Alexandre Dumas - The Romance of Violette

“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?”