He flung down the slab, broke it, and swooping down on her with outstretched hands shouted, "Come with me!" in such a terrible voice that the whole house heard it with horror.
Hélène glanced round like a hare surrounded by hounds and rose submissively, ready to follow Pierre. Taking her by the arm, he pulled her toward himself and was leading her from the room.
"If you allow yourself..." whispered Hélène, but Pierre did not reply and went out of the room.
Hélène followed him with her usual calm and majestic step but her face betrayed anxiety.
Having entered the bedroom, Pierre closed the door and addressed Hélène without looking at her.
"Where you are, there is vice and evil!" said Pierre to his wife.
"You believe everything you're told. You were told..." Hélène laughed, "that Dólokhov was my lover," she said in French with her coarse plainness of speech, uttering the word amant as casually as any other word, "and you believed it! What will be the result? That I shall be the laughing stock of all Moscow, that everyone will say that you, drunk and not knowing what you were about, challenged a man you are jealous of without cause."
Hélène raised her voice and became more and more excited, "A man who's a better man than you in every way..."
"Hm... Hm...!" growled Pierre, frowning without looking at her, and not moving a muscle.
"A better man than me in every way… you mean that his is bigger than mine and you have more fun laying with Dólokhov than with me, is that so?"
"Mon cher," answered Hélène (their whole conversation was in French), "I don't consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that tone."
"We had better separate," he muttered in a broken voice.
"Separate? Very well, but only if you give me a fortune," said Hélène. "Separate! That's a thing to frighten me with!"
Pierre's face, already pale, became distorted by fury. He seized Hélène with his big hand and shook her from side to side till Hélène's face showed a sufficient degree of terror.
"First, undress, take everything off!" said he, as if repeating a lesson to himself.
Hélène glanced at him seeing in the forward thrust of her husband's head, in his glowing eyes and his resolute gait, the terrible indications of his rage and strength.
"Get naked!", he shouted.
She immediately began to take off her white satin dressing gown embroidered with silver. Pierre took the clothes Hélène handed him and threw them on the sofa.
"I shan't be violent, don't be afraid!" said Pierre in answer to a frightened gesture of Hélène's.
Now his wife was shivering in front of him, in all its womanly beauty, her whole body not veiled by any dress.
Such a storm of feelings, thoughts, and memories suddenly arose within him that he could not remain in one place, but had to jump up and pace the room with rapid steps.
"How often I have felt proud of her," thought he, glancing at her; "proud of that superb breasts, proud of that gorgeous ass, firm as marble. So, this is what I was proud of! How often I have told myself that I was to blame for her apparent lack of all interests or desires, and the whole secret lies in the terrible truth that she is a depraved, insatiable woman. Now I have spoken that terrible word to myself all has become clear. I have been told that her brother Anatole was in love with her and she with him, that there was quite a scandal and that that's why he was sent away. Anatole used to come to borrow money from her and used to kiss her naked shoulders. What else she allowed him to kiss? Did they also make love? Did he make her come?"
Now he seemed to see her in the early days of their marriage, with bare blond pussy and a languid, passionate look on her face, then immediately he saw inside her Dólokhov's handsome, insolent, hard and mocking cock, and then that same cock pale, limp, cold and shrunken, as it must have been when he reeled and sank on the snow.
"There is something nasty, something wrong, in the feeling she excites in me... Thinking about my wife with her lovers intrigues me… It's bad..." he reflected, but while he was thinking this (the reflection was still incomplete), he caught himself smiling and was conscious that another line of thought had sprung up, and while thinking of her depravity he was also dreaming of how his wife would pleasure him as she had pleasured Dólokhov and Anatole. He told himself that there would be something unnatural, and as it seemed to him dishonorable. But at the very time he was expressing this conviction to himself, another part of his body rose and hardened.
"Secondly", he continued after a short pause, unbuttoning his trousers, disgusted by himself, "come here, you immoral sinneress, and get on your knees."
She knelt down before him and Pierre laid his hands on the two immense plaits wrapped twice round her lovely head like a coronet.
"You're a scoundrel and a depraved woman, I already shot off your lover's cock and I don't know what deprives me from the pleasure of soothing your eager pussy too. Now clean your husband's cock with your lying tongue!" said Pierre, expressing himself so artificially because he was talking French.
She began to lick the tip of his manhood and was surprised to discover that it wasn't at all disgusting: it tasted a little salty but it was good. Much to her amazement, she found that her nipples had become hard and she felt wet between her legs. She felt something like a hot breeze wafted into her soul. Now she wanted her husband and she wanted him badly...
"But he's stupid. I have myself said he is stupid and worthless," she thought, "But he challenged Dólokhov to a duel out of jealousy, thinking he was my lover. And why? How did he come to do it? Because he loves me - answered an inner voice - he did all for me: he risked his life for me, he killed him for me.
"Yes, I always loved him," said she to herself; "but I dared not admit it to myself."
