to presently, Lady Ellington; turn round and open your legs, and stoop forward this instant, or I will flog the very life out of you!"
His rude hand was passed under my bottom, between my legs, and as I covered my face with my hands, I could feel his fingers invade every secret spot in turn, even to forcing a digit up the fundamental orifice, which is always so tight and difficult of entrance, saying, as he did so: "Did you let him go there, or has your husband ever sodomised your bum-hole? Ha! Ha! How modest we are now. Speak; say if you ever allowed anyone to put his prick in your arse?"
I cannot recollect all he said or questioned me about, but his words and actions were every moment more and more coarse and obscene, on purpose to add to my humiliation.
"Here, Father Antony," he continued, addressing the old priest, "where is your godemiche? That's the thing to draw all the
