Grushenka. Three Times a Woman Page 14

  When he heard that the price was only a hundred rubles, he took a handful of loose gold out of his pocket, threw ten pieces on the table with a move of his hand as if to say, “a hundred rubles-bah, what's that,” arid Grushenka was sold. Needless to say, Madame Laura made the money disappear, not with undue haste, oh no, but quickly enough to be sure that she had gotten every bit of it. At the door waited a princely carriage. The man got in and had Grushenka sit down with him on the front seat Grushenka wondered at a master driving through Moscow with a serf sitting next to him on the driver's seat of the carriage. The answer to this came soon enough. Grushenka learned all about it while she had her first meal. Serge -that was his name-had been a serf himself. Now he was majordomo to the old Prince Asantcheiev-not only majordomo but his jailer and tormentor. The old Prince was entirely at his mercy. He was kept a prisoner in his own bed, was not allowed to see any of his relatives or friends, was in fact held incommunicado. Serge had made himself master by trickery and sheer physical strength, and had set himself up as tyrant over the wasted estate of the old Prince. He had forced his master to liberate him and in his last will to bequeath him a sizeable farm and some money. He had not dared to stipulate too large an amount for fear that after the death of the Prince the heirs and relatives would throw over the document and take their revenge on him. Therefore he kept the old man alive in order to steal as much cash as possible from the estate before his death. Serge was an excellent administrator. By tolls and taxes he knew how to squeeze their last penny out of the farmer serfs of the estate. But the household was run in a very disorderly manner, every servant doing just about what he wanted to do. The house, a tremendous castle, was unclean, the servants were dressed in rags, the horses were not cared for or properly fed, the whole little community of over fifty people lingered around without plan or discipline. Serge did not give a damn. He went about cursing and swearing, a short leather whip hanging from his belt always ready to strike-but only because he was concerned with his own comfort.

  “What does he do with so many good looking girls?” asked Grushenka. “Well,” they answered, and grinned, “You'll find that out in time.” After dinner and a bath, Grushenka was first of all able to save her own clothes. They were not burned as usual and she was happy, for she had bought them with her own money. The elderly housekeeper then said that she had to give her the usual thrashing, but Grushenka wiggled herself out of that too by flattering the woman, kissing the switch and just making her forget to use it on her. But now she was a serf girl again. The price for her liberty was in the purse of Madame Laura. Serge forgot about Grushenka after her arrival, and she behaved like all the other serfs in the house. When they heard him approaching a room-and he was usually shouting and yelling-they quickly fled before he could see them. She never saw the old Prince Asantcheiev. Only two elderly women were allowed to enter his room, women trusted by Serge because they too had been taken care of in the Prince's will. One day Serge missed one of his rings. He was in a rage. The ring seemed to have been stolen by one of the women (he kept no male serfs in the house and never had visitors).

  He ordered all the women into the biggest room of the basement and shouted that if the ring were not returned he'd kill every one of them to be sure that he didn't miss the thief. One of the girls suggested that she had seen the ring on a sideboard upstairs, and a few girls, including Grushenka, went to that room with him. There the ring was found. But meanwhile Serge had laid his eyes on Grushenka. Grushenka was dressed in a blouse and petticoat without skirt or drawers. Her legs were bare and she wore wooden slippers. It was her working costume. As he looked at her, Serge's eyes sparkled. “You are Madame Laura's girl, aren't you?” he said, and he put one hand under her petticoat on her bare buttocks, while his other hand stroked her thighs and the flesh of her belly but without touching her between the legs. “Well, well, I forgot all about you.

  But no time is better than the present. Kneel straddle-legged on that easy chair and bend over, my chicken.” Grushenka did as she was told. She put her knees on the arms of the wide easy chair and bent over a bit. She expected to get poked. The other girls watched with malicious smiles. But Serge was not quite satisfied. He grabbed her by the neck and bent her forward until her head touched the seat of the chair, doubling her up to the utmost. One of the girls threw Grushenka's petticoats up and over her back, and Grushenka could see through her opened legs how Serge took his sizeable shaft out of his dirty linen trousers. She went with her right hand to her love nest, parted the lips with a quick move of the fingers and held it open awaiting the attack. “A nice, clean bottom,” remarked Serge.

