Raped on the Railway

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Emile Zola, that clever French novel-writer and scatophile, in a book which has become famous, La Terre (The Soil), draws a fine picture of a scene of rape with violence.

It was in the month of October on a mild, damp day. The actors in this little drama were peasants. The rape took place in a field. Buteau was the brother-in-law of the woman he raped. The latter lived in his house with him and her sister, and aided them both in their field, and other occupations. The violated girl had a lover named Jean, who was very fond of her, and who came furtively now and again to see her. They contemplated marriage. Owing to misunderstandings with regard to the division of the family patrimony, Francoise did not get on very well with her brother-in-law and sister. They made her life in their house a little hell, and although she did not much care for her sweetheart, Jean, she intended to marry him as soon as possible to escape their tyranny. Buteau hated Jean, because the latter had once thrashed him and broken his arm. Readers who desire further details concerning the actors of this wonderful romance should study the book for themselves. We have discovered that the English edition of “La Terre” does not give a full, verbatim account of the French original, but, on the contrary omits the smartest, and of course, most interesting parts, which we deeply deplore.

“What had put Buteau into such a savage temper was, that while bringing his harrow back, he had seen Jean and Francoise hurrying away behind a wall. The girl, who had gone out on the pretence of getting some grass for her cows, had not yet returned, for she knew what kind of reception awaited her. The night was already falling, and Buteau, in a furious rage, went out every minute into the yard, and even on to the road, to see if the hussy were coming back. He swore at the top of his voice, and poured out a torrent of filthy language, without observing old Fouan, who was sitting on the stone bench, calming himself after the row, and enjoying the warm softness of the air, which made that sunny October like a spring month.

“The sound of clogs was heard coming up the slope, and Francoise made her appearance, bending double, for her shoulders were laden with an enormous bundle of grass, which she had tied up in an old cloth. She was panting and perspiring, almost hidden beneath her burden.

“'Ah! you blasted street-runner!' cried Buteau, 'do you think to make game of me, getting yourself polished off for the last two hours by your Jock, when there's work to be done here!'

“And tumbling her over on to the bundle of grass which had fallen down, he threw himself upon her just as Lisa, in her turn, was leaving the house with the intention of blackguarding him furiously.

“'Eh! Mary shit-the-bed, come along here, that I may kick your arse!.. You're not ashamed of yourself!' she cried.

“But Buteau had already seized hold of the girl under her petticoats, with both hands. His rage turned always to a sudden rush of lust. While he was trussing her up on the grass, he growled like a beast, half-choked, his face violet and blood-swollen.

“'You damned whore, it's got to be my turn, now… Though God's thunder burst, you'll have to go through it after t'other chap!'

“Then there was a furious struggle. Old Fouan could not see very well in the darkness. But he could still distinguish Lisa standing up, looking on, and letting matters go; while her man, wallowing, and thrust aside every second or two, was exhausting himself in vain, but still satisfying himself as well as he could, anyhow, no matter where.

“When it was done, Francoise managed with a last effort to get free, and then, choking and stuttering, she shouted:

“'You beast! you beast! you beast!.. You couldn't do it, that doesn't count… I don't care a rap! but you shall never have me, never I '

“She had triumphed; she took a wisp of grass, and wiped her leg, her whole body trembling the while, as if she were rather satisfied than otherwise at the obstinacy of her refusal. With a gesture of bravado, she threw the wisp of grass at her sister's feet.

“'Here, this belongs to you; it's not your fault if I give it you back.!'

“But Buteau had not yet given up the game.

“He called out to his wife: “You blasted lazy bitch! What's the use of your idly looking on?.. Why can't you help; catch hold of her legs, if you want me to do the job.'”

“Lisa stood aloof, motionless, some ten yards away, casting her eyes far away, and then bringing them back upon the couple before her, without a muscle of her face betraying the least emotion.

