“Oh, dear Lady Agatha, please don't tell your sister,” exclaimed Emilie, “or I will die of shame.”

“Nonsense, my child,” replied the Abbess. “Proceed with your disrobing, find a rod, and then go and kneel upon the divan in the corner. While you are waiting, you may repeat one of the penitential psalms to get yourself in the right frame of mind before the arrival of Father Eustace.”

I might mention here parenthetically, that I had, on my first entrance into the room, observed this so-called divan, and wondered what its use was! It was provided with pillows and cushions, and covered with black velvet. At each corner, moreover, it was furnished with leather straps and buckles.

Before this device the beautiful young Emilie stripped, my eyes devouring her nudity. She was most curvaceous, her hips wide. Her breasts were full and pendulous and capped with rosy buds that swelled under my intense stare. Her milky thighs swept up to the mossy juncture that was of the greatest interest to me. The hair on her mount was thick and bushy; below this mass, there peeped a most delicious pink slit that invited penetration. I felt a stirring beneath my dress and longed to ram my expanding cock into that moist love nest.

On this black altar then, which set off the dazzling whiteness of her skin most charmingly, Emilie knelt down, a victim for sacrifice, and after depositing the switch between her spread legs, proceeded to her devotions.

I was not altogether without experience in women's charms; for instance, I was more than intimate with a pretty seamstress, who lived on the top floor of a house in the Rue Joubet. She very sweet and loving, and liked nothing better than to be fucked. I'd also enjoyed my mother's young housemaid. While making her ladyship's bed one day, she was astonished, but not disagreeably I fancy, to find her petticoats abruptly thrown up from behind, and a hot, stiff cock thrust violently up her cunt and between her buttocks.