchair as she sat on the bed facing her. Jo's legs were opened as she sat down just as a man's would, while Christine sat with her knees together and her ankles crossed and tucked up hard against the armchair. Her dress came down over her knees. "Tell me about you, Christine,"

Christine laughed and said there wasn't much to tell, she lived at home with her mum and three older sisters and three older brothers. She didn't work yet but helped out around the home.

"Then what do you do for money," Jo asked her.

Christine hesitated for a moment, looked down and then said, "I do this and that around the neighbourhood,"

Jo looked at her and wet her lips, then told her "You are a very attractive young woman Christine, I would love to get to know you a whole lot more if you would let me,"

She smiled at this older woman dressed as a man sitting on a bed not four feet from her, "Well I am here with you in a locked bedroom, We have only just met, and you have kissed me, pushing your tongue into my mouth," She said this while staring into Jo's eyes. She was unsure what other messages she could send. She wondered if Jo was as experienced as she let on. "Yes and you kissed me back, giving as good as you received," Jo replied.

She stood up and held her arms out to her, beckoning Christine to stand and come into her arms. Christine looked at her, she was a handsome woman, and in an instant thought, 'Why not'.

Jo didn't waste any time, pulling Chrissy out of the armchair, holding her in a warm and tender embrace. She kissed her once again as she walked them both back to the bed, she fell backwards pulling Christine down on top of her. Laughing and giggling. Rolling over Jo stood up while Christine sat looking at her, not knowing what to do next. Then Jo, placing the palm of her hand in between Christine's little boobs pushed her backwards. Pushing her down until she lay on the bed. Jo didn't hesitate or give Christine time to object, she pulled her legs up onto her shoulders, letting her dress fall down her legs and pool around her waist, and she pulled her knickers to one side and immediately started to massage her folds. Christine lay back on the bed, closed her eyes and let the euphoria of her loins wash over her.

"You like this do you sweetheart?" Jo asked as she found the button at the top of her bushy mound, and used her thumb to tease it.

'Hhhmmmm, "Christine moaned, but couldn't say a word, as her hips moved in sync with Jo's fingers and thumb.

"Ever been licked by a Tom like me before," she asked as she started to enter, what she thought was, her tight never-before penetrated opening.

"Never been touched like this before," She lied "And no, never been licked at all, ever." She lied again. The whore in her rose to the surface, second nature. Tell them what they want to hear, she was taught early on, she was told by her mother, her sisters and even her brothers. They will come back for more she was told.

"Oh good god, you are tight, have you never been fucked before?" Jo sensed that she hadn't.

"No, I haven't," and she groaned louder as she felt a warm sensation growing in her core. Confused, momentarily, why was she enjoying the moment? With a woman. Her eyes closed and her body gave in to the electric sensations shooting from her loin. Her head said to her, stay in charge, her body was telling her to relax as she started to enjoy this so much more than normal.

Jo bent down and wrapped her mouth around her hairy lips then pushed her tongue into the warmth of her mound. She pulled her legs wider apart and kept poking and prodding into her warm, wet, tasty, womanhood. Soon there was a cry of delight, as Christine shook and her body was dancing around on the bed. Jo held on for dear life as she continued to lap up all of her juices.

Christine felt for sure her screams of pleasure would have been heard by the whole street, but Jo just smiled at her, knowing the room was very secure.

Jo told her to shuffle up onto the bed as she took Christine's knickers from her and told her she won't be needing them any longer tonight.

She then undid her trousers and pushed the braces from her shoulders and then pushed her trousers down her legs, followed by her boxer shorts, and asked if she had ever licked another girl's pussy before? Christine just shook her head as she watched Jo climb onto the bed, looking ridiculous in just her socks and a shirt, placing her knees on either side of her face, and lowering herself onto the waiting mouth.

Christine was unsure what to do at first, but as soon as she felt the hairy mound on her face she used her tongue to find the opening and taste her new friend, her first tomboy.