“But now that she was called upon by her husband, she showed not a moment's hesitation, and stepping forward seized hold of her sister's left leg, stretched it apart and sat herself upon it as if she had a mind to crush it. Francoise, nailed to the ground, gave herself up, her nerves broken, and her eyelids closed. But she retained full consciousness, and when Buteau had indeed possessed her, she was herself in her turn carried away in such a sharp voluptuous spasm, that she passionately clasped both her arms round his neck fit to choke him, giving forth a long convulsive cry.”

The history of rape is the history of humanity itself. Wherever man has found woman, he has sought by fair means or foul to throw her over on her back, and in nine cases out of ten woman has been content to rest there until the man has vigorously frictioned her. Between the white thighs of the woman is the most wonderful thing that has ever tempted man. To gain its favours he has run frightful risks and ventured his all; — fortune, reputation and even his life. When, in the Twentieth Century, history comes to be written without fear, mystery or falsehood, the recital of the virgins violated, the matrons taken by force, and even of old women sacrificed to unbridled lust, will excite the pity and indignation of soberer mankind. The wonder of it all is that while women have always dreaded the penis-thrusts of the male, they have been unable in the majority of cases even when taken by force, to avoid sharing the fierce joy of the orgasm thereby produced. From the fresh-faced servant girl slung on her back in the kitchen, to the haughty-browed queen, futtered in the shadow of the throne, history teaches the one lesson of the persistent fascination and subserviency of the Coynte of woman to the imperious needs of man.

It is time now to return to the ardent painter and reluctant lady playing at hide and seek in the train.

When the train pulled up with such a sudden jerk, Brandon was at first inclined to suppose that an accident had taken place, and apparently the same thought had struck the lady, for the pistol dropped from her grasp, and she appeared to have swooned.

His first act was to lift her veil and look at her face, which he found to be even more beautiful than he had anticipated. Her beauty was of quite a different type to Maud, and he was well aware that even if he should bring the adventure to a favourable termination he was not likely to find his new acquaintance such an adept in the pleasing sports of love as his wife was, but at any rate she was certainly very pretty, and he judged from her conduct that she would be quite as willing to feel his standing tool lodged between her thighs as he was to put it there, for he believed that the revolver which had fallen from her grasp was only a trick to try him, and that if he had been really frightened by it she would probably have been more disappointed than he would.

He was still holding her in his arms, when a light flashed in his eyes. He looked down and saw that it proceeded from the lantern carried by the guard, who was walking up the line to the engine to find out what was the matter.

It flashed across Brandon's mind that he must look rather peculiar holding a woman in his arms, but it would have made matters worse if he had shouted out an explanation, which would have been overheard in the next carriage; besides it did not really matter, for the guard would not know that they were not a newly-married couple.

He, however, gently placed the lady on a seat, and when a couple of minutes later the guard came back again he asked what was the matter?

“It's all right, sir,” replied the official. “A truck came detached from a goods train and got on the main line, but it was seen, and the signal set against us just in time, but we had to pull up pretty sharp. The line is being cleared and We shall go on again in a minute.

In fact at that moment a sharp whistle came from the engine, and the guard who appeared to be about to say something more, hurried back as fast as he could to his van.

Brandon turned once more to the lady, who still appeared to be in a swoon. He pressed his burning lips to hers, but she did not open her eyes. He began to be a little bit frightened, and thought the best thing to do would be to open her dress. He did so and disclosed a neck white as alabaster, and a bosom covered by a fine chemise trimmed with lace. He pulled this down as far as he could, and brought to view two small but beautifully round breasts, just showing their little pink nipples above the corset which confined them.

He would have been more than mortal if he could have refrained from kissing these soft white warm globes, the very touch of which sent an electric thrill all through him.

The lady sighed, but still her eyes did not open, and one of her feet dropped to the ground.

Brandon who was kneeling by her side, had not seen many women faint, but he thought that in the stillness of unconsciousness she looked even more beautiful than when her eyes were open.

