Belle - Lesley Pearse [54]
With one last remark which Belle felt meant ‘She’s all yours now’, Madame was gone, locking the door behind her.
‘Ma chérie,’ the man said, and Belle knew it was an endearment, for the two maids had used it. He bent over her on the bed and kissed her on the lips. Belle turned her head away because he had a nasty smell on his breath and whiskers on his chin. But that didn’t seem to deter him for his hand was on her private parts and he was pulling the lips apart and peering at her.
All at once he was flinging his clothes off like a man possessed until he was down to just a woolly undershirt. His legs were short, fat, very white and hairy, but much more terrifying to Belle was his penis because it looked huge, with a glistening purple tip.
She tried to wriggle off the other side of the bed as he got on, but he grabbed hold of her arm and hauled her back, opening her legs and kneeling between them while he poked his fingers inside her with one hand, holding her arm tightly with the other. She was crying but he didn’t seem to care for he was muttering things as he touched her intimately and seemed as though he was in a world of his own. He kept playing with his penis too, rubbing it up and down and putting the tip on her in a way that revolted her.
But suddenly he was pushing it into her, grabbing hold of her legs and pulling them up, while thrusting himself further in.
Nothing in all her short life had hurt that much. It was as though he was tearing her in two. She screamed and screamed but he didn’t even seem to hear her. It was only when she tried desperately to get free that he actually took notice, and slapped her hard on the buttocks, pulling her even closer to him. He was talking constantly, at least saying the same words over and over again so she assumed they were dirty ones. But then his movements became faster and faster, the bed springs protesting almost as loudly, and the pain increased to the point where Belle felt she would die of it. She couldn’t even scream any more, her mouth and throat were too dry. She cried for her mother and Mog and prayed to God to make it end quickly.
At last it was over and he sank down on to the bed, sweating like a pig. Belle got away and crouched down in the corner as far away from him as she could get. She had blood running down her legs and there was a horrible stickiness and smell too. She was shaking all over and she felt sick.
The man fell asleep almost immediately. Belle could hear him snoring, but she was unable to move from her crouched position in the corner. Then the door opened and in came Madame. She looked at the man on the bed, and then down at Belle. She said something but Belle didn’t understand, so she caught hold of her wrist and pulled her up.
The woman’s eyes ran down Belle’s body but her hard expression didn’t soften at all, she just turned to the door where a wrap hung behind it on a nail, took it down and gave it to Belle to put on. With that she picked up the new set of underwear, caught hold of Belle’s wrist again and made it clear she was taking her back to her room.
There was not one kind word. Back in the room Madame pointed to the washstand and mimed washing herself. Then she turned and left, locking the door behind her.
Later, washed and in bed wearing the nightdress she’d been given, Belle was too hurt and shocked even to cry. She just lay there, the aching and soreness inside her making it impossible to think of anything else. Seeing Millie doing that act had been horrible, but she’d been able to reconcile herself to it in a way by thinking Millie had chosen to be a whore, as all her mother’s girls had. It was just a job to them, not as bad as being a skivvy, and better paid, with shorter hours, than most jobs.
But it must have been like this for all of them the first