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 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.