Whilst he was still gazing at her, he was glad to hear the whistle of the engine, and feel the train once more move on. He had made up his mind to possess this woman, but he guessed that if she should come to and find herself being raped, she would struggle and scream. If the train were going at full speed her cries would not be heard amidst the loud rattle and din made by the express, but, of course, it would be madness to attempt to violate her whilst the train was standing still, as her cries would bring the guard and some of the passengers to her assistance, arid not only would he be unable to effect his purpose, but he would certainly be arrested, and in all probability sentenced to a long term of imprisonment, rape being an offence which the judges regard as one of the most serious offences which a man can commit.

It was therefore a relief to him to find that in a minute or two the train was running faster than ever, the driver no doubt wishing to make up for lost time.

Brandon carefully turned back her skirt, and the fine linen petticoats underneath it, exposing to view a pair of well-shaped legs encased in black silk stockings, and encircled by very natty-looking garters with red bows. Just above each of these garters was a frill of that lace which ladies call “insertion” — probably because the sight of it, in that particular place, so often leads to insertions of another kind.

Pulling apart her thighs as gently as though he were touching a sleeping child, he saw with pleasure that the slit of her drawers was a large one. The charms he sought were, however, hidden from his eyes by a chemise of the finest cambric. Carefully lifting this, he saw before his entranced eyes, now gleaming with lust, a forest of golden brown curly hair which extended, in a triangular shape from the line where the thighs join the body, all over the lower part of the belly. At the apex of this triangle, there peered through a thicker and curlier tuft of hair the pouting red lips of a pretty and very tempting looking abode of love.

To a man in the condition in which Brandon then was, this sight would have aroused all his sexual passions; uttering an exclamation of joy, he tore open his trousers, and there sprang out, ready for the fray, his huge member rearing aloft at the end of the big, straight hard column of muscle the round red gland which had hunted love through so many soft, damp, velvety caverns, and though exhausted by the chase, was ever ready to begin again after a short rest. At that moment the lady opened her eyes, and the first thing she caught sight of was the big machine prepared to impale her. Now if Mrs. Sinclair had, as she was at first inclined to do, consented to having a little “flutter” with Brandon, she would have been extremely pleased with the fine proportions of the member that was to give her the pleasure she anticipated. But, however much a woman may like that amusement which a novelist has defined as being “the best game for two,” she always makes her preliminary consent a sine qua non, and has a very decided objection to being forced. This is not unnatural, for if we received a man as a guest, and gave him a good dinner, and all that he could desire before he went away, we should certainly feel aggrieved if he came back in the night and tried to effect a burglarious entrance.

Mrs. Sinclair therefore did what any woman would have done under similar circumstances — she gave a little gasping cry, and tried to get up, but as Brandon was then kneeling between her legs, and just in the act of lowering his dart to the level of her love nest, she could not, of course, rise.

The painter had his eyes fixed on the haven for which he lusted, and was not aware until he felt her move that she had returned to consciousness. He at once realized that he had spoiled all chance of “having” her by her own free consent, and that the only thing to be done was to rape her. He instantly threw himself upon her, and by his sheer weight pinned her down to the seat. With his right hand he tried to cover her mouth and so prevent her screams, whilst with his left he grasped hold of his yard and endeavoured to direct it into her slit.

This was no easy matter, for she wriggled her buttocks about so furiously that it was impossible for him to effect an entrance. She struggled with all her might, and bit Brandon's hand till the blood came, but, fortunately for him his weight pressed nearly all the wind out of the little woman, and the loudest scream she could give was not heard amidst the rattle and din of the train that was flying at sixty miles an hour.

Mad with lust, he kept driving his powerful tool against her, bruising her thighs, the lips of her coynte, and her perineum, and once or twice as she squirmed about, the big head of Brandon's member came very near inserting itself in a hole that was certainly never intended to receive it.