Jo rocked back and forth slowly at first but soon picked up her pace as Christine grabbed hold of her thighs to bury her tongue deeper into her and Jo raced ahead to an almighty climax, covering her face with her juices as she came not once but thrice in quick succession. Jo placed her hands on the wall to keep her balance, so hard were her orgasms.

Christine let the heat from the woman on top of her radiate onto her face and into her mouth. She tasted her first lesbian lover and she loved it. As she lay there, she felt confused, she had fiddled with other women before, her mother, her sisters, and a friend of her mother to pay off a family debt. But this was different. She actually felt something. She enjoyed the feelings inside of her.

Jo lay down next to her, half undressed as she felt for the young woman's mound once more and this time let her finger enter Christine, who pushed her backside into the bed to try and retreat from the impending penetration. Jo half rolled onto her and pinned her underneath her, and whispered, "It will sting a little at first then it will be a glorious feeling, trust me."

Christine relaxed but wondered how she could explain that there won't be what Jo expected. As she thought it Jo covered her mouth with a hand and used her thumb to torment her clitoris, She kept up the tempo as Christine tried to get free, and soon her struggles were more in rhythm with the fingering rubbing back and forth on her inner labia as the moisture only activated her sensations and her orgasm was so much more intense. This session of sexual enlightenment was turning into her first lovemaking experience.

They lay there panting, each of them smiling as they kissed each other. Jo brought her fingers up to show Christine that there was no small sample of blood on them.

Jo smiled and said "No! You're no virgin," In a loud forceful tone, "I prefer my lovers to be young girls, and feeling you like I did does bring a smile to my lips," She said in reply. Then looked Christine dead in the eye, "Does that bother you?"

She just shrugged, "No, why should it? Does my not being a virgin bother you?"

Jo shrugged, "I'm used to being lied to, it is all part of who we are. We are all living a lie,"

From that time onwards Christine would go to the 'club' two or three times a week. Before long she became a regular and 'danced' with many of the Tomboys there, she even got the courage to dance with other 'felines or femmes' as they were known. Mainly for the company and the warmth. Knowing she wouldn't be dragged into her mother's bedroom with her and her latest boyfriend and if she timed it right she would also meet up with Jo but she, Jo, made it clear from the outset, that they were not an exclusive item and that she wouldn't become upset if she courted other women there.

Christine was a popular young lady, all of the Tomboy's wanted their time with her and she obliged them, she soon realised that she too preferred female company to men. She had, in a short space of time become a woman-only sort of girl.

But she knew that the males of this world ran things their way, she had to keep up appearances when not inside the club, the more she went there with her sister the more she realised that that life too was full of liars and deceit.

But the men paid for a quick blow job or maybe a hand job after the pub closed. The little back alley behind the pub was well known as their place of 'work'. She and her sisters made a nice little living out of it. Christine had one rule. NO Fucking allowed.

Chapter 2. - The Offence of Murder.

She was walking home alone one evening during the middle of winter. A shower of rain had just washed the footpaths clean. There was an icy wind blowing up from the Antarctic, her coat was thin and threadbare, and she shivered with every gust of wind, she dreaded the walk across the old football fields. No windbreaks or cover if the rain came down. Crossing the fields was quicker though, than taking the poorly lit streets to home.

Although not safe after dark, she had been told and shown what to do if someone got out of line with her. She also carried an old switchblade razor in her handbag. Her brothers had shown her how to use it and more importantly, not to be scared to use it. She wasn't.

As she approached the playing fields, she shivered once more put her head down and walked briskly into the wind. She promised herself that she'd get a decent coat one day, as soon as she could afford it. She thought that a good couple of weeks in the alley behind the pub would go a long way to getting her a decent coat.

