ready to lose consciousness, but the excruciating pain would not permit it.
The police captain now entered and, disregarding her sobbing pleas, took up a leather whip. The blows fell over her thighs, over her belly, over her breasts. They provided a climax of suffering; as the whip cut into her flesh, she jerked her body, thus adding to the horrible pains between her legs. Yes, she was ready to tell everything-the truth, nothing but the truth. The captain took the weight off her legs without removing the shackles and tossed the footstool under her feet. She got onto it and stood with her pain-wracked crevice only a few inches away from the terrible board. A push against the footstool would have brought her back to her former position. She told all; her whole life story. The fat little police captain sat on a whipping block and listened. He scratched his head. This was a complicated case. He understood from her story that she was a liberated and free person all right, but, on the other hand, a runaway slave from the Sokolov estate. To whom did she belong now?
To the Sokolovs, to Madame Sophia, or was the later liberation in force and was she considered a free person? He would not make a hasty decision on so complicated a question. In any event, for the present she belonged to the State, or better, to himself. Hence he would hold her until some enlightenment should come to him. He left her standing over the board and went out. After a while, the huge prison matron came in. She took off Grushenka's chains and dragged her back to her semi-dark cell. The woman refused to give her back her finely made undergarments and left her entirely nude. Grushenka's protests were mild; while the pain had somewhat subsided, she felt so weak and sore that she could hardly walk. Days went by in her dirty cell. The uncertainty of her fate weighed heavily upon her. The noise and the screams throughout the busy prison got on her nerves.
The filth crept into her skin. One day the matron dragged her out, gave her a quick cleaning all over, dressed her in an old prison garment and turned her over to a waiting constable. He led her over many hallways and stairs, finally pushing her into the private room of the police captain. She paused, surprised, on the threshold. On the big table in the middle of the room sat a young whore. She was not older than eighteen, but one could see that she had been through much and was tough as leather. She was in her underwear and was engaged in a squabble with the undersized head of the almighty police department.
He had no shirt on but was still in his trousers and made a ludicrous impression. Apparently he was as much pleased as annoyed with the impudence of the little creature who treated him like the dirt on her shoe. “Hey, you,” she addressed Grushenka, “can you imagine that this big brute here claims that he is too good to kiss my love-nest, my sweet little love-nest mind you-” and she opened the slit of her trousers and brazenly held the orifice open with both hands. “I told him I wouldn't give him a thing unless it was thoroughly licked all over. He sent for you and claims that you ought to understand that job, at least if you don't lie to him-” “All right,” grumbled the fat captain, slightly annoyed, “go ahead and do what she wants.
Perhaps that will make her keep still, brazen hussy that she is. But don't let her reach a climax or I'll beat hell out of both of you. I don't want to poke a corpse.” Grushenka stepped up and got busy on the vixen. Here was an opportunity to get her own fate decided; better make herself agreeable. She had learned well to love, to make “lady's love.” Down in Italy she often had enticed young girls to come to her apartment, and she had gotten a thrill out of making them wiggle and scream under her tongue treatment. Often her maids had to hold them by force when they wouldn't give in. But she disliked this little whore and she could find no pleasure in making love to her love-nest, which, in spite of her youth, seemed to be well played out.
She stooped down and opened the girl's legs in order to give herself a comfortable working position. The impudent street-trotter rested her body on the table and sent a triumphant look at her sturdy lover, who fumbled about the room. Grushenka's tongue began the operation.
This tongue had become broad and alert and knew its tricks from A to Z. The love-nest, feeling that a master was at work, at once became intensely interested. The blonde creature had started this whole comedy only to tease her lover, but she discovered that-to her own surprise-a treat was in store for her and she decided to allow herself to come to a climax. Grushenka felt how the tiny love twig, having swollen to hardness, suddenly fell slack again. But she kept on with her tongue-play, so as not to have the police captain know that his love partner was doing what he had forbidden: giving herself out before he put it in. “Enough of this nonsense,” he interrupted Grushenka, and pushed her away. “I'll give it to her now, whether she likes it or not.” With that, he shoved his short stub into the wet love-channel. Grushenka turned around, found a wash basin and cleaned her face. Then, looking at the couple, she decided that she would not leave the room before she had cleared her own state of affairs with the captain. She saw him bent over the girl, his trousers around his ankles on the floor, his muscular buttocks busy with crafty pushes. An idea came to her. Swiftly she knelt down behind him, opened his rim and glued her mouth to the entrance. This had never been done to him. Surprised, he stopped his movements, and, standing in front of his sweetheart, gave himself to this enjoyment.