Worn out and exhausted by her struggles, she at last lay panting and motionless, and Brandon took advantage of that, and slipping his right hand down, he opened the lips of her love-cleft with his left hand, whilst with the right he directed the head of his member in the way it should go, and lodged it in her.

As soon as she felt this, she gave a start that nearly dislodged him, and began another series of frantic wrigglings, one of which had the very reverse effect to what was intended, for as she arched up her buttocks that she might better be able to twist sideways and get rid of the intruder, Brandon gave a powerful downward lunge, and as the head of his tool was already within her lips, the double force sent two thirds of his big column into her vulva.

She knew then that he had won the game, and woman-like, burst into a flood of tears.

This would have disconcerted Brandon at any other time, but as the old proverb says, “a standing cock has no conscience,” and his only reply to her tears was to grasp one of her buttocks with each hand, and give a drive which sent his member up to the very hilt in her coynte. He had only just done so when his excitement, and the time he had lost in getting in produced their effect, and he poured into her vagina the warm flood which she would have been so glad to receive and mingle with her own love fountain, if the tool which was shooting the warm jets into her had come as a friend and not as an enemy.

A few seconds later and that enemy hung limp and diminished to a third of its size, and the two pink lips — now indeed bright red, partly from indignation and partly from friction — had closed against the robber the Paradise into which he would have liked to intrude again.

Brandon slipped off her, and hastily buttoned up his “fly,” keeping an eyes on the lady meanwhile to see that she did not jump up and make a dash for the “alarm,” but she was two broken-down, weak, and, ashamed for any act of that sort. She could only cover her face with her hands and sob hysterically.

Brandon, now that the excitement was over, was very much ashamed of himself. He felt that he had not only deprived himself of any chance of ever winning her love, but he had by committing a crime upon her, put himself at her mercy, and that it was in her power to send him to the hulks. Even if she did not, and was willing to forgive him, he knew that he had acted like a blackguard and felt little inclined to forgive himself, and as he looked down on the pretty, little woman lying there with her clothing still disarranged, he felt very much inclined to pick up the little revolver still lying on the floor, and shoot himself.

She continued to sob convulsively, and Brandon after arranging her dress, and covering up the traces of his misdeed, knelt down on the floor by her side and tried to comfort her, for like most men, he was not proof against a pretty woman's tears.

“Go away!” she sobbed through her fingers. “You are a bad, wicked man, and I hate you! What would my husband think if he knew it? He would kill me, and you too.”

“Yes, I know I am an awful scoundrel,” said Brandon apologetically, “but you will forgive me, darling, will you not? It was not my fault; but you looked so beautiful as you lay in my arms that I could not resist the temptation. It was very wrong of me I own, but I was carried away by my love. It was your fault too, you know,” he continued. “What man could be alone with the prettiest and most lovable woman in the world and not burn to possess her? It was not possible that I should not love you. Here!” he cried as he picked up the little revolver from the ground and held it towards her. “Punish me as I deserve. Death from your sweet hand would be delightful, and I should die with your memory in my heart.”

Few women are not open to flattery and Brandon's admiration was so evidently genuine that Mrs. Sinclair-for that was the lady's name-was touched. She began to reflect that though she had been cruelly wronged, the harm was not so very great after all. She was a married woman, and it was not the first time that a man's tool had visited her pretty little pouting coynte, and she had not therefore the loss of her virginity to deplore.

Besides, there were two other reasons which helped to make her inclined to pardon her ravisher. In the first place her conscience told her that she had rather encouraged Brandon, and that she had been on the point of freely giving him that which he had so roughly taken. Moreover she was of an ardent and amorous temperament, and though she loved her husband dearly, he was in delicate health and but rarely performed the act of love, and when he did, he was but poorly furnished, and his tool which was thin and short, had never penetrated to the bottom of her vagina. Her coynte still tingled from the friction occasioned by Brandon's long and vigorous shoves, and was considerably stretched by the huge engine that had so ruthlessly buried its whole length in her, but now the painful burning sensation caused by the forcible intromission had passed away, she felt a kind of pride and satisfaction to think that she had been able to accommodate in her little slit a huge tool which would have satisfied the most exacting and lustful.

