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 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.