She wasn't paying attention to the dark black night around her, and then out of nowhere a large figure just appeared in front of her, this hefty baulk of a bloke came out of the blackness towards her, he grabbed her around the throat, and punched her in the face before throwing her to the ground. Her shrieks and screams disappeared in the wind. As quickly as her cries for help, for mercy, were heard by her attacker they were washed away on the wind, it swept her noises, her screams, clean, by that cold wet wintery wind which took all of her cries and buried them amongst the branches and the leaves. A wailing wind in the dead of night, high winds, mournful, screeching through the electrical wires swaying from pole to pole, like the devils themselves were singing out their music to the tormenting of the trees, the leaves, and muffling all human sound. No one heard her.

Her head was spinning and she felt the punches, again and again in the belly as he ripped her dress and then forced it up around her waist. She felt his hand around her neck tightening, she was thrashing about trying to push back against this giant thug of a man, to push him off of her, but he was too big, too strong she felt his hand reach into her knickers, and then he grabbed hold of them and pulled them to one side, ripping the thin satin material as he tried to insert his fingers into her. She struggled and tried to scream and kick her way out. But he just slammed her down continuously, as he slapped her around her head and face.

Her head hit the hard but lush wet green football field, momentarily stunning her. His hand around her throat tightened and she began to lose consciousness. His tightened hand on her throat slowly started to squeeze the life from her. All the teaching her brothers had shown her was of no use. A fist thudded into her face knocking her senseless, then another one splitting her lips. The taste of blood made her dry reach. She coughed, she spluttered. The laughter from this thug rattled around in her ears until it settled into her brain, it was a sound she would never forget. The noise of his brutish voice as he told her, "Don't remember me do you, you fucking whore, but I remember you. I'm getting my ten quids worth from you and later on that tart of a sister of yours." His words would be etched into her brain forever. As his fist smashed down into her face once again.

She lay there stunned. Not unconscious and not conscious, her will fading quickly. Her handbag was still on her forearm, she raised her arm slightly and eased it down and open, as she thrashed about. The big brutish thug told her to be still and that he wouldn't hit her any more. She could smell the rum on his breath as he leaned over her. His stench of sweat and booze, the fear she had inside of her was making her head swim more than the beating, more than his stench.

Her hand started searching through her handbag until it came upon the cold steel of her switchblade razor. She grabbed it and using her fingers opened it quickly but carefully. She started to speak but it was more a squeak than a voice, "Please Mister, don't hurt me, I promise I won't tell, please don't hurt me anymore," her voice was broken, weak, sounding like a little girl about to be raped, scared, waiting for death. She was clever at playing these games. She could make any man believe what she wanted them to believe. She wanted to let him think of her as a weak, little girl, waiting for the end.

He was straddling her as his hand released its grip around her throat as he started to undo the buttons on his fly and as he relaxed his grip on her body, she seized the moment and swung her arm around catching him across his face, she swung it again this time slicing the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, as he tried to protect his face. The stroke almost severed his thumb. He screamed in a rage trying to catch hold of her wrist when she struck again, taking off most of his nose. It went flying from his face but fell next to her, collecting in her tangled clothes. He screamed at her as he tried to get up, it was then that she struck him around his neck just above his shoulder blade. He threw his head back, his fatal mistake. Christine brought her arm up across his throat, this time she remembered what her brothers had said, 'If you can't kick him in the balls slice his throat', two, three, four more times, each time slicing deeper into his throat. She felt the blade slice through his ragged, unshaven skin, hardened by days of labour under the sun. She felt it catch on some tissue in his throat and she pressed in harder and slowly drew it across his whole throat, deep, feeling the blood gushing down her arm onto her body, she heard a guttural scream as he started to fall backwards.

He was stunned by the suddenness and viciousness of the attack. He cried out in pain and terror. A terrible gurgling sound came from him. His hands trying to stem the flow of blood, this life-giving fluid draining from him. Christine felt the warm liquid falling onto her. Not in little drips but in a flood as it gushed from his throat. She smiled victoriously, knowing that she now had time to escape.

