Presently Father Francisco, digging his nails into the flesh of my legs, said excitedly, “See, see, she’s coming. The gluey spend is glistening on your dildoe. Now, now, shoot it into her; let her enjoy it!”
In a moment I felt the hot gush of the contents of the godemiche. It rather relieved me for a moment or two, but oh, oh, my dear, even after this long lapse of time, I can never forget the agony of that moment. The whole of my body seemed filled with liquid fire, for they had filled the dildoe with some infernal decoction on purpose to ruin my health, and destroy all chance of my ever enjoying the sweets of love again. Such I know was their intent, for they taunted me with it at the time; but although I never quite recovered from the shock to my system, and feel even now that it was the original cause of my premature decay, they did not succeed in depriving me of all sensual desire or feelings for the future.
I fainted, but they never let me down, and when at last I began to recover consciousness Father Francisco was using his scourge most unmercifully on my buttocks, the drawers being open, and the naked flesh exposed to every cut.
“I thought this would bring her round”, exclaimed he. “See, Father Anthony, her eyes are opening, it will soon make her forget the dildoe fucking, she did enjoy that, did she not, Anthony? But she’ll be a long time before she has such pleasure again. Ha! Ha! Ha!!! how lovely she is getting, see her wriggle from the pain of every cut. Ah, Lucille, dear Lady Ellington, what intense delight the sight of your agony is to us.”
By this time either he was tired, or he thought a little respite would enable me to bear more presently, so dropping the scourge on the floor he left me still suspended, whilst himself and assistant sat down and gloated over the sight of my suspended figure and blood-stained bottom, with their hands under their frocks, and I verily believe now they were frigging themselves.
After about ten minutes Father Francisco again approached, scourge in hand, whilst the elder priest gave me a few drops of cordial, and held some pungent salts under my nose to refresh me a little. “That will do,” said the former, “stand back, Father Anthony. Now, now, you wicked, wanton, lustful young woman, did you wish your husband dead when having connexion with Lord Dunwich? Why don’t you answer? Were his parts more pleasing to your sensuality? Is he better furnished than your husband? Speak up; confess all your wickedness! Did no sense of shame shock you in the midst of your enjoyment with that fellow, eh?”