They had a supper at a restaurant which kept open all night, and where an orchestra started playing when the theatres closed. All the tables were engaged by noted whores, and catalogued and classified married women; leaders of feminine fashion, who were known for their long retinues of lovers, their openly avowed normal vices, and their scarcely hidden abnormal tastes.
A gorgeous female of about thirty-five years of age was supping at a table opposite them and she never took her eyes off lovely Fanny. Sandcross saw the languid imploring glances directed at his daughter and called her attention to the insistent leer of the painted lady. Miss Sandcross stared at her papa with widely opened eyes and coolly replied that she had seen and noted everything.
“She showed me the end of her tongue just now-the silly creature!” said Fanny. “Wouldn't you have liked to have seen her doing that?”
“Yes, indeed I would!” replied Sandcross, drinking a second petit verre. “Try and get her on again. Smile at her a little, Fan, and perhaps she'll do it once more. She's dying to kiss you, you know!”
“Don't be so stupid, pa!” replied Miss Sandcross, coldly and scornfully, but without a blush or a movement either of approval or disgust. “Wouldn't it be better to pay and go at once? It's awfully late and these people will be getting noisy soon and begin to throw things at each other as usual. And you'll be incapable of conducting me out of here, for if we don't hurry I shall have to carry you myself!”
Papa, always attentive to the smallest wish of his adored girl, soon led her to the car, and held her tight to him all the way home. He was dying to kiss her, but did not dare. Fanny merely said that he was a most horrible papa when he was tipsy, and sat quietly half asleep, yawning now and again, one hemisphere of her splendid backside resting on his knee, while his left arm encircled her waist, his hand clasped over her left breast, and his lips almost touching her right ear.
All was quiet when they reached the sumptuous flat of the Boulevard Haussmann where Mr. Sandcross lived. The servants were on the sixth floor according to the custom in Paris, and Mrs. Sandcross was fast asleep, having eaten too much-gormandizing was her only vice- snoring heavily in her own room, for her husband had long since slept away from her for reasons that can be well understood.
Fanny was tired and dying to get to bed, although her father wished her to sit with him a little while in the dining-room, while he mixed himself a whisky and soda. She refused and left him. He wanted to kiss her as she said good-night, but she demurred with a laugh, saying that he had embraced her enough that evening, and pirouetting saucily, retired to her own chamber.
Sandcross stood erect in the middle of the room, staring after her. He trembled with lust and undefined desire; the blood rushing to his head and obscuring his vision. She must be his. None but he should possess her. But how and when? He knew from his experience of womankind that she had as yet no real feelings of sensual excitement, and there was little chance that he as her father would ever be able to arouse them. Yet he longed for her, and the thought of the crime he was meditating never once entered his mind. There was no thought of enjoyment increased by incest such as might have struck some worn-out debauchee. He loved Fanny with all the strength of his soul, and he had never felt like this with any other woman. It was his first love and his last.
“She must be mine, by God!” he exclaimed, half aloud, his heart beating, and a hundred hammers tapping inside his skull, as he cautiously crept towards Fanny's room and knocked lightly. In reply to her request to know who was there, her papa replied:
“It's all right! Let me in, I want to speak to you.”
Recognizing her father's voice, she opened the door and he entered quickly.
Fanny had already begun to disrobe, having taken off her dress. She was in her stays of light blue satin. They were very short, forming almost only a girdle and her large breasts could nearly be viewed entirely, nestling in the lace insertions of her chemise, which was also ornamented with narrow turquoise ribbon tied under her round globes in front, in the style of the gowns of the First Empire. She wore a short petticoat of white chiffon, and mouse-coloured silk stockings to match her little high-heeled suede leather low shoes. Her magnificent hair was tumbling about her shoulders, and as she stood beneath the white glare of her electric lamps, facing her father, who trembled in front of her, his features crimson with excitement, she was indeed a marvellous type of youthful beauty and in a few years all men would be at her feet.
“I can't find the key of the tantalus, my girl!” said her father, huskily.
“I'm sure I don't know what's become of it! I never have it, pa!”
