CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The fat little innkeeper indulged in many bows as he showed Grushenka to his “best room.” With many delicious phrases he praised Madame's beauty, admired her new Western traveling dress, humbled himself at the honor to be host to such a great lady.
But his chatter was intermingled with hidden questions as to the private business of his new guest. Who were her family and relatives in the city? What was her status or occupation? The superficial answers he received were not to his liking. His curiosity had its origin in no personal dislike, nor did it come from anxiety as to whether he would be able to collect his bills. It originated in a very severe ukase of the police to have an eye on lonely women and to report them at once to the authorities. This ukase had been created by pressure of the Church in one of the clean-up actions which periodically befall all moral institutions. Grushenka knew nothing of this, of course. As she took her first stroll through Moscow's elegant streets and earned many appraising glances from the promenading gentlemen, she had every hope for a good harvest At the same' time friend innkeeper sneaked into her room and inspected her belongings with knowing eyes. A locksmith soon notified him as to the contents of her trunks, and he crossed himself with a sigh. She seemed a nice lady all right, but he did not care to go to Siberia for her sake. Harboring an adventuress? No sir, better advise the police. This he did early the next morning. The big, dirty policemen broke into Grushenka's room while she was still soundly asleep. They did not listen to her protests; they made her dress hurriedly, and, not even allowing her to make up with care, drove her to the prison. A matron six feet tall and tough as the devil suggested that Madame take her “nice, clean dress” off before she went to the dirty cell. She grabbed her garments with undue haste and slammed the door. There sat Grushenka in the half-dark cubicle, listening to the shuffle of feet in the busy corridors and the occasional yelling and crying of protesting women. What was its meaning? Why did they lock her up?
What had she done? She shivered in her bodice and petticoats and her unkempt hair fell down over her nude shoulders. After hours of waiting, two beadles called for her and led her before the district captain. He was a short man, with a round face and small piercing eyes, impatient to get through with his duties. He hardly looked at her passport and asked what the charge was. “She's a whore,” said one of the constables, “that's all.” Grushenka had not expected that. She had no story ready to answer this charge, and, being at a loss for an answer, she sputtered out a lot of words to deny the accusation. The sharp question of the captain as to how she was living received the answer, “on my money.” But she could not prove that she had any. When she said that she had just returned from foreign countries his suspicion arose even more. “Maybe there is more about her than whoring,” he said. “Maybe she is a spy or a member of one of those secret societies who want to throw over our beloved Czar.
Anyway, make her talk. Put her on the horse. She'll tell us all about it in an hour.” The policemen dragged her away in spite of her shrieks and protests. They took her back to the prison and into the torture chamber. They beat and kicked her viciously. She found it better not to fight them and to keep still. “That's better,” remarked one of them, “Behave like a lamb and we will not bite you like wolves”-a joke which both of them greatly enjoyed.. But they took no chances with her. They took off her bodice, removed her stays, tore the ribbon from her petticoat- which fell down by itself-and roughly removed her long trousers. They then tied her arms to her back with a strong cord. After that they took it easy and looked her over.
Grushenka's figure had changed greatly during her stay in Western Europe. Her fine, gracious form had filled out; she was plump and firm. Her breasts-now moved sharply forward because her arms were forced back-was still of a marvelous firmness. The breasts stuck out without drooping, the waist-line was full and plump, the Venus Hill seemed enlarged and was covered with thick black hair, the legs were rather fat and soft. The most remarkable change, however, was in Grushenka's bottom. This used to be boyish, but now was plump, full and womanly, and swung out from underneath the hips in two blooming buttocks. A woman in her prime stood between the two constables, her long black hair floating down over her shoulders, her blue eyes anxiously looking from one to the other, her full mouth imploring them to spare her. One of them, in a matter of fact way, took her full breasts and fondled them; she could not protect herself from his dirty hands with her arms painfully bound to her back. “I think I am going to poke her before we mount her up,” he said. “She is the fairest of today's newcomers anyway.” “Go ahead,” recommended the other one.
