Nothing could be milder in the way of penance than this, and to my astonishment, Emilie absolutely appeared to like the gentle slapping. Instead of shrinking from it, she stuck her naked rump upwards and outwards as if to meet the infliction. He did not long dally over this part of the ceremony, and I could easily perceive the reason why, for as the monk knelt down to approach his face to the novice's white buttocks, his frock fell a little open in front, and the most monstrous engorged prick became exposed to view. It was a powerful machine, with a huge purple knob at the top! As it was quite clear to me how all this penance would terminate, I could not help thinking that Mademoiselle Emilie would find it a rather different affair to masturbating with the tallow candle.
His “whispering forgiveness” as he called it, consisted of his putting his tongue up her tight little slit from behind, and gently sucking it. The tip of his tongue worked all the way from the topmost portion of her trembling thighs to the curving line of her buttocks, then underneath again to that mossy nest that glistened with his moisture and her own. He flicked at her cunt lips, laving them thoroughly and plastering down the hair, then darted inside the slit, once, twice, and again until Emilie shuddered from fear and luscious anticipation. When he fancied he had sufficiently opened and lubricated Emilie's pussy for his purpose, he proceeded to administer what he called his “holy oil.” He meant simply that he introduced his enormous cock-head to the entrance of her dripping tunnel and proceeded to ram the full length of his shaft into her.