Sandcross fidgeted a little and then turned as if to go.
“Well, I suppose I must do without my whisky tonight.” He stopped short, looking about him. “This is a nice comfortable room, and you have arranged it with great taste. There are your books, and your drawings- and what a lot of knick-knacks and souvenirs! Aren't you afraid of breaking them?”
Fanny did not seem to trouble much about her pa's questions, thinking he was very tiresome that evening, and she sat down and began to pull off her shoes.
Sandcross came to her, and stroked her luxuriant tresses. “What lovely hair! How well it looks on your shoulders! How long it is!” He stroked her bare shoulder and patted her plump, naked arms.
“Aren't you going to bed tonight, pa?” rejoined Fanny, with a laugh which terminated in a yawn.
Sandcross, breathing heavily, bent his scarlet face near hers.
“Yes, Fan. Don't you bother. Give me a kiss!”
“You are a tease! Well, there! I'll kiss you goodnight and then you must go!”
She turned her face towards his, and he threw his arm round her neck, pressing his lips to hers in the most lewd manner. His fleshy mouth was half open and he thrust his tongue boldly in between her parted ripe lips, taking her quite by surprise.
She dragged herself away from him, with a movement of unutterable disgust thrilling through her entire body. Never had she been embraced in this vile way. Here was something she did not know after all. Kisses she had read about often, and knew that loving couples “glued” their lips together, but the insertion of a man's hot tongue in her cool mouth, choking her with wine and tobacco-flavoured, burning breath was too unutterably horrible. And then it was her father's mouth too! Was he mad or drunk? A sickening qualm caused the twin snowy mountains in her stays to rise and fall rapidly as she retreated to her bed, and placing her back to it, exclaimed, as she frantically wiped her lips with her hand:
“Oh papa! How dirty of you!”
But as she glanced at him, she noticed the horrible grimace of coming concupiscence that twisted his lineaments awry; his dilated revulsed eyes; a speck of white foam at the corner of his mouth-and a flood of light burst in upon her brain. She knew at last! He desired the enjoyment and possession of her body also-he, like the rest of the men, hungered for her-he, her father!
“You filthy beast!” she gasped, her eyes flashing disgust.
Deaf to everything save the promptings of unnatural carnality, he advanced towards Fanny, his arms outstretched, as if to seize her.
“I've longed for that kiss for years. I must have your lips again!”
Quick as lightning, she threw out her right arm and struck him full in the face, marking his cheek with the vermilion imprint of her lithe fingers.
Mad with rage and disappointment; furious to have to see the loathing scorn on the face of the beautiful daughter he adored, he rushed towards her with a guttural cry of mingled vexation and pain at the smart of the stinging slap. Throwing her on the bed face downwards, he held her firmly there, despite her struggles, pulling up her petticoat and casting it over her loins.
“Let me alone!” she murmured, struggling violently. “I'll rouse the house and call for ma!”
“I defy you to, hussy! You know how your mother believes in me! I'll lie to her and say you called me to your bed. You dare not do what you say-you would kill her!
I'm going to punish you for your assault on me!”
He exposed the swelling expanse of her rotund posteriors, pulling at the cambric drawers which matched her chemise, and dragging them down to her heels.
She was too amazed and frightened to cry out, and indeed she feared the terrible scandal that would arise if she woke her mother. Before she had time to come to a resolution, or put her wildly scattered thoughts in order, a resounding slap from her enraged papa's open hand fell on the right cheek of her majestic bottom.
“Enough, father! Don't disgrace me! How dare you strip me like this?”
“Hold your tongue, hussy!” he replied, in a thick whisper, as he spanked the whole surface of her posteriors as hard as he could, reddening them all over. “You're my child, and you must obey me! I'll crush your pride!”
Delirious with lust and erotic rage; gloating over the sight of his desired daughter's naked flesh; revelling in the touch of his feverish palm on her smooth skin, he beat her with his hand until her backside was swollen and of a dark-brown hue. She writhed and moaned, sobbing hysterically, but biting the blanket so as to stifle her cries.