“Later on I'll take the small blonde in cell nine. I like the way she screams when I get her between me and the cot.” “We can't dispute that,” was the answer. “You like the young ones when they haven't got hair yet between the legs. I prefer the plump ones, like this-” and he slapped Grushenka between the legs. “I'll do anything you want!” wailed Grushenka. “Everything! But please don't hurt me, I can't stand it” “Well see to that later on,” replied the constable. “Turn around now and bend over.” She did as she was told. The other man, to help his comrade, went in front of her, took hold of her head, put it between his legs and closed his thighs, at the same time holding her up by the hips. The first constable had taken a huge shaft out of his trousers. He grasped her big buttocks by their soft, thick flesh and moved them apart He had no difficulty in sticking his monstrous machine into her love-nest. The entrance, once so small, was now wide open. Her grotto was juicy, but the air of mystery was no more around it. Too many visitors had found pleasure in it, and Grushenka's own passionate nature had helped to enlarge it. The constable took his time. There was nothing especially exciting in poking a prisoner, especially one who was apparently a whore, and the men chatted while he worked away on her. “Pretty big mouse trap,” said the one holding her between his legs. “I hope you don't get drowned in it.” “Better than a crack in the door, anyway,” muttered the pushing man. “Dust every nook and corner of it, will you, so that she'll remember you for a long time.” “She'll do that anyway. There are no shafts where she is bound for”-meaning the detention house, where whores were sent. “At least if you give her a brat they won't hang her” -referring to the ancient law that a pregnant woman could not be executed. While these and other remarks were heard in the room, Grushenka had her head buried between the high boots of the constable. The smell of grease and leather penetrated her nostrils. The dirt rubbed against her cheeks, and, in her bent position, blood ran into her head. This was the first poke she received on Russian soil. How different she had expected it to be! Perhaps as the mistress of an aristocrat in a bed with silk sheets. Or perhaps taking a strong young Russian into her own bed! But now… One constable kneaded her full waist-line while the other one clamped his hands on the upper part of her thighs and poked her with might. She remembered of a sudden that she needed the good graces of these men, and she began to counter his pushes, to wiggle her buttocks and with apt swinging and to embrace his love-shaft tightly.
Just as she started, he came to a climax. She tried to glue her love-nest to his shaft. But he took his instrument out in a matter-of-fact way.” Both men agreed that she had fine, softly-upholstered buttocks, better for the leather whip than for the knout. They slapped her soundly and let go of her. She straightened herself slowly, her face crimson and soiled with black from the boots. She implored them again not to hurt her. The men did not listen. Orders were orders. They had to put her on the horse.
The horse was one of the oldest of torture instruments. Invented in Oriental countries, it had been taken over by the Inquisition and thus had spread all over Europe, it being one of the least expensive but most effective machines to be used on female captives. It consisted simply of a board nailed between four high legs in such a way that the narrow edge of the board was uppermost. The constables made her move towards it, then forced her to step onto a little footstool and to swing one leg over the board into a sitting position. While one man from behind held her around the waist, the other chained her feet together and put a weight on the chain.
She sat now with her cleft over the sharp wood, the iron weight drawing the weight of her own body down. Placed as she was, she sat on her love-nest and on the crack between her buttocks, which were the lowest spots on her body, and the sharp, narrow edge of the lumber cut into her most sensitive parts. In addition, her jailors fastened a rope which hung from the ceiling through the cords which held her arms to her back. This made it impossible for her to throw herself forward or backward and thus to relieve the pain of the pressure.
Having arranged things properly, the men strolled out of the room, slamming the door without listening to her pleas that she would tell them all. The first few moments hurt her terribly, but she felt that she could stand the pain. Then, of a sudden, a roaring pain shot through her loins and she began to scream in agony. She closed and opened her eyes, which rolled wildly. She cramped her hands together, piercing the nails into the palms. She tried to find another position which would take the weight from her tortured cleft. In vain.
The weight on her feet and the rope at her back did not allow a change of position, and, the more she moved, the deeper the edge of the board intruded into her unprotected cleft. She did not know how long she had been sitting in this cleaving, terrible position. Her screams became howls, the howling diminished to faint sobs. She was