  “Sorry I forgot so long about it.” He moved forward, got hold of her loins, and, glancing down, approached her with the tip of his shaft. Grushenka reached for his love instrument, but he shouted for her to take her hand away. He then began to press himself against her back entrance. Serge was a rear-door lover by “conviction and inclination. First of all, he did not want his girls to become pregnant. Furthermore, he found the-back entrance smaller and tighter.

  Finally, he did not want to give his girls a thrill; he liked to have all the pleasure himself and to spin his amusement as long as possible without the help of his partner. Thus the head of Serge's shaft now engaged in a struggle to enter Grushenka's small back entrance. He pressed, screwed and pushed. It pained her. Not that she was still a virgin back there. Prince Leo had initiated that orifice, and more than one finger had since rubbed and entered it. Serge, however, did not use any ointment, nor did he direct or help with his hand, and she groaned and sighed under his lengthy attack. He was expert in entering a back door. He knew that the muscle holding it tight was on top, and he massaged this muscle with his pressure. It gave way, and his shaft entered in full. After he had it all in, he paused a moment, got himself into a comfortable position and began a slow in-and-out movement, Grushenka, glancing through her legs at his big, brown, hairy thighs and the end of the appearing and disappearing shaft, wanted to help along and wiggled her buttocks. But Serge slapped her on the thigh and commanded her to hold still. She felt his machine grow bigger and bigger. She felt as if she had to defecate. She felt that empty longing in her loins, while the minutes crept by. The other girls stood around and whispered. Finally Serge reached his climax, not speeding up his movements at all and not withdrawing his shaft afterwards. He just stood and waited until it became small and soft and slipped out by itself. Then he left the room without a word. He had hardly left when the girls burst into a babble of comment and hilarity. The remarks flew through the room: “Well, another virginity and no blood shed…” “I want to be godmother in nine months.” “I always play with my finger when he sticks it into my back place.” “He would not take me, my veranda protrudes too much”-displaying very muscular and fat buttocks, with such a tight cleft that the back entrance could not be seen.

  “He usually lines three or four girls up in a row, has them bend down as you did just now and goes from one to the other.” “Be careful not to wiggle; when he reaches his goals too quickly, hell beat you to a Woody mess.” “And don't put salve into your cleft.

  He wants to force the entrance and hates an easy passage.”

  “You'll be on his list from now on. I could see that he liked your buttocks.” “Oh, if I only had a good shaft-right now-for my little nest.” “Have yourself sent to the stable for a thrashing.

  The boys won't hurt you, but they'll poke you all right.” ' 1 can loan you my finger if that will help you out.” “Why not take a candle?” It was done as said. The girls were excited after seeing Grushenka get poked. Serge never allowed them to go out of the house and they could hardly ever mange to get a shaft in the right spot.

  The girl who was the leader of the chorus lay down on the couch.

  Another girl took a big candle from one of the side-brackets and filled the longing love nest with intensive pushes. They had done this often before. They had found out who had the longest canal, making a mark on th
e candle for each girl, and they were clever in satisfying each other in this way. Grushenka, who watched with interest as each girl took her turn to lie down on the couch, felt rather randy.

  In the group was a very young girl, not much more than fifteen or sixteen years old. She would not let herself be pushed, but she caressed the faces and breasts of those girls wiggling under the candle. Grushenka put her arm around her and whispered in her ear: “Will you do to me everything I do to you- everything?” The girl shyly nodded her consent. Grushenka laid her on the carpet, rolled her petticoats up and began to smother her soft belly with kisses. The girl was ticklish and giggled. Grushenka opened her young legs and buried her head between the girl's thighs. The pretty little Venus' Hill was still almost without hair. The girl was fighting against the intruder, not earnestly, yet struggling a bit, and this made Grushenka still more anxious to utilize the ability which she had acquired during her stay in Madame Brenna's bath establishment.