His right hand ached, and having regained his self-possession in some slight degree, he crossed over and struck at her tortured bum with his left.
“Oh! papa, do let me go! It burns! You do hurt me so dreadfully! Oh! Oh! Ah!”
“This is nothing, my beauty!” said Sandcross, with a laugh. “Tomorrow I'll get a rod, and a whip, and flog you within an inch of your life! I'll teach you to disobey your poor old father! Take that, miss; and that; and that!”
Again the remorseless hands fell with greater force than ever, raising little blue bumps here and there in the brown shading that obscured her queenly hinder beauties.
“Oh! Oh, papa! What humiliation! Do please leave off! Turn out the light! Don't look at me all bare-oh! ah! Don't-don't hit me any more!”
“Will-you-be-quiet?” retorted her father, striking fiercely and slowly at each word. “Missy don't like the humiliation, don't she? Ha! ha! I can see your bottom and your thighs-yes, your naked thighs, dear, and your pretty calves and feet!”
Despite his coarse utterances, he did not forget to still batter her martyred bottom with all his might, and the skin being of the finest texture now began to break. Little streaks of blood appeared, oozing out in different directions from the raised bruises which turned black.
Low moans issued from her throat. She writhed and twisted in all directions, once placing her hands behind her in a futile attempt to protect her buttocks. Sand-cross struck at her wrists and she hurriedly drew her arms away.
“Enough, papa! Enough!”
“Beg my pardon!” said Sandcross, as he now inflicted swinging blows at her hitherto untouched thighs.
“Not there! Not there, papa!”
“Will-you-beg-my-pardon? I'll hit you where I like! I'll strip you naked and flay you alive, if I choose! Am I not your father?”
“Yes! Y-e-e-s-pa! I beg your pardon-I do indeed!”
She was now quite subdued and conquered, reclining quietly on her stomach, her body wriggling from side to side, and heaving her buttocks up and down. She sighed heavily, and muffled sobs came from between her ringers, as she now clasped her hands before her face.
“Promise to kiss me of your own free will and I'll let you off!” said the cruel father, as he contemplated with lewd joy Fanny's reddened, fat thighs.
From her loins to the tops of her stockings, not an inch of skin had escaped the effects of Sandcross's awful punishment. All was red, contused, of a reddish-brown tint, and on the buttocks the skin was broken; bleeding in many places.
Fanny's father waited for an answer, as he finally desisted. He was fatigued, both his hands were benumbed, and he felt quite exhausted, but happy, with a glorious exciting inward upheaval of satisfaction. The pleasure of cruel conquest; the delight at having crushed the rebellious spirit of the daughter he coveted was something too great for words to qualify.
His girl's reply came at last, and in such a fashion as to thoroughly surprise him.
She slowly turned round, unable to rise entirely from the bed, and utterly regardless of the indecency of her posture, as she showed fully three-quarters of the front part of her body; her breasts escaping from her twisted stays, the nipple-buds showing above the lace-trimmed edge; her drawers disarranged in front, exposing part of her virgin soft fleece, she held out her arms to her father, and through the tears that veiled the lustre of her eyes, a glorious smile lit up her tearful face. She murmured in French, couched in a low, loving whisper:
“Viens! Prends-moi! Prends-moi! Je t'aime!”
His brain reeling, every nerve thrilling, and a prey to rampant, ungovernable lust, Sandcross threw himself on his daughter. His mouth sought hers, and their tongues met in a libidinous, long, luscious caress. He rolled upon the bed grasping her willing body, and pressing her close to him. They neither spoke, but the father groaned with exacerbated longing, and his daughter gave forth deep sighs of satisfaction. While their mouths were joined, the profligate parent's hands eagerly pressed every bit of naked flesh he could find: the neck, chest, and the upper halves of the beautiful hard breasts heaving by reason of the tempest within; the burning backside and thighs; arms, hands, and hair. He plunged his fingers into the waves of her tresses, and even passed their tips over her face. Would their mouths never separate? They bit and sucked each other's lips, and Sandcross was intoxicated with her velvet saliva, fragrant and fresh.
