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 reason 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.
He was amazed that she could read, and listened with interest to the story. But this interest grew to admiration when she inserted sentences into her monotonous readings which certainly were not printed in the book. For example: “Be very careful.” Or “I must see you again.” Or “Make some plans of what to do.” Or “when he comes back, behave as though you never want to see me again.” And so on.
When Serge came back to fetch Grushenka, the old man complained in a stupidly wailing manner that she had gotten him hot and feverish, that he did not want to see her again, that she had disturbed him with her reading. Serge was pleased at this and felt especially gratified when Grushenka told him, after they had left the room, that the Prince was a decrepit old man, had no sense any more and was certainly suffering from softening of the brain. Serge ordered her to make a daily visit to the Prince and to annoy him more each time. “Take his weapon,” he said, “or what is left of it, and rub it or kiss it. Let him have a little excitement before he goes to hell-you are his serf anyway.” At present, however, Serge wanted his own excitement quelled, and Grushenka looked too beautiful in her full dress not to make an excellent partner. Right then and there her head was buried in the cushions of a couch while a sharp pain in her intestines announced that Serge was still able to raise Master Phallus to action. When he had thrown the long train of her dress over her elevated buttocks and found a pair of drawers in his way, he ordered her never to wear drawers again. He also decided that hereafter he would poke her each day when she came out of the Prince's room. The dress of an elegant lady had stimulated his low-born senses and he ordered his other favorites also to be fitted with fine gowns to be worn when they reported for his pleasure.. Meanwhile Grushenka had to bear the brunt of his desire, and she did so with the resolution that her revenge would not be far off. She had her back doorway used again and again, and, surprisingly, she soon found that it was not so terrible after all. On the contrary, she learned how to loosen the muscles, how to give herself easily, how to enjoy this reverse form of erotic excitement. Her only objection to her encounters with Serge was that he demanded that she hold herself absolutely motionless no matter how aroused she became. How much she would have liked to answer his thrusts with wiggling pushes! The liberation of old Prince Asantcheiev and the crushing of Serge came much more quickly than even Grushenka had hoped. She smuggled paper and pencil to the old Prince and, while she read to him, sitting so that a watcher from the keyhole could not see him, he wrote a letter. It took the feeble old man many days before the letter was ready and addressed. He had to hide the half-finished paper for days under his sheets, trembling for fear that it would be detected-and that would have meant a violent death from Serge's hand. It was addressed to a distant relative of his who had his castle in the city. While Serge was in the house Grushenka, who had not confided in anyone, did not dare to carry the message herself to its destination. But, one day, when Serge drove away to watch the races, she dressed hurriedly, ran out of the house, took a droshki and sped through the city. The relative was not at home, but his wife was. Grushenka forced her way through a chain of servants, came to the mistress, fell at her feet and poured out her story in great excitement. At the same time she delivered the letter.
At first the lady did not want to listen. Had not the old Prince sent them insulting letters some years ago asking them never to see him again nor to communicate with him again? Had not that dirty majordomo refused her husband entrance to the house, acting upon orders from the old Prince? Had they not been shut out of his Me entirely? How could he now expect to get help? But when Grushenka prayed hard to her she finally read the letter. She began thinking it over and had Grushenka repeat the story. Then, suddenly, she understood; it became clear to her that Prince Asanteheiev was actually the captive of his slave, that he had kept them away under the threat of death, and that they had to act. But how? She broke out in a flood of lamentations, for with her husband away she did not know what to do. Yet Grushenka was in a terrible hurry.