  The girl sighed and heaved and tossed about, entwining herself with Grushenka's mouth when the climax came. The girl was, in fact, a virgin, and this was the first time she had ever reached a climax. She lay now without stirring, her lips slightly parted, smiling and exhausted. Grushenka studied her with curious sympathy. She knew that the girl would not reciprocate, and she let it go at that. Her own love nest could get satisfied only late at night when she stroked herself with loving fingers while thinking of her beloved Mihail.

  Serge did not put her on his special list. He was much too busy trying to make money and to pile it up in his private iron chest. He loved to drink and gamble with the stable boys and he did not often feel inclined to get rid of his sperm. Whenever he felt in the mood he grabbed a few of the girls who were around, discarded the ones with fat buttocks and poked the others after his fashion. o But Grushenka soon was to come into contact with him in another way. One afternoon while cleaning the dining room she was carrying one of the chairs with the princely crown burned into its leather back. Serge, running hurriedly through the room, bumped a leg of the chair with his knee. It hurt him, and the culprit had to be punished on the spot.

  The leather whip was unhooked from his belt. Grushenka had to bend forward, put both her hands between her knees and was told to press her knees tight together and not to move. He ripped her blouse over her head. With his left hand he took hold of her hair, wrapping it around his wrist, and the whipping began. He raised the whip and flourished it over her. The stroke fell over her nude shoulders and the pain was worse than she had anticipated. It took her breath away and made her gasp. She uttered a loud shriek, writhing and twisting her loins in agony. He went on whipping her slowly, so that she felt the full sting of every stroke. It was as if a red hot iron were being drawn across her back and shoulders. She winced and squirmed every time the leather thong bit into her quivering flesh.

  She hopped around the room with her legs closed tightly together, but that didn't do her any good. It only made Serge lay the strokes on in such a way that the end of the strap curled around her body and bit into her breasts, thus doubling her agony. She was about to faint or throw herself on the floor regardless of the consequences when he stopped. He kicked her in the back and warned her to be more careful the next time. When Grushenka, weeping and groaning, came back to her senses the other girls had gone. In fact, they had quickly stolen out of the room when he took hold of her, because Serge did not mind whipping half a dozen backs once the mood was on him. They came back now and put sour cream over the long red welts which covered her back, her shoulders and one of her breasts. It took days before Grushenka felt normal again and had forgotten the pain; it took weeks before the welts had disappeared. It was a long time before Grushenka again came' face to face with Serge. This happened when he sent word to the old lazy housekeeper to send him the six girls who had the best breasts. The girls did not understand what he had in mind and were thoroughly frightened. But they had to go to him. Of course Grushenka was one of the girls, who, clothed only in petticoat and naked from the waistline up, went to his room. They stood inside the doorway and waited. Serge sat over a big accounting sheet writing figures and cursing. Finally he threw the quill away, took a pinch of snuff, and looked the girls over. They all had full hard breasts, with white or brown skin and rosy or dark nipples. He had his choice.

  He got up, felt them, tickled them, weighed their full flesh in his hands and pinched them. They wiggled a bit and giggled, but were uneasy. Naturally he decided on Grushenka. She had the finest of them all, milk-white, full but pointed and with rather large, rosy berries. He told her to go and put on her finest dress-a skirt and blouse, but no shirt underneath. Grushenka hurried off to do so.

  When she came back she saw him busy with the other girls. They kneeled in a row on the couch, bottoms in the air, one of them intruded by Serge's shaft, but probably all of them already honored with a few pokes' because they comforted their back clefts with their fingers or were tickling themselves between the legs. He soon took his machine out of the orifice which engaged it and went to the next crevice. Grushenka took care not to make any noise and not to be noticed in the doorway. She had no desire to give herself this treat.