She was dreaming of how he would truly become her husband now, how he would love her and become quite different, and how all she had thought of him before would become false.
She continued to lick it on the sides before deciding to take him into her mouth.
"What are you doing? Stop... I beg you," muttered Pierre hoarsely, stepping away from her.
"But why?", she said amazed, "I thought you liked it…"
Pierre wished to say something and looked at her with eyes whose strange expression she did not understand. He had wanted to humiliate her but instead that depraved woman seemed to like that. He was suffering physically at that moment, he could not breathe. He knew that he must do something to put an end to this suffering, but what he wanted to do was too terrible.
"Thirdly," Pierre continued without listening to her, "Go on the bed and lie on your stomach!"
She obeyed, biting her lips.
"If you just had a spark of conscience ... you would repent of your sins" Pierre said in anger beginning to slap her delicate white ass. She gave a little scream and squirmed a bit, but didn't complain.
"After all, you must understand that besides your pleasure there is such a thing as other people's happiness and peace, and that you are ruining a whole life for the sake of amusing yourself! Now there's Dólokhov sitting in the snow with a forced smile and perhaps dying. It is all, all your fault!", Pierre uttered, continuing to spank his wife, making the whole room resonate.
Hélène moaned loudly, an unquenchable fire was now burning in her.
"Yes, yes, it's all my fault! I'm a depraved woman! I care only about myself and my own pleasure… Yes, yes, spank me! Insult me! Oh, Petruška … please, take me here, now! I need your huge cock inside me! Yes, I'm a sinneress, a she-devil, an evil dragoness... Skewer me with your spear, Saint George!", she panted heavily.
Pierre was shocked by the coarseness and bluntness of her thoughts and the vulgarity of the expressions that seemed so natural to her, though she had been brought up in the most aristocratic circles.
He rolled her on her back, crawling over her to capture her mouth in a seething kiss. He bit down hard on her lower lip, making her moan with pleasure.
As he broke their kiss, she thrown her head back to expose her neck. He looked for marks left by Dólokhov, but her skin was perfectly white. She gasped hard when he bit on her collarbone. He then began to squeeze her warm perfect breasts. He fondled her erect nipples, pinching and kissing them. A sharp cry escaped her lips when he caught one between his teeth.
He then slipped a hand over her thigh, dipping two fingers into the temple of sin, finding it already soaking wet.
He wickedly curled his fingers and began to slowly explore Hélène's womanhood. He chuckled seeing how Prince Vasilij's proud daughter had completely lost her constant composure and was now wriggling frantically, pushing her hips towards his hand, meowing shamelessly like the cat in heat she was.
Lost in the moment, Hélène mumbled something in French that Pierre couldn't understand. He knew she was about to come and, with a mocking smile, pulled his wet fingers out, making her groan with frustration. Pierre examined his fingers carefully, bringing them to his nose and sniffing them, in the senseless search for traces of Dólokhov's seed.
"Please, don't stop…", whined Hélène, looking up at Pierre with a pleading look.
She reached out to help him unbutton his shirt, which she immediately threw aside, hurrying to take off his pants and underpants.
"Take me, Petruška, fill me, I beg you…", she said panting, spreading obscenely her legs in front of him
But Pierre knew too well her experience of debauchery and laughed contemptuously.
"Oh, I see... you feel the symptoms of pregnancy and you want to trick me into believing that the baby is mine; but I'm not a fool to enter you in that orifice in which your lover had planted the fruit of your sins" and, so saying, Pierre lifted her thighs higher up, pushing them against her body and, without give her any other warning, with one powerful thrust, broke in to her little hole.
"Aaah…slo…slowly ... please ... I'm still virgin there ..." she shrieked, taken by surprise.
She bit her lip, "Heavens, it is huge!" she thought.
Luckily for Hélène, her saliva had lubricated it, so Pierre slid in quite easily.
With a jerk of his hips, Pierre buried himself to the root, gasping as he felt himself sheathed tightly within her bowels.
Hélène screamed fearfully as if someone was tearing her in two, then she collapsed back upon the bed, staying there, pale and still.
Frightened, Pierre leaned over her.
"Le… Lelya… Please answer me ... how do you feel? I… I didn't mean to..."
She opened her eyes, smiling mockingly.
"Mmm… I'm fine… and I would feel even better if you only moved a little ...", she challenged him, taking a deep breath and swaying her hips to adjust herself to him.
Pierre sighed with relief.
"Damn it, Lelya! You scared the life out of me!"
"Then you don't hate me so much, after all ...", she giggled.
He shook his head and gripped her hips tightly increasing his pace, shoving angrily into her with an intensity that Hélène had never even imagined before.
His father's nature showed itself in Pierre. He felt the fascination and delight of frenzy.
"Take that! Take that! You, unfaithful wife!" he growled, thrusting frantically inside of her.
She moaned loudly and wrapped him with her long slender legs, pressing her hips against his, matching blow for blow. Her hand snaked between their bodies, rubbing at her swollen clit.