Christine finally pushed him off of her. His two hands were clasping at his throat, the only sounds were that of him gurgling, she didn't stop to see who it was, or what she had done. She started running, she ran, losing her high heels, she stumbled and her handbag went flying off into the darkness, she stopped for a second, looked around, she couldn't see it. Then she heard the awful screams continuing, so she ran faster forgetting the handbag, she was crying, screaming for help, the odd light went on as she passed by some houses on the far side of the fields, but no one came out. No one cared.

She ran as fast as she could ignoring the pain of sharp stones on her feet, she fell, she cried and crawled into the darkness, listening. Waiting for those horrid screams to find her. They didn't. All she could hear was her own heart pounding in her chest. Her breathing came in fast, short panting sounds. She looked down at her hands as they shook, she was unable to control herself.

She looked at her hands, quivering from the cold and fear, she looked at them all covered in blood, the cold steel razor still in her grasp. She looked down at her torn dress, blood-stained from her chest to her waist. So much blood. Her tears were cold on her cheeks, her cries for help unanswered.

Slowly she wandered towards the house she called home. The lights were off, no sounds came from the inside. She knocked gently on the door and no one stirred. Her sobbing went unanswered. She banged and banged, she screamed and yelled. She heard voices behind the door, it was opened an inch or two. A face behind it looked at her and screamed. One of her brothers threw open the front door and with a cricket bat in his hand, he was ready for any intruder. What he saw took him by surprise. The last person he thought he would see was his baby sister, covered in blood.

"Fucking hell Chrissy, what happened to you?" Her older brother said. He threw open the door calling out to his Ma, as he took hold of his little sister seeing the glazed look in her eyes, her body shaking and her crying becoming louder and louder, he brought her into the house. He looked out into the street seeing no one, not even other lights on in the street.

In a moment, the household was wide awake. People were everywhere. The woman they called mum finally became her mother. She looked at her youngest daughter, the razor in her hand, took it, gave it to one of the others, and told them to bury it in the backyard veggie patch, "Right now," She told them.

She summed up the situation and got the girls organised. Turning to no one in particular she told them to run a bath, "Warm, not hot water," She told them. Grabbing the arm of her eldest boy, "Go down to Doc Wilsons and drag his sorry arse up here, tell him it's an emergency, but tell him nothing else,"

Turning to Christine she asked, "Are you hurt, child?" She didn't get an answer her daughter was hysterical. She slapped her face. To get her attention. Then shook her while holding onto her shoulders. Finally looking at her youngest she dragged her into an embrace. The first one of the kind they had shared for many a while. For all of her faults, Maggie Magill was protective of her brood when they were hurt.

She called out for Shelia, "Help me get her out of her coat and dress and then burn them tonight. So much blood," The glare in her mother's eye told Shelia to get to it right away. Maggie handed the blood-soaked coat and dress, the blood had even seeped through to her underwear, her slip and her spencer. She gave them all to her oldest daughter, then her bra and knickers. She turned Christine around to make sure she wasn't cut up or bleeding from her vagina. No signs of rape, just the battered face and some bruises starting to appear on her body.

Then taking her into the old lean-to they called a bathroom, where there was an old cast iron bath her other sisters were filling with warm water. Not too hot and not too cold, it was best described as tepid.

Maggie took her youngest into the bathroom and closed the door. Helping her, she slowly put her into the bath. Then she kneeled and taking a worn-out washcloth, started to gently cleanse her daughter. Slowly washing off the dirt and grime, the blood from her hands and face. She yelled out for one of her daughters and told them to go to her bedroom cupboard and get her lavender soap. When she was handed the rich scent bar of soap, she lathered the washcloth and continued rubbing the night's nasty deed from her daughter's body.

"Tell me what happened Chrissy, everything, hold nothing back," She instructed her daughter. Christine Magill sat in the tepid water shaking, tears running from her eyes. Not able to speak. The shock of it all was settling in.

Her mother looked over her body once again, to see if she was cut or stabbed, she found no knife wounds but saw the bruising starting to appear on her face, her lips swollen and split, her mouth still bleeding and missing a front tooth.