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.
Grushenka, who was supposed to help the matron, just stood around. The old and hardened jailer had not needed any help to tie her victim down; her strong muscular arms and her expertness in fastening the one strap over the middle of the victim's back did not call for assistance. “First I'll beat the hell out of you,” she shouted at the blonde woman, “then well have a little chat.” She made her word good. She began over the knees and hit the tightly stretched legs with a switching cane wielded with all her strength. She went up one leg until she reached the cleft, beat the other leg the same way, and then let out all her rage over the buttocks. The woman, was not muscular; she was of the finer type, well made and of soft flesh. She screamed in pain and swung her arms wildly, but was unable to shield her suffering buttocks with her hands. Blood-blue welts appeared on her body. She wailed and promised to do everything. The huge matron stopped, but she dug her muscular fingers into the smarting flesh.
“Will you write a letter to a friend or to your family asking for one hundred rubles to be given to the bearer?” The woman consented. She then was led back to her cell and given time to sob to her heart's content, until Grushenka brought her a quill and ink and paper. The letter was duly sent away with a constable, but he came back saying that at that address there was no one of the name written on the letter. The matron got into a white heat. She did not say or do anything that day. “The next morning when she was through with her routine work she again took matters into her brutal hands.
This time Grushenka had to help carry the woman to the black chamber.
She fought like a tigress and swore that the matron would be sorry, that she'd be beaten to death herself when she, the prisoner, should be set free. Neither threats nor fighting helped her. The matron bound her hands to her back and pulled her up on a rope which was fastened to her wrists. This dislocated the shoulders, and the weight of the body, hanging on the twisted muscles of the arms, caused unbearable pain. The woman screamed that they were murdering her.
Grushenka, who herself was no longer soft-hearted, felt pity. But the matron did not seem to hear nor to have the slightest compassion. She tied the woman's ankles in a far-outstretched position to some rings in the floor, thus bringing still greater pain to the shoulders.