the bishops fingering

"Me thinks the lady may require a beseeding!" riddled the saturated cleric as with a single swift movement he disillusioned the young maid of her copious under-coverings and mercilessly barricaded her whimpering motherage with the rake-balding of his pulsing heredity rod. the licentious and mal-appointed maiden: ruddy in both cheek and demeanor cursed her contrary accent through filthy tears of acquiescence as the good bishop bellowed in tongues; what our poor unfortunate could only assume to be the Latin rendering of her promised indulgence, though these spittled oaths would provide poor credit with that final divine usurer, little did she know that many a violated and dutifully poxed milker had arrived at those gates only to find themselves laughed down the stairs by angelic hosts upon the rendition of said sad soliloquy; tearfully they'd waddle to the furnace and consider the folly of a life spent en-whore, albeit at the hand of a most noble servant of god.