The girl not knowing what was going on, called to him. “Hey, you, what's the matter? Getting lazy? Poke me you bastard! Poke your sweet love nest!” And she heaved her buttocks to get him working again.
He pulled the hair over her Venus Hill roughly, and his tone was so imperative that she listened in wonder. “Hold still, you swine, and don't move, or I'll beat hell out of you-” Grushenka caressed him between the legs with her fingers, tickled his rear doorway with her tongue, and then inserted it. His legs trembled; he crushed himself against the young whore's thighs, groaned and spent rapturously.
Getting up to dress, the whore still wondered what had happened, but she guessed the connection when she saw Grushenka cleaning her lips with a wet towel, while the captain gave himself a few gushes between the legs in the washstand. Grushenka found time now to plead her case with him. He kept thinking about it as a ticklish case.
He told her to send the matron to him and, with this decision, which meant nothing to her, she was led back to her cell by the waiting constable. That evening the matron brought her his wise decision: since she did not belong to any private person at present, and apparently was not a free girl on the other hand, she belonged from now on to the State and was made herewith assistant to the matron. The deep thought of it was, of course, that he wanted her for his future pleasure and did not want her to die in that filthy cell. The matron was very dissatisfied with this turn of affairs. She was, as Grushenka soon would find out, greedy to a horrible degree, and she was afraid that Grushenka might be an impediment to her doings. But she had to obey; she had to give Grushenka some clothes, a living room next to her own, and had to put her to all kinds of tasks.
Grushenka found herself busy preparing food- mostly a thin soup of nondescript contents-supervising the prisoners as they cleaned up their cells and helping around in general. Grushenka soon learned that there existed in the mind of the matron four classes of prisoners. First, those who had outside influence and were to be released soon and not to be bothered. Secondly, those who had money and could get more from the outside. They were maltreated, but just enough to get more and more out of them. Thirdly, those who had money but did not want to part with it. They were mercilessly tortured.
Finally, there were those who had no money or influence and were just left to rot away.' She made no distinction in the age or state of health of the women she had under her thumb. She did not care at all whether they were criminals, thieves, whores or poisoners, or whether they were innocent or picked up by mistake or on false and malicious accusations. They were only objects from whom to extort money, and she put the screws on them mercilessly. As soon as they were delivered to her ward, she would take all clothes away from them and all money, jewelry, and other valuables. If it was an elderly whore or a woman who had been in the jail before, she would not hesitate to search even her love nest for hidden treasure. Then she would have them send messages through one of the constables to their outside friends, demanding cash. If money was forthcoming, the prisoner received a few days respite in the form of food and clothes and fresh air, the constable received a good tip and the matron added more booty to her store. But woe if the message was unsuccessful! She would then give the unlucky one torture, and Grushenka more than once had to assist her. The torture chamber was there to extort confessions, as it was up to the middle of the 19th century in all countries of the world-although torture officially was abolished in most countries at the end of the 18th century. The matron, however, used the tortures to get her prey to come through. Furthermore, she did the job herself, and seemed delighted with it. There was, for example, a big blonde woman about thirty years of age and apparently of means, judging from her wardrobe. She was brought in on a charge of shoplifting, but it was patently a trumped-up charge because she was not brought before the captain for sentence. There was something mysterious about this woman. She refused to communicate with the outer world at all, and this was usually the one and only thought of other captives. She sat in her cell in dirty rags and moped without uttering a word. The matron dragged her to the black chamber, tore the rags from her body and stretched her over the whipping block. The woman had nice, full buttocks, a very light skin and shapely legs, which instantly became the field of operation for her huge tormentor.