“Love me, Fan! Love me and let me love you!” he whispered at length, as he sucked and bit at her well-formed, tiny ears, brilliant as pink pearls.
“I love you, pa! You know I do!”
Sandcross fingered at her stays. She disengaged herself from his arms for a second, and unclasping the busk, threw the corset behind her. With insane delight, her father pressed the hard globes, and found both nipples erect. He pulled down the chemise to kiss and lick the twin strawberries, one by one. While he did so, she dragged her arms out of the straps of her filmy garment, and was about to unfasten her petticoat and drawers, when the sucking caress of Sandcross produced the effect he wished, and with a lowing, loving, cooing sound, she fell on his lips again. He tugged at her petticoat. She understood, drawing it off and her drawers too. She was naked with the exception of stockings and shoes. He stood her up erect, admiring her unveiled frame, worthy of being copied in marble, and falling on his knees before her, kissed her thighs, and passed the end of his tongue through the mossy bush that concealed the sign of her sex. She clipped her legs fast together at this soft embrace, and placing her hand on his face, tried to close his eyes with her soft palm. Weak with the awaken-encroaching feelings of lust that racked her virginal body, she fell over him, about to faint with rapture, from the effects of the wave of unknown voluptuous sensations submerging her being. He lifted her up and threw her gently on her back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. Standing between her unresisting thighs, he parted them widely. His trembling digits tore at his trousers and braces. He felt that if he tarried but another second or two, nature would betray him. Hastily clutching a towel from the horse on his left, he lifted up his girl, and slipped it under her. She reclined with closed lids, one arm flung over her face, to hide it, and protect her eyes from the strong, searching electric light which made her white body look whiter still. He threw himself upon her. This contact caused her to shudder with delight, and fresh elixir sprung from her hidden source of future motherhood. She pushed up to meet the coming onslaught. Her sex prompted her, but she did not know what was in store for her, as she held out her arms to her father. He bent down and she clasped him to her breast, seeking always for his mouth. His tongue gambolled with hers. Now she shrank from him, and bit her left wrist to stifle her groan of pain. He held her fast now and gained at each powerful thrust. She writhed in agony, and was no longer moist. He panted with delight, feeling the commencement of his climax.
He fell on her breast, e
xhausted, half unconscious swimming in a sea of satisfied lewd joy, while Fanny sobbed partly in exquisite agony, and feeling a rending pain in each groin.
Sandcross rose at last, and drew the towel, now stained with blood, between her legs, trying to wipe the ensanguined secret recess. This caused her to sit up, and she hid her tearful face on her father's breast.
Now only did he feel a little uneasy. The door was actually ajar. They might have been heard? No, all was quiet. He whispered to Fanny to move gently from the bed, and placed her on the bidet. He kissed the toilet napkin with its scarlet spots, and she smiled through her tears while he did so, and as she saw him fold it up and place it in his pocket. She was not surprised, nor disgusted at seeing her father thus standing before her, his gradually shrinking instrument shamelessly dangling before her eyes.
“Do you forgive me?” he said, one tiny ray of remorse -the first and last-illumining the depths of his soul, obscured by the black clouds of incestuous lust.
“Yes, father. I love you! I regret nothing. I only want you to love me always!”
“Hush, Fan!” he rejoined, fearful as she raised her voice in her excitement. “I swear never to fail you. You're mine, doubly so, by mutual love and right of relationship. Trust in me and your life shall be one dream of happiness.”
And so they kissed again. He put her in bed and tucked her up comfortably, whispering how he had done that when she was a tiny little baby girlie. She smiled at him, gratefully and happy as an angel, as he enquired if she was in pain.
“Down there-you know, pa-between my thighs- legs, I mean. And behind too! Oh! how you hurt me! I never knew your hands were so hard!”
“Poor girl! I'll never slap you again!”
“Oh yes, you may!”
In most childish confusion she threw her white tired arms around his neck, her lips skimming over his moustache, as she murmured: “I like it! It was that spanking which made me feel I loved you, darling pa!”
The Romance of Violette Page 10