Guy de Maupassant: The Colonel's Nieces

One of those typical December rains, mixed with sleet and ice, was drizzling down upon the city of Paris. The number of people who were walking the Rue D'Assas could be counted on the fingers of one hand. The water collected in the gutters and its gurgling could be heard in the homes, where the inhabitants were huddled around their fireplaces.

One of those homes was the abode of Madame Briquart, the respectable widow of a colonel from His Majesty's regiments, and her two adorable nieces Florentine and Julia.

That night there were four people gathered around the fireplace, because Cousin George was reading out loud from one of the latest novels. The two girls and Madame Briquart were listening, at least they pretended to do so. Julia was leafing through an old family album, Florentine was busy with her needle point, and Madame Briquart leaned back comfortably in her rocking chair.

She was a charming woman who carried her age well. She had been a widow for a long time and thanked God for His good graces. Though rumor had it that her husband was a hero on the battlefield but that in his home his wife wore the pants, one look at the fragile lady belied such ridiculous gossip.

The howling of the wind, the beating of the rain upon the window panes and the monotonous droning of Cousin George's voice had a hypnotizing effect upon the older woman.

She shivered voluptuously and her thoughts raced back through time. It must have been something George was reading about, because suddenly she was reminded of something which she had spent a lifetime to forget-her wedding night.

She vividly remembered her white gown, the handsome cavalier in splendid uniform who now had become her lord and master, the stern intonement of the bishop's “till death do us part,” and her mother's tearful advice. “You must allow him to do what he wants, it will make a woman out of you.” Of course, she had not the slightest idea what her mother meant, but an instinctive fear had come over her when she was alone with her husband in their bedroom and she noticed the terrible glint in his eyes.

“Well,” he said, “are you still dressed in that ridiculous outfit? Why aren't you in bed?” She hadn't understood and looked at him in bewilderment. He walked over to her, ripped the wedding gown, and exposed her breasts. She tried to cover up, but he roughly pulled her hands away and pressed his burning lips upon the nipple. She had been petrified, and he used her moment of fear to remove all her clothing. Then he picked her up and threw her unceremoniously upon the bed. “That's where you belong, my little dove,” he had said, “and don't ever forget that.” He suddenly jumped upon her, roaring like a wild animal. In her confusion she had not even noticed that he, too, was completely naked. What had happened to the man, she wondered. He was such a gallant young officer. Could it be that the events of this hectic day had deranged his mind?

She wanted to scream but was unable to do so, because he pressed his lips hotly upon hers, and his tongue was trying to enter her mouth. She kept her lips firmly closed when all of a sudden she had to scream out loud! Without any warning she had felt a hot, glowing thing between her legs, searching for that little orifice which, her mother had told her, God had put there for certain natural functions.

It found that spot without any hesitation and Madame Briquart shuddered again when she remembered the terrible scream she had uttered. An incredible pain tore through her body-she thought that a white-hot branding iron penetrated her, splitting her belly in half. The pain was so terrible that she sank into deep unconsciousness.

Her husband stood over her when she came to. Next to the bed stood a bowl with water tinted red with blood and for the first time she saw the actual difference between a man and a woman. She had, of course, seen a few nude male statues, but she had never believed that in reality those things were that enormous. The colonel's tool dangled limply from his belly, still dripping with her blood.

That was the instrument of torture which has ripped me to shreds, she thought. The immense member appeared to her as strong and heavy as an arm. She had yet come to realize that this immense size was only his flaccid position. The tool would have done honor to a stallion, and it did not take long ere the new Madame Briquart was forcefully shown the real horrors of this thing.

“You really scared the hell out of me with that fit of yours,” were the first loving words her husband had spoken that night, “but don't worry, my little dove… it always hurts a little bit the first time. At least I hope I did hurt you. That adds extra spice to the life of a soldier.” And then came those terrible words which were forever burned into Madame Briquart's memory: “Come on, my little pussy, it's about time for us to really get at it. I haven't put in my performance, yet. Put yourself in the proper position.”

Position? What position? She had still been completely dazed. Her husband had gone mad, so completely different from the handsome, attentive cavalier into whose care her parents had entrusted her.

“Now, come on, come on, I haven't got all night. Open those thighs of yours a little wider, so that I can get a proper look as your cunt. Oh, boy, that puts me in a good mood. It beats the asshole of my orderly, and it looks a heck of a lot tighter than those worn-out cunts of the camp followers. Baby, baby, you'll be surprised what I can do to you. Everybody agrees that Colonel Briquart is one of the best!”

Incredible, she had thought, this beast is my husband, and I am stuck with him until death do us part! Oh, death, sweet death, come and save me, she had prayed. Her husband cleared his throat irritably, “Dammit, the fucker won't get hard. Sorry, little darling wife, I've got to beat you up a little. That always works wonders. It may hurt you a little at first, but I promise that I'll make it up to you once I get inside you…”

The words had made no sense to her, and, still half-dazed, she had watched in amazement when he took his belt from his uniform. “A few little blows and this thing will stand up ramrod stiff to give you the delight of your life. Don't cry… you don't honestly mean to tell me that you never received any punishment in your convent school.” His brutal hands, calloused by the punishment he was used to mete out to orderlies and new recruits, threw her face down on the bed, dislocating her shoulder. She was completely helpless, her buttocks were raised up in the air and suddenly she heard the belt whistle through the air; a terrible blow drew blood from her tender skin. She had tried to rear up, but his iron hands had held her in position. “Aah,” he exclaimed, “just what I need… these little innocent convent girls. I've been waiting for months for this delicious moment,” and the blows rained down upon her poor, tortured body. “Ooh… aah… it's beginning to move! I'm going to give it to you, your eyes will be sparkling for weeks on end!” The maniac really seemed to believe that he was doing his young ravaged bride a favor. “Little one, will you stop moving around! Goddammit, it can't be all that bad. Why don't you take a good look at my machine, and tell me how much you like it! I'm going to shove it as deep into you as I can… right up to the hilt!” She had glanced fearfully in his direction, and almost fainted at the sight. His member stood erect, dismal and sinister, heavy and ramrod stiff. It had seemed incredible to her than any man could walk this earth with such stallion dimensions…

Fortunately it had not occurred to her that the man was really serious about pushing this fearful measure of flesh into her body. The mere thought that he really seemed to believe she was awaiting such an outrage, such an impalement, as if it were a hotly desired favor, a badge or a decoration, was completely beyond her innocent comprehension. “Well, my dear little wife, let's try it again.”