  After Serge had reached his goal with the incumbent companion, he gave every girl a slap on the buttocks and chased them all from the room. He put his shaft quietly back into his trousers-without troubling to wash it after his trip into the back alleys-and turned to Grushenka. He opened her blouse in front, took out her breasts and tried to arrange the blouse so that the breasts protruded well out of it. But this couldn't be done. The blouse was too large and had too many pleats, so that, no matter how arranged, the material covered most of the bosom. He ordered the housekeeper to appear and demanded that an elegant evening dress be made for Grushenka, but so cut in front as to go below the breasts. He, smiled knowingly when he gave this order. A light blue brocade, embroidered with silver flowers, was found in one of the many chests. This was duly cut and sewn into a magnificent evening gown. Grushenka helped and supervised this work eagerly. She knew from Nelidova's tailors what was becoming to her and how a dress had to be made, and she looked very stunning when she presented herself a few days later to Serge. A bristling line of style and elegance ran through the whole creation, leaning back on a train, tightened together in a wasp-waist flanked by the long sleeves which trailed down to the knees and crowned by the absolutely nude breasts which stuck out almost with impudence. Add to this that Grushenka had colored her nipples with henna (as she had seen Nelidova do), that she had had her hair dressed in the high artificial style of the time and that she wore her most enchanting smile. Serge, the crude peasant and slave driver, could not help but admire and compliment her. Of course there was a great difference between Grushenka in a dirty working blouse, unkempt and half nude, and Grushenka fixed up as a great lady. More than satisfied, Serge took her by the hand and led her to the room of the old Prince.

  The old man shrank together and trembled fearfully when they entered the room. He was about to hide under the covers of his large bed. His long hair was snow white and his white beard uncut. His small eyes were half closed, the eyelids red with inflammation. His nose seemed small and shrinking and the whole impression was that of a Santa Claus who had met with an accident and lay frozen in the snow.

  “Well, here I bring you something fine,” began Serge, “something that you will like, something to play with. And if you try to hide under the covers or to look away, I shall hit you, you scoundrel.

  Didn't you always like the ones with the big breasts, eh, when you were younger and I had to clean your boots? Sorry you are too weak or I'd make you clean mine now. Didn't I have to look on a thousand times in those old days when you put your pimply shaft between their breasts-in those days when I always had to select the big breasted ones for you? Well, you see, I am kindly inclined now and bring you something to play with. Come on and feel it and play with it a little.

  It will do you good, won't it?” The real re
ason for Serge's behavior was that he had had enough of the old man. He wanted him to die, but he still shrank from the deed of killing him outright. His plan was to enervate the Prince still further. He hoped that the old man, after not having seen a woman for so long a time, would get excited and croak. Therefore he now pushed Grushenka towards the bed and the old Prince, trying to ward her off, could not help but touch her naked breasts. This not enough, Serge pushed her over so that her breast lay on the Prince's face. But Serge saw that as long as he was present fear would occupy the old man's mind more than Grushenka's young breasts would excite him. Sizing Grushenka up and finding her not dangerous, Serge decided to leave the two alone. He directed Grushenka to caress the old man's face every half hour with her nipples, to let him play with her and to let him make love to her if he so desired. “After the abstinence of so many years he is entitled to a little pleasure,” he remarked. With that he left them.

  Grushenka sat modestly on the chair and watched the Prince. He lay still and stared stupidly into nowhere. After a while she turned her eyes away from him, pitying him in her heart. She felt that he in turn was now scrutinizing her and, before he could avoid it, she caught a very keen and intelligent eye. So he was playing the stupid old man but was still very far from being demented! Finally he said in a low voice: “You won't kill me, will you?” “I'll pity you. I'll help you. I hate Serge,” was her answer. But they were both very careful not to say more; perhaps the serf who played the master was eavesdropping. After a while Grushenka got up and leaned over him, as if to tease him with her breasts. She whispered: “I have to do this; he might be looking through the keyhole.” The Prince played his part and stroked her bosom a bit. She noticed some books on the table and took one of them and began to read aloud.