She therefore pushed away the proffered revolver.

“No, no,” she said, “there has been mischief enough already. Because you have committed a crime it does not follow that I should commit a worse one.”

“Well then,” cried Brandon, pointing the revolver at his own head, “tell me you forgive me, or I will punish myself for having wronged the most beautiful and most adorable of women.”

She quickly caught hold of his hand, and wrested the revolver from his grasp.

“Yes, yes! I forgive you,” she murmured, blushing; “you have been very cruel and unkind, and you have hurt me very much — but it was partly my fault. I let you talk to me when I ought to have stopped you at once- and, and — I know you take me for a loose woman — and — oh, I am so miserable,” and she began to sob.

“No, no,” cried Brandon; “how could I think so, my darling. I am a brute, and my brutish passions got the better of me, but you are a pure, little angel.”

She smiled feebly through her tears, and he kissed her, but she pushed him away.

“I forgive you,” she said, “but I-can't like you. I believe you have broken everything I have got. I am so ill, and I am quite sore. I believe I shall die.”

“Oh, no,” said Brandon with a laugh, “ladies can take a lot of that sort of killing. You will soon be better.” He opened his hand-bag, took out a pocket-flask, and poured out some brandy and water. “Take a sip of this,” he said, “and you will be all right.”

She sat up, took the cup, and drank a mouthful or two. Suddenly a thought flashed across her mind.

“Oh, if the train were to stop now,” she said, “and people saw me like this. Everybody would know what had happened, and I should be ruined. Quickly help me to dress.”

She began to hastily smooth down her petticoats, and then going to her hand-bag she took out a comb and a hand-mirror, and began to arrange her hair.

She completed this to her satisfaction, adjusted her hat, and took a final look at herself. Brandon watched her admiringly, and would have liked to untidy her again, long before she had completed the process.

“I don't look very pretty,” she said, more to herself than to him, “my eyes are all swollen with crying. The next time we stop perhaps, I shall have time to go to the lady's waiting-room and have a wash.”

“And of course you would not come back again,” said Brandon rather bitterly.

“Of course I should,” she retorted quickly. “That is just like you men — you always go by what you think yourselves, and not what other people would think. If I were to change carriages now, the guard would know at once that I had some reason for leaving your company, and very likely tell lots of other people his suspicions. Whereas if I come back he will not know” — this with a sigh — “that I have any reason to complain of your conduct towards me.

“You are a clever little woman,” he replied. “I should never have thought of that.”

He tried to take her hand and kiss it, but she drew it away hastily.

“There is one thing you must promise me faithfully,” she said quickly. “I only consent to make the rest of the journey with you for the purpose of saving my reputation, but you, on your part, must give me your word of honour as a gentleman that you will not touch me, or, even speak to me unless I give you permission. Considering the outrageous nature of your-conduct towards me you cannot very well refuse, if you expect me to overlook your bad behaviour.”

“It is a hard thing to ask,” he replied dolefully, “and I can only hope that you will give me the permission of which you speak; but I am bound to obey your wishes.”

She bowed coldly, and did not speak, but retired to the corner in which she had at first been seated, and throwing her cloak over her, so as to hide her face, remained silent and motionless.

Brandon for his part sat in his own corner and tried to sleep, but the little figure before him, hidden under the Scotch plaid, prevented him from closing his eyes. He was one of those fortunate men who are known amongst women of pleasure as a “revolver,” and he would have loved to recommence the combat under changed conditions, for he was in hopes that before the long journey was over she would consent to give him freely the second time that which he had been obliged to take by force on the first occasion. He had, however, given his word, and was resolved not to break it, so he lay back in his corner and tried to doze, but he was not sorry when, half an hour later, the train slackened speed and then drew up at a large station.