He felt her shudder beneath him, her back arching as she was bringing herself closer to the edge. Pierre smiled wickedly, taking a candle that was burning brightly on the nightstand and pouring the melted wax on her right nipple.
"Take also that, you, depraved woman!"
Hélène screamed at the top of her lungs and her eyes rolled back as Pierre felt her bowels clenching around him. Of course, this wasn't her first orgasm, but certainly was the most intense she had ever had.
Then she collapsed, panting heavily as her husband continued to thrust into her for some seconds before suddenly pulling out.
Pierre raised on his knees, seeking a firm center of gravity, his mouth fell open but his eyes squeezed, glittering with effort and pleasure as he mustered his remaining strength. He raised his hard, red, engorged manhood and aimed. He held it in his right hand, apparently afraid of shooting himself with it.
Hélène with a dizzy smile of bliss on her face, stood stretched out, still trying to catch her breath, her arms and legs helplessly spread out, with her broad breasts directly facing Pierre, looking lovingly at his big cock pointing at her.
He looked down at his throbbing sex, then quickly glanced at Hélène and, sliding his fingers, he shot. Pierre had of late rarely seen his wife and, not daring to seek relief by himself, got his balls really full. Not at all expecting so great a stream, he shuddered, smiling at his own sensations and stood still. His closed eyes prevented him from seeing anything for an instant. He only heard Hélène squeak: "Ehi! You are bathing me!"
"Got you!" shouted Pierre, seeing that his first jet had hit her forehead, the second her left nipple, while the third had formed a nice little pond in her lovely navel, and he lay helplessly, face downwards on the bed beside her.
Hélène sat up and stretched with a delighted smile, trying to wipe the white sticky cream from her flushed face with one hand, while the other smeared it over her titties and her belly since she had heard it was very good for the skin.
A large drop fell from her eyebrow on her red swollen lips. She flipped her tongue and smacked her lips.
"Uhm... you know, husband, you taste really good..."
Pierre glanced at her, she was bewitching, all glittering with her sweat and his juice.
He stared at her, as he regained control of himself and his mind cleared. What was he doing?
He looked away from her
"I ... I don't know what got into me ..." he mumbled embarrassed.
"Oh, but I know exactly what got into me!", she giggled, "But you have been really cruel to put wax on my poor titties", she said, pulling the piece of wax off her nipple.
"Knock it off, I know it didn't really hurt you: you do the same thing to get rid of your unwanted hair."
"Well, next time I'll get a wax mold of your cock", she hummed, "Oh, Petruška… You have been wonderful… We've been so distant from each other lately, I thought you didn't love me. But now that you've risked your life for me, that you killed for me…This duel prove that you love me, que vous m'aimez, as you told me that day after supper at my father's. Soon I will have my period and you will see that I'm not pregnant with Dólokhov. Dólokhov means nothing to me, I don't give a dim if he lives or dies. But I'm a woman and I have the right to be loved by a real man. Oh, Pierre, just think about how we could be happy, we can have so many moments like that, I will give you all my holes if you want it."
"Well, Hélène, listen…"
"Yes, I know there is the question of having children; but I found a perfect solution: there is a girl of seventeen among our peasants, she is beautiful, healthy and strong, she will give you all the children you want without any need for me to become like a hot air balloon and get full of stretch marks. Oh, Petruška, I love you so! I will do anything for you, even find you a mistress.", she laughed.
"But…but Hélène, how could you call "love" that monstrosity…, to deceive, to corrupt an innocent child of seventeen… Don't you understand that it is as mean as beating an old man or a child?... I promised those peasants I'd come and see them. They need a new hospital, and a new school, and many other things besides." Pierre paused and looked at Hélène no longer with a lusty but with a questioning look.
"Pierre, you're being unreasonable," she cooed, "After all, we do her a favor: being your brood mare is much better than starving, isn't it? Since you are so concerned about the happiness of our dear peasants, we can make the whole thing very pleasant for her too. I can take care of that if only... you let me participate to the mating...", she said with a crafty look on her face.
He stepped away from her, at that moment she was more repulsive to him than ever. The expression of that base and cringing smile, which Pierre knew so well in his wife, revolted him.
"Oh, vile and heartless brood!" he exclaimed, and, without even bothering to wear something, he left the bedroom completely naked to found his head steward who, bowing respectfully, looked into his face and at his soft and still dripping cock and smiled slightly, as if expressing respectful understanding of his employer's happiness.
Hélène shook her head and rose from the bed, her legs trembling, wrapped herself in a soft silk robe and rang a bell to call the maid and made her prepare the bathtub. She relaxed for a long time in the warm water, caressing her body and thinking about what had just happened.
"Well, it was fun even if for the next few days I will have to sit on a very soft feather pillow. What a pity Pierre is so stupid…" she sighed.
Next day Pierre gave his wife full power to control all his estates in Great Russia, which formed the larger part of his property, and left for Petersburg alone.